#causing chaos and bringing certain peoples to justice all over the world

[little-pondhead]

Some fic because I love your au, Fenton is gender brainrot, and little baby dan cracks me up. Full disclosure, my only familiarity with DC is DP crossover fanfic, and a Batman movie I fell asleep during. (If I had a better grasp on the characters I would totally write more :(( i love interactions) also sorry for the weird spacing. Idk why tumblr did that

~~~~~~~~

There was an empty cardboard box on the table of the Justice League’s main conference room. Taped on the top flap, next to a doodle of Fenton’s logo, was a jump drive.

Heaving a sigh, Batman plugged it in and pulled up his screen on the projector. The drive, which was named “little baby dan’s evil playtime”, contained two files; WATCH_ME_FIRST.mp4 and its-a-secreeeet.pdf. He clicked on the video file, and immediately the projector filled with a blurry close-up of Fenton’s goggles.

After a moment of fiddling with the camera, Fenton stepped back, giving a cheery wave. His lab coat and goggles were a pastel pink, which was new. “Heeeeya, Bats! Whoever else is there! If you’re watching this, you probably weren’t there when I dropped the box off, aaand it’s probably empty.”

He clapped his hands together gleefully. “And Connie, if you’re there, this is payback for cussing around my daughter.” Batman was instantly relieved that Constantine wasn’t on base. Hopefully the situation wouldn’t require Constantine’s expertise. (Or any of the Justice League Dark. Fenton seemed determined to drive them all to an early grave with his casual refusal to acknowledge the supernatural air around him.)

“Now, as you’re all heroes, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the whole,” Fenton paused for a moment, as if searching for the proper words. “”You ate a burger on a Tuesday or something equally inane, and it kickstarted a series of events that led to you going insane and evil and murdering 95% of the Earth’s population and now you must fight your evil alternate self, because your time-controlling cryptid Peepaw said so,” shtick, so I’ll skip the backstory. Say hi to Dan!” Fenton grabbed the camera, and Batman quickly jotted down several notes about the concerning number of things the boy had just said.

The camera swiveled around to show Nightingale, holding a strange beast in a manner that reminded Batman of an “elongated cat meme” Nightwing had shown him when he was still a Robin. The creature bared a maw full of razor sharp fangs at the camera. Nightingale adjusted her grip to hold the creature’s paw and make it wave, which evoked a deep growl.

“Haha, he’d kill me if I did that. Dan likes Nightingale much more than he likes me.”

“Because the worst she has ever done is attempt to shoot me.”

The camera had moved, so Batman couldn’t visually confirm that the deep voice had come from the creature, but the voice didn’t match any of Fenton’s previously revealed companions. “Yeah yeah, her aim sucked back then.” Fenton gave the camera a toothy grin that was only slightly less unnerving than the creature’s. “Dan’s not technically me, he’s much more like Dani, actually, but the world would probably end again if we left him with his other... What did you call him?” Fenton glanced offscreen.

“Bane of my accursed existence.”

Fenton chucked. “The other half responsible for his existence.” Batman added more notes to his file. “So, yeah, Clocky left him with us for a bit to help along his rehab. But a certain psychologist-in-training I know says that repressing rage isn’t healthy, and even without a lot of his powers, he can wipe out most of a city in- what, an hour? We tested it. It was around an hour.”

Everyone present shared a look of deep concern. As if able to see their reaction, Fenton quickly held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t worry! Clocky reset it. Approximately zero people have died from Dan in this timeline.”

“Yet.” Came a furious rumble from off-screen.

“Yes, you’re very scary.” They heard Nightingale coo.

Fenton laughed. “Yeah, we need him- and all of you, -out of our hair for a bit while we concoct more evil plans, and you’re all the least likely to die to him, so you get to babysit! Thanks!”

He reached to shut off the camera before pausing and turning away. “Foley! Which of the furries is the one who really likes animals?”

“Man, do you realize how that sounds out of context?” Foley laughed. “I think Tim said it’s the little one. Damian?”

Fenton nodded and turned back to the camera. “Don’t let Damian try to adopt Dan. Or anyone. Dan will bite their hands off. I mean it!” To emphasize his point, he removed one of his hands.

Batman sighed and added “ability to remove limbs” to a list of Fenton’s powers.

“I’ll include a list of “tasks”” Fenton’s disembodied hand made finger quotes, “we gave Dan to keep him occupied. There’s some at the bottom for you guys. They’re mostly just blatant abuse of his powers for the sake of fun and science. I’d appreciate it if you’d let him mark things off the list and add notes on how it goes. Or you can do it. Or I can steal your cameras. Your choice.”

He thought for a second. “I think you’re supposed to leave, like, pizza money or something, but I don’t think you can get pizza delivered to space. Anyway, thanks for letting me blab your ears off while Dan’s probably committing war crimes for twelve minutes. For your sake, I hope he inherited my interest in space. Good luck! Thanks for babysitting!”

Waving with his still detached hand, Fenton ended the video. Batman closed it and opened the PDF as the few other members present murmured amongst themselves. Most of the pages were filled with a curling script Batman didn’t recognize. The fourth page had a huge, bolded header, reading JP TASKS.

The door opened and shut in half a second as the Flash burst in. “Superman!” The speedster wailed. “I can’t get this thing off of me!”

The Flash waved his arm around, sending small droplets of blood flying as he tried to dislodge the creature sinking his teeth into the speedster’s arm. Batman raised an eyebrow beneath his cowl as Superman quickly lent his super strength in attempt to pry the creature’s jaw open. Dan didn’t budge.

Well, he could certainly see the family resemblance been Fenton, Dani, and Dan. Shaking his head, he turned back to the list.

Task 1: Find Dan. He’s probably attacking someone.

He highlighted the text and crossed it out. This was going to be a long shift.

[Anon, this is me crying over the wonderful gift you have given me. You bastard.]

---

"Do you think Fenton's regeneration powers extend to his..." Green Lantern frowned, trying to remember the word the kid had used but coming up blank. "I dunno. But do you think if we cut off little Dan here, he'll heal back up with no problem?" He gestured helplessly to the scene in front of him. Flash was still screeching about the beast on his arm, and now Superman and Wonder Woman were trying to pry him off. Batman was standing to the side, silently bemoaning the lack of quiet. He just wanted one peaceful shift. Just one. Please.

"I'd like to see you try, hero. And I'm not little." Dan spoke, startling all of them. His grip on Flash's arm tightened, making the speedster squeal before releasing the man and spitting out a mouthful of his blood. Batman noticed that his mouth didn't move despite the clearly spoken words. In fact, when Dan closed his mouth, it was like he didn't have one at all.

"So you do speak!" Superman marveled.

"Of course I do. I am not unintelligent, unlike you lot."

Despite his pain, Flash still made sounds of protest that everyone promptly ignored.

Superman flushed. "I just wasn't sure. It was hard to tell in the video."

"Ah, yes. The video that the Fenton menace sent you. Was there a note for me in the flash drive?"

"Uh, no." In one of his less finer moments, Green Lantern stuttered over his words and moved in front of Batman, obviously lying. Dan merely growled and flew through both men, heading straight for the giant monitor. Batman barely suppressed a shiver. Density shifting? Might as well add it to the list. He could see Martian Manhunter, who was in the back of the room, tilt his head at the display.

Dan ignored the room as he used his entire body to manipulate the computer mouse and scrolled back up to the top of the page. Staring intently at the scribbles no one could make out, the heroes could do nothing but shoot each other nervous and confused glances. More than a few of them jumped when Dan chuckled deeply. Honestly, his tiny body was at complete odds with his baritone voice.

"Maybe rehab will be fun if he's letting me do this." Dan sneered, flashing their reflections a sharp fang. No one wanted to ask what exactly he was in rehab for. The little beast turned his gaze to Batman. "You are the one called Batman, who rules the cursed city, correct?" The dark hero nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. "Excellent. You will be my chaperone for now, just as Fenton decreed it. Good luck, mortal man. Pray, I do not destroy your home a second time."

Without any time to unpack that conversation, Dan promptly disappeared from view. Some blinking text caught his attention, and Batman scrolled back down to the English text, glancing at the next few items on the list.

Task 2: Do not let Dan read his portion of this letter until you have a way to track him. There is no containing him.

Task 3: Keep him with a chaperone at all times. (If you can)

Task 4: Do not let Dan back into Gotham unless you're fine with a sudden decrease in the clown population.

Task 5: Take him for a walk in Death Valley. He likes hunting lizards.

Task 6: Make sure he goes down for his 2pm nap every day.

Task 7: He'll ask for it, but do not give him any burgers for mealtime. It upsets his stomach.

Task 8: Dan gets ONE(1) sweet after dinner before brushing his teeth. Those green pop rocks Batman always carries will do fine; he likes those. :)

A sudden alarm blared from his wristwatch, making Batman tear his eyes away from the screen, indicating an emergency at Arkham. This time, Batman actually sighed out loud. There was more to the list, but right now, he really needed to find their new charge before he killed the Joker, from the sound of it.

[alitheakorogane]

This is an interesting thought suddenly popped up while listening to some music recently...

The seven Gnoses were actually created from seven fragments of the Divine Creator's soul after they had disappeared from the face of Teyvat a long time ago.

These seven powerful fragments, each containing different elemental energy, turned into beautiful chesspiece-shaped sources of power that were then given by Celestia to the seven victors who won the Archon War, who became the Main Seven.

It was said that once someone combines all the gnoses and wields them at the same time, it will summon the Divine Creator back to rule Teyvat and Celestia, and to bring peace over the land.

Flash forward to the present, the Tsaritsa was actually collecting all the Gnoses to summon the Divine Creator in order to avenge Khaenri'ah and break their curse cast by Celestia as a punishment, by taking the Gnoses away from her fellow Archons, whether by diplomacy or by force.

When she finally completed them, she summoned the legendary deity. At the same time as she summoned the Creator using the Gnoses, bright gold and purple meteors were suddenly seen on the skies of Teyvat, brightening the night sky and the Visions of the Vision Holders. Tsaritsa was confused when they never showed up as soon as she summoned them using the Seven Gnoses, so she brings her Harbingers and the Fatui to find you, bring you to Snezhnaya, and protect them at all costs.

Meanwhile, people were talking about the mysterious event for days, and the six remaining Archons knew why this event had been happening. It's been prophesized in the ancient texts, after all.

It's time for the Divine Creator of Teyvat to claim their only right to the throne.

Under all this chaos, they had never noticed that a certain glowing golden meteor landed somewhere in the city of Mondstadt and you were there, now groggily awake in your regular hoodie and pants ensemble, with a Vision-like thing on hanging on your hip and glows like a primogem.

Unfortunately, the cruel gods now presiding Celestia know that you were summoned and fearing that they will lose their hold to the power that were supposed to be rightfully claimed by the Creator, they decided to manipulate the people of Teyvat into hunting the "imposter" for exchange of huge power and a chance to become a god given by Celestia.

Of course, people would definitely take the bait and proceed to hunt the "imposter" out of greed or justice, ranging from normal NPCs to the defeated and weakened gods in the Archon War who had allegedly participated in Celestia's bait so they could have Celestia's approval and take revenge against the Seven.

Whatever their reasons, it's still going to be dangerous to the young player who was now trying to survive while traversing the land of Teyvat with crazed people chasing the ends of the world to find you, not knowing that the player was the actual Creator.

The Seven Archons knew about Celestia's plan to eliminate you and vowed to protect the Creator, but they had to be subtle or they would risk themselves and their nations to the wrath of Celestia. The hope in their hearts know that they would find you so they could help you take down Celestia and take your place on the throne, so they subtly helped you whenever you stepped into their nations.

-----

And you will ask, "What about the twins, Paimon, and the Abyss?"

Well for the Abyss, it depends. It's a good opportunity to take the offer of Celestia so they could force the gods above to remove the curse, but their hatred and distrust for the sky kingdom above for the destruction of their homeland were greater than any rewards they will receive from the wretched gods.

Besides if they could find you first, they could convince you to join them and their plan for their cause. They may not worship this Divine Creator too much like Teyvat has (of course, they're from a godless nation) but they will do everything to avenge the fallen city of Khaenri'ah and possibly try to rebuild the city through your guidance and power.

The twins are a different story.

The Traveler knew you were the Creator because they had a deep connection to you, but may still stick to their original intentions. They will seek you partially to ask questions about their siblings' whereabouts and the truth of this world. Because you're an important asset to Teyvat, they will do their best to protect you because it's the right thing to do, not because they worship you. After all, you're a person in need of help to their eyes, even though you're technically a god now.

Paimon would definitely be suspicious of you but she will still do anything to get along with you. When you asked her though, she just doesn't know why she felt that way unto you. Whether this Paimon would be a traitor or a real ally is still the question, you never knew.

The Abyss Twin would definitely seek you, for you as a key to their cause, they thought your presence and hidden powers would make the "Loom of Fate" operation work successfully without anyone stopping the Abyss from doing it. All they need is to befriend and convince you to join their cause and agree with their plans. Unfortunately for them, you need too much convincing.

[caetargaryen]

INTRODUCTION TO THE FAITH OF OLD VALYRIA: THE GODS 

there were many major and minor gods worshipped in valyria, all of whom served a different purpose. these gods were believed to live within the largest volcano in valyria. they all had jobs to do, lessons to teach the people who believed in them. it is the gods who gave the valyrians there strength, and the gods who took it all away in the end.

many myths surrounding these gods are used to explain certain phenomena in nature, or events that have occurred in history. it was said that these gods are the ones who introduced the valyrians to the magic that brought the dragons into the world. the gods are also the cause of the doom.

BIG THREE

vhagar – goddess of war and chaos

the people of old valyria would pray to this goddess for good luck before going into war, asking for her blessing. shields of these valyrian soldiers would bear heraldry of her image.

vhagar was described as a large, muscular woman. her hair was braided away from her face (hence why many targaryens do this now) and was long and bright, shining silver. even more so than the valyrians themselves. her eyes were depicted as a bright red and it was said that flames danced in her irises. she rode a dragon and carried a great sword. she was always wearing intricate armor, ready to strike at any moment.

balerion – god of justice and wisdom

balerion was a deity to be prayed to when seeking guidance in moral, political criminal dilemmas. valyrians would often seek visions in the flames or in the form of dragon dreams, hoping that the great balerion would bring them clarity in times of uncertainty.

balerion was described as a man with hair as black as night and eyes of molten gold. he wore a tunic with gold detailing that was said to shimmer. he wielded a large spear with the ability to penetrate any material or surface.

was married to meraxes & syrax.

meraxes – goddess of fertility & divine femininity

meraxes was regarded as the protector of women. noblewomen and lowborn (and even slaves) alike all prayed to her in times of strife. despite her kind nature, she was known as a vengeful goddess. the women of valyria believed in her fully, as it always seemed that misfortune would come upon those who these women prayed for protection from.

midwives would pray over women in childbirth to her, asking meraxes to bless them with a complication-free birth.

she was depicted as a beautiful, full-figured woman with hair like honey, that drops down to the floor. her eyes were ocean blue and comforting. she mostly wore a kind smile but the most haunting of scowls when displeased.

was married to both balerion & syrax.

                                                                   ~~~

arrax – god of foresight and dreamers

this god was associated with ‘dragon dreamers.’ though not always, some dreamers claimed to be visited by him specifucally when receiving their premonitions.

several temples were scattered across valyria in dedication to this god. dreamers would often dedicate themselves fully to his service and lived in the temples.

he was depicted as slender and handsome man, not at all intimidating in his appearance. his hair was wavy and shoulder length and soft brown, with hazel eyes.

syrax – goddess of love & beauty

this goddess was prayed to in hopes of catching the eye of their beloved.

valyrian wedding ceremonies would often include the couple praying to syrax for a long and healthy marriage.

the tradition of valyrian women bathing in blood came from this goddess, as it was said that this ritual dictated by syrax would enhance and prolong a woman’s beauty.

depicted as having soft brown hair with jade green eyes. tall and slender, and always known to be wearing shades of soft pink.

was married to meraxes & balerion.

meleys – goddess of magic

the valyrian practice of blood magic ties back to this goddess. the legend is that centuries ago, she was the one to demonstrate this practice with ancient valyrians. she warned them that this great power would always come with a price.

it is also believed she is tied to the birth of the dragons.

meleys was depicted as a woman with jet black hair and silvery eyes, much like the moon. her fingertips were always stained red due to her extensive use of blood magic. she always wore dark eye makeup and dark lip stain.

caraxes – god of vengeance

this god is believed to be tied to the doom itself. as the name suggests, he is a vengeful deity who prays on vulnerable, angry souls. he whispers into the ears of those in this state, daring them to act on their dark thoughts.

caraxes caused the doom. it is possible that daenys the dreamer saw glimpses of him in her visions.

he was depicted as a tall man, much taller than any human. he never softened his appearance when appearing to humans, as other gods sometimes did. he had long dark hair that included several intricate braids and a beard.

tessarion – goddess of the seas

while the gods lived within the volcano, tessarion was believed to have spent most of her time in the water. seafarers would claim to catch glimpses of her on the water, particularly during storms.

she is a whimsical goddess, seemingly carefree. it is alleged that she had several affairs with humans back in ancient times, resulting in legends of demigods. these demigods then spawned legends of powerful swimmers and excellent captains of ships.

she is depicted in light, sheer robes. she has long, wild red hair and bright blue eyes. her skin is sunkissed due to her spending so much time outside and freckles are dusted across her face.

morghul – god of death

this god was believed to appear to valyrians when their time is up, guiding them to the afterlife. he was mostly peaceful and brought about him a calming presence. however when humans would try to argue with him, is when his appearance would change. they would then be forcibly dragged into death.

morghul would follow the orders of vermithor, god of judgement. some myths say morghul was the son of vermithor.

he was depicted as a slender, shirtless man. though he appeared in a human-like way, he had black wings on his back– much like dragon wings. he had shaggy black hair and bright green eyes.

vermithor – god of judgment

he worked closely with morghul and would participate in the judgment of a person’s character when their time was up. it was vermithor who would decide where people would go into the afterlife, whether it was a paradise or hell. vermithor would make his judgment and pass it along to morghul.

temples across valyria were dedicated to him, where the people would pray for their loved ones. those who were also considered to be bad in life, would pray in hopes of receiving mercy from vermithor’s judgment.

he was depicted as a muscular man with short brown hair and yellow eyes. he could conjure fire at will and would stare into the flames in his palm to view the lives of those who are dying.

terrax – god of the moon

this deity was said to literally control the moon, its cycles and the effects it had on the earth– such as tides and some even believed it played a part in women’s cycles. terrax was responsible for bringing the moon up every day and back down by morning.

in the beginning, it is said that the brief moment where the god of the moon saw the goddess of the sun, he was instantly in love. when it became apparent that they were destined to only see each other in fleeting moments, the god grew melancholy.

one myth says that in ancient times, the people of valyria did not see the moon for a full month as terrax was too depressed to do his duties.

he was depicted as a handsome man with a typical valyrian look, silver hair and but grey eyes. he was tall and slender and often shirtless.

vermax – goddess of the sun

as an antithesis to terrax, vermax was responsible for the sun– it rising and setting each day. she would control eclipses and they would also serve as brief moments where she would get to see her lover.

she was instantly in love with terrax. however, vermax was a more enduring spirit. though she was sad she could not have extensive time with terrax, she would cherish the moments they did have rather than fall into melancholy as he did.

when terrax gave up on his duties, vermax felt responsible for setting things right. it said all of earth went completely dark for a full hour as she abandoned her duties to console terrax. she reminded him of the important role they play, told him that she loved him and she needs him to persevere as she has. from that day on, no such event has happened. however, this was the beginning of eclipses, so the two would get just a little more time together.

she was depicted as a woman with sunkissed skin and hair as bright as gold. her eyes are also an inviting shade of gold and she wears gold robes.

shrykos – god of the seasons & weather

this god was responsible for the changing of the seasons. the reason that seasons go on for years at a time is because shrykos is known to slack off in favor of engaging in various vices– going to taverns, gambling, etc. he was often present amongst humans and supposedly fathered many demigods.

because he also controls the weather, this would reflect his mood. it would storm when he’s angry, rain when he’s sad, clear skies when he is content/happy.

he was scolded by balerion and therefore was seen less and less among humans as time went on.

he was depicted as a charming man with a bright smile. his hair was silver and long, with deep purple eyes in an effort to blend in amongst the valyrians.

tyraxes – god of fire

son of the goddess meleys, as fire is intrinsically intertwined with magic.

he gifted fire to the valyrians and breathed this magic into their dragons as well.

known to be somewhat of a mischievous god. he would sneak about rituals, playing with the flames by raising them or putting them out all together. he would do the same with fires in the homes of the people. valyrians would only catch him in fleeting glances though.

this playfulness got him scolded by his mother meleys.

he was often depicted as having long, dark hair and eyes like a sunset. he was almost always wearing a cloak and was impossibly fast.

[mariacallous]

Mia Mottley, prime minister of Barbados, has criticised industrialised nations for failing the developing world on the climate crisis, in a blistering attack at the Cop27 UN climate talks.

She said the prosperity – and high carbon emissions – of the rich world had been achieved at the expense of the poor in times past, and now the poor were being forced to pay again, as victims of climate breakdown that they did not cause.

“We were the ones whose blood, sweat and tears financed the industrial revolution,” she said. “Are we now to face double jeopardy by having to pay the cost as a result of those greenhouse gases from the industrial revolution? That is fundamentally unfair.”

She warned of a billion climate refugees around the world by the middle of the century if governments failed to tackle the climate crisis.

One of the biggest issues at the talks is climate justice – the fact that poor people are bearing the brunt of the damage to the climate, in the form of extreme weather, while rich countries have failed to live up to their promises to cut emissions and to provide finance to help the poor with climate breakdown.

Mottley, who was speaking at an event organised by Scotland’s first minister, Nicola Sturgeon, was scathing about the World Bank, which many countries think has not done enough to focus on the climate, and on countries that offer loans instead of grants.

“We need to have a different approach, to allow grant-funded reconstruction grants going forward, in those countries that suffer from disaster. Unless that happens, we are going to see an increase in climate refugees. We know that by 2050, the world’s 21 million climate refugees today will become 1 billion.”

Mottley is working with the French president, Emmanuel Macron, on an initiative to provide new means of finance to the developing world.

Macron used his speech to the Cop27 conference to insist that the war in Ukraine would not cause France to backslide on commitments to tackle the climate crisis.

More than 100 world leaders attended the conference on Monday, greeted by António Guterres, the UN secretary-general, warning that the world was on a “highway to hell”. He called on rich and poor governments to make a “historic pact” to help each other through the climate crisis, instead of being at loggerheads.

“We are in the fight of our lives and we are losing … And our planet is fast approaching tipping points that will make climate chaos irreversible.

“We are on a highway to climate hell with our foot on the accelerator.”

He said the world faced a stark choice over the next fortnight of talks: either developed and developing countries working together to make a “historic pact” that would reduce greenhouse gas emissions and set the world on a low-carbon path – or failure, which would bring climate breakdown and catastrophe.

“We can sign a climate solidarity pact, or a collective suicide pact,” he added.

He said the world had the tools it needed to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, in clean energy and low-carbon technology.

“A window of opportunity remains open, but only a narrow shaft of light remains,” he said. “The global climate fight will be won or lost in this crucial decade – on our watch. One thing is certain: those that give up are sure to lose.”

Abdel Fatah al-Sisi, the president of Egypt, said in his opening address to the summit that poor and vulnerable people around the world were already experiencing the effects of extreme weather. “The intensity and frequency of climate disasters have never been higher, in all four corners of the world, bringing wave after wave of suffering for billions of people. Is it not high time today to put an end to this suffering?”

Elsewhere at the conference, Boris Johnson, the former UK prime minister, said he embodied “the spirit of Glasgow”, referring to the Cop26 conference hosted by the UK last year that produced an agreement to limit global temperatures to 1.5C.

Rishi Sunak, the current UK prime minister, refused to answer a question from the Guardian on whether the £11.6bn of UK overseas aid earmarked for climate finance in developing countries would be spent within the five-year timeframe originally promised. Some fear that he could try to reduce the budget by stretching the spending over a longer period.

Sunak also announced the extension of a global initiative to reverse deforestation by 2030, originally set up at the Cop26 summit in Glasgow.

However, last night the Telegraph reported that Sunak is poised to announce a major gas deal with the US after Cop27, with talks about an “energy security partnership” in their final stages. The US is reportedly planning to sell billions of cubic metres of liquefied natural gas to Britain over the coming year.

