#but like especially mythic quest

[zuzu-romeave]

firmly believe that mythic quest is one of those shows that should have like 22 episodes per season

[milogoestogreendale]

OMG??? CANONICALLY (OR AT LEAST HEAVILY IMPLIED) QUEER DAVID BRITTLESBEE IM LOSING MY SHIT

[normalenjoyer-png]

i need to dwell on brad's line about villains being the heroes

[the-chosen-half-of-one]

Bro how do I show up as one of the top Mythic Quest blogs 😭 I’ve made like 8 posts for it total spaced out over a whole year, the show has been on for 3 years, everyone come post about mythic quest with me, get over here now and experience the wonder and beauty of Dark Quiet Death, Backstory! and Sarian and silly and flawed and occasionally awful but human characters at this video game company just trying to figure out their place in this world

[starburns]

they put something special in the community blogs on tumblr

[wisteria-lodge]

Since you’ve talked about Molly and Draco, can you talk about Snape as well? When you said that there was a disconnect with Snape’s character I honestly wasn’t sure if you meant the audience was supposed to like him more or less than they actually do.

This is a complicated one, because Book 1-3 Snape and Book 5-7 Snape are written so differently that I actually want to talk about them as two separate characters. 

Book 1-3 Snape… kind of sucks. Maybe he sucks in a way you find funny (which I completely get. A lot of comedy - especially British comedy - revolves around finding the humor in really *mean* people. Snape is *written* to be funny in a dry, acerbic, Roald Dahl kind of way.) But maybe Snape sucks in a way that’s not fun for you, he’s just upsetting and cruel. Either way, he’s petty, unfair, a bully, completely unreasonable, and doesn’t really appear to have any redeeming qualities. Snape protects Harry in Book 1 only because James Potter saved his life and, according to Dumbledore:  

“Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace. . . .” 

Later on, Snape’s motivation will become “Protect Harry because you couldn’t protect Lily.” But there’s no hint of that here.

I actually think it’s very likely that ‘Snape was in love with Lily’ is a plotline added during Book 4, because 1-3 Snape’s motivation is so completely focused on JAMES. He hates Harry because he looks like James, he hates James because (according to Lupin) he’s “jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field.” Within the context of the series it’s easy to say that Lupin is lying, and with good reason… but in the context of the first three books, I think that’s just meant to be true? Snape, as we know, is a stealth quidditch hooligan the way McGonagall is. Also… James’ characterization shifts around. He’s not a bully in the first three books, he’s Head Boy… and that Head Boy thing doesn’t quite gel with what we hear from Sirius later: 

“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

(I know JKR plans things out in advance, but she absolutely does change things on the fly. Arthur Weasley not getting killed by Nagini is an easy example that we definitely know about. And come on - the entire last book is a Deathly Hallows fetch-quest. Was there really no way to slip in a reference to Beedle the Bard - or a super-powerful semi-mythical wand - anywhere in the first six books?) 

So, in books 1-3, there's no hint that Snape is a potion prodigy, particularly powerful, or even particularly clever. He wrote a logic puzzle and “knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts.” But that’s it. “Potion Master” isn’t an advanced rank, it’s just the posh British boarding school way of saying “teacher.” (Like headmaster = head teacher.) Early Snape is also a lot more *emotional* than he is later on, when his ability to “Master yourself!... control your anger, discipline your mind!” becomes extremely plot relevant. Like, can you picture 5-7 Snape (or Alan Rickman, who plays a distinctly later-books Snape) doing any of this? 

Snape was beside himself. “OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”  “Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”  “See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw —”  “THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth.  “Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”  “YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —”

In Movie 3, Snape gets a cool protective moment where he shoves the kids behind him during the werewolf attack. In Book 3, Snape is unconscious during the entire werewolf attack because Harry, Ron and Hermione simultaneously decide he’s too dangerous, and too much of a liability to keep around. Here are are some bangers from Book 3 Snape: 

- “Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works.”   - “KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” - “Up to the castle?... I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black . . . pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay. . . .”  - “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a Kiss for him too —”

If you sort of squint you can maybe say - okay, maybe this is a PTSD response. Like I’m writing a Snape POV fic right now, you can make it work. But it’s not work the books do for you, and it’s not the characterization choice they make in the films. 

BUT. Snape goes through a little bit of a revamp/retcon in Book 4. It’s totally deliberate - he’s Book 1-3 Snape at the beginning, then he basically vanishes from the narrative… the reader kind of forgets about him…  until it comes up during Karkaroff’s trial that Dumbledore ABSOLUTELY trusts him, even though he was a Death Eater. So now when Snape turns up at the climax - he’s a figure of intrigue, and it makes sense that he’s one of the two people Dumbledore brings with him to deal with Barty. Honestly, it’s a pretty cool magic trick. We buy it when - instead of hissing and spitting and hopping around like he does when he confronts Fudge at the end of Book 3 - Book 4 Snape deals with Fudge like this: 

Snape strode forward… pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.  “There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. (...) This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance.”

Calm, collected, focused. This is a character who you’re supposed to take seriously, a character who you are supposed to respect. 

I think it’s very interesting that after Book 4, we don’t see Snape *bully* the students during class again. He’s strict, and he’s a hard grader, and Harry still thinks he’s unfair, but like… the narrative framing is on his side now. 

“Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”  Draco Malfoy laughed.  “Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.  “Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.”  Harry squinted at the blackboard(… ) His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.  “Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?” “No,” said Harry very quietly.  “I beg your pardon?” “No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore...”  “I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.” The contents of Harry’s potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. “Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing.” (...)  “That was really unfair,” said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry  (...) “Yeah, well,” said Harry, glowering at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

Like he isn’t nice, but he also isn’t asking Harry questions he can’t possibly know the answers to, threatening to kill someone’s pet, or calling Hermione ugly. He didn’t even take away house points. And - during the next lesson, we are told that the approach Snape took with Harry actually worked?

Determined not to give Snape an excuse to fail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione’s but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville’s, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape’s desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief. 

I want to do one more close read, on a excerpt from Book 5: 

Harry realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. (...)  Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, “I’ve become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don’t want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won’t you?” Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx.

This has a very similar structure to the sequence when Snape refuses to punish Draco for enlarging Hermione’s teeth. Slytherins and Gryffindors having an altercation, Gryffindor girl gets caught in the crossfire. BUT a few key things have been changed. One - the section is told in second-hand narration, which makes it less emotional than the teeth-scene. Two - the section begins with comparing Snape to McGonagall: she’s being biased/helping out her students too, so it’s only fair if he does it as well. Three - his insult isn’t “Your face has always looked like that,” it’s “You must have messed up a spell,” which is a lot less personal, and a lot less mean. (If anything, Snape is subtly insulting her for casting a cosmetic charm/being too girly… and being a girly-girl is an inherently suspect characteristic in JKR’s world.) Everything about this passage is set up to create a “Snape the Bully” moment… that kind of excuses Snape. 

So, what do we have? There are the people that think Book 1-3 Snape just went too far, and you can soften the narrative framing around him, and you can add in as many tragic backstories as you want, and it doesn’t really matter. THAT is definitely not what JKR wants you to think. She wants to bring you along for the ride, and (as you can tell from the framing) she's started to like Snape a lot.

HOWEVER. I do not think that the fan who likes 5-7 Alan Rickman Snape is… quite seeing the same thing she is. I get the sense that in the text, Snape’s tragic backstory is not meant to *explain* his bad behavior so much as it is meant to *excuse* it. He stays mean and bad-tempered… but he’s allowed to be, both because he is always acting in service to a Good Cause, and because he was abused at home, bullied at school, etc. A big part of why I think JKR likes writing Snape so much (and why she’s so protective of him) is because she finds something cathartic in letting a character be nasty… but for it to be allowed because they’ve suffered, and also because they're in the right. Sadly I think this describes a lot of her current online interactions. 

JKR also loves the idea of *pining.* (It is crazy how long the main characters’ pining/longing/will-they-won’t-they thing in the Cormoran Strike books has lasted.) It’s a very safe kind of romance, and (again, sadly) you can tell from her writing that romance is not generally something that feels safe to her. Snape is sometimes characterized by those who dislike the character as an incel-type who wants to possess Lily, and I just don’t think that’s in the text. If anything it’s the other way around. Snape has some unconsummated, medieval courtly love thing going on, where he has decided to live his life in Lily’s service. 

I wrote about why I think Draco Malfoy (unintentionally) appeals to fans. With Snape…  I actually think a lot of his current (unintentional) appeal comes from the way a softer Snape reframes the narrative into something more complex, and especially the way it reframes Dumbledore. Manipulative/Morally Grey Dumbledore is a *very* popular fan interpretation, and the way you get that is with a sympathetic Severus Snape. 