Cop27 is likely to be a fraught and difficult fortnight of negotiations. Countries are meeting in the shadow of the war in Ukraine, a worldwide energy and cost of living crisis, and rising global tensions.

The talks got off to a slow start, with negotiators spending more than 40 hours over the weekend wrangling over what would be on the agenda. In the end, it was agreed that the vexed issue of “loss and damage”, which refers to the worst impacts of the climate crisis that are too severe for countries to adapt to – would be discussed.

Poor countries suffering loss and damage want a financial mechanism that will give them access to funding when disasters such as hurricanes, floods and droughts strike, destroying their infrastructure and tearing apart their social fabric.

It is not likely that these talks will provide a final settlement on loss and damage, but countries are hoping for progress on ways of raising and disbursing finance.

Nabeel Munir, chief negotiator for the G77 plus China negotiating block, said loss and damage was one of the principal demands for almost all developing and climate vulnerable nations.

“This is the beginning of what will be a slow and painful process, for developed and developing countries, and it wasn’t easy to get it on the agenda, but it’s there and it’s a beginning, and we wanted that to happen at a Cop hosted by a developing country,” Munir said. “It’s a big achievement that the other side is beginning to accept that what we’re saying is fair. Loss and damage is not charity, it’s climate justice.”

At most UN climate summits, activists and protesters play a key role. However, Egypt clamps down on dissent and its jails are full of political prisoners. Sisi’s government has promised that climate activist voices will be heard, but their activities have been curtailed, with protesters kept at a separate site and required to register in advance to be granted permission for even minor demonstrations.

[aiwithhamza]

5 signs before the end of world (Islamically)

In Islam, the end of the world, or the Day of Judgment (Yawm al-Qiyamah), is a significant event. Various signs, both minor and major, are believed to precede it. Among these, certain signs are considered particularly crucial. Here are the top 5 signs of the end of the world according to Islamic teachings.

1. Appearance of the Dajjal (Antichrist):

Description: The Dajjal is a false messiah who will appear and deceive many people. He will perform miracles and claim to be divine.

Significance: His arrival will be one of the greatest trials for humanity. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) described him as blind in one eye, with the other eye looking like a bulging grape (Sahih al-Bukhari).

2. The Return of Isa (Jesus) ibn Maryam:

Description: Isa (AS) will descend from the heavens to defeat the Dajjal and restore justice.

Significance: His return is seen as a sign of hope and the final victory of truth over falsehood. He will break the cross, kill the swine, and abolish the jizya (tax on non-Muslims).

3. The Emergence of Ya’juj and Ma’juj (Gog and Magog):

Description: These are two corrupt nations that will spread chaos and destruction across the earth.

Significance: Their release will bring great turmoil, and they will be so numerous that their presence will be overwhelming (Sahih Muslim).

4. The Rising of the Sun from the West:

Description: One of the most striking signs is the sun rising from the west instead of the east.

Significance: This event will be a major sign of the end times, after which no repentance will be accepted (Sahih al-Bukhari).

5. The Smoke (Dukhan):

Description: A thick smoke will cover the earth for 40 days, causing widespread suffering.

Significance: This smoke is mentioned in the Quran (Surah Ad-Dukhan) and will be a clear indication of the approaching Day of Judgment.

Conclusion:

These top 5 signs of the end of the world — the appearance of the Dajjal, the return of Isa (Jesus) ibn Maryam, the emergence of Ya’juj and Ma’juj, the rising of the sun from the west, and the smoke — are major events that signal the final days. Understanding these signs helps Muslims prepare spiritually for the afterlife and remain steadfast in their faith. The Day of Judgment is a central concept in Islam, reminding believers of the transient nature of this world and the importance of living a righteous life in preparation for the hereafter.

If you liked this blog, Consider joining Online Islamic Institute We have the best Courses for all ages and also at a very minimum price

[greenteaanon]

Diviner Reader/ Tarot Reading Reader

In Genshin Impact SAGAU

Both Fluff and Imposter AU

A/N: Was in a middle of Tarot Reading for myself when I Thought of this haha....

A little fun fact about me I can read Tarot that's all.

Warnings: The Usual Imposter Sagau Stuff a shit ton of fluff is you squint

Fluff AU:

You burst in Mona's apartment with food and some cards in hand. "Mona! Mona! I have some food C'mon let's eat!"

"Y—your grace I didn't expect you—and for you to bring food, I—i should've predicted this, Please, come in" Mona stammered out. "Nahh it's Alright Come on let's sit" you went in after Mona opened the door wide open. You sat down at the clean table Mona has. Mona Shyly sat down and kept fidgeting. "Hey!...It's ok you don't need to act so formal around me" you assured her.

Mona just nodded and said "Y-yes of course, thank you for Bringing me food" you just smiled sweetly and pulled up your satchel up and put out a deck of cards. "Hey How would It feel if we taught eachother Divination, I'll teach you Tarot and maybe you can teach me Astrology?"

"W-wait really!?" Mona Gasped at your request. You nodded at her and beamed. You now spent like the next 3 hours learning astrology while Mona learns about Tarot.

Imposter AU:

In this Teyvat, Tarot was considered a divine thing and cannot not be used by anyone. Anyways you woke up in teyvat people hunted you down for being an imposter..now here you are in dragonspine reminiscing about why you? Why were you being treated like this? Clutching your small satchel you felt a familiar rectangular shape of a box you took it out to see your tarot deck.

You wanted to cry more. You decided to do a 3 card pull. You shuffled your cards. Then Cut the deck. Cut the deck again. The sound of cards flushing against each other was comforting. Then a card fell to the ground. The Tower, Upright...you felt your face turn pale...

Words flashes in your head quickly as it came 'Chaos, Ruin, Unwanted Changed, Violence'. It's Not like you didn't know you continued cutting the deck. Two cards fell. The page of swords and 10 of swords reversed. You wanted to cry.

You put it all together "The Tower: Chaos and Violence, The Page of Swords: Prying Eyes and Truth, The Ten of Swords reversed: Forgiveness......" You said it out loud then stared at the cards for a moment and mumbled "Haha....please be real...for once I'm wishing the prediction is correct"

Moving on with your misrable day measuring the time with a trick you found on how to figure out the time without a clock. It was a little over 4 in the afternoon. Time passed as you searched for food. You sighed heavily, you were in Wolvendom now trying to find Berries to eat when you thought to pull another card. Sounds good doesn't it..right?..right.

You sat down on the grass placing the wolfhook berries right next to you. You took out your card deck and shuffled and cut it like you always do. Being indecisive of choosing what card to pick you just continued to cut the deck till a card fell out— right on cue the card fell out. Justice Up right, You sat there thinking about what it means. "Cause and Effect, Win-win, solutions, the truth comes out" you mumbled about you kept repeating it till your intuition fell on The Truth comes out.

"the truth comes out...the truth comes out..oh come on not again..what do you mean???" You Spoke to the tarot deck fully knowing it won't reply verbally. Annoyed you placed the card on your lap and decided to pull another one. "The Moon Reversed...the moon reversed...wait..That's the same meaning??? Truth is revealed" you huffed in annoyance as you picked up your cards and berries. You put the berries in your bag and put the tarot deck back in its box and carried it on your hands.

"Your Grace Wait!" A Certain Bard Shouted. You Panicked and Ran to Dragonspine. It seems that Venti's shouts caught the attention of Multitudes of people...Welp yer fucked.

You ran and Hid in a cave. Hearing the heavy footsteps of everyone run by, you sighed. The world of Teyvat was so cruel you just want to rest

"H-hey? Y-your grace, I-im very sorry" The Wind Borne Bard Found you and sat next to you. "Don't be, I'm Sorry' for what ever I did" you apologized back even tho you had nothing to apologize for. He hugged you "You Have nothing to be sorry for, it was Our Mistake"

[dear-yandere]

[ spirit blossoms ]

yandere! thresh, yone, yasuo x reader. scenarios, spirit blossom au.

› art credits: nicolenazooie, 16395606 ,7675856.

what a pretty little catch you are, a wildflower amidst souls equally as tempting. he loves all his children equally, but even thresh isn’t immune to... obsession. your unusual presence in the spirit realm is enough to peak his interest and stoke his obsession — though he much prefers to call it a ‘parental love’ rather than such an unsightly word. but, it isn’t until he has you in his grip that possessiveness and manipulativeness take over. coming off as the ever-protective and benevolent Father of lost souls he masquerades as, it’s hard to think otherwise of his actions for his words are sugary and his presence welcoming.

he is death itself, and death does not discriminate.

surrounded by countless spirits — his own children, blossoming with unseen potential — and yet, he’s only ever tasted the bitter ache of loneliness. it is a constant in his life, a truth he’s come to hold close to his heart. home is where the heart is, and his is but a facade crafted from lost souls and a sense of family that isn’t quite... fulfilling.

until he met you.

you managed to win his heart. an ancient demon in all his right, enamored by the doe-eyed gaze of a lost human on soil they do not belong. his heart beckons to you, yearns for you — he wants to cherish you, to watch you bloom in his hands like a flower that would put spirit blossoms to shame; he wants to taste the power and warmth, that will bring. to know that you are sorely and wholly his, to know that you met him of all kanmei and akana, to know that you chose him.

"do not fear me. i am but a servant of the natural order that guides us all."

as an akana, he takes great pride in his work, delighting in the torment of flawed spirits. to him, they are blossoming with potential, flower buds crying out for attention. his attention. it wouldn’t be fair to favor you over the rest of his sweet little children — he wouldn’t be a good Father, now would he? but he is ancient, and you... you are human. a species so flawed, so selfish, and yet you helped him retrieve his lantern. he misjudged you, truthfully; he thought of you as someone who needed to be molded against his claws, remade into something more beautiful. 

all you made him realize is that even he is flawed.

"those privy to my secrets? they are safe with me now."

as benevolent and well-meaning as he seems, he is a harbinger of chaos and torture wrapped in the pretty facade that seems to tempt human souls so. humans believe whatever is most convenient for their own prejudices, after all; to have him appear before them, a demon in appearance but a light of hope in pretense, any human would fall prey to what he has to offer. eternal salvation, so long as your soul is in his possession. tempting are his words, for humans are so easily swayed from their path to salvation in the afterlife, until all that accompanies them are their own memories. to be haunted by memories of your past life — all your good deeds, all your bad actions... is that not true suffering?

perhaps not. not for him. not with you by his side, not with you in his possession. you’re his favorite pet, darling, just be a good girl /boy and don’t tell his other children. jealousy has no place in this family, not when every soul belongs to him. you are an exception in only one regard: you belong with him.

"a human, neither dead nor alive, surrounded by endless hoards of spirits alike. that, is a tragedy i do adore. but do not fret, my dear, for in death, you are safest with me."

he is undeserving of love. 

of all the truths yone has been forced to witness as a warlord, he has never once questioned this. the war he wrought, the battles he led, have only resulted in one thing in the end: death. death, carnage, blood, and... loss. he has watched countless weep over the bodies of the men he’s slain without thought, and he knows then that love has abandoned monsters like him.

love is out of reach.

renowned for his adherence to honor and duty, he is strict in his ways. the moment he saw you caused a stir in his spirit, a dull ache against his soul. your existence is implausible, impossible; you do not belong here. you... you are human, and all he has ever done is kill humans. he is no different than the obsessive and oft cruel akana, and yet he is a kanmei, beloved by all spirits. he does not deserve such reverence, he does not deserve to guide you. you are better off away from him. his sword, he once thought, was a guardian, a protector of humans.

he will only hurt you.

"a festival of flowers to remember those lost... i think i'd rather be forgotten."

humans are such fickle creatures, selfish and stubborn in their ways. he knows this truth best; it is a testament to his selfish desire to defend a country which forced him to strike his own brother down. so when you stayed, clung to his side like a petal to its stem, he was unsurprised. you were enamored by his poems, or so you claimed. humans deceive so often, he’s learned to accept their words at face value; he’s no stranger to donning a mask of deceit, himself, after all.

but your eyes. they would light up like festival lanterns, welcoming and bright in their hues. a more peaceful time, he recalls — one unmarred by the tragedy of war. when he looks at you, he is reminded of such peace; when he looks at you, he is at peace. when he looks at you, he is no longer a lone spirit wishing for a peace only death can bring. when he looks at you, he feels... forgiven.

"forgiveness is... complicated."

he does not deserve it, just as he does not deserve love; and you, you are the embodiment of both. like the scent of fresh blossoms against tree branches and a season anew, your eyes carry a light far more tempting than that of death’s, a light that only living can bring. you make him want to live — you are everything he does not want.

and yet he wants you.

if his life were to be written as a story, it would surely be a tragedy. a tale of redemption far out of reach, a tale of betrayal and blind faith. he has seen the end of worlds — both of war, and of his brother’s — and he has lived. to die is to no longer feel pain, and the greatest repentence is to live with the truths of what he has done. struck his own family member, his own brother, down with a sword sworn to herald justice; yone is undeserving of anything short of suffering.

and yet, such an innocent spirit you hold, he’d almost forgotten those existed. you are unmarred by the tragedy of war and suffering; he is envious, but equally joyous. to see that there is still carefree love in the physical realm, perhaps living is not so bad after all. being with you is natural; being with you is like home. words flow freely when he is in your presence, and you are at peace when he speaks in prose and haiku. dreams he was forced to abandon to take up the sword, he can freely pursue in your presence and be met with applause rather than disdain. the blissful fluttering of eyelashes, the slight twitch of lips pulled into a smile — it will never be enough to make him feel loved, to make him feel forgiven. but it’s a start.

he wants to start over with you.

“with you, there is no need to hide. many have gazed upon this mask and seen their end. somehow, you saw a future.”

renowned for his roguish demeanor, yasuo is familiar with bloodshed and death. he has grown to accept it, unlike his prideful brother; and yet, he desires a life enlightened by music and travel all the same. fate has smiled upon him bitterly, doomed him to spill blood in life and hunt spirits in death.

if this life is cursed, he wishes to be reborn. a songbird, a human — either will do. his soul yearns for music.

"just looking for a road home."

when he saw you, unaccustomed to the ways of this spirit world, he was intrigued. something new, someone to talk to that could actually, well... talk back. spirits aren’t known for their talkative nature, and he can’t really fault them; confusion is all they know, having woken up in another world after death. the azakana are no better — they remind him of himself, bloodthirsty and reckless as he once was. their only fate is to be cut down by his sword... life has not changed in the slightest. fate is truly unkind to him.

but unlike spirits, you are someone. your gaze speaks not of scorn or awe, because when you look at him, he feels seen. the real him, the one he’s pushed down in order to be a swordsman that could live up to his brother. you listen to his flute with keen ears and a sway of your body — the sight alone makes his heart jump. he’s always wanted to see the effect his music has on people, and you’re the first. having greater interest in music rather than swordsmanship is frowned upon in his clan; expectations were thrust upon him the moment he left the womb — to live up to his brother, to live up to his clan name.

"follow the wind, but watch your back."

but you don’t expect anything from him. to you, he is another spirit, another being, an entity that was once a person with hopes and dreams and feelings worth something. under your gaze, he is free from expectation, free from duty. until he was accused of crimes against his country, and forced to take up arms against his own brother, yasuo lived a life unsaddled by the same burden of expectation his brother endured. it was never enough, for even in death, he still envies the freedom birds enjoy. but you offer a taste of such liberty simply by existing; by listening — truly listening. a drunkard as he is, how is he expected to let go of such pleasure?

he can’t, he won’t.

when you convince him to find his brother and begin anew, he was certain. that after all is said and done — that after he has forgiven his brother, and has been forgiven himself — he wants to travel the world with you. he’s seen everything there is to see in the spirit realm, but the world is different with you at his side. you are his freedom, you are his muse. because even if he promises the illusion of choosing your path, it will always cross with his.

it’s hard to part with freedom after you’ve tasted it.

“traveling alone has left me wanting for companionship, and honestly, a sword's poor company for a long road. say... what would you do if i asked you to accompany me? your call, sweetheart.”

dear-yandere 2019-2020, all rights reserved.

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 4, chapter 4

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy violence

It was the sound that gave the first clue to Izual's location. The howling, to be precise. It cut like a finely honed blade through the faraway sounds of demons going about their business. Those noises were babbling, sometimes raucous, natural expressions of creatures in their home element. This was something different. It was hard, and cold, and achingly lonely somehow. Morgan shivered as he followed Blaise in the direction of its source.

She paused at the corner of a ruin, the two rough walls all that remained of an ancient building. "You said he'd be alone, right? That has to be who we're after." Morgan nodded, already reaching out to feed some magic into the ground beneath the lone figure at the centre of what might have been a plaza at one time.

The figure howled again, and its clawed hands wrenched and tore violently at... something on its back. Something that had once been wings, Morgan realized as it spread what remained of them, reduced to little more than bloodied bone and tendon. Shreds of leathery membrane quivered with the force of its baying. These ruined appendages were nothing like the tendrils of light that made up an angel's wings. Perhaps that was why it wanted to be rid of them so badly, Morgan thought.

There was no sense in further prolonging its suffering. With a push of will, the earth reached up to hold the creature in place. It did not struggle. Instead it froze for a second, then fell silent and tipped its head back to bare its throat in an implicit surrender.

Blaise dispatched it efficiently. But as the body fell, something remained standing. It peeled back out of the lifeless form, amorphous and nearly transparent. After a moment it resolved into the shape of an angel. It seemed to be staring down at the fallen husk. Morgan could still see right through it. The angel began to speak in a voice that sounded like an echo.

"Tyrael was a fool to have trusted me. I told Diablo and his brothers about the soulstones. About how they could be corrupted. I helped them mastermind their own exile to your world. The plan we set in motion so long ago cannot be stopped. Hell itself will spill into your world like a tidal wave of blood and nightmares."

"What exactly is this plan?" Blaise lowered her bow but kept it drawn.

"To corrupt the stones, allowing their influence to spread across your world unnoticed by the angelic host. Their claws are already hooked into the fabric of your world, and they are eager to shred the veil separating it from Hell."

"And what's stopping them? If they're so eager, why haven't they done it yet?"

"Their long imprisonment has diminished their power. They must restore themselves here, in their home, before unleashing Hell on earth. Even now Diablo and Baal seek the rejuvenation of the Chaos sanctuary. They know they are pursued."

"Sounds like it's a good time to strike. We can take them down before they get back to full strength." There was a certain glint in Blaise's eyes. She was undoubtedly already imagining their victory over the remaining demon lords.

"Impossible. Mere mortals cannot hope to stand against the power of the Prime Evils."

"Well, we already killed Mephisto, so you're wrong there."

"Impossible," Izual repeated. Blaise was squaring up for an argument, which wasn't likely to get them any additional information. This would be an opportune moment to interject, Morgan decided.

"You are free now, Izual. The form that bound you has been destroyed. You can return to the High Heavens. To your home."

Izual's spectral hood turned toward Morgan. "My prison is felled, but I cannot return to the Host. Not after what I have done. I am beyond redemption."

"There's no harm in trying," Blaise chimed in. "What's the worst that could happen? Seems to me they can't do much worse than what you've already been through."

"Heaven knows the depths of my betrayal. I cannot return after the treason I have committed."

"It was Tyrael who bade us free you," Morgan said. "Surely if the avatar of Justice feels your penance has been sufficient, the-"

"Tyrael is a fool," Izual repeated. "He has no power over me, not any more." He looked back down at the body that had once imprisoned him. "You have granted me a brief reprieve from the torment I have earned. I thank you for this kindness. But in time, this vessel will be born anew from the Black Abyss and I will be drawn back into it. There can be no other fate for me."

"Perhaps not." Morgan approached the body, drawing a vial of oil out of his pack.

"What are you doing, mortal?" Izual reached out as if to stop him, but the only resistance his arm provided was an uncomfortable chill. Goosebumps prickled across his skin where the angel's form passed through it.

"It is not my place to judge whether or not you deserve to return," Morgan explained as he anointed the forehead and claws of the demonic form. "But I did give my word that I would try my utmost to free you." It was a bit of guesswork, but it tracked with what he knew of angels and demons. Consecrating the demonic body should, in theory, cause it to be destroyed in a way that would prevent it from reforming. Demons' spirits could return to the Black Abyss to await a new body, just as angels were given form through the Crystal Arch. But Izual was not truly a demon, despite the corruption he had endured. There was no reason a completely new body should be created for him without additional intervention. That was beyond the scope of Morgan's control, unfortunately, but this seemed like the most likely way to ensure the angel's freedom.

"Do not interfere," Izual growled. Morgan flinched as the angel lunged at him. It was colder this time, but there was still no physical resistance as the angel's form passed through him.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? He's trying to help you," Blaise called. An arrow flew harmlessly through the angel's ghostly body. It got his attention briefly, long enough for Morgan to draw a sigil in oil on the chest of the remains. He used the oldest symbol he knew. It began to glow faintly as he hovered his hand over it, starting the consecration by empowering the anointment.

"No," Izual hissed. The icy tendrils of his wings wrapped around Morgan's throat as he began reciting the prayer that accompanied the sigil. Although the touch wasn't tangible, the chill was. It drained his breath and made the muscles in his throat tighten with the shock of the sudden cold. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the intent he was feeding into the prayer and the oil. As long as he could manage at least a whisper, it should suffice. It was only a few phrases he had to get through.

Freezing chill assaulted Morgan, targeting his face, his throat. The cold ached in his teeth and stole the sensation away from his lips. He treated each word carefully, slowly. If he wanted to have any chance at success, he couldn't let Izual interrupt him. It was unlikely he'd be able to complete the prayer a second time if he had to start over.

At one point it felt like glacial fingers were reaching through his chest to squeeze around his heart. That made him gasp, opening his eyes to see Blaise trying ineffectually to grapple Izual away from him. Morgan staggered back a step but the angel followed effortlessly. The cold grew impossibly deeper as he reached his other hand in to join the first, bringing Morgan to his knees. It was so cold it burned, too cold to even shiver.

"Morgan, stop! I can't touch him, he's going to - you have to get out of there!" Blaise's words turned to steam as they left her mouth, little clouds hanging in the shimmering cold that surrounded Izual. Morgan shook his head minutely. No matching steam accompanied the words he continued to force past his teeth. The air from his lungs wasn't warm enough for that. But he was so close. I believe you capable, Tyrael's voice echoed in his mind. If Tyrael believed that, surely it was true. It had to be. He could finish this.

Morgan rasped out the final syllables and slumped forward, no longer trying to resist the darkness pulsing around the edges of his vision. His immediate task was complete and he could rest a little in this enveloping cold. Izual jerked back as the anointed body was consumed by light. It glowed at first like a firefly, then a torch, then a bonfire, then a sun, replacing the creeping darkness with brilliant white. Izual howled a wordless protest, growing in volume as the light shone brighter and brighter. Even when Morgan angled his face away from it, echoes danced across his eyelids. Then, suddenly, it stopped. No light, no sound. Izual was gone.

A ragged gasp broke the silence as Morgan finally drew a fresh breath unhindered by Izual's chill. It stuck in his throat, warm air warring with cold. The rough stone of the plaza scraped against his forehead as he fell into a helpless fit of coughing, his body finally reacting to the temperature shock with violent, rattling tremors. Blaise was saying something but the coughing drowned her out. A heavy hand thumped on his back, which was uncomfortable and did nothing to stop either the hacking coughs or the tremors. He waved her away weakly as he tried to steady his breathing, encouraging the stone to prop him up into a more upright position. This was no time to rest after all. Tyrael's task was complete but his own work was still in progress.

"Akarat's bane, Morgan, that was close. I thought I was going to have to drag you out of there." Blaise paused. "Would that even work?"

"I don't know," Morgan croaked, hugging his arms around himself. It was ineffective; his armour prevented any heat transfer. "People are... tethered to their bodies when they die, if they linger. But I don't know about angels. That wasn't even his true body." The uncontrollable shivering was beginning to slow slightly, the warmth of the environment chasing away the chill.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't have to try it. Anyway, let's get back to the fortress. Everyone's going to want to hear about that thing with the soulstones, and I don't really want to stick around to see what that light display might have attracted." Blaise raised one arm to loop briefly around Morgan's shoulders. The gesture warmed him better than the ambient heat of Hell, but he refrained from chasing it as she released him to open a portal. There was more work to be done, and he was fit enough to do it. Comfort was an unnecessary luxury.

Tyrael and Cain were conversing quietly when they returned to the fortress. Blaise set off to talk to Halbu while Morgan waited his turn to speak with Tyrael. He didn't have to wait long.

"You found Izual," the angel observed. "I can feel the echo of his resonance within you. Tell me of what happened."

"He was not eager to be freed," Morgan said. "Once the form imprisoning him was defeated, he spoke of his cooperation with the Prime Evils. Their exile to our world was planned. They have corrupted the soulstones somehow, to spread their influence across the world unnoticed by the forces of the Light. That was all he said on the matter. I consecrated the body," he added.