“You disgust me,” said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little. (...)  “Hide them all, then,” he croaked. “Keep her — them — safe. Please.”  “And what will you give me in return, Severus?”  “In — in return?” Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, “Anything.”

The implications here are really far reaching. Because to me, the main question when it comes to Snape is - why does he STAY at Hogwarts? He clearly hates it, why doesn’t he just leave? If you’re talking about 1-3 Snape, it's because he’s eternally holding out for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and he’s just kind of a twisted miserable guy who would probably be equally miserable everywhere. 

But books 5-7 add the context that he’s brilliant, he’s brave, he’s principled, he’s got a sense of humor. He seems close with the Malfoys. He has *options.* So now the (unintended?) implication is… he doesn’t leave because Dumbledore won’t let him. The fact that he keeps applying for the DADA job becomes dark and borderline suicidal when we learn it’s cursed, and that Snape knows it’s cursed. If he takes it, he’ll leave (or die) at the end of the year. That means, every year, he’s tacitly asking Dumbledore “Can I leave?” And Dumbledore is answering “No.” 

That’s such an interesting, juicy character dynamic. Snape is being kept miserable on purpose because… he’s easier to control that way? And if that’s true… then oh boy is it sinister that Dumbledore left Harry with the Dursleys. He knew he was raising Harry “like a pig for slaughter” (as Snape puts it.) And if Harry doesn’t have a support system, if he’s miserable, if Dumbledore can swoop in as his savior… then doesn’t that make him so much easier to control? 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I love pecharunt soo much..could u do headcanons for a poison type trainer caring for Pecharunt and Pecharunt loving his new trainer? (Reader gives Pecharunt a new loving home!) 🥺 Maybe some thoughts on the Paldea squad still not trusting Pecharunt (maybe sum jealous Arven bc reader is paying more attention to the pokemon instead of him.?)

Obviously, Pecharunt tried to stay closed-off after what happened between him and his original caretakers.

His quest to satisfy their ever-growing wishes soon led to tragedy..and he didn't wanna suffer through that again.

So after waking up he turns the whole town of Mossui against you and your friends, not wanting to let anyone in.

But in his eyes you seemed determined to make him feel as miserable as possible..especially as you sent Okidogi, Fezandpiti, and/or Munkidori against him after defeating Nemona.

The betrayal stung, seeing his former friends who died to protect him from Ogerpon now siding with humans and attacking him.

After being caught and lifting the town's "curse", he feels humbled, hiding away in his shell even as you introduce him to the rest of your team:

One made of poison types.

Although most of them looked scary and seemed difficult to care for, you learned how to tend to their needs without getting yourself hurt by their toxins, and that made your bonds with them grow stronger by the day.

You hoped to achieve something similar with Pecharunt, knowing it'll be a challenge but willing to try.

He was reclusive around your party members, but not you.

In fact, he quickly grew to love having you as his trainer, yet he was convinced that making mochi was the only way to secure that connection with you--and that if he couldn't win every battle, you'd think he was weak and abandon him.

But you knew that 8x weakness of his would be a problem, and even with an impressive defense..losses were inevitable, and you'd have to calm him down whenever he throws a fit over losing or if you refuse to send him into a fight you knew he won't win.

You eventually learn his story (and why the Loyal Three meant so much to him) through some old texts Kieran's grandparents lent you, and after reading them you just give him a hug and say "I'm sorry."

That's all you said.

It was so simple, yet enough to make Pecharunt cry and realize you would unconditionally love him and give him a permanent home. No mochi necessary. He had nothing to fear.

Of course, though, even after you share all of this and his growth with your Paldean friends, they still warn you to be careful around him.

Arven was more upset about being forced to do a stupid dance than being forced to battle you, still giving the mythical 'mon the cold shoulder every time he sees you two hanging around.

"You embarrassed me in front of my best friend..don't think I'll forget that." He always remarks while Mabosstiff gives him the side eye(tm).

You, however, know he's just getting jealous of you giving more attention to some Pokémon (like a certain legendary dragon) than him and tease him about it.

Of course, Pecharunt is still up to his mischievous ways: he'll mess around with Arven by snuggling up to you, sneaking mochi into his sandwiches, and just being a little shit in general.

Are you fully aware of this? Yes.

Will you stop it? Probably not. It's amusing.

[in1-nutshell]

Okay, prime buddy meeting rodimus, ships collide, rodimus look at buddy w Shock of how big his ship is and crew, even buddy standing tall and spiky. Like wdym your the leader of the fallen stars….what? Your only (insert young age) and your a prime?!

I don't understand completely what the request is. So I did my interpretation of the request. If this is not what you want, please let me know.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy from the TFP universe meeting MTMTE Rodimus

SFW, platonic, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

TFP/MTMTE

This was Buddy's fault they were in this situation.

Buddy, being the ever loving technician, was helping Ratchet and Wheeljack with the newest tweaks on the groundbridge.

Wheeljack had just installed some new circuitry to the bridge and needed some help making sure everything went accordingly.

"Everything functional on your end?"--Buddy

"All clear, Wheeljack?"--Ratchet

"All good Sunshine!"--Wheeljack

"Don't call me that!"--Ratchet

A sudden beeping came from Ratchet's end near the console, Wheeljack went to go see what was wrong. Buddy went over to the bridge's opening to see if there was a problem there.

The bridge's lights flickered on and began to violently drag in all loose things around it. Including Buddy. Ratchet was holding on to the console for dear life as Wheeljack dug one of his katanas into the ground and held it with a steel grip.

"BUDDY HOLD ON!"-- Ratchet

"WHAT DO YOU THINK IM DOING?!"--Buddy

"BUDDY HOLD ON TO MY SERVO!"--Wheeljack

"WHEELJACK I'M SLIPPING!"--Buddy

"HANG ON BUDDY! IM ALMOST THERE!"--Wheeljack

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"--Buddy

The portal had sucked Buddy in right as Wheeljack's servo brushes Buddy's servo.

...

Meanwhile on the Lost Light...

Rodimus was back at his desk carving out some designs when a bright light appeared and a sudden weight fell on top of him.

"AH! WHO ARE YOU?!"--Buddy

"WHO ARE YOU?! YOU LANDED ON TOP OF ME!"--Rodimus

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING!?"--Buddy

"I DON'T KNOW! YOU STARTED IT!"--Rodimus

After a couple of minutes of hectic explaining, existential crisis, and a lot of deep venting exercises, Rodimus finally got a complete response.

"So essentially you're from another dimension were your war is still going on, only have a small group of Autobots left, and you dropped into this universe via groundbridge malfunction."--Rodimus

"And you're the Captain of this giant Star ship with more than a hundred Bots on it, are on a quest to find some mythical knights, and the name is..."--Buddy

"Oh! Rodimus, Rodimus Prime."--Rodimus

"Wait what happened to Optimus? And what about the Matrix of Leadership?"--Buddy

"Well, Prime is a part of the new Cybertronian government with Starscream as ruler and the Matrix is broken."--Rodimus

"...wait what..."--Buddy

"The matrix was broken by accident."--Rodimus

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN ON ACCIDENT?! AND DID YOU SAY STARSCREAM WAS IN CHARGE OF CYBERTRONIAN!?!?! WHO'S IDEA WAS THAT?!"--Buddy

There was a lot of explaining to do when Rodimus came out of his habsuite with Buddy in tow. Especially with how much of a difference in frame Buddy had to everyone else on the Lost Light.

Buddy made friends with many bots during their stay aboard. They had plenty of stories to tell and to hear stories from this new dimension. The only bumps in the 'road' were when Buddy saw the alternate versions of Ultra Magnus, Ratchet and Megatron.

With Magnus

"It's a good thing those shoulder pads never change in different dimensions, sir."--Buddy

"Thank you?"--Magnus

With Ratchet

"You're telling me that Rodimus flipped over the Captain and fell on his face how many times per week?"--Buddy

"I lost count after 5."--Ratchet

With Megatron

"...do you have any dark energon in you?"--Buddy

"Do I have what?"--Megatron

"Oh you don't! That's good. You're one of the better Megatron's."--Buddy

It took a while later for Brainstorm and Perceptor to fix Buddy's dimension and set coordinates.

It was time for Buddy to say goodbye to their friends and head home.

"Thank you everyone!"--Buddy

"No problem Buddy! And if you're ever in the same dimension, just give us a call!"--Rodimus

"And if you guys are in my dimension, you call me! Bye!"--Buddy

"Bye Buddy!"--Rodimus

Buddy jumped right into their dimension.

Buddy knew it was the right one because of the feeling they had in their tanks.