"In doing so, you have assured his freedom. You have my thanks for this." Morgan wrestled briefly with the awe and elation that lit up like a pyre in his chest. To receive the gratitude of an archangel was nearly unthinkable. "But if what you tell me is true," Tyrael continued, "we have been played for fools all along. With the powers of the soulstones under their control, the Prime Evils will be able to turn the mortal world into an outpost of Hell, and all mankind may be doomed." That certainly helped to dampen his emotions back down to where they ought to be.

"I feared as much," Cain said grimly. "What you described of the Zakarum high council pointed to that conclusion. If the soulstones have all been corrupted, there are dire implications."

"But we defeated Mephisto already," Blaise interjected, striding over to join the conversation. "We have his stone. And we're going to get the other ones too. Can't we just smash them?"

"When Mephisto's soulstone was split into pieces, those shards each served as a focus for his power," Tyrael said. "They are impossible to destroy by conventional methods."

"Well, what unconventional methods are there? There has to be something."

"There is the Hellforge," Halbu called from where he was working. "There is a hammer that can annihilate anything placed on that accursed pedestal. I've wanted to get my hands on that hammer for ages. It ought to be somewhere near the forge, but without any scouts I don't know for sure."

"Yes," Tyrael said, "that could work. The Hellforge could destroy the stones completely. We will lose any advantage the soulstones ever gave us, but shattering the stones is more important."

"Their advantage was lost the moment they were corrupted," Cain added.

"Is this hammer enchanted?" Morgan asked.

"Naturally," Halbu replied.

"Excellent," Cain exclaimed. "That ought to make it much easier for you to find, my friend!"

"Yes. If you suspect it's near a landmark, I ought to be able to find it easily enough." It would be good to put his skills to use again so soon, to make more progress toward their ultimate goal.

"I think I might have spotted the forge from up on one of those spires," Blaise said. "And now we know the big boys are holed up in the Chaos sanctuary, so we can head there right after."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Halbu said. "No offense. But I've been after that hammer for years."

"I guess this is your lucky year, then," Blaise returned cheerfully. "And it's my lucky day if there's any more of that pork thing you made earlier. We have to eat before we head back out."

Morgan cast a glance at the space the portal had occupied, but it was empty. She must have closed it already. And since she was the one with a clear idea of where they were going, he would have to wait.

"You coming?"

"No, thank you. I require a brief meditation." The last traces of chill had fled in the face of Tyrael's presence, but that in itself was something to be treated with caution. Although their goals aligned at the moment, that was no reason to allow his neutrality to be compromised. His duty was to his Order, and not anything else.

[feather-dancer]

Tales of Arcadia Fanfic Recommendations - Part 4

Are you thinking perhaps, wow I never expected a fourth fanfic recc list so soon? Because if you do I feel exactly the same way! I thought I’d have some more of my own writing out by the time it happened and yet even before Wizards I was building up a good list of reading then the release just set off a flood of ‘em I’ve been duly binging and hoarding. Because of how long this post is getting I’m at the point of wanting it out my drafts and in the wilds before it begins to grow legs.

As when I posted the third list, I suspect within 48 hours I’ll find a new fic and I’ll need to start drafting a fifth one thus the cycle continues...

You can find Part 1 of my fanfic recommendations here!

And Part 2 here!

Part 3 is here!

Plus one shameless plug for my own current fics because I can.

General Trollhunters

Hold My Hand in The Dark - Jim may have escaped the Darklands but even now it still has it’s claws in him.

To Say Nothing of the Dog - A Steli fic that’s very cute. Sometimes trolls aren’t the strangest thing you find out in the woods of Arcadia.

say that you'll stay awake for me - Another Steli fic where they’re both completely useless but it’s full of fluff anyway.

Candy canes and Sugar plums - Two very sweet Christmas themed one shots. In one Not!Enrique has to get ready for a photography session and another Jim as a half-troll gets mistaken for Krampus by a pair of kids.

Despondent Contemplations - Back in the old library that was once their home in Heartstone Trollmarket, Blinky and AARRRGGHH reminisce about old times. Contains minor spoilers for Wizards but not enough to remove from this section.

The Indecency of Courage - The thoughts of Kanjigar during his final battle.

Brotherhood - It’s hard to love a sibling who betrayed then later attempted to kill you and in return you permanently blinded but with some relationships it’s worth seeing if it’s still possible to mend.

In Our Times To Come - Jilaire, trauma comes in many shapes and forms but as long as you have the right people around you perhaps you can work your way through them together.

General Wizards - Skip this section if you wish to avoid spoilers

The City Never Sleeps - Douxie, Archie and Nari are now on the run trying desperately to keep off the radar in their new home of New York City but the flights of fancy of the old traveling days meet a whole new reality where things are a lot more expensive. For his new family though, this wizard willingly burns himself out over and over to keep them safe.

Home Away From Home -The sequel oneshot to the above and the struggle continues. Nari's attempts to figure out her place after a month of adjustment while Douxie seems to have lost all concept of things called plates.

a rescue from the weight you've carried - The ending these kids DESERVE.

Eyes Like Hope, a Smile Like Mercy, a Voice Like Justice - Without even realising it, Jim offered so much to the trolls of the past just by the virtue of being Jim.

Another Mistake - It’s not easy to revisit your past but in Douxie’s case he is offered a unique chance to see his younger self and the humbler roots he once came from.

Strings - Zouxie and oh GOD is this adorable and fluffy and I love it very much.

Waiting for Dawn - It’s over isn’t it? But Jim’s journey isn’t, not quite yet. His next task involves stumbling back home with the help of his friends and family and figure out the immediately of the after.

Center Stage - Douxie’s relationship with Merlin might have been incredibly complicated but it does not make the grief any easier to bear.

i've got to find my soul all before i sleep - Jim has been given a second chance at life and as a human at that but the niggling feeling of his old (New?) skin not quite fitting right anymore.

Stricklake

A Little Bit Pear-Shaped - Even when you think you haven’t taken your eye off the ball you find out maybe you might have and, well, then the title happens.

it's a lovely day in stricklake month - And Dreamcrow is once more coming up with the goods for us all to enjoy. The 6th chapter is nsfw as forewarning.

Dropout - Jim was human, once, then in the course of mere days he was transformed into a half-troll, fought to save the world and then forced to leave home and family behind as a reward for surviving. It’s no wonder that when given the chance to finally breathe again Barbara struggles with what has and what will be.

K.O. - The end result of Strickler’s terrible not so fun day results in a hospital visit but at least the upside involves the fact Barbara is there.

Alternate Universe

The Unwelcome Guest Do you remember Sam from the wonderful Whispers Within aka the Gay Uhl with a monster boyfriend fic? Well here he is a bit earlier than that still causing chaos but this time via trying to be ever so helpful towards a certain avocado coloured changeling who would sincerely like this to stop happening. Please.

left-hand florilegium - Even the great Walter (Stricklander) Strickler was a youngling, once, but no road a changeling may travel was designed to be anything other than a constant test to prove your worthiness in survival to gain a place in a brand new world.

Both Sides of the Sky - Jilaire with a historical regency twist and an arranged marriage that forces Jim into Claire’s path. On the surface he appears extremely nervous of something (Or more specifically someone) and she’s had quite enough of suitors making for a poor match. However, a simple act of kindness can bring with it an awful lot of shadows you might well have better off staying oblivious to.

A Foundation of Fluff - I never knew a ship of Barbara, Strickler and Draal could be so adorable and?? Yet?? The spite ship train is glorious. A foundation of fluff is a very apt description.

Broken Mirror - You might think this is another Unbecoming take but you’ll be surprised. During an argument with Merlin over his general treatment of others after the great move to New Jersey, Jim is flung elsewhere to wake up on the fabled day he found the amulet and very much human again. Not wanting to mess things up this time he goes to rescue Kanjigar before he is felled but nothing goes as expected.

Bitter Sixteen - The stalkling was set on Jim and in a lightning storm he was carried away but what if Toby never got that call to come to his rescue?

The World Ended Yesterday - The events of Unbecoming seem so long ago now yet here something went very wrong during the attempt to return to the future causing Jim to be lost to not only time but the very world he came from. Seemingly within another reset, he is not going to bury his head in the sand but equally the half-troll is determined to spare this world’s self future tragedy.

What the Night Brings - There are trolls in Arcadia, hidden underground and planning payback for having the surface lands stolen from them centuries ago. While there is contention in the ranks nobody dares say no to Gunmar the Skullcrusher and there is no Trollhunter to protect the dissents. Jim unwittingly witnesses what he should not and now carries the scars and no longer does he remain a human when the dusk comes, instead he is now some form of were-troll. What’s worse, he’s having to face this whole confusing mess alone.

Claire The Courageous - In a different universe Claire became the Trollhunter instead of Jim and Steve of all people ends up being the one dragged into the world of trolls with her. That however does not mean that Jim isn’t still involved in her journey in some way...

[hysterialevi]

Hagall - A Sigurd/Male Eivor Fanfic

**SPOILERS FOR SUTHSEXE ARC BELOW**

Fanfic summary: After rescuing Sigurd from Fulke's cruelties, Eivor works on helping his brother recover from his trauma.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

KINGDOM OF SUTHSEXE

BAELFRITH

Hair as red as fire. Eyes as cold as ice. A wrath that burned brighter than Surtr’s mythical sword.

The Saxons watched in terror as the Norse warrior carved his way through their settlement, tearing apart its very foundation in an attempt to find the woman who took his arm.

He shouted in a Devilish tongue that none of them understood, and with every guardsman that he cut down, the more the ground seemed to vanish underneath a new layer of blood.

There were fresh corpses scattered all over the village, and due to the flames that ravaged the settlement, most of its people now lay buried beneath a tombstone of ash, their faces frozen in fear as the world around them burned like a pyre.

It was Hell on earth, and only one man had caused it.

“BRING ME FULKE!” The viking roared above all the chaos, swinging his sword into another guard as he headed for the longhouse. “I know she’s here!”

Stomping his way up the hill that led to the longhouse’s entrance, the Norse refused to stop for anything as he stormed through a crowd of terrified civilians, all of them scurrying away in fear upon noticing his presence.

“Flee, everyone!” A Saxon man yelled in horror. “Flee for your lives! The Devil himself is in Baelfrith!”

Ignoring the panicked screams of the villagers, the viking continued on his fervent path for vengeance and planted a firm foot in the door of the longhouse, breaking it free from its hinges as it wildly swung open.

There were only a few people inside -- most notably, the thegn of this settlement -- and with no one around to stop him, the viking hurried into the building, ready to get the information he needed.

Just before he could progress however, a familiar voice called out to the Norse, halting him in his tracks.

“Sigurd!” Eivor exclaimed, jogging up to the man. “Wait!”

The viking turned around to face his brother, his gaze still wild from the recent battle.

“What is it?” He asked sharply, sounding more harsh than he intended.

Eivor furrowed his brow in concern, unable to hide the worry he felt.

“I just...” the younger man took a breath, trying to calm himself down, “...I want you to think about this, brother. Are you certain this is what you want to do? Interrogating Aldrich, I mean.”

The older man obviously didn’t share his partner’s skepticism. “Why wouldn’t it be? Thegn Aldrich can tell us where Fulke is hiding. He’s protecting her. I know he is.”

Eivor’s fear quickly turned into frustration. “And you really think he’s going to help us? After we just burned down his settlement and slaughtered his people? I love you, Sigurd, but this...” he gestured at the destruction around them, “this is not who you are.”

Sigurd stepped closer to Eivor, his figure towering over him.

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” He said lowly. “We are warriors, Eivor. Sons of Odin. We are born and bred for Valhalla. We do not cower in the shadows like a rat, or hide in the grass like a snake! Fulke wrought every conceivable violation upon me, and so I will not rest until I throw her into the jaws of Garmr myself!”

Sigurd leaned forward, his voice rumbling like magma in his throat. “Either lend me your aid now, or return to Ravensthorpe. I will collect Fulke’s head, with or without you.”

The younger man shook his head in disapproval. “...There is no honor in this, Sigurd. You know that. You are not a barbarian, nor are you a murderer. But you are blinded by your hatred. Listen to me--” Eivor gripped him by the shoulders, “--Fulke isn’t worth it!”

His brother scoffed, shrugging his hands off. “You really think you can judge me? Or must I remind you of all the years you spent seeking revenge against Kjotve? What about when you endangered your crew simply to go after him? My methods may be brutal, Eivor, but do not pretend that you would not replicate them. Your claim to a virtuous disposition is meaningless, for we both know you are no better.”

Eivor sighed in annoyance. “Which is exactly why I know this isn’t worth it! My hatred for Kjotve tore me apart for years, Sigurd. It led me down a path that changed me for the worse, and I do not wish to see you lose yourself either.”

“You weren’t there, Eivor!” Sigurd insisted. “You did not see what Fulke did to me. She...” the man paused for a moment, trying to hold himself together, “...she took... everything from me. My strength, my dignity, my freedom. Fulke is nothing more than a witch in human form, and honor demands that I bring her to retribution. You can fight by my side, or watch from the shadows like a coward. It matters not.” He threw a cautionary glare at the other man. “But do not get in my way.”

Standing there in silence, Eivor watched hopelessly as his brother lost himself in his rage, consumed by a hatred that no one in their clan had ever seen before. He knew the man was hurting inside, and he knew it wasn’t Sigurd’s fault, but to see him lash out in such a violent manner... it broke Eivor’s heart.

Sigurd was a good man. A good leader. He cared deeply for his people, and had already sacrificed so much to keep them afloat. But to witness him undo all of his work in the name of killing Fulke -- a single woman -- Eivor knew he had to stop him sooner or later.

He did not want to fight against Sigurd as Valka predicted he would, but for his brother’s own sake, he feared he would have no choice.

Noticing the abrupt shift in his brother’s mood, Sigurd felt a sudden sense of guilt clutching at his chest as he took on a gentler tone, uttering a brief apology.

“F-Forgive me, my love...” he whispered, “that was... unworthy of me. I apologize. But I fear my point still stands. I can’t just walk away from this. I...” Sigurd glanced down at his amputated arm, doing his best to block out the abhorrent memories that came with it, “...I need to kill Fulke.”

Eivor sighed in defeat, not wishing to argue with his brother any further. “...If that’s truly what you wish, then I will stand by you, Sigurd. All the way to the end.” He placed a hand on the man’s cheek, gazing at him affectionately. “But please... do not forget who you are.”

Sigurd nodded reassuringly. “I won’t.”

Returning to the task at hand, the older man separated their embrace and brought his attention back to the longhouse, eager to get some answers from Thegn Aldrich as Eivor followed from behind. 

At the moment, the elderly nobleman was cowering behind the safety of his throne and had no more than a pitiful dagger to defend himself, somehow enhancing his already pathetic display.

Most of the civilians who once stood by his side had fled the safety of the longhouse, and the closer Sigurd got to him, the more Aldrich’s grasp on the dagger seemed to shake.

“No!” The Saxon cried out in fear. “Leave me be, Dane! Stay back!”

The thegn wildly swung his blade in an attempt to cut Sigurd, only to receive a fist to the face when the viking swatted the weapon out of his grip.

The dagger went flying off to the side and landed on the stone floor with a metallic clang, leaving Aldrich completely defenseless as he backed away from the Norse in panic.

“Filthy fucking pagan...!” He hissed under his breath. “Rendering a man defenseless in his own home -- slaughtering innocents! God will see you punished for your sins, Dane! Whether you believe in Him or not, He will condemn you and all your kind to Hell for the suffering you’ve inflicted on our people! You will--”

“--Enough of your piety!” Sigurd barked, striking the thegn once again.

Eivor flinched at the aggressive action, having to restrain himself from interfering.

“Brother...!” He warned in a hushed tone, causing Sigurd to glare at him.

“Stay out of this, Eivor.” He demanded before returning his focus to the thegn. “...Tell me where Paladin Fulke is! I know you’re hiding her!”

Aldrich stammered out a response. “M-Madwoman Fulke? That’s why you’re here? You wish to find her?”

Sigurd prowled closer to the Saxon, staring him down as a lion would its prey.

“I wish to kill her.”

The nobleman glowered at that. “Lord above... you Northmen and your thirst for violence. Is it any wonder that England crumbles under the hardships of war? We should’ve set you heathens to the torch the minute you set foot on our shores.”

Sigurd instantly raised his sword up to Aldrich’s throat, holding it dangerously close to his skin.

“Watch... your tongue, Saxon. Lest I tear it out through your teeth. Now, tell me where Fulke is! I grow weary of your rambling.”

Still, Aldrich remained obstinate. “That heretic is far away from here, and safely in the hands of God. She is to be tried by true Christians, and brought to justice in an appropriate manner. I will not let her fate fall into the hands of a bunch of barbarians!”

Sigurd gently pressed the blade into his neck, applying just enough pressure so that a few beads of blood began to form.

“...It’s not your decision to make.”

Aldrich nailed his gaze onto the sword, his teeth starting to chatter as small droplets of blood trickled down his skin.

“And who are you to decide, Dane? You who walks among the hellfire. What makes you think you’re any more suited?”

Sigurd grinned darkly. “Is the fate of your own life not already in my hands?”

When the thegn offered nothing but silence in return, the redheaded Norse took a few steps forward, carrying on with his interrogation.

“This is your last chance, Aldrich. Tell me where to find Paladin Fulke, and I might leave enough of a body for your kin to bury. Otherwise, I will personally see to it that my skalds use your bones to beat their war drums. Your head will adorn the tallest pike in my village, and I will spread your lungs into wings so that you may fly with the same birds that feast on your corpse.”

“Sigurd...!” Eivor said once again, causing the man to sigh in frustration.

“What?” He snapped.

“What are you doing?” The younger man questioned. “This is not who we are!”

The viking ignored his brother’s pleas, growing tired of their quarrel. “Enough, Eivor! You may be my brother, but do not forget who is jarl! My word is law, and if I wish for someone to be killed, I expect you to help me swing the sword! Now for the last time, stay out of this...!”

Sigurd turned to Aldrich, impatiently awaiting the man’s reply.

“And you! What say you? Will you tell me where Fulke is? Or shall I take my axe to your spine?”

The Saxon scowled at the Norse, refusing to give in.

“...Devil take you, Dane.” He spat at Sigurd’s feet.

The Norse warrior chuckled at the gesture, his temperament alarmingly calm.

“A foolish idea, thegn.”

Deciding not to hold back anymore, Sigurd suddenly threw a punch at Aldrich’s face and knocked the man flat on the ground, continuing to beat the Saxon as he helplessly crawled away.

“Sigurd!” Eivor blurted out in shock, unsure of what to do.

But the viking didn’t stop. Instead, he simply approached Aldrich and carried on with his assault as the thegn desperately tried to get back up on his feet, latching onto any piece of furniture that would support his weight.

“Sir Regnward...!” The Saxon shouted, calling out to his housecarl. “Cut this Dane down immediately! I want him killed!”

There was no answer.

“Sir Regnward!” Aldrich repeated in his absence, his voice trembling now. “For God’s sake, Cedric, where are you...?!”

Sigurd planted a boot on top of the thegn’s hand, grinding it into the floor.

“Your housecarl is dead, thegn!” He exclaimed, his tone dripping with venom. “He lies outside with a sword buried in his heart, just as you soon will.”

The Saxon whimpered under the pressure of Sigurd’s boot, frantically trying to wiggle his way out of the man’s hold, but to no avail.

“Please...!” He begged, his jaw clenched in agony. “Leave me be...! There’s nothing more I can offer you!”

Sigurd crouched on the floor, staring at Aldrich directly in the eye. “Are you as dense as you are cowardly? Tell me where Fulke is, and all this stops. It’s a simple concept, really.”

But still, the Saxon refused. “If I tell you, they’ll have me hanged!”

“And if you don’t,” The Norse growled, “I’ll do worse.”

Leaning closer to the thegn as he crushed the man’s hand, Sigurd prepared to punch Aldrich again and clenched his fist, only to find himself being dragged away from the Saxon when Eivor suddenly decided to intervene.

“Sigurd!” The younger man said. “Enough!”

The redheaded viking regained his footing, glaring furiously at his brother.

“Eivor! How many times must I tell you to stay out of it?”

“As many as you wish,” he replied, “but regardless, I cannot just stand by and do nothing while you torment these people! We will find Fulke, brother, but not like this. Not ever like this.”

Eivor turned to the fallen Saxon, gesturing to the longhouse’s ruined door.

“Take what people you have left and flee, thegn. There is nothing more for you in Baelfrith.”

Aldrich pushed himself off the floor and gripped his hand in a nursing hold, nodding appreciatively at his savior.

“Bless you, Dane. Bless you...!”

“Do not mistake my mercy for acceptance. If I see you or any of your other people near our clan after this, you won’t be walking away next time.”

It pained Eivor to speak to a defenseless man in such a way, but for the sake of not completely throwing his loyalty for Sigurd out the window, he figured he had to prevent the Saxons from seeking vengeance somehow.

“Oh, you won’t,” Aldrich promised. “I swear it.”

Scurrying off without another word said, the lone thegn hurriedly made his way out the longhouse as Eivor stayed behind, standing amidst all the chaos his brother had sowed.

He wasn’t sure if he did the right thing, allowing Aldrich to escape. The man appeared sincere enough in his promise to leave the Raven Clan alone, but as past experiences would have taught Eivor, no one could be trusted in a time of war.

For all he knew, the thegn could’ve been planning for revenge. He had enough survivors to rally a small fyrd, and it didn’t seem entirely impossible that the man would attempt some sort of retaliation.

Still, despite his uncertainties, the young viking was glad to have prevented further bloodshed. There was no love lost between him and self-righteous Saxons, but regardless, Eivor did not wish to see anymore unnecessary death.

There had been far too much of it already.

Turning back to address his brother, Eivor halted in his steps when he found the sullen man sitting quietly on Aldrich’s throne, his head hanging low in despondency. 

His brow was furrowed in deep thought, and the closer Eivor walked to the solemn jarl, the more he was able to see the exhaustion creasing his lover’s face.

Sigurd didn’t look well at all. 

A grim shadow seemed to loom over the man’s conscience like a dark cloud, and with the sound of wild flames crackling outside, Eivor only wondered how long it would be until Sigurd’s actions reflected the little sanity he preserved.

“Sigurd...?” He said worriedly, kneeling in front of the man so that he was eye-level with him. “Are you well, brother?”

The forlorn viking glanced up at Eivor, his expression heavy with remorse. There was no longer any strength in his face as there was before, and the dark circles outlining his sockets only seemed to harden his gaze.

“...What’s happening to me, Eivor?” Sigurd whispered, his tone devoid of any emotion. “That woman, Fulke... she turned me into a monster.”

The younger man cupped his partner’s face in his hands, looking at him affectionately.

“No, Sigurd...” Eivor comforted, “you are not a monster. Nor are you a saint. You are only human. Like the rest of us.”

The other man chuckled morosely at the statement. “...Human. If only you knew the irony of your words, brother. Fulke spent all our time together trying to convince me otherwise. She believes I am born of the gods. One of the... Ancient Ones. She believes that--”

“--What Fulke believes doesn’t matter.” Eivor insisted. “She’s a madwoman, Sigurd. A snake. And she will do anything she can to twist your mind, regardless of the cost.”

Eivor caressed Sigurd’s cheek, attempting to console the older man.

“But hear me when I say this. No matter how you see yourself, Sigurd -- no matter how long it takes for you to recover from this pain -- remember, you will always be someone who’s cherished among our clan. You will always be my most trusted friend, and my most loved companion.”

Eivor placed a kiss on the other man’s lips, afterwards resting the bridge of his nose against Sigurd’s.

“I love you. And don’t you ever forget that.”

Sigurd brought a hand up to one of Eivor’s arms, holding him gently in place.

“Freyja knows I don’t deserve you.” He replied softly. “After everything I’ve done, I’m not certain I deserve anyone.”

“Don’t say that,” Eivor reassured. “There is still hope for you, Sigurd. You’re not beyond redemption yet. But I can’t heal you by myself. Ultimately, your own recovery rests with yourself in the end.”

The younger man stepped back and rose from the floor, reaching a hand out to Sigurd.

“But I won’t abandon you. From here to Valhalla, I’ll always be at your side.”

The older man grabbed Eivor’s hand, pulling himself up from the throne as the two of them savored a brief moment of peace.

“I know,” Sigurd said earnestly. “And I won’t disappoint you, my love. I promise.”

Walking alongside each other, the peculiar couple removed themselves from the morbid scene and returned to the hellfire outside, prepared to face whatever threats awaited them in the chaos.

By now, the ferocious flames had dug into the very heart of Baelfrith and consumed its soul, leaving nothing but a sea of fire that drowned everything in its path.

There were golden specks of light flickering throughout the pillars of smoke, and with nothing more than a pile of corpses to commemorate the life that once thrived in this settlement, Eivor felt a new sense of grief tugging at his conscience.

All this destruction, all this ruin... it was entirely their fault. So many innocent lives had been condemned within a single day, and the blood would forever stain their hands.

But despite the tragedy, Eivor knew he couldn’t give up. Sigurd’s old self was barely hanging by a thread at the moment, and the younger man feared he would fall without someone there to help guide him.

So, without saying a word, Eivor simply reached over and took his lover’s hand into his grasp, holding him close as they traversed through the flames. 

He didn’t know how he was going to help Sigurd recover from his pain, or the torment that Fulke put him through, but one thing was for certain.

Fulke was going to have to kill Eivor if she ever intended laying her hands on Sigurd again. He would always protect that man at all costs, no matter what happened, and even if it meant he would lose his own life, he was prepared to defend Sigurd. 

All the way to the end.

[vespertineflora]

Title: the day bleeds into nightfall

Rating: Teen+ Summary: When Wen Chao attacks the Unclean Realm, Meng Yao rushes to release Xue Yang, and Nie Mingjue catches him stabbing his general. Nie Mingjue might have thought he was doing Meng Yao a mercy when he banished him... but Meng Yao isn't sure he agrees. Or: the CQL-nieyao breakup from Meng Yao's POV. (2.5k, nieyao post-breakup angst)

The mood for this was HEAVILY inspired by Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi. It's such a nieyao post-breakup song that it hurts.

There's a dash of hopeful-xiyao at the end (bc meng yao is on his way to lxc to keep him in hiding from the wen sect), feel free to read it as romantic or platonic to your preference :)