Also because they landed on top of Wheeljack.

"AAAHHH! WHAT'S ON ME?!"--Wheeljack

"Wheeljack it's me!"--Buddy

"Buddy?! Oh thank the Prime's! Where were you?! We've been trying to scan your signature for days."--Wheeljack

"You have no idea what happened."--Buddy

[talonabraxas]

Garuda Lotus Talon Abraxas

A garuda (pronounced gah-ROO-dah) is a creature of Buddhist mythology that combines the features of humans and birds.

Hindu Origins

The garuda first appeared in Hindu mythology, where it is a singular being—Garuda, son of the sage Kashyap and his second wife, Vinata. The child was born with the head, beak, wings and talons of an eagle but the arms, legs and torso of a human. He also proved to be strong and fearless, especially against evildoers.

In the great Hindu epic poem The Mahabharata, Vinata had a great rivalry with her older sister and co-wife, Kudru. Kudru was the mother of the nagas, snake-like beings who also appear in Buddhist art and scripture.

After losing a wager to Kudru, Vinata became Kudru's slave. To free his mother, Garuda agreed to provide the nagas—who were treacherous creatures in the Hindu myth—with a pot of Amrita, divine nectar. Drinking Amrita makes one immortal. To achieve this quest Garuda overcame many obstacles and defeated several gods in battle.

Vishnu was impressed with Garuda and granted him immortality. Garuda in turn agreed to be a vehicle for Vishnu and carry him through the skies. Returning to the nagas, Garuda achieved his mother's freedom, but he took the Amrita away before the nagas could drink it.

Garudas of Buddhism

In Buddhism, garudas are not a single being but more like a mythical species. Their wingspan is said to be many miles wide; when they flap their wings they cause hurricane-force winds. The garudas waged a long-standing war with the nagas, which in most of Buddhism are much nicer than they are in the Mahabharata.

In the Maha-samaya Sutta of the Pali Sutta-pitaka (Digha Nikaya 20), the Buddha makes peace between nagas and garudas. After the Buddha protected nagas from a garuda attack, both nagas and garudas took refuge in him.

Garudas are common subjects of Buddhist and folk art throughout Asia. Statues of garudas often "protect" temples. The Dhyani Buddha Amoghasiddhi sometimes is pictured riding a garuda. Garudas were charged with protecting Mount Meru.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the garuda is one of the Four Dignities—animals that represent characteristics of a bodhisattva. The four animals are the dragon representing power, the tiger representing confidence, the snow lion representing fearlessness, and the garuda representing wisdom.

Garudas in Art

Originally very birdlike, in Hindu art garudas evolved to look more human over the centuries. Just so, garudas in Nepal are often depicted as humans with wings. However, in most of the rest of Asia, garudas maintain their bird's heads, beaks, and talons. Indonesian garudas are especially colorful and are depicted with big teeth or tusks.

[cupkakie]

War of the Rohirrim thoughts:

Overall, I would say that I quite enjoyed stepping back into the world of LOTR (and it would be impossible for a single film to live up to the atmosphere of the original trilogy) it was a relief to see that, despite a few deviations/flaws, you can tell there was a lot of care and respect for the source material from those involved.

I only wish they provided more of a historical context as to the disparity or ongoing conflict between the Dunlendings and the Rohirrim to give more depth to the 'contract' or marriage proposal that eventually goes awry. I also wish that they fleshed out Wulf more and I think reducing him, even jokingly to an "incel" (or even reducing the character of Héra under a label) doesn't do justice to their characters. Wulf could have been more of a compelling villain and the fact that his late father's general (a new character in the story of the movie) placed some measure of faith in his rulership, points to that possibility. But, I guess it's also realisitic that he fumbled those grand ambitions (if there was a tiny seedling of that in his quest of revenge) in the end. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that General Tark (?) had more nuance than just throwaway supporting villain.

Apart from one major plot deviation concerning how the conflict is resolved, some may take issue, but with the choice of how the story was more Hera focused at that point, I'm not sure how the writers could have made it align with how it really concluded according to the book. I'm also not sure if the writers intended to open up the question I had been wondering before this was film was released about "deeds remembered in history" and added to that with "who" and "how" these tales are recorded or passed down generations. It is mentioned in Appendix A of RotK that "[m]any lords and warriors, and many fair and valiant women are named in the songs of Rohan [...] (Tolkien 424). So, it's not far-fetched to think there could have been such a story about Hera but it was never written down or recorded as such, and the story as Éowyn tells it may have survived only orally through song.

There was no "girlbossery" to be found in Héra if ROP's "Galadriel" is an exemplary model of that regurgitated toxic trope. She had her strengths and weaknesses and cared deeply for her family and for her people.

I enjoyed the familial relationships we saw, though I wish there was more, especially of Fréaláf. I wish we could've gotten more on his situation in Dunharrow during the Long Winter and how and why it was difficult to secure aid for the refugees in the Suthberg (Hornburg later named after Helm Hammerhand).

As to the allegations that may be out there that Helm is a "Gary Stu" , I think he's more akin to the mythic characters like Beowulf or Gilgamesh; just an epic, larger than life character --and I think the medium of animation did that mythic hyperbole justice, and live-action would require some kind of creative framing to suspend the disbelief of the audience.

For me, the movie had the potential to be more, but I still enjoyed it, coming away with loving Rohan and the Rohirrim all the more, especially Fréaláf, who may hearken back to another horse-lord, but is not a "copy-paste" of him, just as Hera is not a facsimile of Éowyn (though I do wish they had given her a more Anglo-Saxon inspired name).

TLDR; if you enjoyed the trilogy/ hated the travesty that is ROP, you will most likely enjoy this movie.

(Also, kudos to the voice-acting, especially Luke Pasqualino.)

[fujobritta]

[//cw eyestrain:] predator & prey

happy mythic quest season four day . take some mqs4 related baksbee bumfuckery in tuxpaint ... other baksbee related tuxpaint stuff below cut

didnt want to give these their own posts because i dont think theyre super good but theyre alright so im including them here . the moe david one was especially fun to do but i do like the siren brad one .. that was the first one i did while i was still getting used to tuxpaint

[zuzu-romeave]

hornsby if the “certain angle” isnt brad realizing he’s aromantic im gona die

[11queensupreme11]

It sounds like part 4 is just going to be the ror!gods going "oh well this will be fine what's the worst that could happen" only to be immediately proven wrong by the pjo!world. To them Percy's world probably seems like some kind of apocalyptic dystopian death world with a personal grudge against Percy. New horrors everyday. Anthonius is allowed to exist. Can you tell me each love interest's least favorite thing that is not Percy related? (ex Poseidon hates that pjo!Poseidon is a whore)

poseidon: absolutely HATES the state of his seas. his counterpart only has a kingdom because he didn't think to conquer and expand??? pathetic. it's so polluted too, WHY DOESN'T PJO!POSEIDON KILL THE HUMANS FOR SULLYING HIS TERRITORY??? there's aquariums, FUCKING SEA WORLD, grocery stores selling dead fish, countries whose main diet consists of SEA FOOD. poseidon is frothing in the mouth with rage

hades: absolutely hates the relationship the elder olympians have, especially the big three. it actually kinda hurts him how broken this family is. he's very disappointed in how the pjo!big 3 behave. they're having petty arguments with each other and killing each other's kids because of it! he is especially disappointed in pjo!zeus, he's become a power-hungry, paranoid, tyrannical king and that says a lot because his little brother is literally called "the tyrant of the seas"

loki: absolutely hates the idea that pjo gods have fallen so low that they would lay with a HUMAN and have half-breed children (which is very hypocritical of him because he's in love with a HALF-BREED, but he'll just say "she's an exception ofc! 💖"), then have the gall to look down on them despite literally needing their existence to survive? no seriously, loki hates how the pjo gods actually NEED humanity to exist in order to not fade away. it's disgusting to him

beelzebub: hmmmm this was kinda hard for me because there are many reasons he hates the pjo verse but most of it is percy-related. the one thing he really hates is how dangerous everything is. this man is super overprotective (for obvious reasons) so learning that demigods literally have monsters hunting after them like 24/7 makes him worried af and paranoid. the fact that percy's constantly sent on quests and wars??? he'd hyperventilate. it does not help learning that greek demigods barely make it to adulthood 💀

apollo: this one is more specific, but he hates how pjo!apollo wasn't allowed to save artemis after she was kidnapped. pjo!apollo wasn't allowed to interfere and literally risked getting into A LOT of trouble by breaking ancient laws to help percy and the questers. ror!apollo really really REALLY doesn't like the "no interference rule".

but i think THE NUMBER ONE THING that ALL ror gods hate the most..... is how restrictive everything is in the pjo verse.

think about it. there are SOOO many things that the pjo gods can't do that would just baffle ror gods:

they can't go to each other's realms/homes. early in the lightning thief, percy asks why can't zeus and poseidon just go to the underworld and to beat up hades for stealing the bolt and chiron was like "they're not allowed to". like, that's just insane for ror!gods!!!

they can't reveal themselves to the humans??? ror midgardians don't believe in the gods anymore because the ror gods literally hate their asses so much that barely any of them go down to midgard anymore and just chill in valhalla. meanwhile in pjo, humans simply stopped believing in them and the gods decided they should play along and have hecate create the mist so they wouldn't know about the "mythical" world

they can't interfere too much in the lives of humans. humans are literally fucking up the environment in pjo and gods don't go around committing massacres as punishment because they're no longer allowed to interfere or something like that 💀 then there's the ror gods casually committing genocide on multiple nations and even going so far as to COMPLETELY WIPE OUT ALL OF HUMANITY 💀

can't go around killing humans whenever they want cuz they need them to survive. also connected to the one above. pjo gods need demigods and humanity in order to not fade away from existence. which is VERY weird to ror gods because their existence is not influenced by humanity AT ALL. it's why they're able to commit so many genocides against them.

can't raise their demigod children. yeah a lot of ror gods are gonna be disgusted at the thought of half-breed kids existing but like.... they're genuinely confused as to why pjo gods can't raise them cuz wtf

can't act freely so they gotta use demigods to do their dirty work. connected to the "can't go to each other's realms/homes" and "can't interfere too much" rule ^^. because of how restricted pjo gods are, they gotta act indirectly by using demigods to do their dirty work for them (pjo!apollo couldn't save his sis because he wasn't allowed to, had to literally break ancient laws just so he could give percy and co some help). ror gods have no such restrictions and can do as they please

and im pretty sure there's more, but that's the gist of it that i can remember rn

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

When I’m trying to create new characters, I often find questionnaires that have questions like “what is your character’s favorite movie?” Or “What is their favorite social media app and why?” However, these questions do not work for creating fantasy characters (like I am). Do you have any ideas for questions to help writers create fantasy characters?

This is a fantastic question, especially for fantasy writers. There aren't many resources dedicated to the creation and development of fantasy characters. I highly recommend exploring Dungeons & Dragons (DND) questions; they can offer valuable insights like this one.

On that note, if you'd be interested in a customized workbook solely focused on fantasy character creation, just give me a heads-up! Meanwhile, I've crafted a concise yet distinctive short questionnaire to get you started. (With unique questions, not the basics.)

Magical Essence 🌟✨:

Source of Power: 🌀💫 What magical abilities or powers does your character possess? How did they acquire or inherit these powers?

Magical Affinity: 🌊🔥 Describe their connection to elemental forces or magical domains. Are they aligned with specific elements or forces of nature?

Otherworldly Origin 🌌🔮:

Realm of Origin: 🏰🌌 Where does your character come from? Describe their homeland or origin realm—its landscapes, cultures, and inhabitants.

Mythical Lineage: 👑🌟 Does your character hail from a line of legendary beings, gods, or creatures of ancient lore? How does this lineage influence their identity?

Legendary Quests and Adventures 🗡️🛡️:

Heroic Exploits: 🏹⚔️ What legendary quests or adventures has your character undertaken? Describe their valorous deeds and encounters with mythical creatures or foes.

Artifacts and Relics: 🏆🔮 Have they encountered or possess legendary artifacts or relics? How do these items influence or aid their journey?

Creatures and Companions 🐉🦄:

Familiar or Animal Companion: 🐾🔍 Does your character have a magical creature companion or a familiar? Describe this bond and its significance.

Encounters with Mythical Beings: 🧜‍♀️👻 Have they interacted with beings like dragons, spirits, or mythical entities? Describe these encounters and their impact.

Destiny and Prophecies 🌟🔮:

Foretold Prophecies: 🔍📜 Is there a prophecy or destiny foretold about your character? How do they perceive and react to this prophecy?

Chosen One or Fate's Hand: 👑🌌 Is your character considered a chosen one or fated to fulfill a significant role in the world's destiny? How do they handle this responsibility?

Interactions with Magic and Society 🤝🔮:

Attitude Towards Magic: 🧙‍♂️🔑 How does your character view magic in their world? Are they a skeptic, a practitioner, or a scholar of magic?

Relationship with Magical Societies: 🏰🌐 Are they part of magical societies, guilds, or orders? How do these affiliations shape their actions and beliefs?

Struggles and Sacrifices 💔🌪️:

Internal Conflict: 🤔💔 What inner struggles or conflicts does your character face? Are there conflicts between their desires, duties, or moral beliefs?

Sacrifices Made: ⚖️💔 Have they made sacrifices or endured hardships in their journey? What are these sacrifices, and how do they impact their character development?

Fate and Free Will 🎭🌌:

Control Over Destiny: 🌟🔗 Do they believe in free will, or do they feel their destiny is preordained? How does this belief affect their actions and decisions?

Choices and Consequences: 🤷‍♀️🔮 How do their choices influence the world around them? Describe instances where their decisions had profound consequences.

I hope these questions help you start thinking about your story and your character. I mentioned things like dragons and magic to give you a place to begin, but you can totally explore other ideas beyond typical fantasy themes. Use these questions to spark new thoughts for your plot and character development, leading you to create a story that's unique and goes beyond the usual fantasy clichés.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

The Music of Dolphins by Karen Hesse

Mila creates headlines around the world when she is rescued from an unpopulated island off the coast of Florida. Now a teenager, she has been raised by dolphins from the age of four.

Researchers teach Mila language and music. She learns, too, about rules and expectations, about locked doors and broken promies, disappointment and betrayal.

But the more Mila finds out what it means to be human, the more deeply she longs for her ocean home.

Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell

Emmy was a good girl. At least she tried very hard to be good. She did her homework without being told. She ate all her vegetables, even the slimy ones. And she never talked back to her nanny, Miss Barmy, although it was almost impossible to keep quiet, some days.

She really was a little too good. Which is why she liked to sit by the Rat. The Rat was not good at all . . .

Gideon the Cutpurse by Linda Buckley-Archer

1763.

Gideon Seymour, cutpurse and gentleman, hides from the villainous Tar Man. Suddenly the sky peels away like fabric and from the gaping hole fall two curious-looking children. Peter Schock and Kate Dyer have fallen straight from the twenty-first century, thanks to an experiment with an antigravity machine. Before Gideon and the children have a chance to gather their wits, the Tar Man takes off with the machine -- and Kate and Peter's only chance of getting home. Soon Gideon, Kate, and Peter are swept into a journey through eighteenth-century London and form a bond that, they hope, will stand strong in the face of unfathomable treachery.

Dragonbreath by Ursula Vernon

It's not easy for Danny Dragonbreath to be the sole mythical creature in a school for reptiles and amphibians -- especially because he can't breathe fire like other dragons (as the school bully loves to remind him). But having a unique family comes in handy sometimes, like when his sea-serpent cousin takes Danny and his best iguana friend on a mindboggling underwater tour, complete with vomiting sea cucumbers and giant squid. It sure beats reading the encyclopedia to research his ocean report . . .

Undertow by Michael Buckley

Sixteen-year-old Lyric Walker’s life is forever changed when she witnesses the arrival of 30,000 Alpha, a five-nation race of ocean-dwelling warriors, on her beach in Coney Island. The world’s initial wonder and awe over the Alpha quickly turns ugly and paranoid and violent, and Lyric’s small town transforms into a military zone with humans on one side and Alpha on the other. When Lyric is recruited to help the crown prince, a boy named Fathom, assimilate, she begins to fall for him. But their love is a dangerous one, and there are forces on both sides working to keep them apart. Only, what if the Alpha are not actually the enemy? What if they are in fact humanity’s only hope of survival? Because the real enemy is coming. And it’s more terrifying than anything the world has ever seen.

Poison by Chris Wooding

Poison has always been a willful, contrary girl, prone to being argumentative and stubborn. So when her sister is snatched by the mean-spirited faeries, she seeks out the Phaerie Lord to get her back.

But finding him isn't easy, and the quest leads Poison into a murderous world of intrigue, danger, and deadly storytelling. With only her wits and her friends to aid her, Poison must survive the attentions of the Phaerie Lord, rescue her sister, and thwart a plot that's beyond anything she (or the reader) can imagine. . . .

Kiki Strike by Kirsten Miller

Life will never be the same for Ananka Fishbein after she ventures into an enormous sinkhole near her New York City apartment. A million rats, delinquent Girl Scouts out for revenge, and a secret city below the streets of Manhattan combine in this remarkable novel about a darker side of New York City you have only just begun to know about…

Willa by Robert Beatty

Move without a sound. Steal without a trace.