~~~

Why hadn’t he just told the truth?

Meng Yao had half-limped down the long walkway to gates of Qinghe and beyond, hand clutched tightly to the front of his robes. He’d been so freshly stabbed that the injury was still bleeding, but he still couldn’t say for sure whether it was the gaping wound or the swiftly delivered banishment that was causing the sharp, persistent pain in his chest as each step he took left him further and further from the place he’d longed to call home.

From the person he’d longed to call...

But Nie Mingjue had made it clear that that was all over now. He’d been told to go, go anywhere that wasn’t Qinghe, Nie Mingjue didn’t care, Meng Yao just had to leave.

Meng Yao had managed to make it far enough away from the Unclean Realm that he could no longer see the walls or towers before he lost the grip on his tightly wound control. The tears streaked white hot down his cheeks, but Meng Yao gritted his teeth and kept walking because there was no sense in turning back. He knew Nie Mingjue better than most, and he was already sure that if he turned around and tried to go back, Nie Mingjue wouldn’t even open the gate to see him. Nie Mingjue had made his decision in that moment in the main hall, and Meng Yao had realized that arguing was useless... and besides, even for this, Meng Yao couldn’t bring himself to beg.

Not for death, and certainly not for forgiveness.

Why hadn’t he just told the fucking truth?

Continue reading on AO3 or below the cut

Maybe that was a stupid question to ask himself, because Meng Yao knew exactly why he had lied. He’d made his decision in the split second that Nie Mingjue had discovered him, he’d weighed the truth against the lie and knew Nie Mingjue would despise him for the truth; the lie would anger him too, but... Meng Yao saw the glimmer of a chance in the lie that he didn’t see in the future after telling Nie Mingjue his true intentions in going to the dungeons.

Wen Chao had shown up at their gates with a simple ultimatum; hand over Xue Yang or die. Nie Mingjue had made his own choice obvious the second he tossed Baxia in the direction of the Wen disciples, but Meng Yao...

It was Meng Yao’s responsibility to protect his sect leader, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it his duty to do anything he must to make sure his sect leader lived on? And in this case, the solution was as simple as handing Xue Yang over to Wen Chao. No one had to fight, no one had to die. Meng Yao saw no situation in which punishing Xue Yang for his crimes was more important than Nie Mingjue’s life; if they acquiesced enough to survive now, Xue Yang could always be punished later, but if Nie Mingjue and the rest of the Nie disciples were slaughtered by the Wen Sect...

But Nie Mingjue was too hung up on justice to care about practicality. He and the rest of the Nie Sect would gladly forfeit their lives just to prove to the Wen Sect their bravery and the strength of their principles--and, Meng Yao had become certain in the seconds after the first sword was swung, they would.

As soon as the fighting began, Meng Yao was absolutely sure that the Wens would slaughter every single disciple within the walls of the Unclean Realm, and even if the Nie sect somehow managed to triumph against the Wen Sect today... they would simply return with a greater army in order to finish the job in the weeks to come.

The future that would play out if the fighting continued was all too clear to Meng Yao--and it was just as clear what he had to do to save all of them, to save Nie Mingjue...

He had to release Xue Yang.

Meng Yao had hurried away from the gates, had hoped that in all the chaos he could get to Xue Yang’s cell undetected, hoped he could deliver him quickly to Wen Chao and end the fighting, spare all their lives, or at least those who were left as the fighting began to spread across the grounds of the Unclean Realm.

But of course, Meng Yao had never been lucky, and as he released Xue Yang from his cell, Nie disciples rushed over to stop both of them--Xue Yang attacked them, they attacked Meng Yao, and all Meng Yao knew was that he had to get Xue Yang to Wen Chao, had to get him to freedom, and if a few Nie disciples stood in the way of that, then Meng Yao had no choice because the few lives he took would pale in comparison to the lives the Wen Sect would take if their side didn’t forfeit. When that awful general had run at him, Meng Yao had seen him as little more trouble than all the rest, an obstacle in the way of him saving the Sect, but then--

Nie Mingjue had screamed his name. Meng Yao’s heart had sunk sickeningly, and the lies had spewed from his mouth before he could so much as second guess them, before he could even give them a thought--and then none of that mattered because a sword was coming for Nie Mingjue, and everything Meng Yao had done was to save Nie Mingjue’s life and his body moved before he even knew what he was doing, blocking that sword the only way he could in that moment.

Feeling Nie Mingjue catch him in his arms after taking the blow was the only sliver of hope in Meng Yao's eyes, when he was grasping for whatever straw of possibility there was in Nie Mingjue forgiving him, but even then, he wasn’t sure it would be enough to save him.

When Nie Mingjue had Huaisang drag him to the Sword Hall, Meng Yao’s only thoughts of punishment were those of execution; either he could convince Nie Mingjue that what he’d done had been out of some blinding sudden emotion, a desire to defend not just himself but his mother’s honor (things that Nie Mingjue might just understand) and be pardoned, or... he’d be killed. He had killed Nie Mingjue’s general right in front of him, after all. Execution seemed to be the only suitable punishment.

In the end, Meng Yao had chosen the lie because there was a fraction of a chance that Nie Mingjue would forgive him for a reaction to abuse that Nie Mingjue himself had once condemned; Nie Mingjue would never forgive him for releasing Xue Yang, for an act that he would only see as cowardice.

When it became obvious that the lie hadn’t worked... Meng Yao made peace with it. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do, hadn’t he? Because of his actions, Nie Mingjue would live to fight another day, and if that meant Meng Yao had to die by Nie Mingjue’s hand... then so be it, but... Nie Mingjue had decided to banish him instead. He had made Meng Yao realize with a rush of nausea that there had been an option worse than death all along. The words spilled from Nie Mingjue's lips and Meng Yao felt his heart crumbling as despair washed over him like a flashflood, and it took everything in him just to keep himself together, to pull himself to his feet and stumble from the hall.

Maybe Meng Yao should have just told the truth. Maybe he should have told Nie Mingjue that he loved him, loved him more than he’d ever expected to love someone and that letting him forfeit his life over something as trivial as Xue Yang’s imprisonment was beyond what Meng Yao could allow. Maybe he should have told him that... that Meng Yao would have been crushed under unspeakable guilt to live on in a world where he’d done nothing to prevent the death of the first person besides his own mother to show him a scrap of decency and affection. He should have told him that he couldn’t just stand by and watch as Nie Mingjue and his entire legacy was slaughtered needlessly for the sake of some meaningless sense of justice.

In hindsight, it wasn’t like their confrontation could have gone any worse. Maybe if Meng Yao had told him the truth, Nie Mingjue would at least have given him the satisfaction of a swift death by his hand, but...

The thought that he might have told the truth, that he might have openly confessed his love to Nie Mingjue only to have been banished just the same... was too much for Meng Yao’s heart to handle.

So instead, Meng Yao traipsed onwards, heading south, because he might find purpose there, and purpose was all he had to hold onto. Purpose was the only thing keeping him going when his body would much rather collapse, when so much of him would much lather lay down and drown himself in his tears than continue walking further and further from the place that had been his home, from the people he’d hesitantly, hopefully, thought of as family...

As the sun fell lower in the sky, it turned the western sky into a blood red tone, before it finally slipped beneath the horizon and the dark velvet of the night sky took over. Meng Yao trudged onward until the point of exhaustion, until every step made his body issue a scream of protest, and until he ran across an inn that could take him in for the night.

Just the night before, he’d fallen asleep in Nie Mingjue’s bed. It had become part of their nightly ritual only a few short weeks ago, but already, Meng Yao had come to sleep better with Nie Mingjue than he’d ever slept on his own. Qinghe was so far north, so much colder than the climate he’d grown up with in Yunmeng, and for months and months Meng Yao had half-shivered himself to sleep each night, even the thick blankets only doing so much to stave off the frigid temperatures.

Sleeping beside Nie Mingjue had eliminated that problem entirely. Nie Mingjue’s body gave off heat like a furnace, warmed Meng Yao right down to the bone, and the very first night they’d actually curled up in Nie Mingjue’s bed after sending a notable amount of time indulging in each other, Meng Yao hadn’t even meant to do it, he just...  drifted off to sleep. It had only taken a few sparse minutes, and the night of sleep that followed was deeper and more restful than any that had come before it.

He’d woken up cradled in Nie Mingjue’s arms, stunned to be anywhere other than his own bed, with anyone other than himself. An immediate anxiety had threatened to climb up his throat for falling asleep in his sect leader’s bed after what had supposedly only been a physical exchange... until Nie Mingjue had curled in towards him and kissed him sweetly until there was no room left for Meng Yao to be embarrassed.

Every night since, after they had finished heatedly pressing their bodies together in whatever way they could manage, Nie Mingjue had pulled Meng Yao into his bed, pulled him beneath the covers and warped his arms around him in a very clear invitation to stay. Every morning, they had woken up together and spent a few precious minutes cuddling and kissing until they had to inevitably force themselves apart to begin on the day’s duties... But Meng Yao had never been happier than he’d been in those moments alone with Nie Mingjue, had never thought he’d share a bed with someone and feel such joy because of it, and most certainly had never thought that he might start to look forward to being held close every night and being kissed awake every morning.

The bed Meng Yao crawled into that night at the small inn he’d managed to find was so, so cold.

There was nothing here to distract him from the sharp ache deep in his chest, or the stab wound that throbbed along beside it. He couldn’t bury his face against Nie Mingjue’s neck as a reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone in this too big world, couldn’t stroke his fingers against his broad chest to convince himself that it was possible that there was someone who might actually care about him. Nie Mingjue’s strong and gentle hands weren’t here to pull their bodies so close together that it left no room for Meng Yao’s insecurities, weren’t here to numb the persistent pain of the loss and rejection that Meng Yao couldn’t manage to avoid facing down every single day of his miserable fucking life.

The only numbness was the one from the cold, biting at his nose, his fingers and toes, and acting as a steady reminder of just how alone he was, and how maybe it had been stupid to ever let his guard down long enough to let himself get so close to someone that had certainly been destined to reject him all along.

The pillow was wet beneath his face by the time he finally managed to slip into a fretful sleep that barely satisfied his need for rest.

Still, in the morning, Meng Yao pushed himself out of bed and left the inn, continuing southward because it was the only place he could even think of going.

The Cloud Recesses had been burned, Lan Xichen was on the run from the Wen Sect... and of course, Meng Yao couldn’t know for sure that Lan Xichen needed his help...

But if there was anything Meng Yao was good at, it was figuring out how he could make himself useful; if there was anyone he wanted to make himself useful to now, when his heart felt like it was at its most vulnerable... it was the man who had boldly spoken up for him in a room full of flying rumors, the man who had smiled at him as their hands brushed purposefully against each other, the man who had lavished him with praise and tried to treat him as a peer despite the world of difference between them. Lan Xichen was probably the only person left in the world that wouldn’t turn Meng Yao away, and that might actually be grateful for Meng Yao’s help.

Lan Xichen was the only other person that had seemed willing to treat Meng Yao as someone who deserved respect, and he was the only person Meng Yao could imagine feeing safe around now.

Meng Yao deeply wondered if he didn’t need this, this place where he he might be useful, this chance to save Lan Xichen and prove that his loyalty meant something to someone, more than anyone could need his help but...

If there was even a sliver of a chance that Lan Xichen needed him, then Meng Yao was going to make sure he was there.

[randowolfwriter]

Been working on this forever, but here’s my take on the Older Warners au, mostly with Wakko and his family. Basically, this relates back to the rockstar!au I thought up for Wakko a while back where he joins a band a few years after the original Animaniacs ended, only now he also starts a family along the way. Currently, Wakko is a single dad raising fraternal twins named Jojo and Smakko and teaches them both how to be zany toons like him. Eventually, he moves his family back to the Warner Bros lot during the production of the Animaniacs reboot, where Yakko and Dot also help out with raising the twins. 

More details about the story and the twins for anyone’s that curious, because I’ve been thinking about this au for a pretty long time. 

Given that they’re toons, the Warners shouldn’t be able to age, and yet if they did then it would be completely unexplained. One day they woke up and realized that they were aging just like humans. Of course this haunts each of them, including Yakko, who does all that he can to reassure his siblings that eventually this will pass and they’ll go back to being kids again. However, that wasn’t the case, and the three learn to accept that growing up was just a part of life. Even so, age wasn’t going to stop the Warners from serving justice to the unjust and wrecking havoc on adults with massive egos, which would go on until their late teens. 

During these years Wakko’s love for music also grows, and eventually he ends up forming a band with a few other toons around the studio. At first, their performances consisted of causing chaos around the lot and crashing production shoots-- infuriating Plotz to no end as the current CEO at the time-- yet when they noticed they were receiving positive attention from curious onlookers and angsty teens that liked their approach in fighting against the system, the band decided to become official. With this, Wakko is the first to leave the Warner Bros. lot and pursue his dreams of becoming a rockstar just like his idols. At first, he played as the band’s chaotic drummer, but as the years went on and he grew more confident, he also had the chance to man the front and sing a few solos for their band that would be named Toonz. 

A few years later, Dot is the next to leave as she goes on to become a successful business woman and leave her child actor days behind. Yakko is the only one who ends up staying on the lot and continues to call the water tower home. At first, he started out as a comedian who did shows regularly, but as time went on and he became a little tone deaf with his audience, he started doing small acting bits around the studio. Yakko’s biggest achievement yet was creating a small web series where he posted educational songs to teach children certain topics, including a video that was an updated version of his iconic “countries of the world” song. 

Meanwhile, Toonz takes the nation by storm. The attention they get is astounding, so much so, that they’re nearly invited everywhere in Hollywood, or if not then they’d crash it anyway. One party they crash in particular is where Wakko ends up meeting the twin’s mother. The party was held by a popular British singer named Jojo who was living in the states at the time and the twin’s mother so happened to be one of her stage managers. Jojo is unamused by the party crashers antics, yet tries to make the most of her night by introducing the twin’s mother to Wakko. One thing led to another and strangely the two began hitting it off, that is, until Wakko drunkenly sings “Wakko’s America” and crashes through a glass table. 

Thank to Jojo and Toonz doing tons of collabs between each other, Wakko and the twins’ mother saw each other constantly. Eventually their random encounters turned into dating, and already two years had gone by. She was different than the other women he dated, and by that, really one of the only people who could put up with his cartoony antics. Not to mention, she also had a long-time hobby in drawing and sketching, which Wakko always loved posing as her muse. Eventually, Wakko decided to take their relationship to the next step and the two got married in Vegas. 

One night, after Wakko and his wife returned from a long night of drinking and partying, the twins’ mother found herself drawing two twins that looked like Wakko from the original Animaniacs series. She didn’t now what possessed her to come up with them, but for some reason, she really felt like drawing them. As usual, Wakko being made of ink provided color for the sketch and gave them their black fur and red noses. All was going well until the twin’s mother accidentally got a paper cut and bled onto the page. After this, the two decided to call it a night and went to bed, unaware of what was happening to the page as they were sleeping. 

Later that night, the two heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Afraid that it was a couple of robbers, Wakko goes to investigate, claiming that he wanted to greet his new “special” friends. What Wakko ends up finding instead are two little toon babies with puppy dog ears, cat-like tails, black furred with white faces, and tiny little pink noses that looked exactly like him. Upon further investigation, they soon discovered that the page they drew the twins on earlier was blank, which meant that for some reason, the twins came to life exactly the same way Wakko did (except they came out as babies.) Thus, Jojo and Smakko Warner were brought into the world and Wakko and his wife were now parents.  

For the next decade, Wakko continued playing in the band while his wife stayed home to take care of the kids. Whether it’d be at practice or having yearly tours, Wakko unfortunately couldn’t be with his kids as much as he wanted to, yet, when he was able to spend some quality time with them, he gave it his all. He got to see what an adorable and excitable girl Jojo was, what a mischievous nature she held in courtesy of the Warner name, and what a big heart she had for those around her. As for Smakko, though he was timid and shy he was also very inquisitive, and with inheriting his Daddoo’s toon abilities the boy was practically the spitting image of him. 

For years, it seemed as if nothing could tear the family apart. Sure, the twins had their moments, as well as most kids did; if anything they were more well behaved than the father they came from. Not only that, but barely were there any arguments or secrets kept between parents and children. Yet, nothing could have prepared Wakko for the day his wife died in a tragic accident, leaving him alone as a single father. Knowing that the twins had no one else to care for them, Wakko retired from the band to commit himself full-time in raising Jojo and Smakko. 

A year later, Wakko buys an RV and decides to take his kids on the road. He wanted to teach them everything he knew when they were his age, get the chance to see the world, and help them get in touch with their toon heritage. Though Jojo was more than excited to spend time with her Daddoo as much as possible, Smakko on the other other hand was less than thrilled. All the boy wanted was for things to return back to normal; when their mother was always around and their Daddoo seemed more concerned with his band. 

Months into this family entourage, and Wakko gets a call from Yakko:  Animaniacs was returning, and they wanted all three of the Warner siblings to come back. With this, Wakko moves the twins to the Warner Bros. lot and gives them the chance to see where he grew up. They move into the water tower with Yakko, who is more than happy as he’s been rather lonesome for the last two decades. Dot however is a little less than compliant to return to her roots, but eventually she warms up to the idea that the reboot would be willing to work with a more mature version of herself. Now that the three Warner siblings were reunited plus two, the family works together to bring back the joy and laughter that the original series gave to many. Though they’re a lot older, the three siblings are convinced they still have it in them. Eventually once the reboot runs its course, Wakko intends to get him and the kids back on the road, but for now, they’re content where they’re at. 

Now, about the twins!

Jojo Warner:

Birthday: June 8th, 2009 (11 years old) 

Fraternal twin sister to Smakko. 

Since the parents were brought together by the singer, Jojo, she had the honor of being the girl’s godparent. With this, she named the baby after herself in defense of saying that “Jojo” wasn’t her real name, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be their daughter’s.  

Her ears are bigger than any of the other Warners, which is why they usually need to be tied back. Not like they cover her eyes or anything, but when she was little she used to chew on them constantly, causing concern for the new parents.

The heart hair tie she wears is from her mother and she treasures it dearly.

Out of both her parents, she has a stronger relationship with her Daddoo due to their mischievous and childlike personalities. 

Just like Wakko, she has a ravenous appetite that only got bigger with age. As a toddler, if she didn’t get to eat right away, she would run around the house and throw a giant tantrum until she got her way. Sometimes, she still has a tendency to do this if her heart is set on something. 

The only Disney movie she’s ever seen is Frozen, which proved her Daddoo’s point about them being mindless garbage when she wouldn’t stop singing Let It Go for months. Because of this, the kids were banned from seeing anymore Disney films.

When she was five, she ripped off Wakko’s tail while rough housing with it. Though it wasn’t that big of a deal thanks to Wakko being part salamander, that didn’t stop him from tricking Jojo into thinking she tore it off for good. Of course, the prank went too far when Jojo broke down in tears and begged over and over about how sorry she was, so Wakko finally decided to show his kids their amazing regenerating abilities and grew his tail back. Smakko immediately threw up after this. (I swear, that tail scene in the reboot was hella nasty) 

One of her favorite hobbies is collecting weird things she finds on her adventures, whether it be a strangely shaped rock, a piece of trash, and yes, she even still has her Daddoo’s tail. 

Another one of her favorite hobbies is playing with the small guitar her Daddoo gave her. On warm summer nights, Wakko and Jojo will sit on the roof of the RV or the water tower and sing into the night. Some of their favorites include songs by the Beatles, or songs by various rock groups. While her Daddoo strums on an electric guitar, she comes in with her acoustic to create a beautiful yet strange harmony. She hopes to be the lead singer of her own band one day. 

Despite living up to the Warner name, Jojo didn’t inherit any of their cartoon abilities, which bugs her to this day. The only way she can keep up with her family’s antics is by engaging in witty banter and annoying the heck out of her victims. Sort of a mixture of Yakko and Dot’s form of humor.

She gets along well with her Uncle Yakko since both of them can’t keep their mouths shut. During the Warners’ escapades, she looks to Yakko on how to strengthen her form of humor.

As for her Aunt Dot, the two are slowly forming a relationship. Due to Jojo’s tomboyish nature, Dot has a harder time getting on her level of understanding-- though that doesn’t mean the two don’t confide in each other if they ever need to rant about the boys of the family.

She’s considered the leader of the twins due to being more confident and does most of the talking during their escapades. 

She’s also very social, which leads her wanting to engage in more activities with kids her age such as going to school or trying to find her own niche of friends. Luckily, she ends up finding her own group when she befriends some of the child stars at the Warner Bros. studio.

Since her mother’s death, she believes that her mother looks down on them from the brightest star in the sky and grants them wishes. Every night, Jojo makes the same exact wish, not for herself but for her family:  She wishes for Wakko to have all the happiness in the world while she wishes for Smakko to be more confident in himself. 

Smakko Warner:

Birthday: June 8th, 2009 (11 years old) 

Basically my take on the forgotten character, Smakky from the original drafts of the Warners but like, less angry and more anxious. 

He was a fussy baby. Most nights, he refused to be left alone in his crib and cried for hours into the night until his parents surrendered and consoled him. Usually this was an inconvenience for both Wakko and his wife, as well as the neighbors when they used to live in an apartment. One night, Wakko nearly got in a fight with a neighbor after they complained about the child’s insistent crying.

Out of both parents, he favors his mother the most. Her soft voice and reassuring words were always his form of comfort throughout his childhood. Due to Wakko always practicing with the band or going on tours, Smakko didn’t gain that much of a connection with him. Most of the time, Smakko found his Daddoo to be a little scary due to his brash cartoon nature. 

Out of both twins he’s the shyest and will usually cling onto his family members whenever he meets someone new. He also has a tendency to get nervous real easily. Opponents are to be wary when they back him into a corner, lest they want to face his fearful wrath.

Unlike his sister, his toon abilities appeared the minute he was born. Upon naming him, he summoned a baby rattle and smacked his uncle on the head with it until he was given back to his mother. Hence, the boy was given the name “Smakko.” 