Willa, a young night-spirit, is her clan's best thief. She creeps into the cabins of the day-folk under cover of darkness and takes what they won't miss. It's dangerous work--the day-folk kill whatever they don't understand--but Willa will do anything to win the approval of the padaran, the charismatic leader of the Faeran people.

When Willa's curiosity leaves her hurt and stranded in the day-folk world, she calls upon the old powers of her beloved grandmother, and the unbreakable bonds of her forest allies, to escape. Only then does she begin to discover the shocking truth: that not all of her day-folk enemies are the same, and that the foundations of her own Faeran society are crumbling. What do you do when you realize that the society you were born and raised in is rife with evil? Do you raise your voice? Do you stand up against it?

As forces of unfathomable destruction encroach on her forest home, Willa must decide who she truly is, facing deadly force with the warmest compassion, sinister corruption with trusted alliance, and finding a home for her longing heart.

Sammy Keyes by Wendelin Van Draanen

Grams always told her those binoculars would get her into trouble. Now Sammy's witnessed a crime at the Heavenly Hotel-a light fingered thief stealing $4,000 from Madame Nashira, the astrologer with the fire-hazard hair-do. Thing is, while she was watching him, he was watching her, too...

First Light by Rebecca Stead

Peter is thrilled to join his parents on an expedition to Greenland, where his father studies global warming. Peter will get to skip school, drive a dogsled, and finally share in his dad's adventures. But on the ice cap, Peter struggles to understand a series of visions that both frighten and entice him. Thea has never seen the sun. Her extraordinary people, suspected of witchcraft and nearly driven to extinction, have retreated to a secret world they've built deep inside the arctic ice. As Thea dreams of a path to Earth's surface, Peter's search for answers brings him ever closer to her hidden home.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

sea change

or: no thanks, i'll use my oyster card.

gn!reader, warnings for violence, gore, and canonical character death, cute fluff that gets a bit confused along the way. it’s the return to the mer au! i tried to keep it at bay, but i guess i was just coasting. it’s never plain sailing when it comes to these two, so much love as always to the gang on discord and especially first mate @zozo-01, without whom i would be utterly adrift. warden digging a watery grave in 7100 words or less.

Everybody knows that your captain is looking for something.

It’s been his quest for as long as you’ve known him, and since long before that as well. Something he’s been chasing, something he’s been hunting. Day after day, night after night, he searches and searches – and yet he finds nothing, as if he had never looked at all.

Who knows what it could be? An elusive, unknowable something, anchored down deep in his soul and crying out to be found, yet never to be named. It might be treasure, but what sort of treasure does he not possess? What manner of riches, what silks or jewels or spices has he yet to find?

The question is a maddening one. Is it something else that he seeks? What port has he yet to visit, what person could elude him for so long? His name spans the seven seas, revered or reviled by every man in every port of every nation. Nothing hides from him, nothing escapes him. There is none, alive or dead, who has ever been a match for him.

And yet, nobody knows. He won’t say, and there’s no sane man who’d dare to ask.

He doesn’t ever say, but you see how it consumes him. It’s hellfire, roaring in his eyes with every contemptuous glance – it’s poison, ravaging his mind and choking his heart in its bitter, strangling grip. His great curse, clinging defiantly to his skin like thick tar. A jagged, gaping wound that bleeds and bleeds and never stops.

Call it a mission, a quest, a calling. Whatever it is, he is utterly tireless, ruthless in his unfailing search. A ceaseless, single-minded devotion to the neverending chase.

Aim level!

He’s something unexpected, he’s one of a kind. You can’t say you’ve ever met anyone else like him, and you probably never will again.

Ready…

Captain Vega is a singular sort of man, indeed.

Fire!

He’d told you about it only once before, awash in the crimson sunset of a port many months’ voyage from here, and even then he hadn’t told you everything. Only half-truths, warm and full of promise where they pressed to your skin, the rich brocade of his captain’s coat weighing down your shoulders as the chill of the night began to set in.

Whispers on the breeze, tales of a mythical treasure long thought lost. A prize with the power to commune with gods, to turn men into beasts and beasts into men, to command the sea itself as if it were nothing more than a child’s plaything. Something too good to be true, a legend that couldn’t possibly be real – and yet he swore, he swore he knew it was out there somewhere, waiting to be found…

You’d not been new to the crew of the Carpe Deus, but you weren’t exactly an old hand, perhaps a little less than a year since he’d captured you from the royal navy. At the time, his previous quartermaster had made no secret of his disdain for you – you had, after all, killed more than a few of his crew as they tried to raid your ship.

To tell the truth, you’d been quite proud of yourself. The scene lingers in your mind, even now. Blood, staining your uniform and dripping from your stolen cutlass, a trail of pirate corpses in your wake as you fought your way out from the carnage of the gun deck and the bodies of your slaughtered crewmates. You’d been heading up onto the main deck in search of your commanding officer, but to no avail – the night sky was dark and clouded, and the moonlit shadow of a man had finally stepped in and surprised you with a hard, cold pressure against the back of your head and the unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol being cocked.

You fought well, little sailor.

The HMS Delta had never made it back to port. As far as the navy were concerned, there had been no survivors.

But your fight, I’m afraid, is over.

Your many weeks below deck, rotting away in that dark, tiny cell, and yet he’d never got tired of you. There’s almost no such thing as a ransom on the Deus – a reputation for ruthlessness like the captain prefers has to be maintained somehow, after all – but he’d ordered you to be kept down in the brig anyway.

Perhaps he’d been intrigued by your viciousness during the assault, or perhaps he’d just wanted someone new to scare. You had nothing to lose, and nothing to offer but conversation, and as you talked and talked over the long voyage to McKinley, you’d slowly found yourself coming to like this towering, terrifying pirate captain that was holding you hostage.

He and his crew have always been legendary across the seas, the ghoulish villains of many a harbour’s horror story. But to actually speak to him? To hear the low cadence of his voice, to see those dark eyes glittering in the dim light, to know that this man – this cruel, violent man who’d killed more crews of more ships that you could even count – was deigning to spend his hours talking to you? An unimportant little nobody that the navy wouldn’t miss?

Well. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel flattered.

When he’d told you, it had been something of a surprise. Not knowing the captain as well as you do now, you’d considered this story, this tale of the mystical treasure he sought, as a sort of repayment. A belated acknowledgement of his subordinate’s cruelty to you, and the misery of your situation. But he’d disavowed you of that idea rather quickly – your repayment had actually come a few days later, when he called you up to the quarterdeck to find the old quartermaster mysteriously disappeared, leaving no trace at all.

The captain had smiled as he looked down at you, that heady, heart-stopping smirk that men say is the stuff of nightmares, and held out a dark wooden case. Inside, nestled among the felt was a beautiful pair of duelling pistols, white pearl inlaid in the stock and polished to a soft and lovely shine.

Captain?

Shocked, you’d only been able to blink stupidly up at him as he closed the case and pressed it into your arms, before laying a suspiciously-familiar cutlass across the top of it.

I’d take care of those if I were you, little sailor, he’d murmured, the song of his low voice curling about your shoulders with the sea breeze. Something tells me you might be needing them.

Strangely, there had been no complaints when, out of the blue, you’d been chosen to take up the empty position. Isn’t it wonderful, how these things turn out?

That captivity is long behind you now, and once they got used to you, the crew entirely accepted you as one of their own. Those pistols have saved your life more times than you can count, and in your hands that cutlass has killed twice as many unlucky sailors who found themselves the targets of the captain’s wrath. At his command, you’ve always been happy to put your particular talents to good use.

In all the time since then, you’ve never forgotten the story he told you. You’d sworn yourself to his service and his mission, and you’ve always followed him wherever he asked you to go, all in pursuit of his ambitions. His desires are your desires too, and your faith in him is so ingrained as to be absolute.

That’s why, as soon as he’d heard of this new story, you’d already been making plans to chase it before he could even say a word.

It had been almost nothing, a rumour of a murmur of a dream, overheard in a forgotten tavern in a dark, crowded port. The tale of a strange silence, spreading across the sea – a place where the waves are flat and lifeless, the eye of a great and swirling storm where the very ocean holds its breath, afraid of what it might disturb. A place where the water is ever silent, no creature daring to swim too close or fly too near.

“Captain!”

And a mysterious ship at its centre, with no sails and no crew, floating quietly atop the glassy sea with a magical treasure locked away within its hold.

“Captain, it’s him!”

It’s been three weeks or so since you left Port Duke, in pursuit of this uncanny storm, and the entire crew has been on edge ever since you first caught sight of it. The cry had gone up that the storm had been spotted, the glint of a spyglass from up in the crow’s nest, and you’d all held your breath at the ethereal, unnatural mist rolling across the surface of the sea.

This storm… it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

It’s not really a storm in the traditional sense, for a start. Its clouds are thick and dark, heavy like it could pour with rain at any moment, but that seems to be it. There’s no thunder, no lightning, no howling gales or stinging hail. Instead, the air is terrifyingly still and silent, and when you look up there are no birds in the sky.

From a distance, nothing had seemed amiss – but the deeper into its heart you go, the thicker this grim, oppressive mist seems to get. An odd, cold breeze had whistled past early this morning, as if you’d crossed some sort of unseen boundary, and the difference is astonishing after only a half day’s sailing. Up in the rigging, it’s barely possible to make out the horizon, but down on the deck you can barely see a hand in front of your face.

Even the sea isn’t right, no waves to be seen save for the disturbance of the Deus as she cuts through the water. The water itself is smooth and clear like crystal, eerily unmoving, and you feel as though you could see straight down for miles if the day were only a little brighter.

Captain Vega has been restless all morning, patience even shorter than usual, snapping bitterly at the crew at the slightest provocation. He almost took Ivan’s head off with his dagger when he bumped into the bosun coming up the stairs from the orlop deck, and you’re fairly sure it took one of the gunners the better part of an hour to get it free from where the blade had embedded itself in the wooden wall.

Uneasy mutterings among the crew, the subtle chill of paranoia creeping down your spine. The storm has everybody on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The cruel sound of a blade being sharpened echoes through every corner of the ship, and you can’t help but sneak anxious glances over at Vega every few seconds as you sit at the table in his cabin and silently pour gunpowder down the barrel of his pistol. Something’s wrong, but you don’t know what you could say to help. Is there even anything you could say?

Despite the frightening atmosphere below decks, you’ve rallied the crew as best you can and sailed onwards, chasing the blurry smudge in the distance that the navigator assures you is really there. If there’s even the slightest chance that this might be the treasure you’re seeking, that you might finally be able to give the captain what he’s been searching for, you’re utterly resolved not to give in. You can’t let him down.

“Captain!”

Both of your heads snap towards the door as it bangs loudly against the wall. The blade of Vega’s dagger glints threateningly in the light, and your cutlass is already half-unsheathed before you even know what’s happening. The chair you were sitting in clatters to the floor, but you barely even notice.

“Up on the forecastle – he just appeared, out of – out of nowhere, sir, he—”

Vega glares at the trembling ship’s boy in the doorway of his cabin, before holding his hand out towards you. Hurriedly, you snap the frizzen back into place to finish reloading his gun, and quickly turn it around to give it back to him stock-first.

“You’re sure.” It’s not a question.

“I swear!” the boy stammers, backing away and nearly tripping over his own boots as Vega stalks towards him, narrowly jerking out of the way in time to avoid accidentally blocking his path. “You said to get you if something strange happened, sir, and he’s – Captain, he’s right there!”

You throw the poor boy a sympathetic look before hurrying out onto the main deck after Vega, a cautious hand on the hilt of your cutlass. You’re not sure what he might mean, but for Vega to be as on edge as this, it must be something serious.

It’s eerily silent on the deck. There’s none of the usual shouts or chatter that you’re used to, no crash of waves against the side of the ship, no cry of seagulls in the great sky above. The faint breeze that weakly fills the sails makes no sound, and even the sound of your boots on the boards seems muffled, somehow.

All around, the crew are frozen as they stare towards the forecastle. The air is thick and heavy with terror as the mist swirls around you, and the clouds seem oddly lower than before. Standing here in the middle of the main deck, it feels as though the storm itself has turned its eyes to watch you.

Captain Vega inclines his head slightly to the side.

And the creature that stands before him, peering curiously across the deck at the two of you, copies him exactly.

You’re here.

It’s a strange, slender figure that regards you both, perplexing in form. Its silhouette is like that of a man, and it speaks like one too, but its voice is something entirely alien – and it moves like water, like thick, viscous oil poured into a man’s shape.

It doesn’t even really speak, per se. No mouth seems to move, and yet its words seem to appear in your head as if you yourself are thinking them, a voice that your mind hears but your ears hear not. What sort of terrible creature is this?

But how? the creature asks, face melting and morphing in what might be confusion. This ship is not the Ecumene. This ship is not the Obscura.

“No, she is not.”

Vega’s voice is remarkably even, despite the way his hand comes to rest on the hilt of his sabre. “Speak not of matters which do not concern me.”

I recognise this ship, the creature intones, buzzing words filling your mind. I recognise you.

“Perhaps.”

You are Vega.

The captain doesn’t flinch. “I am.”

You overstep your bounds.

“There are no bounds that hold me.”

Are you sure?

The creature’s eyes are wide and frightening, something almost childlike dancing in its gaze as it slowly moves closer. Each step makes no sound, and each liquid tremor of its terrible body makes your teeth ache.

Sweet, fine features seem to ripple with the movement of the air, shiny and soft-looking, an unearthly beauty that can’t quite stay still. If you were to touch its face, you think it might be cold.

It seems almost like a kind of spirit, some sprite, a form of life you can’t recognise. For some odd reason, you’re reminded of the stories of the fey folk from your childhood, of fairies and shape-changers and powers so ancient that their names have been forgotten, leaving behind only the memories of the terror they wrought in the early days of the world.

Idly, you realise that the mist seems to part for the strange creature as it walks. Does it control this mist? Does it move at its command? Or does even the mist know not to touch it, for fear of what it might do?

“There is a ship at the centre of this storm.”

There was.

Vega’s glare is sharp and steely, so cold that the very air seems to freeze around him. “I am not such a fool. The ship remains.”

The soft mass of the creature seems to shrug, so casually that it makes you nervous. The ship remains, but what you seek does not. And that is the matter that truly concerns you.

Anyone else wouldn't be able to spot it, but you know your captain well enough to be able to feel the way he tenses slightly, to notice the way he leans forward almost imperceptibly. This… this thing that’s come aboard – it's putting him on edge in a way you've never seen before

“It concerns me, now?”

Moreso than it should.

Vega's eyes narrow. “So you would stand in my way.”

Your way is behind you, replies the creature, voice dripping and snapping with slick venom. It is not time. The prize you seek is not here.

“You misunderstand me.”

He smiles, but his tone is dark and ominous. “Whatever it is you believe I seek, it is of no consequence.”

Do not lie to me.

The creature’s tone hardens in an instant, words cracking like a whip inside your skull. If you want to live, you should leave this place.

“I will leave with what I came for.”

It is not time. It cannot be done.

“Then I will not leave.”

Then you will die.

It happens faster than you can blink. The ringing sound of a blade slicing through air, and in an instant, Vega’s sabre is drawn as he levels it at the creature’s neck. The rattle of guns being cocked sounds across the deck, that familiar flintlock click, and your eyes dart down to find that your cutlass is already drawn and ready in your hand.

The creature doesn't move, quizzically regarding the countless guns being pointed at it from all over the deck, before blinking once more at Vega.

You cannot be here. You will leave, or you will die.

“Words I have heard a thousand times,” Vega hisses, coiled like a spring. “And yet, I find that those who stand against me seem to change their minds rather quickly, when it matters.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something moving – with horror, you realise that the once-still sea is starting to froth and churn around the ship, the deck beginning to rock back and forth. The clouds overhead seem to darken before your eyes, the mist that surrounds you seems to thicken, and the first drops of rain begin to fall.

The creature turns its head slowly, to examine the blade that rests but a fraction of an inch from its neck. Vega doesn’t move, fingers flexing on the hilt of his sabre.

I have given you warning.

“You will give me what I want,” snaps Vega, and your body floods cold with adrenaline. “The wreck of the Weaver lies at the heart of this wretched storm, and its secret is mine.”

The Weaver…

It sounds familiar, somehow, but you can’t quite place it. What does he mean? Is that the name of the ship that's supposed to be here? Is this what he’s been hunting all this time?

There's no time to think about it, though, as the clouds above turn black, letting only a little of the dim, weak sunlight through. The deck sways nauseatingly as sudden waves roll angrily beneath the ship, and a deafening howl splits the air as the wind picks up out of nowhere.

The creature’s body moves sickeningly, like molten wax. You know nothing of that which you seek.

“I know what I am owed.”

It is not time.

The storm clouds seem to breathe. “You dare deny me?”

Leave this place.

“You think your pitiful atte—”

Leave this place, or—

“Enough!”

Vega laughs sharply, a short, manic sound that echoes out across the roiling sea. “I have come for the Weaver, and no man nor beast in all creation shall keep it from me!”