Nowadays, the boy is able to summon mallets to his whim, cream pies to his choosing, and is able to teleport from place to place— however, this only happens whenever he’s frightened or really stressed. If anyone gets him extremely anxious, they either get pounded with a mallet or blown up with dynamite. In a way, his cartoon abilities act as a defensive reflex. 

Another conundrum the parents faced during Smakko’s first years was being able to keep track of him. Most of the time, the boy would hide constantly either because he felt uncomfortable or something scared him. Sometimes, he’d end up in the most bizarre places such as in the freezer, in a load of laundry, or even in the ceiling. The only reason his parents knew where to find him was if they heard crying. 

While his sister’s form of comedy is vocal, his is more physical like his Daddoo’s. 

He also has a really small appetite compared to his Daddoo and sister. Most days, he can last with just a bowl of cereal up until dinner. He’s just not as passionate about eating like the rest of his family. Adding onto that, he’s a vegetarian. He gets sick at the thought of eating meat or harming animals to get his meal.

He’s very fond of animals, mostly smaller animals that he can pick up. He’s considered many times getting a pet, but due to the Warners active lifestyle, it’s something that’ll have to wait. As for now, he’ll help move bugs from getting crushed or summon food for hungry strays. (Rita and Runt go to him constantly for free food.)

He likes his Aunt Dot more than his Uncle Yakko. His uncle talks too much which overwhelms him. Meanwhile, Dot has that toned down personality that sort of resembles his mother’s, that is, until her brothers get her riled up.

Though Smakko loves his family, sometimes their crazy antics can get a little much. He misses his mother dearly considering that she was the only form of normalcy in his life. Now that she’s gone, he feels rather lost and doesn’t know how to open up to his Daddoo. Wakko on the other hand tries all that he can to calm himself around Smakko and assures him that his Dadoo will always be there for him. However, the boy’s anxiety is one that Wakko will have to learn to work with. 

[goth-surana]

Hope and Hopelessness Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of 7(?)

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main tags: Angst with a happy ending, tranquil!Anders, cure for tranquility

Summary: After some time on the run with Hawke, Anders is caught and made tranquil. Hawke cannot bring himself to kill him, instead chasing a distant hope that there may be a cure.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Hawke was on his last fucking legs when the letter arrived. More dead ends, more people recognizing them and therefore more fights

The inquisition was handling some amount of the chaos in the world, but enough was left that Hawke and Anders still had to make their way through.

Hawke wished they could still be helping the rebel mages from afar, but now they were too concerned with their own survival. Now Anders was practically defenseless. Sure, he still knew how to swing a staff as a weapon, but he was no longer the powerhouse he used to be without his magic.

Hawke used to get frustrated with Justice a lot, but now he missed the bastard. He may have worked Anders to the bone, may have been somewhat unreasonable, but by the Maker had he protected Anders. Hawke didn’t have to worry so much, knowing Justice was there.

When the messenger found them Hawke almost punched her in the face. She moved too quickly, too silently.

“I’m a friend!” the scrawny elf said after she deftly avoided Hawke. “Tethras sent me.”

She handed Hawke the letter, and scurried off without a word.

Hawke opened the letter and what was inside stole his breath away.

“We found a cure. I’ll grant you safe passage to Skyhold.”

Hawke’s hands went numb holding that letter, his eyes fixed on that first sentence.

It couldn’t be real. It. It couldn’t…

Hawke made it to a back alley before his knees gave out and he sank to the ground. His hands shook, his shoulders shook as he began to cry.

There was hope. There was a way to bring his love back.

“Hawke?” Anders asked. “What has upset you?”

Hawke just shook his head, unable to stem the flow of tears. He had stopped crying so long ago, and now that he started again he couldn’t seem to stop.

Anders waited patiently for him, standing passively. Eventually Hawke stopped crying long enough to speak.

“We’re going to Skyhold.”

Anders regarded him for a moment. “Okay.”

Hawke stood on shaking legs, then stared at Anders. He looked into his vacant eyes and thought about how they would be once more filled with emotion and anger and laughter, full of everything that made Anders himself.

There was hope. Hawke hadn’t been needlessly torturing Anders every day, hadn’t been prolonging his suffering for nothing. Hawke had made the right choice.

On the first night of their journey to Skyhold, Anders had figured out the contents of the letter.

“There is a cure,” he said simply.

“…why do you think that?” Hawke hadn’t been sure how Anders would react. Would he resist?

“Because of your emotional reaction to the letter. You have not cried like that in some time. I thought at first that you were given evidence of an inability to cure tranquility, but were that the case you would have killed me when we were away from sight.”

“You… you were going to let me kill you?” Hawke asked.

“I was not certain you would. The news would have to be either of a cure or of the absence of a cure to cause your reaction. If I ran from you I would likely die. But if I stayed with you there was a small possibility I would not die.”

Hawke just shook his head. Even after all this time, Anders’ blank deductions broke his heart just a tiny bit more. Only now there was an end in sight.

“You’re not going to resist?” Hawke asked. “I thought you were fine being tranquil.”

“I am,” said Anders, “but you are not. If I stay with you, you will force me to go through with the cure. If I run, I will die. I am skeptical about this cure you speak of, but I do not want to die.”

Another blow to Hawke’s heart. But Anders was right. No matter what Anders’ feelings on the matter were now, Hawke would make sure he was cured. He remembered what Karl described tranquility as, knew Anders could never truly be happy in such a state.

Before Hawke would have said he would never force Anders to do anything. Anders’ whole life had been full of others forcing their will upon him, Anders deserved to be free…

But not this time. This was Hawke’s breaking point, and he was making this decision for Anders.

They didn’t talk much during the rest of the journey. Hawke wondered if Anders was nervous about being cured, if he was even capable of nervousness.

Hawke didn’t know how he felt right now. It wasn’t happy, not yet. He wouldn’t be happy until he saw Anders returned to him. Until then, he was… hopeful. That too was a foreign feeling after so long. Hawke may have refused to give up hope completely, but he had been living with so little of it that it couldn’t be felt.

Skyhold was incredible, massive and daunting. Hawke and Anders both covered their heads with cloaks, it was still a secret that they were coming here. Many here would see Anders dead, so Hawke was content with the secrecy.

How many of those people also wished him dead, he wondered? Fewer, he knew. While he was an outlaw, a strange tale of a hero still followed him. Hawke found that strange, because he made it clear he supported Anders. Hawke doesn’t even know if he would have stopped him if he knew about the chantry… it was an awful thing, but wasn’t Kirkwall full of awful things? Hawke had done many awful things… with far less noble intentions.

Varric’s tales of Hawke as a hero had overwritten his past as a scoundrel, it seemed. A very affable scoundrel, but a scoundrel nonetheless. Hawke knew Varric’s stories also portrayed Anders in a positive light, despite how angry he was. But that wasn’t enough to sway public opinion. Why was that, Hawke wondered? Was it just easier to hate a mage, easier to love a man born from noble blood?

If Hawke could, he would take all the hate for Anders onto himself. He played no small part in the escalation of the violence in Kirkwall, although Varric tended to omit those parts. Hawke fought the bloody night commander at every turn, and probably had some hand in making her paranoid enough to try to annul the Circle.

It was no use dwelling on the past. Could there have been a peaceful solution to the monster that was Kirkwall? Probably not, in Hawke’s opinion. Others might say different, and maybe they were right, but Hawke was a jaded man. He had just seen too much.

An inquisition soldier met Hawke and escorted him and Anders through the stone halls. The young man was clearly nervous, knowing who he led.

They came to an imposing set of doors, and were let into a wide room with a large table in the center. Chairs surrounded the table, and Varric sat in one. Hawke caught his friend’s eye and wished he could muster a smile. He hadn’t seen Varric in a long time.

Next to Varric sat a woman who must be the Inquisitor herself. Whatever Hawke expected, this was not it.

It wasn’t that the woman was Tal-Vashoth, it wasn’t that she was a mage. He had thought she would be imposing in her stature, and maybe she was at her full height. But right now she was leaning on one elbow, long brown hair falling across her shoulders as she looked up at Hawke with sad, tired eyes.

Hawke recognized that look, it was the look of someone who needed a fucking break.

“Champion,” she said, smiling slightly. There was something familiar in her appearance, in her coloring and her ice-blue eyes.

The woman stood and walked over to Hawke, extending a hand. Hawke had been right before, she was more imposing at her full height. Hawke and Anders were by no means short, but she was at least a head taller.

“Rosalind Adaar,” she introduced herself, shaking Hawke’s hand.

Oh, Hawke realized. She was the daughter of the Tal-Vashoth couple that had saved his and Anders’ lives. The world had an odd way of playing jokes on him.

Hawke was about to respond, when the world decided it would be even funnier. The doors burst open, and in walked Cullen Rutherford.

Hawke barely had time to balk before he was speaking.

“Adaar, what is the meaning of this? Varric sent for Hawke?” He asked incredulously.

“You knew!” Came a new voice, a woman’s voice. She was tall, carried herself like a warrior and had short black hair.

“You lied to me! You always knew where the Champion was.”

“Why is-“ Cullen began, and then his eyes landed on Anders. The man’s expression turned to shock.

Hawke stepped in front of him, holding out a protective hand.

“Don’t get any ideas!” Hawke snarled. “We were promised safe passage by your inquisitor.”

What in the Maker’s name was Cullen bloody Rutherford doing here, and why hadn’t Varric told him? It seemed Varric was lying to quite a few people these days.

“Cool it, Curly,” said Varric, getting up from his chair. “He’s telling the truth, Sunflower promised they would both be safe here.”

Hawke presumed “Sunflower” referred to the Inquisitor. Varric seemed to have a thing against calling anyone by their name, excluding Hawke. Hawke had always wondered if it was because his name already sounded like a description.

“No!” The woman exclaimed in surprise. “Do not tell me… if that is the Champion, the man with him-“

“Is under my protection,” Adaar cut in firmly, her arms crossed. “I am Andraste’s chosen, am I not? That’s what you always say.”

The way she said that and the look she gave the woman spoke of some backstory there. An old argument.

“I will not allow this inquisition to shelter that murderer!” The woman responded.

“My inquisition,” Adaar said. “You keep telling me it’s my call to make, that I need to step up as the leader. Well I’m bloody doing it now, and I extended my protection to Hawke and Anders.”

The woman was about to reply when Anders took his hood off, probably because it was obvious now who he was.

“You’re tranquil…” the woman said. “I had not heard that. You could have told me that, Inquisitor. I would not have objected to his being here as much as I do now.”

Hawke wanted to punch that woman. She sounded relieved, relieved that Anders wasn’t dangerous. Wasn’t that how everyone saw mages? The rest of Thedas liked to pretend they weren’t the Qunari, but “dangerous thing” was all that mages were to them.

“Cassandra…” Adaar said calmly, but tiredly. “He won’t be tranquil for long. I’m testing out the cure.”

“You wish to return this murderer to his full power?!” Cassandra almost yelled. “Inside our base! Inside all we have worked to build!”

“I wish to return this man to his mind,” said Adaar. “Does his being tranquil make you feel safe, Seeker?” Adaar practically sneered. The two women may be coworkers, but something was clearly bubbling under the surface.

“Of course it does,” replied Cassandra, “you know well what he is capable of.”

“The same as I’m capable of,” said Adaar. “Same as any mage. Would it make you feel safer if I was tranquil too?”

Hawke felt he should really not be in the middle of this. He had clearly walked right into a storm.

“I have never begrudged you for what you are! You are the Inquisitor, and I have always respected you as such.” Cassandra shot back.

This only made Adaar’s face grow darker. “I am a mage, Cassandra. I have always been a mage, always will be a mage, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

“I do not see you as merely a mage!” Cassandra responded, frustrated.

“You don’t see me as a mage at all!” Adaar raised her voice, clearly some deep frustration boiling over. “Say it Casandra, say I’m a mage because it’s what I fucking am! I know none of you want to see it, none of you want to reconcile that you work for a mage, I know you think I’m different, but I’m not! I’m just like the others! If you’re so happy with fucking tranquility then brand me right now, because every mage you feel glad is tranquil is me. We are the same!”

Cassandra took a step back, still angry but somewhat stunned. “I would never wish you tranquil.”

“Every mage you hurt is me!” Adaar replied, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “None of you see it because you’re all so busy pretending I’m not a mage! Do you know what Sera said to me the other day?”

Adaar almost laughed, but clearly she was miserable.

“I know you and Sera don’t always see eye to eye-“ Cullen began, raising a placating hand.

“She was worried, because of my training as an arcane warrior, that I was becoming like them! Like other mages! Dangerous things…”

Tears fell from Adaar’s eyes. “I’m sick of it. You all say you respect me but do you respect what I am?”

Cassandra had no answer for that. She looked taken aback, and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“This-“ she pointed to Anders, “is an important matter. You still let a murderer into Skyhold-“

“We’re all bloody murderers!” Adaar snapped. Then she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “… I’ve made my decision as Inquisitor. You may inform the inner circle but no one else. Leliana already knows.”

She sounded so very tired, as tired and full of hurt as Hawke was now accustomed to feeling.

Cassandra left in huff, storming from the room. Cullen made to leave as well, when Adaar stopped him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Cullen.”

“Adaa- Rosalind, please don’t think I would ever want you tranquil…”

The man looked genuinely hurt. What a joke, Hawke thought to himself. This monster had stood by when dozens of mages were made tranquil. Something was clearly different about Cullen now though, especially as the Inquisitor didn’t actually look mad at him.

“I don’t think you do,” Adaar assured him, “I don’t think any of you do… and you know, you actually see me as a mage. I don’t have to be someone I’m not around you… so thank you.”

“I know that has been a source of contention between us in the past…”

“What we fought about was better than the silence I get from the others,” Rosalind huffed. “And you know we’re past that. I know you were a Templar and I recognize that about you, you know I am an apostate and you recognize that about me. You’re my friend, Cullen.”

Hawke must be fucking dreaming. Cullen, friends with an apostate? This Rosalind woman was showing him genuine charitability… she must not know who he was. Hawke filed that away for later in his mind, but didn’t voice anything. It wasn’t his business, he didn’t know these people. He was here for the cure, nothing else.

Well… he had agreed to help them with Corypheus, that was part of the exchange. Before he hadn’t thought of that as his responsibility, he had already tried his hand at killing the bastard. But the inquisition’s spymaster still wanted his take on the situation.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Champion,” Adaar said. “I am… not at my best, currently.”

“Don’t worry,” Hawke replied, “I’m not either. And just call me Hawke. Kinda got sick of the whole “Champion” thing.”

Adaar chuckled. “I can relate. I’ve spent so long being the Inquisitor now, it’s hard to remember being myself. Rosalind, Roz, Adaar…even Sunflower, those all suit me better.”

The room was silent for a moment after, all present acknowledging how tired they all were. Thankfully, Cullen left. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. Cullen may be different now, but Hawke didn’t trust him around Anders. Hawke still remembered his words back in Kirkwall, his actions back in Kirkwall.

“How do we cure Anders?” Hawke asked the room. This nightmare needed to be over soon.

“Right,” said Adaar, giving her head a small shake. “It turns out that the Seekers of Truth have known the cure for tranquility for some time now. They… they kept it from the world…”

Adaar’s eyes were brimming with tears again, she looked furious.

“The Seekers that you’ve been working with,” Hawke pointed out.

Adaar smiled sardonically, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Cassandra didn’t know… but those above her did. I’m… I’m so sick of this place, honestly, but I’m too involved to leave. I have too much power at my disposal to leave, I have the power to help mages.”

The conviction in her voice was so painfully familiar. Hawke smiled at the woman. Adaar continued to explain.

“To cure the tranquil, a spirit must touch their mind. The problem is convincing a spirit to do that, so a spirit healer is needed.”

“And you have one?”

“Not yet, but Leliana sent for Commander Surana.”

“Surana’s a spirit healer?” Hawke asked, startled. The woman hadn’t seemed to have much of a knack for healing. Hawke’s shoulder remembered that.

“Leliana said she learned on the battlefield,” said Varric, easily sliding into his role as storyteller. “So her methods were… unconventional and untrained.”

“But she can connect with a spirit of the Fade,” came a new voice. Entering the room was a red-haired woman that Hawke knew must be Leliana.

“And,” the woman continued, “my beloved is willing to make the connection to help her dear friend. She should be arriving tomorrow.”

“We will be safe for the night?” Hawke asked, frowning.

“As long as you are under my protection, no one will touch you,” Adaar said firmly.

“Why are you doing this for us?” Hawke asked, trying and failing to let his guard drop for even a minute. The world was cruel, they shouldn’t keep meeting people who were kind. First they met Adaar’s kind parents, and how she was going out of her way to help.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Adaar told him. “Anders started something incredible, something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. Ever since I was a girl I’d known that tranquility would likely be my fate were I ever caught… thanks to him, there is a future where the next little Vashoth mage grows up without that fear. Where every mage has a family like I did.”

Leliana spoke next. “My feelings on his actions may be complicated, but he has allowed the dream of my beloved to come true. Adaar and I want to build a world without Circles, where people like my Regan will never be caged again.”

“And,” Varric added quietly, “… people care about him. He was a good friend.I wasn’t just gonna let him stay like this, and Commander Surana wasn’t either. You know, Hawke, you don’t have a monopoly on caring for Anders.”

Varric chuckled while he said it, but the sincerity in his voice brought tears to Hawke’s eyes.

“I…” Hawke said, making sure he kept his composure. “I suppose I just got used to being his only protector.”

“And you’ve done your job,” Varric assured Hawke. “You brought him here. Now let the rest of his friends and supporters handle it. We’ll bring him back to you.”

Hawke took a sharp breath, covering his face as he began to cry. This was real. This was happening.

[bronte-deserves-better]

What is UP, fuckers? Today I present to you: 12.5k words of pure self-indulgence by Auriel, posted by request of my discord friends who i've been bothering about this fic for like a week. Massive shoutout to y'all for tolerating me i have NO idea how you do it.

Title: Can’t find my way home (but it’s through you)

Wordcount: 12834

Warnings: flashbacks, panic attack (neither of those are from the POV character though), misgendering, injury, kidnapping, not too-graphic torture, brief mention of hospitals, mentioned abuse, annnnnd I think that's all.

I’ll link the AO3 in a reblog, but since I know AO3 is blocked for some people I’m also putting it here.

"How are we supposed to get to him?" Gisela was practically snarling in frustration as she paced. "Bronte is a cornerstone of the Council- and seemingly as unbreakable as one!"

"You're the people person, not me," Vespera reminded dryly. "I'm not the master of manipulation. Experimentation is my field."

"Well, fuck." Gisela flopped in a chair next to the other. "I was so certain Fintan was what would cause him to fall apart. Fintan turning against him, Fintan's supposed 'death', and then of course that dramatic reveal at the announcement."

"Fintan does have style, I must admit."

"He does. But even he hasn't been able to touch Bronte. Bronte barely even hesitated to speak against Fintan!"

Vespera sighed. "Gisela, I have no idea why you're telling all this to me."

"I'm brainstorming. Shut up."

"Brainstorm away, then."

"Right." Gisela resumed her pacing. "We had a weakness- we had his brother. But Fintan's starting to lose the will to fight him any longer, which is a dangerous liability. Not to mention that Fintan doesn't seem to be able to hurt him."

"I don't see why we can't just torture him," Vespera said, sounding bored.

Gisela glared at her. "In order to torture him, we'd have to kidnap him, Vespera."

"That can be arranged, you know."

"I know. But it's easier to break him from a distance. Or to..." She trailed off.

"To what?"

"Oralie!"

Vespera frowned. "What about Councillor Oralie?"

"Oralie is how we get to Bronte. You see, Vespera, from what Fintan has told me, I've been able to discern that Bronte fancies himself a protector. You can see it in his votes on the Council, too, always out to protect as many people as he can. Now what better way to crush his spirit than make him very aware of the fact that he cannot protect one of the people he cares about most?"

“Clever. And cruel. I like it.”

-

The announcement had come without warning, the elves of the Lost Cities assembling in Eternalia to hear some sort of Council plan to do something or other with the registry. Sophie hadn’t really been listening, and now she kinda regretted that since she was staring off into space when the first black-cloaked Neverseen members glittered into view.

“Shit,” Grady hissed.

“Language,” Edaline hissed.

Sophie stared at the Neverseen members. “Fuck.”

Everyone seemed to move at once, rushing to confront them. Even the Council made a move, Bronte raising his hands in a familiar gesture that Sophie knew meant he was preparing his inflicting, while some of the others rushed forward. And when all the chaos cleared, the duo of Neverseen members were levitating in the air, holding Oralie between them. Sophie watched as one of them shook back her hood, revealing Lady Gisela.

“Good evening, Councillors.”

Bronte, unsurprisingly, was the first to act, surging forward with a call of "Oralie!"

"Take a step closer and she dies," Gisela hissed, digging the knife she was holding a little further into Oralie's neck. "We wouldn't want that to happen, now would we, Miss Pyren?"

"My name is Bronte," Bronte spat, but he took a step back.

"Good."

"What do you want with Oralie?" Emery demanded.

"She's the kindest of us," Bronte agreed with a glare that could shatter steel. "Leave her alone."

Gisela threw back her head and laughed. "You want to know what I want with your pretty colleague here? Well, Pyren, I want to show you how absolutely and utterly powerless you are. Look at you. You're an ancient, a wielder of one of the most dangerous abilities in our world, and a Councillor for so long most people can't even remember when you were appointed. And yet you can do nothing to save your very best friend."

"Don't listen to her," Oralie pleaded. Sophie was close enough to discern genuine terror on her face. "She's just trying to get in your head."

"Silence!" Gisela slashed the knife lightly down the side of Oralie's throat, and Sophie watched blood begin to bead there. "You will say nothing, you pathetic excuse for a Councillor."

Oralie went silent at that, but her eyes blazed with defiance.

"You see?" Gisela directed a smirk at Bronte. "This is what happens when you're not careful enough with the people you love...people will take them away from you, Miss Pyren."

Sophie watched Bronte's hands clench and unclench helplessly. "Don't call me that."

"What, your last name? You want to keep your heritage a secret? You always said you were proud to be a Pyren, even when pyrokinesis was banned."

"No-"

Gisela smirked again and slashed a second line on Oralie's throat, causing the empath to hiss in pain. "I don't suppose anyone else feels like being stupid and trying to stand against me? You say this ancient is the strongest of you...but she can't even save her best friend."

"Stop calling him tha-" Oralie was cut off by a slap across the face from the other hooded figure, who Sophie recognized as Vespera.

"Stop your uppity commentary. Gisela and I will be leaving shortly, seeing as none of you have anything interesting to say."

Sophie could see a few tears forming in Oralie's eyes as she silently raised a hand to the red mark on her cheek.

"My associate is correct." Gisela's voice was triumphant. "It is time we leave- and show all of you just how weak your Councillors truly are." 

Vespera raised a crystal to the light. The elves of the plaza scattered. Gisela stepped into the beam with Oralie. The Council and bodyguards rushed to try and stop her. Sophie stood paralyzed. And above it all, a single, desperate scream rose.

"Oralie!"

The silence left in its wake was devastating, broken only by a soft, shuddering sob. Sophie turned to see Bronte's face crumple, tears dripping down his cheeks. Meanwhile, the rest of the Council just stood and stared awkwardly. 

Sophie was about to go running on stage herself when Emery quietly stepped out of the line, extending an arm and pulling Bronte into an embrace. To everyone's surprise, the ancient Councillor put up no resistance, instead burying his face in Emery's shoulder as his small frame shook. 

"We will find Councillor Oralie, and we will bring everyone responsible for this to justice," Emery addressed the crowd. "The Neverseen will not get away with this. In the meantime, we ask that everyone return home and remain calm, and the eleven of us will rule provisionally."

"What does that mean?" Sophie whispered to Grady.

"Technically, the Council isn't allowed to act on anything without all twelve of them," Grady whispered back. "It's called provisional rule when an incomplete Council takes action in urgent situations."

"Oh."

Elves were starting to leave, murmurs abounding as people reached for home crystals or pathfinders. Sophie decided not to follow the rest, instead grabbing her parent's hands and dragging them through the crowd towards the Council. All eleven remaining Councillors had now broken rank, the rest surrounding Bronte and Emery with varying levels of helpfulness. 

"There there," She heard Clarette say as they got closer. "We'll do perfectly fine at hunting those motherfucking orc-faced sons of dipshits down."

"What did you just say?" Alina demanded.

Clarette repeated the sentence, and Sophie realized she had been speaking in dwarven before as the rest of the Council sputtered. Bronte was the only one who didn't react at all, completely motionless in Emery's arms. 

"Hey," Terik said quietly, and it took a moment for Sophie to realize he was talking to her.

She waved awkwardly. "Hi, I guess."

"Did you need something?"

“I- no, I just wanted to...” Sophie trailed off. What did she want? “I wanted to talk about what just happened and check on the Council.”

“Well, we’re-“ Terik shot a glance over his shoulder to where Clarette seemed to be violently cussing out the Neverseen in multiple languages as Liora patted Bronte on the shoulder. “Well, arguably not fine, but we’ll solve it.”

“The Council will find the kidnappers and bring them to justice,” Emery agreed. Both of his arms were now wrapped around Bronte, who was still silent.

“Yeah, I mean, but I can help, right? I’m the leader of Team Valiant.”

“This is a matter for the Council.”

Sophie refused to give up so easily. “Well I also wanted to check on Bronte. He’s my inflicting mentor, and one of my points of contact on the Council.” 

“I’m sure Bronte will be fine,” Terik said, but he didn’t sound convinced. 

His words were made even less reassuring by the fact that the short Councillor was shaking and didn’t bother to make his own statement. 

“Bronte?” Sophie asked.

Nothing.

“Bronte?” 

He didn’t even look over at her.

“Bronte,” she tried one more time.

Bronte was still silent, and Emery sighed softly. “He’ll be okay, Sophie. We’ll get Oralie back, and in the meantime, we can certainly rely on his stubbornness.”

“Promise me you won’t let anything bad happen?” Sophie was aware she sounded childish, but some things were more important than her pride.

“Promise,” Emery told her, and she wanted to believe him. “Bronte‘s more than capable of physically defending himself, and as for the rest...well, Councillors support each other.”

"No we don't," Ramira muttered.

"Ramira!" The rest said in unison.

"I think we're going to leave you guys," Grady decided. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go home."

Sophie didn't have the energy to protest.

-

Meanwhile, in the Neverseen hideout, Oralie, Gisela, and Vespera had just shimmered into view, only to be met with a furious Fintan. 

He stalked towards them with murderous intent on his face, and Oralie flinched back. 

"GISELA-"

"Fintan, what in the world are you so worked up about?"

"You kidnapped Oralie? Without TELLING me??" Fintan was practically snarling. "You fucking idiots! What the fuck do you expect kidnapping Oralie to get you?!?"

"You see, my dear Fintan, there is such a thing as 'using others to strike at your true target'," Gisela sighed.

"And who the fuck are you trying to strike at? Sophie Foster? There are far more effective ways to do that!"

Gisela rolled her eyes. "Why would we kidnap Oralie to get at Sophie? No, we're trying to get at your sister."

"I don't have a sister."

"You know who I meant."

Oralie felt like throwing up at the misgendering, but she didn't dare say anything with the knife at her throat.

Fintan's expression didn't change, but Oralie thought she caught a hint of disgust in his voice as he spoke again. "You two have the planning skills of a carrot, collectively. My brother wouldn't give a fuck about some quiet empath. Besides, look at her now! She's bleeding and hurt. What do you expect that to get you? It certainly isn't going to win you the sympathy of the elven world."

Gisela opened her mouth, but Fintan cut her off, stepping closer. "Listen, Gisela, Vespera. You've made plots work before. But when it comes to the Council, you need to listen to me." He reached out an arm, tugging Oralie to his side with surprising strength. "Now I'm going to go fix up her wounds before these get infected and we lose our only valuable prisoner."

"As you see fit," Gisela muttered bitterly.

Oralie tried to pull away as Fintan tugged her down the hall, but the diminutive ancient was remarkably strong, and she was forced to remain by his side. 

"What do you want with me?" She hissed, trying to ignore the pain in her neck.

"Shut up," Fintan hissed back.

"No."

"Shush!"

Tugged close to his side as she was, Oralie could feel that he was truly angry, red-hot rage on the surface of his emotions, but below that was...fear? No, that wasn't quite right. Focusing in on the emotion, Oralie realized that Fintan was worried. Concerned, even. Startled by that, she was quiet all the way to their seeming destination, an unmarked door.

Fintan turned the knob and then kicked the door open, revealing what looked like a crude medical bay. "Come on."

Oralie winced as he yanked her inside none-too gently. "What do you want?"

"I want to fix those damn slashes." Fintan pointed at one of the cots. "Sit, let me find the cream we have for this."

She obliged, wary of what Fintan might do if she didn't.

To her surprise, he did precisely what he had said he was doing, retrieving some nasty-smelling ointment. "This hurts like a bitch, but it will disinfect those."

Fintan reached for her, and Oralie flinched away, remembering how he had looked the day Kenric died. "Don't touch me."

"But-" Fintan sighed. "Here. Put this on your neck, please, and a bandage too."

Too startled by the fact that Fintan Pyren had just uttered the word 'please' to disobey, Oralie did so. He hadn't been lying; it did hurt quite a bit, but she could feel the sting fade after a moment. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Fintan wouldn't meet her eyes. "Bronte cares about you."

"I didn't realize you cared so much about him still."

"I don't!" 

It didn't take her ability to know that was a lie. "Then why would you help me?"

He sighed, seemingly realizing the corner he had talked himself into. "Fine. I care about Bronte far more than I should, and he cares for you in turn. I helped you out of love for my brother. Nothing more."

"You sound just like Bronte when he's trying not to care," Oralie mused quietly.

Fintan's expression shuttered. "My brother and I are nothing alike. I'm a killer, he's a Councillor."

"You were a Councillor," she pointed out.

"That was a long time ago." Fintan shoved a tin of something in her face. "Here. Bruise stuff for that slap on your face."

Oralie recognized the deflection, and let it slide. "How do you know so much about wound care?"

"The Neverseen aren't exactly careful with themselves."

That didn't quite answer her question, but she let that slide too, applying the bruise cream. "What do you plan to do with me?"

"I don't know, Gisela doesn't tell me shit. We'll probably hold you hostage or something."

"If you plan on interrogating me, you should know that I won't break," Oralie murmured. 

"Anyone breaks with enough pressure," Fintan said, but he didn't seem like he meant it. "Come on, let's get you to a cell before Gisela gets on my ass about 'security'."

His flippant tone reminded Oralie of the Fintan she had known before the pyrokinesis ban, but she was wise enough not to say that as Fintan dragged her through the halls of the hideout. 

The cell Oralie was placed in was freezing cold, and she was already shivering as Fintan locked the door. His gaze was apologetic, but he said nothing as he turned and left. 

Knowing she needed to keep as much of her skin off the cold metal floor as possible, Oralie stripped off her thin Councillor's cloak and set it down as a barrier. She took off her circlet too, not wanting cold metal on her head, and tucked it into her dress. Then, she shed her heeled shoes, in case she needed to run, and tucked her feet under her dress in a futile attempt to keep warm, shivering all the while.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait and try to keep warm. By the time she guessed it was nine pm or so, she was curled up as tightly as she could manage. And by an hour after that, she had given up on sleeping at all that night.

Just when her tired eyes were finally starting to close, the cold seeping into her bones, she heard the door of the cell click open and light footsteps move across the floor. Deciding it was best to remain still, Oralie kept quiet as she felt a heavy, warm piece of fabric settle onto her. Through her half-closed eyes, she could see wavy, ice-blond hair fall into her vision when the person bent down to lay whatever it was over her.

The footsteps retreated, and the cell door closed. Only then did Oralie dare sit up and see what the person had left her; it was a Neverseen cloak, warm and smelling vaguely like wildfires and the serums from the medical bay. She recoiled at the smoke smell, but ultimately her need for warmth overcame any disgust. Laying back down, she found that the cloak was a little shorter than she really needed. It was warm, though, and if she curled up she could fit under it well enough. 

With the added warmth of the cloak, she was asleep within minutes.

-

In the Lost Cities, Emery and the other Councillors had long since given up on getting anything productive done that night and were collectively having a variety of arguments that ranged from how to best rescue Oralie to what the hell a 'clam chowder' was. 

Personally, Emery was well aware of what clam chowder was, but he had bigger concerns than watching Zarina and Clarette debate it. Namely, Bronte, who was sitting next to him and staring off into space. 

"Bronte," Emery tried one more time. "Bronte, please."

He said nothing, so Emery turned to Liora. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

"Why would I know?" The conjurer didn't wait for an answer. "Let's take him back to one of our castles. Bully him into getting some food and sleep, and in the morning we'll try to handle the rest."

"We can go to mine," Emery decided. "Bronte, is that okay with you?"

Bronte continued to stare past Emery's head, but he nodded slowly, and Emery counted that as a victory. 

"Right." Emery stood up, making his voice louder to address the rest of the Council. "Bronte, Liora, and I are heading out for the night. We're getting nothing done, and we all need to sleep or we'll get nothing done tomorrow as well. I know it's tempting for us to spend all night on the search for our colleague, but we need to rest or we won't be ready to continue tomorrow."

"I agree with Emery," Noland signed from the corner, shooting Emery a tiny smile. "We need to rest."

"Emery is right," Clarette agreed. "Let's go."

The Council split off, leaving the room in groups of one or two. It was both heartbreakingly familiar and heartbreakingly different from how the usual routine went; it was almost always that Councillors walked back to the castles in groups, discussing with their political allies or friends, but with Oralie gone, those groups had already shifted. Usually, Terik walked back alone, but today he was signing back and forth with Noland. Derek, who usually walked with Noland, looked rather put out by this, and had chosen to team up with Alina. Meanwhile, Clarette, Velia, Ramira and Zarina were all walking together in a tight-knit little clump, which wasn't too unusual; usually those four stuck together and left in some configuration, sometimes duos or trios. 

Usually, Emery walked with whoever he wanted to talk to that day, having no defined group. For the past few months, he had made a point to walk back with Alina so she would feel welcome on the Council. But Alina and Bronte despised each other, and today Bronte needed Emery more. So Emery had fallen into step with Liora and him, heading back to Emery's castle. 

Liora reached the door first, and pushed it open without even asking Emery. "Well, your front room is...ostentatious."

Emery sighed and decided it wasn't worth fighting with Liora over interior design today. "I know."

He almost wished Bronte would make a blunt comment about it, as would be typical for him, but the other was silent as he stepped inside. 

"Food first," Liora said, and Emery nodded along as she wandered into his kitchen and started banging around.

"Liora is a shit cook."

Emery whipped his head around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, finding Bronte hadn't changed posture or expression at all. "What did you say?"

"Liora is a shit cook," Bronte repeated. His voice was hoarse, quiet, but Emery had never been so relieved to hear an insult in his life.

"I am not," Liora called from the kitchen.

Bronte just snorted quietly. 

Liora did turn out to be fairly awful at cooking, but they all ate it anyways. Afterwards, Emery found spare rooms for the other two, down the hall from his, and settled down to sleep. 

He woke up again at maybe one am to a near-scream from down the hall, leaping out of bed and immediately hurrying to see what was going on. Liora's door remained shut, and she was still somehow asleep when he peeked in, so he hurried to Bronte's room and pushed open the door.

"Bronte?"

The other scrambled backward, pressing against the headboard of the bed. "Don't- stay away."

Emery flinched back from the words. "Are you okay?"

Bronte didn't answer him, instead pleading under his breath for something Emery couldn't hear. 

Emery took a step forward. "It's okay. It's just- it's just me."

Bronte didn't reply once again, but he didn't flinch when Emery stepped forward again. So Emery started talking again, quietly, offering up whatever reassurances he could manage as he slowly made his way across the room. Talking had always been his skill, ever since he was in Foxfire and talking his mentors into teaching him more advanced subjects. Always speaking, always deflecting and lying and persuading, never part of the action. Opposite from Bronte, he guessed. Now he was grateful for all that, though, his words allowing him to reach the other.

"You're safe," he told Bronte quietly.

Bronte's gaze was still filled with terror when he looked up at Emery, fear mingling with sorrow and guilt. "They- they tried to hurt Fintan. They tried to get him but I got in their way and I tried to get them to stop and-" he choked on a sob. "And I lied to my inflicting mentor when she asked about the bruise, I said that- I said that we were playing tackle bramble even though I've never played tackle bramble, but- but they hurt him. They hurt Fintan."

For once, Emery's voice failed him. "Who?"

"Mother and father," Bronte choked out. "Don't let them hurt you, don't let me hurt you."

Emery still didn't know what was going on, but his heart was breaking for the other when he knelt by Bronte. "Shh. It's okay. No one's going to hurt me, and no one's going to hurt you. I promise."

"I promised too, you know." The older Councillor laughed bitterly, and his voice was lighter, younger, when he spoke again. "I promise, Fintan, I'll never let anyone hurt you." He dropped the tone. "But they did."

"I'm sorry," Emery murmured. "I'm sorry."

Bronte's laughter turned into sobs, and before Emery had time to comprehend what the fuck was going on, he was holding a sobbing Bronte for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. At this point, it wasn't even close to the worst thing that had happened this week. So Emery knelt on the hardwood floor- why oh why had he never gotten a carpet for this room- and let Bronte cling until the other had gone quiet.

"I'm sorry," Bronte said finally. His voice was still rough. 

"For what?"

He didn't answer. "Go back to bed."

"Okay, but are you sure you're okay?"

"Go back to bed, Emery."

Worried and a little hurt, Emery had no choice but to retreat to his own room.

The next morning, Emery and Liora found that Bronte was gone, a note left on the kitchen table that said "Thank you for the hospitality. You were very kind. I will see you at the Council meeting today." It was signed with a scribbled "Bronte.". 

Emery and Liora glanced at each other.

"That's abrupt," Emery said, although he suspected he knew why Bronte had left.

"Typical of him, really," Liora remarked. 

"How much do you know about Bronte?" So Emery was curious, sue him.

"We don't get along very well. But we have worked together for a very long time." Liora frowned, stepping over the doorstep. "'Don't get along' might be an overstatement. It would be more accurate to say that Bronte is deeply guarded, and I am deeply introverted, and as thus we simply never got to know each other." 

"That makes sense. You're rarely one to speak to the others outside of our work." Liora was one of the few who always walked back to her castle alone.

"Indeed. But I have known Bronte for long enough that he is not such an enigma to me."

Emery started towards the Councillor's meeting building. "What do you know of him?"

"I know he is grumpy, introverted, and guarded. I know he has resisted any and all efforts for anyone to get to know him, but he loves his brother and his best friend more than anything in the world. He would kill and die for Oralie without hesitation.”

“We all know that one,” Emery muttered.

Liora laughed quietly. “True. You see, Oralie was appointed not long after I was, and Kenric at the same time. But Oralie and Kenric were much, much younger than I. Besides even the commonalities that Bronte and Oralie shared, it was natural for him to take on an older sibling role to the two of them. Meanwhile, I was quite independent when I started on the Council, and the only person I asked for advice was Carsil- I believe you met them? While Oralie instantly bonded with the Pyrens, I have always been more reclusive.”

Emery nodded, pausing at the door. “From what I know of Oralie, Kenric, and Bronte, that seems right. Do you know why Bronte is so...reluctant to make friends?”

“I have no idea. But I would expect his ability and his past have something to do with it.”

Don't let them hurt you, don't let me hurt you. 

Emery stepped into the building after Liora.

-

Oralie woke up the next day half-wondering if the cloak laid over her had been a dream, since she was shivering slightly, but when she sat up, the Neverseen cloak fell to the floor.

“Not a dream, then,” Oralie murmured to herself. 

Her next move was searching for weaknesses in her cell, which there appeared to be none of, followed by pacing futilely and trying to think. That was followed by sitting hopelessly on her cape thinking about Bronte’s face when Gisela had leapt her away, which turned into thinking about Kenric, which turned into thinking about Sophie. 

Sophie. Oralie had never before wished to be a telepath, but now she would have chosen abilities as strong as her daughter’s if it meant being able to contact her friends- her family- even one last time. 

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Gisela arrived in time to pull Oralie out of her depressing thoughts spiral. Most certainly unfortunately, she proceeded to drag Oralie through the halls, tie her to a chair, and begin asking a ridiculous amount of questions.

“No. No, I don’t know. Why would I know who Sophie’s biological parents are? I’m not a member of the Black Swan.” Technically, that was the truth, so Oralie stuck to that story. Thankfully, she had long practice at lying and getting away with it, despite the weakness all Empaths shared. Much as that had made Sophie hate her, it came in handy when being tortured by the Neverseen. So Oralie lied and lied and deflected and refused to answer, and Gisela got steadily madder and madder. 

“Is there nothing that will phase you?”

Oralie stared up at her calmly, trying to ignore all the cuts and bruises that were now scattered across her body. “Nothing.”

Gisela smirked. “Is that so? Well I know your looks matter to you, so…” She flicked open her knife again, slashing it across one of Oralie’s cheeks and then the other. Slash slash. Two agonizing cuts, two streams of blood dripping down Oralie’s face.

Silence.

Oralie broke the quiet, taking all of the pain she had been repressing and letting it go, letting the cry trapped in her throat and the tears in her eyes go free.

Gisela looked startled. “Pathetic. So easily broken.”

Oralie let out her most pathetic sob in response.

“Honestly. So weak,” the polyglot sniffed. “Now tell me what you know.”

Instead of obeying, Oralie started crying even harder, feeling tears sting the cuts on her cheeks.

“Stop that! You’re supposed to be a Councillor, not a pathetic mess.”

“I- I-” She shuddered weakly, unable to muster the energy to respond even if she had wanted to tell Gisela anything.

“Stop your crying!”

The snap reminded Oralie distinctly of some less than lovely people she knew, and she took that emotion and turned it into even more tears. Fragile, she might be. Easily broken, she might be. But shards of glass were even more dangerous than the whole they once had been, and Oralie had learned to take her brokenness and make it a weapon.

So even as Gisela kept asking questions, Oralie just cried and cried until the other finally gave up and dragged her back to her cell. 

“Sit here and think about your pathetic life, Councillor crybaby,” the other hissed.

Oralie just shuddered again, letting a sob shake her entire body. 

Gisela stomped away in a huff, and Oralie gave herself two more minutes to cry before she wiped her tears, got up, and started trying to figure out how to stop her face from bleeding. She could still hardly believe that had worked, but she would take whatever scraps of time to herself she got.

Her solution to her face ended up being pressing the Neverseen cloak to her cheeks until the bleeding had mainly stopped. And while she did that, she tried to brainstorm ways to get out. Sophie. Sophie! Knowing Sophie was the only telepath powerful enough to reach her, she tried calling out with her mind, to be met with only silence. It seemed that Sophie wasn’t listening- or hadn’t found her. Defeated, Oralie sat back on the floor and started trying to break her circlet to turn into a lockpick or make-shift weapon. Every part of her body ached, but if she could focus on survival it became easier to ignore that.

-

In Eternalia, Emery watched something new in Bronte’s expression break each day, the circles under his eyes getting steadily darker and the pain in them persisting. The Council’s search for Oralie had been mainly futile, as it seemed the Neverseen had somehow disabled the tracking device in her cloak. And even Alina, who had never liked Oralie, was feeling the pressure. Oralie was beloved by so many, and to have her gone was a devastating blow. Especially to Bronte.

The Senior Councillor had been especially distant from Emery ever since the day of the kidnapping, when he had completely broken down in Emery’s arms. Emery half-suspected he was embarrassed, but it hurt anyways when Bronte snapped at him. 

Despite their distance, it ended up being Emery who found Bronte crying in the Councillors’ meeting room a good hour after the rest had gone home. Emery had lingered in the building, checking on one or two last things, and when he wandered back into the meeting room to grab his stuff, he found the other sitting there. 

Despite his usual eloquence, the first thing he could think of to say was “Well, this is awkward.” 

“Fuck off,” Bronte snarled, but he looked too much of a mess for the words to really be impactful.

“It’s not the end of the world if I see you upset.”

“I know. But I refuse to let you get hurt.” 

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“I’m an inflictor. Put the fucking pieces together, Emery.”

“You’re scared of...hurting me?” Emery was strangely touched, despite the other’s harsh words.

“Yes. Now leave me alone.”

“No.”

Bronte stared at him. “What?”

“I said no.” Emery took a breath, steeling himself. “Listen, I know you care about Oralie most. Everyone knows she’s the only one you’ll ever talk to. But Oralie isn’t fucking here right now. We might be working on getting her back, but that doesn’t mean you get to just- just push everyone away and refuse any help in the meantime. And I know you’re scared of hurting me, or scared of vulnerability, or whatever the fuck it is, but please just let me fucking help, Bronte.” He was startled when his voice broke on the last sentence, words coming out all jagged and torn-up.

Bronte’s expression hadn’t changed much, but Emery thought he caught shock on the other’s face. “You actually care?”

“Of course I do! Isn’t it obvious?” Emery found himself rubbing at his eyes to keep from tearing up. “I was fucking worried, and you just up and left and- and stayed away. Because you’re scared or whatever.”

“I was just being cautiou-”

“Well fuck that! You’re the elf who goes charging headfirst into danger and didn’t even falter when King Dimitar threatened to rip your head off that one time. And somehow you’re too afraid to let anyone help you? You’re a coward, Bronte.” 

For a second, Emery thought he was going to get absolutely destroyed, but Bronte’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Emery.”

“It’s fine,” Emery whispered, turning his head away. 

“No, it was shitty.” Bronte stood, holding his arms out awkwardly, and Emery took the embrace. Bronte might have been a full head shorter, but Emery felt very small compared to the other’s ancient presence. Emery was made of gold, soft and malleable but loved and charming. Bronte was made of steel, sharp and unflinching and plain. Which one of those was better, Emery couldn’t say. But, for just a moment, he allowed himself to be soft, leaning on Bronte’s steely presence. 

-

Meanwhile, in the Neverseen hideout, it had been a full week since Oralie’s capture. Every day, one of the Neverseen members had taken a turn trying to interrogate her. Giesla had given up after the second day. Fintan had asked some questions and done a little half-hearted threatening, but Oralie could tell he wasn’t actually prepared to follow through on his threats. So she had told him nothing. Vespera had been the worst, cruel and calculating, but Oralie had kept her mouth shut. Somehow. And now she was back in her cell in a haze of exhaustion and pain, staring blankly at the corridor Vespera had left via.

Finally, her blank stare landed on a set of keys that had fallen from Vespera’s belt, and that was enough to break through her numb tiredness. Keys! To her cell! She reached through the bars, finding the keys only inches from her fingertips, and swore under her breath. The keys glittered just out of her reach, taunting her.

Oralie rummaged around in her dress, retrieving her circlet, and slammed it against the floor. 

Once. 

It didn’t break. 

There was something symbolic, maybe, about Oralie not being able to break the object that was a physical representation of her responsibilities. The embodiment of her duty to the Lost Cities, encased in a circle of metal that was heavier than it looked. 

Twice.

The circlet began to crack. 

But she was more than her responsibilities. She had gone beyond the Council seat she held. She was not just Councillor Oralie, she was something beyond the title that so often preceded her name. 

Thrice.

The metal snapped entirely. 

Oralie wasted no time into bending it into a straight line with a slight hook on the end, reaching out again and snagging the keys. 

From there, it was fairly simple to reach around and unlock her cell. Oralie tucked the keys into a pocket of her dress, and bundled up her Councillor’s cloak into a small enough ball to fit in another pocket. The Neverseen cloak, she donned, and the broken circlet went into her right hand, ready to fight if need be. She left her heeled shoes behind in the cell, knowing they would be of no use in a fight, and slipped into the hallways of the hideout.

Oralie realized fairly quickly that she now had no shoes, no idea where she was going, and an entire hideout of Neverseen members to evade. Nevertheless, she refused to squander her chance at freedom. So she crept along, making her way towards the healing wing she and Fintan had been in earlier. Thankfully, she arrived there without incident, pushing open the doors and shutting them with a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, Fintan happened to be in the healing wing currently, bandaging his hand.

Oralie froze, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

Fintan turned at the noise of doors shutting, and gaped at her. “Oralie?”

“Fintan,” Oralie said quietly. 

“How did you get in here?”

Oralie shrugged apologetically and tried to look innocent.

Fintan wasn’t buying it. “You escaped your cell somehow, and somehow managed to navigate to this wing.”

“I remembered the way.”

“Clever.” Fintan’s smirk seemed almost impressed. “As a leader of the Neverseen, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to escape, however.”