He lifts his chin as the creature bares its teeth at him, and you steel yourself for a fight. Vega’s weight shifts ever so slightly to his front foot, the razor sharpness of his blade catching the light in the fraction of a second before the blow, and—

Then you shall die.

—and you’re reminded of your promise.

How long ago that day seems now.

It happens on every ship, for every crewmember to every captain. A pirate knows one home, and it is the sea. One family, and it is their crew. One oath, and it is their captain’s.

Some of the contract is purely practical, of course. It dictates how many shares of treasure you receive, lays out the chain of command, sets out the rules for the life you'll have at sea – all those ordinary sorts of things. It’s an agreement, plain and simple, to make sure the peace aboard the ship is kept.

It’s not all dry legalese, though. The oath is far, far more than that. And the oath that’s sworn aboard the Carpe Deus, the oath that’s sworn to Captain Vega, is very special indeed.

Swear yourself to me.

The night had been clear and balmy, bright stars in the summer sky above as you stood before him on the quarterdeck. The rest of the crew had stood around to watch as you pulled the dagger from your belt, and slashed a thin, crimson line across your palm, blood pouring down your wrist and painting the deck.

Silhouetted against the brilliant purple of the sky, Vega had done the same, deftly pushing up the sleeve of his captain's coat to grasp your wrist firmly in his cool grip.

You are of my command and my command only, from this day, until your last day.

You’d nodded, the words Ivan had taught you coming easily to hand. I am.

You shall heed my word as your law, at every time and in every matter.

I shall.

His voice had been calm yet stern, oddly soothing in its cadence as he held you fast. You shall hold no secrets from me, of any severity and persuasion.

I shall not.

Your will, your strength, your blood – all are as mine, from this day, until your last day.

It had felt like a prayer. All I am is as yours.

Know me, and be afeared, he’d said, and you’d shivered under the raw intensity of his gaze. To steal from me is death.

You'd shaken your head, defiant iron in your spine. I know no fear.

To disobey me is death.

I know no fear.

To betray me is death.

I know no fear.

Your shared blood, dripping from your clasped hands, soaking into the deck of the Deus and staining the dark wood. It was as if the entire ocean were silent, every eye of every creature turned to watch you devote yourself to Vega.

There can be no power over you, he’d said over the song of the waves, no guiding force or sovereign will that is greater than mine.

I am yours, and yours alone.

Then join me, he’d declared, and you’d felt as though your head was filled with incense, strong and sweet and sacred. From this day until the end of days, be it in armageddon or infinitude.

The crew had cheered at your swearing in, but you'd hardly heard it – all you’d known was the warmth of Vega’s hand in yours, and the dark brilliance of his smile against the stars. He hadn't let go of you, either, his free hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

I hope you know what you’re doing, little sailor, he’d murmured only for the two of you to hear, something wicked in the gleam of his eye. You ought to know that when I say death, I mean death.

You’d simply smiled, and met his gaze with your own. Anything for you, Captain.

The warmth of the night air had been nothing compared to the white-hot thrill that shot through you when he laughed, devious and entirely too charming. As he dismissed the crew with a shout, sending everyone scurrying back to their normal jobs, you think he'd heard the words you didn't say.

No need of fear to keep me by you, your heart had sighed, as light and sweet as air. To be apart from you would be death enough.

What a dream this all has been – what an incredible feeling! To hear your own name added to the myth of the mysterious Deus and its wicked captain, to know that your unwavering loyalty to him is immortalised in every port across the seven seas. To see men shiver at the mere mention of your name, to have your very face strike terror into the hearts of sailors without a single word.

You won’t ever leave him, you couldn’t possibly. How could you, with all you’ve seen – with all you’ve done together? The ocean is rife with stories of your legendary misdeeds, and yet more still are secrets known only to your crew. Countless ships have met their end, countless treasures stolen and sold, countless bodies thrown overboard to watery graves – all at the fair hand of Captain Vega and his faithful quartermaster.

Tales abound of the most terrifying pirate crew to ever set sail, the most feared ship to ever put to sea, the thin veil of horror that masks a vicious, bloodsoaked fairy tale. The sinking of the HMS Warden, the burning ports of the Peony Massacre, the escape from the brig of the Solitaire. It’s dread and death and love, and something more than love, too.

Everything changed, on the day you made that oath. You’ve sworn yourself to Vega a thousand times over, and you would do it a thousand more.

When you think about it now, the memory feels a little odd. Remembering how it felt to look out over the rolling sea, gaze drifting across the horizon as your blood mixed with his, you can’t quite shake the feeling that someone else was watching you, too.

That same feeling crashes down on you now, déjà vu blossoming in the pit of your stomach as the very sky seems to turn its eyes upon the deck of the Carpe Deus. Sick, sicker than you’ve ever felt before, the cruellest poison seems to hold your body fast as Vega makes to slice the creature’s head from its awful body, and—

—crash!

An almighty wave rocks the ship, sending everyone out on the deck flying. Tossed carelessly against the mast, you barely manage to cling on as several of the crew are thrown clear into the ocean below. The waves swallow them entirely, white froth on the black water, and they’re entirely gone in no more than a second.

Above you, the storm clouds finally split, and the few drops of rain turn into a deluge, driving down all around you and rendering you almost entirely blind as the ship keeps swaying back and forth – it feels as though the deck is almost vertical at times, so strongly do the waves hurl the ship from side to side. It’s all you can do to keep yourself anchored to the mast as the wood gets more and more soaked, eyes screwed shut against the furious storm.

Shouts and screams go up across the deck, and you can hear the sounds of carnage below your feet as cargo and cannons alike come loose. The raging wind shrieks past you, trying to rip you away from the mast, but you cling on as hard as you can.

Vega, Vega, you have to hold on. He needs you. You can’t see him, blinded by the terrible storm, but you know he must be there. To your right, one of the topmen latches onto the bannister that leads up to the quarterdeck, holding on for dear life, and you can barely hear his terrified ramblings over the overwhelming crash of waves.

“No, no, no…!”

He’s staring at something behind you on the other side of the deck, but you can’t turn your head to look, pressed against the mast as you are. There’s a brilliant flash of light, then the deafening roar of thunder far too close for comfort, and you realise what he’s – oh, God, you see it, coming over the starboard side – it can’t be, it can’t be—

“Forgive me, forgive me!”

Your captain, your captain. Anything, for him. Anything at all.

“God save us all…”

Even this.

“It’s the Hush!”

The air splits with an otherworldly shriek as something lurches from the water, too fast to really see, and snatches a struggling figure up in its grasp. Salt spray stings your eyes as you stare in horror, and the terrible, towering tentacles of a gigantic sea beast emerge from the black water to descend upon the Deus.

Your mind is numb with panic as you throw yourself backwards across the creaking boards, narrowly twisting out of the way of a huge, dripping tentacle as it smacks against the mast, tearing through the mainsail and sweeping across the deck. Rows of enormous suckers drag along the soaked wood, soft and rubbery, and you’re perversely awestruck by the sheer size of the hideous beast they must belong to.

It can’t be the Hush, can it? It’s a myth, a story to frighten children – a cruel and twisted monster that lives deep beneath the sea, so enormously vast that it swallows ships whole in its horrible maw, so absolutely hellbent on destruction that no man has ever seen it and lived to tell the tale.

Some say it’s like a great kraken, while others claim it’s more like a whale, but for every sailor there’s one thing that’s certain. To lay eyes on the Hush is to know death, plain and swift and simple.

Everything is utter chaos on the deck – you’re deafened by the shouting, the furious waves beating against the side of the ship, the driving rain and the shrieking wind. You can just about make out the vague shapes of the crew, axes and blades and guns being hurriedly passed around, but they’re obscured almost entirely by the awful flailing of tentacles as they rear out of the freezing water to tear the ship asunder.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realise that the strange creature, whatever it was, has vanished. Did it call the beast? Or are they one and the same?

Pistols are as good as worthless in this dreadful storm, powder thoroughly soaked by the torrential rain beating down on you, and your cutlass is next to useless against the thick, slimy skin that protects each tentacle. You’re nothing, you can do nothing against this unknown devil that’s turned its wrath upon you.

“Captain!”

It’s too much, it’s too much! Staggering across the rolling deck, throwing yourself out of the path of the huge, grasping tentacles that threaten to seize you, you’re dizzy with fear as you watch your entire world be strangled by the beast.

The sound of shattering wood, groaning and splintering as it’s crushed by an unyielding grip. Blood splattered all over the deck, the shrieks of your crewmates as limbs are mangled or ripped away entirely by the horrible suckers that line each hideous tentacle, the horrible splash of bodies hitting the water. Cracking, crunching, screeching. The deck lists nauseatingly to one side, and freezing rain turns your fingers numb.