Oralie’s heart clenched in fear, but she refused to let it show on her face. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I’m obligated to tell you that you should absolutely not go into the storeroom of this wing. That would be a terrible idea. And you should definitely not kick open the panel behind the burn cream boxes. That would hurt. And definitely not help you escape.”

“I will definitely not do that,” Oralie told him. She would have been smiling if she was any less exhausted.

“Good, good.”

“Thank you for the cloak, by the way.” She held it out. “You can have this back, sorry for bleeding on it.”

“No, no, keep it. But remember, you should definitely not be wary of the ways it might be similar to your Council one.”

Ways it might be similar...ways it might be similar...trackers! Oralie nodded. “Thank you, Fintan.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “Oh, and…tell Bronte I said hello, will you?”

“I will. He misses you,” Oralie added impulsively.

“I’m afraid he’ll have to continue missing me.” Fintan’s sorrow was genuine, and Oralie didn’t need to brush her hand against his as she passed to know that.

She did anyways, needing to know if Fintan genuinely cared about helping her. She found nothing but mild concern, sorrow, and a hint of fear at what the other Neverseen members might do, which was more than enough proof that he cared. Much like Bronte, Fintan was not as subtle as he thought he was.

So Oralie headed into the storeroom, looking around for the box of burn cream. It appeared to be near the back wall, and when she scooted it aside, she found a loose panel in the wall. So she followed Fintan’s advice and kicked it as hard as she could, hissing an “Ouch!” under her breath as her bare foot made contact. The panel fell outward, though, and Oralie was able to crawl outside. The dirt felt wonderful after a week of cold metal floors on her bare feet, and she allowed herself a moment to breathe before putting the panel back in place and running from the hideout.

The Neverseen base had appeared to be in a deciduous forest, as the tree leaves were currently red, orange and yellow, and it was populated by what Oralie guessed were birches and maples. The setting didn’t really matter, though, only getting away from her captors. So she ran until she was out of sight of the building, and only then allowed herself to flop onto the ground.

Remembering Fintan’s words, she took her broken circlet and used it to cut open the seams of the cloak, looking for trackers. She found a little disk fairly similar to the ones in her Councillor’s cloak, and set it on the ground. Over that, she put her Councillor’s cloak, and took a moment to breathe and brace herself for what she was about to do.

Shing! The broken circlet slashed through the soft skin on her left index finger, and Oralie sprinkled the blood all over her discarded cloak. There. That should throw them off her trail. 

She wiped her bloody finger on Fintan’s cloak, got up, and started walking. 

Her walk turned out to be a very long one, stumbling over seemingly endless tree roots and pushing through seemingly endless bushes. Even as night fell, Oralie forced herself to keep moving. She couldn’t afford to be caught. She couldn’t afford to be caught. That was the chant that kept her on her feet, even as her entire body ached. Her legs and feet ached from walking, her arms and hands ached from what Vespera had dealt, and her face ached from the slashes Gisela had given her. Still, she staggered onward until it was nearly dawn and she was able to see a little settlement on the horizon. 

As she got closer, she could tell that it was clearly a human town, with quaint architecture and a few humans bustling about. Still, if she concentrated, she could read the signposts, which were in one of few human languages she knew. The one Sophie spoke. Well, Sophie spoke all the languages. But the one Sophie had grown up with. English! That was the word. Language? Noun? Oralie shook her head, trying to clear it, but it only made her more dizzy. Blood loss and sleep deprivation probably had something to do with that, she reflected, which was evidence that she had been friends with Bronte too long. Only Bronte would be so clinical about something like this. Fuck, she missed him. And he was probably worried about her, seeing as she had gotten kidnapped. Sure, Oralie had bigger problems than Bronte’s worry, but it was easier to think about her best friend than the fact that she had staggered into the human town and humans were staring, or the fact that she felt like passing out.

Which was what she proceeded to do, right on the doorstep of one of the houses. 

-

Around that time, Sophie was getting a hail from Bronte. It might have been the middle of her Elven History session, but Sophie picked up the imparter anyways, ignoring her mentor’s indigent sputtering. 

“Miss Foster, history is a very important subject!”

Sophie rolled her eyes to herself. “Bronte? What is it? Is there word of Oralie?”

“Slow down, Miss Foster,” Bronte grumped. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, which were rimmed with red, but his grumpy voice was as steady and familiar as ever. “We do not have word of Oralie, but I am hailing about her.”

“Are you- are you talking to a Councillor?” Sophie’s mentor sputtered.

“Yes, I am, so please let me talk!” Normally, Sophie would never be so rude, but this was not a normal time. “What about Oralie?”

“We need your help. Emery has an idea.”

“And you’re agreeing with Emery?” Sophie couldn’t help but ask.

Bronte sighed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “In this case, his idea isn’t completely idiotic.”

“I heard that, Bronte!” Emery hollered from offscreen.

“Fuck you, Emery!”

“We’re Councillors!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Bronte huffed another sigh. “Anyways. Please come to Eternalia as soon as possible. You can tell your mentor- who sounds rather disgruntled- that this is extraordinarily important Council business. I’ll send you a signed note or something if you need.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sophie turned to her mentor. “Excuse me, sir, but I have to go. Extremely important Council business.” 

“Really?”

“Yes,” Bronte called from Sophie’s imparter. “Trust me, the Council knows the importance of education. But this is more important.”

“Oh- oh okay, then. See you next week,” He said, but Sophie was already grabbing her bag and running for the Leapmaster.

“Bronte, where do I go when I get to Eternalia?”

“The Council secret meeting building- I’ll give you directions.”

She barely even thought to concentrate as she threw herself into the beam of light, re-forming near the Councillors’ castles in Eternalia. “Where now?”

“To your right,” Bronte directed. “That plain building about fifty feet from the end of the row of castles.”

Sophie hurried over there, forced to stop running by the stitch in her side, and banged on the door. 

Bronte opened it mere seconds later, gesturing at her to come inside. He looked even worse in real life than over the imparter, short hair sticking every which way and tunic wrinkled, but his strides were determined when he led Sophie down the hall. 

The rest of the Councillors looked only somewhat less frazzled as Bronte pushed open the door to their meeting room. Even Alina’s hair was out of place. But the determination in Bronte’s strides was mirrored in all of their eyes, and for the first time, Sophie could see how they were truly leaders. 

“So, what’s Emery’s idea?” She asked, wandering inside as Bronte shut the door. 

“Well,” Emery started, “You remember how you’ve been able to use telepathy to call for help? Oralie isn’t a telepath, but if we can reach her, we might be able to figure out where she is and coordinate rescue efforts.”

“Okay, but...we don’t know where in the world she is,” Sophie argued. “I don’t know her mind well enough to reach her from a huge distance, not like Keefe.”

“And that’s where I come in. You see, I’ve been the spokesperson for well over five hundred years,” Emery explained.

“And he gets to poke around in everyone’s heads because of it,” Zarina contributed.

“Exactly. I know my fellow Councillors’ minds as well as I know my own. But I’m not strong enough to reach all the way across the world.”

Sophie was starting to see his strategy. “So if we worked together, I might be able to help you reach Oralie, and you could help me find her mind?”

“Precisely.” Emery’s gaze was piercing. “I haven’t been kind to you in the past, and it might be difficult to trust me. But I’m hoping you’ll try.”

The hope in the Council’s gazes was almost disquieting. 

“For Oralie’s sake,” Sophie told him. “But I want my cognate here.”

“Very well,” Emery said before anyone else could say anything. “Bronte, could you hail him?”

“Why is it always me?” Bronte didn’t wait for a response before he pulled out his imparter again and set about hailing Fitz. 

Fitz arrived ten minutes later, rather out of breath. “What’s going on?”

Emery gave him a quick rundown.

“That’s insane,” Fitz informed him. “But...Sophie is pretty amazing. So I guess it’s worth a try.”

-

Oralie drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing worried voices around her but not having the presence of mind to translate their words. She felt hands lift her, people moving her from the ground to something else, then to a place that smelled sterile. After that, she was conscious for only brief snatches, sometimes feeling hands on her injuries or needles prick her skin.

“Bronte,” she tried to cry, not knowing what was happening only that she needed her friend. “Bronte!” 

He didn’t come.

In her most blurred moments, Oralie found the name on her lips was “Kenric!”, but by the time she was completely unconscious, she remembered his death. 

She woke up fully to sunlight streaming in the window of a room she didn’t recognize, falling across the comforters of a bed she didn’t recognize. “What...what happened?”

No one responded, and Oralie realized she was entirely alone. Naturally, she scanned the room to try and discern where she was. Floral wallpaper, stained. Hardwood floor, somewhat old and warped. Lacy curtains, very dusty. It was clear that this was not the Lost Cities, nor any of the lands of the intelligent species. Which left only one place: the Forbidden Cities.

Oralie blinked, and her memory of last night- last morning, really- came flooding back. Right. She had escaped and walked to the human town. Which meant one of the humans had picked her up and brought her here. 

Just as Oralie was wondering where that human might be now, the door swung open to reveal a rather elderly human woman with smile lines around her mouth and eyes, and hair streaked through with silver. She bustled over to fuss with the comforters, and then startled. 

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Oralie tried to summon up the correct English words, cursing herself for not practicing enough. “I am.”

The human smiled and said something about eyesight and leaving that Oralie didn’t quite catch. “Anyways. What’s your name?”

“I am Oralie. What is yours?” Oralie knew her speech was probably a little stilted, but she cut herself a little slack, given what she had just been through.

“Brenda,” the human- Brenda- answered. “How are you feeling?”

“A little… fuck,” Oralie muttered under her breath. “Tired? English is not my first language.”

“Ah, that’s okay, dearie. Now, the doctor said you should have some food and water.” She said something else that Oralie didn’t catch and hurried out the door.

When Brenda returned, she was carrying a tray of some human food, and there was another human with her. “This is my wife, Susan,” she explained to Oralie.

Oralie nodded, grateful for Brenda’s clear and slow speech allowing her to catch the words. 

“Have some food,” Susan told her, and despite the unfamiliarity of the food, Oralie was happy to obey. 

The duo stayed in the room while she was eating, chattering to each other in English too fast for Oralie to catch. The food itself was not bad, but Oralie would have eaten it even if it was. Finally, she was finished, and Brenda grabbed the tray and hurried off.

Susan turned to Oralie, and Oralie could feel pity and concern radiating off her. Still, Susan’s voice was steady and gentle when she spoke. “Brenda and I did not go to the police. We took you to the hospital, and told the doctors we did not know how you got injured.” 

Despite not knowing what ‘hospital’ or ‘police’ meant in the Enlightened Language, Oralie understood enough to know that there was a ‘but’ coming.

“But,” Susan added, “your wounds look deliberate.” 

“Deliberate?” Oralie asked slowly, trying to get the English syllables through her mouth.

“Done on purpose,” Susan told her. “We were hoping you would tell us who hurt you, so we can make sure you’re safe.”

Oralie took a moment to process the sentence, and then another moment to come up with a lie. “My- my boyfriend. I...ran from his house.” She let the memory of Vespera’s tormenting turn her eyes tearful, selling the lie.

“I’m so sorry. Brenda and I will make sure he never hurts you again, okay?”

Oralie nodded.

“Can you answer two more questions for me?” Susan asked.

Oralie nodded again.

“Who is ‘Bronte’? You were calling for him.”

She didn’t have to think much this time. “My older brother.”

“And ‘Kenric’?”

“My…former boyfriend. Not the bad one. He....” Oralie hesitated, trying to remember all the polite human euphemisms for death. “He passed away.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” Susan stood. “Brenda and I can let you stay here for a bit. Until you’re back on your feet.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

-

Back in Eternalia, Sophie was nervously linking hands with Fitz and Emery, hoping it would work.

Hello? Fitz’s voice asked in her head. I’m past your blocking, and I think I’m past Emery’s too.

He is, Emery’s mind murmured.

Hi, Sophie said to both of them.

Fitz sent her an image of him waving, and she smiled.

Emery offered a polite mental hello.

Right, so, should we get started? Fitz asked.

We need Sophie to do that, Emery told him.

Sophie’s stomach knotted with nerves. Right. Yeah. Okay. I’m going to reach out. If you guys could like, guide me and send mental energy, that would be great.

Fitz sent her a thumbs up.

Emery nodded mentally, somehow. 

Sophie’s first try was utterly overwhelming, humans’ and elves’ thoughts pouring into her brain and any sign of Oralie lost amongst the chaos. She lost contact with Emery maybe five seconds in, and Fitz had to reel her mind back in.

“Ow,” he said out loud. “That was overwhelming.”

Emery was frowning. “I think we lost touch.”

“We’ll try again,” Sophie told the other telepaths.

Thankfully, they both nodded.

Two tries later, they had established that the problem seemed to be that Sophie simply couldn’t keep touch with Emery’s mind. 

“Aren’t there any other telepaths that know Oralie’s mind well enough?” Sophie groaned in frustration, and then winced as Emery looked offended.

“The ideal choice would be Kenric,” Bronte told her. “But…”

“That’s not an option,” Emery finished. “And I doubt any other living telepath has read Oralie’s mind as many times as I have, at least of the ones you’ve worked with.”

“Don’t you lot do like, trust exercises?” Zarina asked. Her feet were propped on the Council’s meeting table, earning her glares from everyone else. 

“I mean…” Fitz glanced at Sophie. “Worth a shot. Although I don’t know how much I trust Emery to catch me falling off a table.”

“I’ve caught Bronte falling off a cabinet,” Emery argued.

“Yeah, but Bronte’s like, four feet tall,” Sophie told him. “Wait, you’ve caught Bronte falling off a cabinet?”

Bronte glared at Emery. “Fuck all of you.”

“Maybe you could try some ones that don’t involve tables,” Terik suggested. He looked faintly amused.

“Only if they involve hearing the story of Bronte falling off a cabinet,” Sophie joked.

Emery shrugged. “I mean, that story does involve one of my secrets. But it wouldn’t be fair to Bronte.”

So five minutes later, they were back to trying trust-falls. So far, Fitz and Emery had both caught Sophie, and Sophie had caught Fitz and then proceeded to fall on her ass.

“I think this is a really bad idea,” Emery informed her, but he toppled off the chair anyways.

To her own surprise, Sophie didn’t immediately drop him, although she did lower him to the floor very quickly.

The rest of the Council seemed greatly amused by all this. At least, until they took the exercises back to being mental.

Okay, so we’re all telling each other one non-illegal secret? Fitz asked.

Emphasis on the non-illegal, Emery told him.

Right. Gotcha.

There was a moment of mental silence, and then, I’ll go first. 

Sophie silently thanked Emery for that as he went on. You all know about the miniature ball at the end of the Elite Towers, yes? I went with someone not on my match list. 

Fitz audibly gasped. That’s like, a huge scandal.

I know. Nothing bad ever became of it, obviously, but...it was a big deal to the few people who knew about it then. 

Why? Sophie asked him mentally.

It was a big deal because I went with another aspiring regent, who- well, I won’t tell you his name, but at the time it was quite the scandal for a young and promising Foxfire graduate to be going out with another man.

Sophie didn’t know the elves had homophobia. That’s iconic, honestly.

I wish I could say it was, but only a few people even knew we were together. Emery’s mental voice sounded pensive. And, of course, it’s been a very long time since I last saw him. 

Well I was going to say that one time I put fart a la carte in Biana’s breakfast so she would be gassy for the opening ceremonies, but now I feel kinda silly, Fitz told them. Um. Wait. If we’re being gay….

Sophie tried for a joking tone. Don’t tell me you’re actually gay and not into me. 

No, but Keefe was my first kiss. 

...Do I have permission to tease him about that?

Ask him, not me.

Emery sounded like he was smiling mentally. That’s sweet, actually. 

And I have a lot of questions, Sophie added. But I guess I should say my secret now.

Probably.

Right. Uh. Keeping with the theme, I’m just going to come out now and say that I’m bi. 

Whoa, Fitz said, but he didn’t seem like he thought that was a bad thing. 

Right, Emery told them both. Now that we all understand each other a little bit better, should we try again?

This time, Sophie felt both of the others’ minds right alongside hers as she searched. Fitz was mainly there for support, but Emery’s mind guided her strength across the world until they brushed against a mind that felt both soft like silk and hard like glass.

This is Oralie, Emery’s mind whispered. His mental voice was faint, stretched over the massive distance. 

Sophie made the extra leap to touch Oralie’s mind. Oralie. Oralie!

Silence. And then, a faint, almost disbelieving Sophie?

-

Susan had left the room a few moments before, after Oralie had asked which town she had made it to (some small town that Oralie didn’t recognize, but she memorized the name of just in case). And so Oralie was once again alone with her thoughts, which once again turned to the people she had left behind in the Lost Cities. Sophie, Bronte, even Emery. And of course Kenric. Even now, he never seemed far from her thoughts, although her emotions had become a little more mixed and muddled as the initial surge of grief faded. Still, Oralie supposed she would be missing him forever. Which was a rather depressing thought. While she was making herself sad, she might as well think about Sophie and the hatred radiating from her daughter when they spoke. Oralie had been an empath long enough to know that rage most often stemmed from hurt- but the fact that she had hurt Sophie did not wound her any less than the thought that Sophie hated her. Maybe she would ask Bronte for advice on how to fix this whole damn mess.

Bronte. It had been so natural to say he was her brother, beyond even needing to lie to these humans. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t close enough to qualify, a brother in everything but blood, but Oralie had no idea how he’d feel about having another blonde disaster of a younger sibling. 

The first time a familiar voice entered her head, Oralie thought she had imagined it. She had clearly just been thinking about Sophie too much. 

But the second time, she couldn’t ignore the desperation behind the call. Sophie?

Oralie! There was genuine relief in Sophie’s transmission. Where are you? Are you safe?

I’m safe, for now. I’m in a little town called Wetherby- it’s a human settlement, but it was the closest place to go when I escaped the Neverseen, since I didn’t have a leaping crystal. 

You can get by in a human town?

I speak a little English, Oralie explained. And the people who helped me are very kind- they’re a human couple who lives here. I told them English was my second language and they didn’t question it.

Okay, hang on. I’m transmitting all this info back to Emery. We’ll come get you, Sophie said, and Oralie had never felt more reassured by a sentence from a much younger elf in her life.

Thank you.

Of fucking course. It’s not like we’d leave you there. I mean, for one thing, Bronte would kill me.

Is he okay?

Depends on how you define okay. Sophie sounded like she was choosing her words carefully. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week but he’ll probably be fine once you get back.

Thank you, Oralie thought again. 

I mean, you’re welcome. I’m going to go update everyone else and look for the town you told us, and then we’ll update you again. 

Okay. Tell Bronte and the rest that I said hello?

I will.

-

Sophie blinked her eyes open in time to see Emery face plant onto the table.

“Ow. Fuck.” He sat up, rubbing his head. “That hurt even more than having these idiots scream in my head. Is this what it’s like for you all the time?”

Sophie shook her head. Sure, she had a bit of a headache, but that was more from hearing humans' thoughts while looking for Oralie than anything. “When it’s someone that I know well, it’s not bad.”

“Then I admire the strength of your telepathy.” Emery ground his palms into his eyes for a moment, looking pained, and then straightened up fully. “But! We know where Oralie is.”

“Where is she?” Bronte demanded.

“Some human town in Britain,” Fitz told him. “She escaped from the Neverseen and somehow made her way there.”

Bronte looked almost proud. “That sounds like Oralie. Anyways, how are we going to get her back?”

The rest of the evening was spent finding human maps, researching human clothing, and getting a leaping crystal to the exact coordinates made. Sophie, as primary human expert, had to be present, and the rest of Team Valiant was summoned as well. So while Dex, Fitz, and Biana went to the Forbidden Cities for human clothes and Wylie and Stina pored over the map, Sophie was charged with checking in on Oralie one more time. This time, she didn’t need Emery to guide her as she reached for the other’s mind again.

Hey.

Hi, Sophie, Oralie offered. Any word?

Bronte says ‘you’re a damn idiot and I’m going to fight anyone who hurt you’, and we’ve got a plan to get you home.

That sounds like Bronte. And what would the plan be? 

Well, we’re working on a leaping crystal to where you are, Sophie explained. I’ll go into the city itself to find you, if you describe the house you’re in. 

That sounds smart, with one caveat: why would a teenager be picking up a fully grown adult?

I don’t know, I’m your daughter or something. She almost regretted that when she felt Oralie’s mind flinch.

How do you feel about being a niece? It’s... a long story, but people have been asking questions and my current story is that I ran from my boyfriend- you’ll see why when you get here. But I haven’t mentioned any children.

And you have mentioned a sibling?

I may have had to lie and say that Bronte was my brother. 

Sophie sent a mental groan across the connection. I don’t want to be his kid.

Oralie’s mental voice was too amused for her liking. I know, but you don’t look exceedingly different, and we need a story.

Fine.

Okay. I’ll tell Susan and Brenda- the human couple- that I’ll be going to live with my brother and his kid.

Gotcha. We’ll be there tomorrow morning at nine.

 -

Sophie’s voice faded from Oralie’s head, and Oralie stared at the fluffy comforters, trying not to think about the words ‘I don’t know, I’m your daughter or something’. Rather unsuccessfully. 

Thankfully for her, Brenda came bustling back in. “Hey there! Susan and I are going to eat dinner, do you want to eat with us?”

Oralie considered for a moment and then nodded.

“Great! Let’s go on down.”

So Oralie sat with the human couple, trying the human food cautiously. Brenda seemed happy to carry the conversation with occasional input from Susan or Oralie, which she was grateful for. Even if she didn’t quite catch some of what the human said, she could nod along. 

Eventually, the conversation came around to Oralie’s situation. “I was able to...call? My brother,” Oralie told them. “He says that it is okay for me to live with him and his daughter.”

“Oh, excellent!” Brenda beamed at her. “When will you move in with them? No pressure to leave, of course.”

“He said he would be here tomorrow at nine.”

“That soon! Well, we’ll have to get you some better clothes than that hospital gown.”

Oralie glanced down at the thin fabric and nodded. “Thank you very much, I owe you a lot.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The bill from the doctor is the worst of it. You’re not covered by our insurance.” 

“How much do I owe you for that?”

Brenda radiated worry, biting her lip anxiously. “Worry about that when you’ve got a stable place to live.”

Oralie made a mental note to tell Sophie to pay these two back with a ridiculous sum of human money. “Okay.”

The next morning, she woke up early to golden sunlight falling across her bed. For a second, she almost thought she was back in Eternalia, since her room there was always lit by dawn, but the stained floral wallpaper soon dispelled that notion. 

Susan came in perhaps a half hour later, setting some human clothes on the bed. “Here you go. These used to be mine, but I think they should fit you okay.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. There’s a shower in the bathroom at the end of the hall, the one with a blue door, if you want.”

Oralie nodded and got out of bed slowly. Her legs still ached from all the walking, and the rest of her body wasn’t in much better shape, but she was determined to take a shower and stop smelling like the Neverseen hideout and the human medicines. 

That turned out to be easier said than done, but if she avoided the largest wounds, she could get mostly clean. And it helped that Susan’s old clothes smelled mainly like dust. 

Oralie turned and glanced in the mirror, and she hardly recognized herself. Even after only a week with the Neverseen, her face had become leaner. Tougher. There were bruises scattered across every visible section of skin, and several gashes. Her cheeks were bandaged with large bandages, and her hair was wet and tangled. In the human clothes, she looked almost human, but she could also see why Brenda and Susan glanced at her with such worry radiating from them. 

Snapping herself out of her reflection, Oralie borrowed the hairbrush on the bathroom counter to try and de-tangle her hair, which was easier said than done. She mainly managed it, though, with a lot of wincing. At least it didn’t seem like such a rat’s nest.

Once she was done with that, there was nothing to do but wait for Bronte and Sophie to arrive.

-

Bronte and Sophie were currently having a muttered argument over having to pretend to be father and daughter.

“Well it's not like I really strongly desire to be your kid,” Sophie muttered to him as she fumbled through the pile of human clothing the others had brought. 

“And it’s not like I have a strong desire to have you as a child,” Bronte muttered back, but he didn’t seem actually that grumpy.

“What about ‘I’d be proud of you if you were my daughter’?”

“I’m just saying that you’ve accomplished incredible things.”

“That sounds pretty fucking kind to me.”

Bronte huffed. “I am not kind, I am very mean. But...I would be very proud of you.”

Sophie tossed a t-shirt at him. “Here, you can wear this. My human dad had a literally identical one. Plus, can’t you be a proud mentor already?”