“Vega… Vega, where…”

Lightning strikes the sea with a mighty roar, the world instantly turning white and forcing your eyes closed. Are you saying anything? You can’t tell. All you can hear is death, all around you the ravenous storm.

It’s impossible to walk, so you’re forced to crawl. Soaked to the skin, your sodden clothes weigh you down – half-hysterical, you can’t help but think that you must look like you’ve already drowned. Is it still drowning if it’s rain that chokes you? Never mind, never mind, you’ve got to keep moving.

“Captain…”

There! There, that’s him, isn’t it? Peering through the storm, you can just about see the figure standing by the foremast, almost the only one managing to stay upright against the wind. Surely it’s him – isn’t that the confident silhouette of his coat, and the wicked curve of his sabre? Isn’t that the way he moves, elegantly ducking around the stays as he evades the grasp of the wicked beast?

He’s something else entirely. Your captain – with every step, you can almost hear the heels of his boots on the deck through the endless drumming of the rain, as though even this ungodly storm can’t lay a hand upon him.

You can’t see his face, turned away from you as he is, but you’re not far now. As you scramble clumsily across the deck, all your focus is on reaching him, helping him, fighting with him. If you and what’s left of the crew going to get out of here alive – and you will, you will, you always do – then he’s the only one who can do it.

Whatever he says, you do. Time and time again you’ve killed for him, and you’d die for him too. He’s nothing short of a miracle, the only one you can follow, the only one you can trust. The most important man in the whole wide world, and you couldn’t ever imagine a life without him.

Wickedly intelligent, and brilliantly wicked – Captain Vega has always seemed like more than just a mortal man. Smirking at you over his ale as the late night turns to an early morning, the tavern packed with the Deus’ crew celebrating another successful ransoming. Caked with blood as he pulls his dagger from a poor midshipman’s eye and pivots on his heel to hurl it cleanly into the lieutenant’s heart behind him. Throwing his head back and laughing as the afternoon sun beats down on the quarterdeck and one of the topmen, distracted by a pretty girl on the dock, walks face-first into one of the stays and accidentally drops his lunch overboard.

Your devotion isn’t blind – far from it, in fact. Everywhere you look, he’s there, and you know that it’s only because he lets you see. He’s the dark heart of a dazzling star, and you’ve never blinked, not once.

The crash of a body tumbling past you shakes you from your daze, smashing into the stack of crates that’s tied down in front of you. Reflexively, you throw yourself backwards just in time, cursing through a mouthful of rain. Covered in blood and unmoving, it’s impossible to tell who it is, or even if they’re still alive – so you stumble onwards, and cross your fingers in the vain hope that the unnatural angle of the neck isn’t as bad as it looks.

You don’t get far, though, as the ship tilts sickeningly to your right and forces you off-balance. Something hits the side of your head, or maybe it stays still and it’s you that runs into it, and you’re almost knocked into a jagged hole in the lattice hatch, the top half of you suddenly hanging down over the ruined cargo deck.

Head suddenly full of bubbles, your eyes are too blurry to really see anything down there, but you force your heavy body to try and drag itself away from the ominous drop below. It’s hard, wet fingers slipping on soaked wood, and you wince at the sweet, sharp smell of spilt rum that leaks from the carnage in the hold.

God, what a waste. It’ll have destroyed the stolen shipment of cocoa you were planning on selling in Mont Blanc, along with all the tobacco. Not to mention there’s half a hold’s worth of cotton down there, four crates of silks and twice that of furs…

Your whole body aches, feeling as though every inch is bruised and sore. Perhaps that’s why it takes you a moment to realise, as you heave yourself out of the splintered lattice, that that’s not exactly what spilt rum should smell like.

You can smell the alcohol, to be sure, but there’s something else as well. It shouldn’t be so metallic, so sickly sweet and cloying, should it? There’s something familiar about it, something that reminds you of other voyages, of other storms and other near-misses out at sea. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it almost smells like—

—oh, good God in heaven, its just like—

“Get down!”

Horrified, you shriek the words as loudly as you can as the realisation sinks in. You can’t tell if anyone heeds your call, or if the storm rips it away before anyone even hears it, your heart rattling in your chest as you throw yourself backwards. The foremast in front of you stands tall against the screeching sky as flickers of blue fire seem to appear around it, a hazy lilac glow that bathes the ship in its dim and gloomy light.

It feels like an age, terror holding you fast to the deck like thick, black pitch, staring uselessly at the unearthly flames that crackle around the masthead. For a single moment, you can see everything in all its wicked detail. The darkness of the storm gives way to the torn sails and slashed rigging that sway uselessly from the masts, to the mauled, gore-soaked bodies of your crewmates littering the deck as they lie dead or dying. The tentacles that ensnare the Deus beat ever more furiously at the groaning wood, stretching clear across the deck and beginning to crush the middle of the ship in earnest.

Your teeth ache as the air begins to sing, and through the pouring rain you see the shape of a single figure running towards the prow of the ship, sabre drawn and ready to strike. His hat tumbles from his head as he steps up to the forecastle, long hair falling from its usual ribbon – the creeping shadow of a man-that-is-no-man seems to laugh at that, standing impossibly still atop the bowsprit even as the ship sways and the sea spray crashes into him.

“Captain—!”

It’s not enough. You were never going to be enough. Blue firelight fizzes in the air and sparkles on your frozen tongue, and the dripping, awful tentacle of the beast lurches from the waves to wrap once, twice, three times around Captain Vega’s thrashing form, and rips him messily in half with a slick, wet crunch.

It looks as easy as breathing.

Blood pours down upon the deck, turning the sloshing seawater pink. Skin stretches and frays, muscle untwists and spirals away from itself as insides become outsides, falling wetly on dark wood. The pointed tip of the creature’s tentacle winds about his slack jaw and the back of his skull before wrenching nauseatingly to the side, and your captain’s head hits the floor several seconds before the rest of him follows suit.

A beautifully sharp, pearl-handled sabre clatters to the deck.

You must scream. You must, but you can’t hear it – you can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, as a jagged bolt of lightning slices through the sky and strikes the foremast right in front of you.

The world turns white, and you’re falling.

And falling, and falling…

Perhaps it’s the beast, finally cracking the ship in half, dropping you through the remains of the cargo hold and into the churning froth below. Perhaps it’s the raging gale that sweeps you up, knocking you overboard like nothing more than the soft white seed of a dandelion, floating along on the summer’s breeze. The rain might turn to hail and pelt against your skin with such force that it buries you deep within the core of the sinking ship, or the waves themselves might rise up to steal you away, tugging you down and down into the very stomach of the sea.

Or perhaps it’s none of those at all, this sickening weightlessness in your stomach and the howling torrent of agony in your head. Smashed and splintered wood, sinking down and down through the blue-green water, all that’s left of the beautiful life that you used to have. It falls apart in an instant – there’s just the pain, and the emptiness, and the smoking crater where you used to be.

A distant splash. Salt fills your skull and your mouth and your lungs, filling up all the soft space inside you. Down, down, down. Your ruined eyes burn, but are they open or closed?

He’s gone, he’s gone.

You’re utterly alone.

It’s getting harder to think, but you don’t really want to. Black water gushes into the yawning chasm that seems to split your chest in two, yet it can’t smother the searing pain that wails inside, white-hot and desperate. You don’t struggle or kick, but let yourself be pulled further and further away from the wreckage that surrounds you, tumbling slowly and inevitably to the seabed.

So this is how it ends, then. A fairytale unfinished, a tragedy unknown. An entire ocean’s worth of claret spilt in his name, and this is all you’ve got to show for it. The blasted carnage on the water gets smaller and smaller as your body starts to give in to the unrelenting pressure, and it’s so very, very cold.

You won’t be found. You won’t be missed. The wreck of the Carpe Deus will disappear, and nobody will ever know what happened.

Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

They’ll never know how you failed, they’ll never know how you couldn’t protect the one person who matters – mattered – the most. They won’t know about your broken oath, the shattered promise of a starry summer’s night. Your lovely cutlass will turn to rust, your cherished pistols will warp and fall apart, and you’ll be nothing more than foam on the surface of the sea.

Armageddon or infinitude. Your mind drifts away on the cold current, turning into stone, then into sand, then into nothing at all.

As you fall, you dream.

Soft lilac and bright white, stars peeking through the midday clouds.

Sweet syrup drips from a delicate flower, melting in your warm mouth.

And the call of a distant voice, from far across the waves, that feels like home.

Not so fast, little one.

I’m not finished with you just yet.

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

series masterlist

main masterlist