“Well yes, I am a proud mentor. Now shush, stop making me look nice in front of the rest.”

“Ha, I’ll ruin your evil reputation.”

“Everyone knows I’m the Councillor not to fuck with,” Bronte grumbled as he took the jeans Sophie was handing him.

“Haha no. That’s like, Emery.”

“Emery has the backbone of a chocolate eclair.”

“I heard that!” Emery shouted from the background.

“Good!” Bronte shouted back.

Sophie, meanwhile, was picking up a beanie. “Here, you can use this to hide your ears.”

“I hate modern human fashion,” Bronte grumbled, but he left to get into the clothes anyways. He looked very strange in jeans and a t-shirt, the bright orange beanie hiding his pointed ears and the casual human clothing greatly reducing how intimidating he was.

“Hi, temporary dad,” Sophie told him. She had gotten into her old human clothes before even coming to Eternalia, and was surprised at how strange the jeans felt after years of elven clothing. 

Bronte just sighed. “How am I doing at the whole ‘looking human’ thing?”

“You gotta slouch a little more. And stop glaring at everyone. You’re a chill dad.”

“I am not,” Bronte muttered, but he softened his stare and posture a little bit. 

“Great!” Sophie told him. “Let���s leap there, shall we?”

“Let’s go.”

-

It was almost ten minutes after nine when a knock sounded from the front door.

Brenda went hurrying over to open it, shooting Oralie a smile as she did. “Oh, hello! Would you be Oralie’s brother and niece?”

“That’s us,” Oralie heard Sophie say in flawless English. “I’m Sophie, and this is my dad, Bronte. He doesn’t speak English super well- we’re an immigrant family.”

“Ah, and you’ve lived in the UK most of your life, Sophie? That makes sense. Anyways, I’m sure Oralie is eager to see you.” Brenda turned back to Oralie. “Your family is here!”

Oralie stood up, giving Brenda her best reassuring smile as she hurried over to the front door. “Sophie! Bronte!” The others may have been dressed in strange human clothes, worry on their faces and tension in their stances, but they were here. They were here.

To her surprise, Bronte rushed forward and threw his arms around her tightly, solidifying for Oralie that he really was real and here. 

“Bronte!” Oralie hugged him back just as tightly, letting herself relax for the first time since Gisela had grabbed her that day. 

“I was so fucking worried,” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Why would you fucking apologize for being kidnapped by the Neverseen?” Bronte pulled back, and Oralie noted the tears glimmering in his eyes. “It’s not your fucking fault and it’s never been your fucking fault. I am going to hurt every one of those dipshits, though.”

“It’s okay, Bronte. I’m okay.”

“Your face is covered in bruises.”

She winced. “Yeah.”

“I’m still going to hurt them.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re going to be okay,” Bronte added quietly. “I’ll make sure none of them lay a hand on you ever again.”

Oralie could feel herself tearing up a little at that, so she pulled him into a hug again. Bronte didn’t protest, only hugged her tightly and let her fall apart for a minute. 

-

Meanwhile, Sophie was having an awkward conversation with an older human couple. “Yeah, we were really worried about my auntie Oralie.”

“Her injuries were pretty bad,” agreed the small, round-faced one who had introduced herself as Brena. “I do hope you’ll bring her ex to justice.”

“We will,” Sophie assured them. “Br- Dad will make sure of that.”

“He sounds like a sweet brother,” the other, Susan, said.

“Yeah, he and my aunt are really close. We don’t really talk much with grandma and grandpa because they live so far away.” “Do you just live with your dad?” “Just the two of us,” Sophie agreed. “It’ll be nice to have my aunt around.”

“I can imagine.” Brenda smiled fondly.

Sophie glanced over at Oralie, who was absolutely covered in bandages. “Are we going to have to pay you for medical bills?” “Well, they put her down as Jane Doe. And we offered to pay the initial fees, but they’ll probably bill you for the rest once they figure out who you are.”

“Gotcha. I’ll tell Dad, we’ll see if Auntie is covered by our insurance. We can pay you back for the initial stuff too-”

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” Brenda told her. “We’re happy to help, and it’s a good thing that Oralie is safe now.”

“Thank you so much.” Sophie made a mental note to have the elves help these two out in some way. 

“Of course, dearie.” 

Susan handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s my phone number, contact the two of us if you need any extra help.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said again.

“Sophie!” Oralie’s voice called. “We are heading home!”

“I better go, but thank you again and I’ll keep in touch,” Sophie promised.

Susan and Brenda waved as she hurried away. 

-

The trio arrived back in Eternalia to a lot of commotion and excitement. 

First, Oralie got swarmed by the other Councillors, who she was surprised to realize were genuinely glad to have her home. They looked in varying states of frazzled, ranging from Alina (perfectly groomed as ever) to Terik (whose hair was sticking straight up). And they greeted her with maybe less dignity than was generally required from the Council. 

“Oralie!” Clarette called. “You absolute fucker!” 

Oralie knew that was her way of showing worry. “Hello, Clarette.”

“Thank goodness you’re back,” Terik said. 

“We were all incredibly worried,” Emery agreed. “Especially Bronte.”

“Shut up, Emery,” Bronte grumbled from next to her.

“I’m not wrong, and you know it.”

Even Liora waved hello, and Noland signed enthusiastically to her about how good it was to see her safe.

Finally, Elwin cut through the commotion, shoving through the Council very politely. “Excuse me, excuse me, but if Councillor Oralie is hurt than you’re going to need a doctor!”

Oralie smiled over at him. “Elwin!”

“Oralie!” He pushed past Emery, looking her up and down. “Oh dear, oh dear. Did they take you to a human hospital?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Right, well I’ll have to start undoing some of that damage, then.”

So Oralie sat on the grass outside of the castles in human clothes as Elwin gave her what felt like a million different elixirs. “Sophie, is this what it’s like to be you?”

“All the time,” Sophie told her with a laugh. 

“This is probably my comeuppance for the time I laughed at Bronte after he got stabbed on accident during a diplomatic mission to the goblins and had to drink some truly disgusting sludge,” Oralie mused.

“I’m still mad about that, you know,” Bronte huffed.

“I know, you hold a grudge.”

“With good reason.”

“I only laughed a little bit,” Oralie protested. “And only after I was certain you were going to be okay. His face at the medicine was so funny, you should have seen it,” she added to Sophie. 

“Oh, I bet.”

Bronte threw his arms up with a huff. “None of you respect me.”

“Nope!” Elwin said cheerfully. “Plus, you turned down an emotional support stuffed animal.”

Oralie made a shocked face, causing Sophie to giggle. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can.”

“Hmm. Well I’ll just have to get you one and sneak it into your castle.”

Bronte grumbled under his breath. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you the key!”

Oralie couldn’t help but smile at the familiar grumbling. “Too bad, you did.” 

“I’m happy to provide the stuffed animal,” Elwin told her. “I have an alicorn named Mr. Sparkfluff if you want him.”

“That sounds perfect, actually.”

“I should warn you, he’s sparkly.” Elwin handed her a very sparkly stuffed alicorn, and Oralie giggled. 

“He certainly looks it! Alright, Bronte, am I sneaking in at 3 am to leave him on your sofa, or are you just taking him home?”

“It’s not like you won’t show up at 3 am if I don’t,” Bronte grumbled, but he reluctantly took the alicorn. “Does his name really have to be Mr. Sparklefluff?”

“Yes,” Oralie, Elwin, and Sophie all said in unison.

“I guess this is just my life now. Do remember to knock if you come over at some ridiculous hour of the night. Sometimes I’m even asleep.”

“Rarely,” Oralie murmured to herself. She tried to smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll knock when I come bother you about whatever paperwork we’re doing this week.”

“Lovely. If it’s more about ogre-troll relations, I vote we give it to Emery.”

“Is it going to be?”

“Probably.”

“Just going to betray me like that, Bronte?” Emery asked as he wandered over.

“Yes.”

Emery sighed and turned to Oralie, shaking his head in mock-sorrow. “It’s a cruel world out there. Betrayal by your own friends.”

“Cruel indeed.” She laughed, finding it easier to forget the darkness of her Neverseen cell in the bright sunlight of Eternalia.

After a minute, Elwin and Sophie joined in, and Emery chuckled. Even Bronte smiled. It wasn’t really that funny, but they were all here and alive and somewhere near okay, and that was reason enough to be happy right now. 

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Goals

Ravnica is a big city. Ravnica is the Big City. The biggest, craziest, strangest, wildest, most awe-inspiring city ever built. It yields to no one, not even the Living Guildpact. They have power, yes, and their words carry with them the most powerful magic on this plane; but only within the written laws that have been in place for thousands of years. Ravnica is not a sandbox for Jace to mold to his will; it is a living, breathing organism that Jace is charged with looking after. Not to keep bullying the Mind Mage, but he has a pretty poor track record of doing a job that effectively boils down to “stay in one place and read books”.

At its core, Ravnica will always do what Ravnica has done for millennia. Mainly claw and scratch for any advantage in the ten-way Tug-Of-War that has been raging since the Guilds first found the end of a rope. The game never ends and never will. Temporary alliances can cause certain Guilds to pull together against other Guilds for a time, but the game always goes back to every Guild making snarky comments about the others eventually. In desperate situations against seemingly all-powerful new threats, the Guilds can put aside their differences to pull together for a time, but always with the understanding that once the threat is over they will all take their places again and resume where they left off. This can be frustrating for players used to or even enthralled by the idea of becoming the Savior(s) of the World.

Ravnica is not something that can be fixed because it doesn’t need to be. Barely-constrained chaos is and will always be the natural order of things. The Azorius Senate will come up with new laws. The Boros Legion will fight. House Dimir will poke its head into other people’s business. The Izzet League will invent. The Gruul Clans will resist. The Golgari Swarm will farm. The Simic Combine will experiment. The Orzhov Syndicate will scheme. The Selesnya Conclave will grow. The Cult of Rakdos will party. Your characters are never going to change any of these things, and that’s all right. Your goals should never be to change this world into something besides what it already is. Doing so would take away the fun of this crazy world.

So let’s talk about what kind of goals you, your characters, and your campaign should shoot for.

Short-Term Goals

If you’re just doing a Ravnica One Shot, or even if you just don’t know how much people are going to able to commit, Ravnica is full to the brim with possibilities. Literally, you can just draw Ravnica-themed MTG cards into a hand and piece together a story from whatever you get.

In these circumstances, your goals can be fairly short-term. Find someone/something, retrieve someone/something, stop someone/something, fight someone/something, do it, have a drink & celebrate. Your character goals can be as simple as just doing their jobs (Azorius maintaining order, Dimir finding information, Selesnya preserving life, Gruul rebelling against authority, Rakdos having a good time, etc). If you want something more personal, finding a connection between each of the party’s Guilds and the target is not only easy but fun to write.

The thing that makes Ravnica such a fun campaign atmosphere is the same thing that can make it frustrating; constant conflict. Any two Guilds can have a thousand reasons not to like each other, or, alternatively, a thousand reasons to work together. It can be differing Guild lifestyles, differences in opinion, shared interests, shared passions, old debts, past favors, or just trust/distrust in an individual. No two Guilds are required to get along, but at the same time, no two Guilds are required to hate each other. If your party has an Azorius Lawmage and a Rakdos Blood Witch, they can be at each other’s throats or they can be old friends who took different paths somewhere down the line. Your Guild is a choice, not a fate. Jace the Mind Mage was raised by Gruul. To this day, he still wears their tattoos.

*Be warned, once you’ve realized the unlimited possibilities this affords your character, you’re gonna want more.

Mid-Range Goals

If your group wants to commit to a longer stay in Ravnica, then it’s time to really flesh out your character and where they stand. It may even be necessary to retcon your characters into another Guild at this point, or begin a storyline to switch over. Anything can be fun short-term, but if you’re determined to go 6-12 levels in a Guild, you’ll want to be sure they are a good fit with your character. All ten of Ravnica’s Guilds come from Magic The Gathering’s 5-color wheel, coinciding with each possible two-color combination, meaning each Guild has common ground with others, but also important distinctions.

The Azorius, Boros, and Orzhov all have law & order as a central theme, but very different interpretations for it. The Azorius Senate write laws and prioritize order, whereas the Boros Legion enforce the laws but prioritize justice. The Orzhov Syndicate value neither and work to subvert each to their own ends.

Both the Simic Combine and Izzet League are built around creativity and invention. However, the Simic are much more rooted in biological (aka, walking, breathing) science, such as the Krasis iconic to their Guild. The Izzet are much more theoretical in their experimenting, endlessly curious to try something to see what will happen. They like playing with elements and physics. Simic experiments are long-term commitments, Izzet are spontaneous bursts of inspiration.

The Gruul, Golgari, Simic, and Selesnya Guilds all have a foundation in the natural world. Their interpretations of such are where the differences come out. Selesnyans build their lives around nurturing and revitalizing nature, while the Combine seeks to improve upon it. The Golgari apply the natural order to everything, including themselves, becoming a walking (possibly shambling) depiction of the plant life cycle in action. Life & death intertwined in an almost infinite cycle. And the Gruul Clans, while once the caretakers and preservers of Ravnica’s natural environments, have over time had those duties diverted from them into the Simic and Selesnya Guilds, leaving them to ferociously preserve the few untamed wilds Ravnica has left after 10,000 years of urbanization and to oppose any attempted encroachment on it from ambitious developers.

The Cult of Rakdos and Gruul Clans are both chaotic, violent, and revel in opposing authority. The Gruul do it out of anger and fairly justified resentment towards the city while the Cult does it literally for shits & giggles. Strangely enough, the savage rock-smashers can have more complexity to them than the daredevil street artists.

House Dimir and the Orzhov Syndicate both thrive on their dealings outside the law and under the table. Strangely enough, while both claim it’s just business, only House Dimir really stick by that code. They are the true embodiment of Neutral Evil, willing to stealing from anyone (including their own Guild members) for the right price. The Orzhov Syndicate, on the other hand, will exploit any loophole they can devise to avoid doing anything they don’t want. While the Dimir know to never be found near the scene of a crime, the Orzhov’s preferred method is to negotiate, lawyer, or bribe their way out of any & all consequences, and call themselves innocent. They are the literal worst.

Orzhov, Golgari, Rakdos, and Dimir all offer assassination services. The distinction comes from whether you want to send a message, erase an undesirable, make a spectacle, or never get caught; respectively.

For new players still learning about Ravnica, a distinct adventure focusing on each Guild is a great way to get comfortable with the setting. It helps how distinctive each Guild is from all the others; your players will quickly learn the differences between a Selesnyan Healer, a Simic Healer, and a Golgari Healer (Hint: one’s organic, one’s bioengineering, and one’s necromancy). By the time you’ve hit all ten, you should have a good foundation for the state of the city worked out for the campaign. Keeping all ten Guilds in line is an adventure all its own, just ask Jace Beleren. There’s always something going on.

Alternatively, you can aim for stopping plans originating from a single Guild. This city has a group for everyone, no matter how strange their beliefs, and the winds of change stop for no one, so taking down one problem is extremely unlikely to stop the higher purpose. There will always be another, bigger, problem. Bring in a spy, his handler steps in. Stop the handler, the cell leader gets involved. Defeat the cell leader, a cleaner gets called. Expose the cleaner, Assassins riding Nazgul descend upon thee. Kill that, and you become a problem for the entire organization.

The BBEG for a mid-range campaign can include a Guildmaster. Depending on which Guildmaster that is, the amount of preparation that will be required to triumph can range from “a shit ton” to “a fucking deus ex machina”. Regardless of Challenge Rating, they are going to be hard. If you think Zegana, Prime Speaker is going to battle without her personal entourage of gigantic Krasis, you are dead in the water. If you think Lazav the Multifarious will be a pushover once he has nowhere left to hide, you are falling right into his trap. If you think you can beat Borborygmos, Mightiest of the Mighty, by flying out of his range and chucking spells at his low AC, there’s a rock with your name on it. If you think Trostani, Chorus of the Conclave, are just a trio of singing tree-worshippers, they live inside the biggest sentient tree in existence.

If you think Niv-Mizzet is just a Dragon or Rakdos is just a Demon; you deserve the humiliating death they bestow you. Honestly, you want to do everything you can do avoid fighting those two if your campaign isn’t planning on going all the way. They are both top-tier monsters; manipulative, intelligent, durable, moody, and terrifyingly powerful. Even worse, they’re smug and masters of gloating. Beating a smug bastard feels awesome, but getting wrecked by them SUCKS.

Long-Haul Goals

If your party is determined to see a full campaign through start to finish, the stakes get bigger. To maintain conflict and challenge all the way to level 20, the threats reflect the amount of power you will be wielding. The Big Bads you are facing will be attempting to upset the chaotic status quo that has existed in Ravnica since its creation. If the Living Guildpact is around, someone is probably trying or has succeeded in killing/replacing them. If the Living Guildpact isn’t around, war has likely broken out in the streets. One Guild may be making a vie for power that will finally give them a conclusive edge over the other Guilds in the endless tug-of-war. Two or more Guilds may be pushing to eradicate several other Guilds whose antics and constant interference has been getting in their way for too long. Or an outside invading force may be materializing on Ravnica’s doorstep with the goal of either subjugating or erasing Ravnica itself. It’s the end of the world as we know it, and that’s not fine. Anything strong enough to challenge a planet-sized city of ten armies on their home turf is going to be, by necessity, seriously nasty.

The Living Guildpact makes for a good MacGuffin. It’s something supremely powerful but also complex enough to develop over a long period of time. They are the most powerful being on Ravnica, but becoming the LG is not as simple as poisoning Jace Beleren’s tea and taking unlimited power from his corpse. Going by the lore, losing one Guildpact will likely necessitate another Maze Run to choose the next. If you want to homebrew another method of transferring the power to an usurper, other problems present themselves. A rogue LG means nothing if the other Guilds refuse to comply. The power of the LG comes directly from Ravnica’s laws. They do not make the laws, they are the force that makes specific laws unbreakable. The process of putting new laws into effect requires the compliance of a recognized representative from every single Guild. Any would-be LG will need powerful influence within each of the other Guilds to make any creative changes to the Guildpact. They can’t just grab a Tom, Dick, or Sue from every Guild and make them say “you’re the Guildpact, Big Bad”. You’re looking for lieutenants powerful enough to be problematic on their own.

If your Big Bad is one or more Guilds going rogue, something will need to happen to upset the stalemate that’s existed among the Guilds for 10,000 years. If the angels of the Boros Legion could just kill Rakdos the Defiler, they would have done it 10,000 years ago, believe me. But not only have they failed to kill the Demon Lord of Riots, they have signed into an agreement with him & his in the name of actual peace. Some Guilds may be more inclined towards Big Bad behavior than others, but every Guild has the capacity to be the Big Bad.

A Big Bad Azorius will basically look like the Roman Empire.

A Big Bad Boros will basically be the Rapture. And/or the Crusades.

A Big Bad Dimir will look like 1984.

A Big Bad Golgari is a zombie apocalypse, plus Medusa.

A Big Bad Gruul is a Mad Max Thunderdome post-apocalypse.

A Big Bad Izzet is whatever Niv-Mizzet has been plotting towards for the last 16,768 years. Think The Matrix, but instead of machines, a Giant Ancient Dragon Wizard.

A Big Bad Orzhov is basically the Spanish Inquisition.

A Big Bad Rakdos is Rakdos actually acting like a Demon Lord.

A Big Bad Selesnya is the armies of the Elves & Ents from Lord of the Rings, and you’re the orcs at Saruman’s tower.

A Big Bad Simic is literally Godzilla.

Taking on something of this scale is going to require your character(s) to draw on every relationship they’ve built within every Guild. Whatever personal goals you might have started with are likely resolved; now you fight for Ravnica’s survival. You are fighting to restore this pain-in-the-ass city of constant conflict to the same barely-functioning status quo it started with. Because by now, you’ve kinda grown attached to it. The thing that makes Ravnica so good at drawing new players in is the fantastic variety of philosophies, lifestyles, and personalities that make up the city. It’s confusing to start, yes, but once you’ve been around long enough, a sort of natural order starts to become apparent. You stop seeing any Guild as good or evil and start seeing them as just different paths for people to take. As crazy as it might seem sometimes, the city works. It may not be perfect, but it will never be boring.

[jessicajonesrp]

Demise of Dorothy Walker

(continued from previous note)

  “Wait…how many times has she jumped out the window today, exactly?” Trish questioned, tilting her head with some obvious confusion. “Jess, are you aware that windows can be opened before you jump through them, if you’re that opposed to doors?”

 Jessica ignored her, wiggling out of Trish’s loosened embrace and taking several steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as though to defend herself from any further attempts at being given affection. She nodded stiffly at Luke, attempting to take in what he is saying.

 “From what the kid in the apartment said and what I saw on the surveillance film, before he fucking destroyed it, it doesn’t seem like he needs much more than a look. I don’t know, maybe he needs a certain amount of time, or access to his inner rage, who the hell knows. But maybe not. I don’t need anything to jump or punch someone, so why should he?”

 “But you might have limitations that you don’t know about, or some sort of kryptonite that you have to avoid,” Trish pointed out, siding with Luke. “I’ve always told you that you should be doing more to understand your abilities. Who knows, Jess, they could be time limited, you could suddenly lose them one day, or maybe if you use them a certain amount of times they just stop or something. They might even be hurting you internally somehow, every time you jump or hit something, and you don’t realize it until you drop dead some day.”

 “Cheerful,” Jessica said sarcastically. “I’ll cross my fingers, maybe we’ll all be so lucky.”

 “Not funny,” Trish said sharply, narrowing her eyes at her. “I’m serious. You need to understand what has made you what you are, now more than ever. And you need to understand what has made Phillip who he is.”

 “He killed the people who made us who we are,” Jessica pointed out. “What am I supposed to do, search for a secret diary? “Dear diary, today I injected Kangaroo Hulk chemicals into a girl and Pyro chemicals into a boy, I sure hope it causes world chaos?” Something like that?”

  Trish looked at Luke for help, sighing. “I know you’re upset, Jessica,” she said quietly. “But we’re the ones supporting you. We’re the ones trying to help you, so if you’re trying the pushing away thing you love to do, it isn’t working, and it’s not going to make you feel any better. I’m not asking you to be happy, but save some of the venom for the people who deserve it.”

 Jessica’s cheeks reddened, and she swallowed, biting down the inside of her cheeks with shame she didn’t want them to see. She tried to cover it by turning to throw away her now empty bottle.

 “Fine. Guess we backtrack. I’ve got the contact information for the woman who started all this, the wife of the third doctor he killed. Let’s see what sort of contacts she might know to put me in touch with.”

  88

 Six miles away, Phillip Jones and his long term girlfriend, Rikarah Pallaton, were casually seated across each other at the small kitchen table of Rikarah’s apartment, laptops open side by side. Rikarah’s apartment, although not especially large or fancy, was far more comfortable and lived-in looking in its appearance than Phillip’s rented motel room had been, and there are far more indications of a man’s presence within its interior. Before contacting Jessica at all, Phillip had actually first been living there with Rikarah, and he had kept only enough of his belongings at the motel room for daily, necessary use- just enough to make it appear that he had no other place of residence. Although he had spent most nights there in the past several weeks, just in case Jessica or one of her associates happened to be watching him, it was never intended to be more than a temporary cover address.

 The only person he felt himself to belong to was Rikarah, and the only place he wished to reside would be wherever it was she chose. For the past few years he had followed her in her frequent relocations across the country, content to join her and at times assist her in wherever she felt lead to be and whatever she felt lead to do. They had met at a bar some four years ago, on a night that Phillip had intended little more to get drunk and hook up with someone, but it hadn’t been long before he discovered that there was far more to Rikarah, his intended “someone” of the night, then met eye. The dark-haired, pixie-featured beauty with darkly themed tattoos over her torso, barely visible peeking out the edges of her tank top’s neckline, carried far more steely strength and sharply focused intelligence than her slight frame would ever indicate.

 Rikarah, much like his sister, was a self-appointed vigilante, Phillip had discovered over time as she gradually let him into her world and her view of her life’s mission. Although she, unlike Jessica or himself, rarely, if ever, used her own supernatural abilities, and rarely did more for a living than bartend, waitress, or sell her own artwork online or in sidewalk sales, she nevertheless carried a power and purpose that Phillip at first was in awe of, then became seduced into emulating. For the first few years of his adulthood he had drifted, aimless, alone, and feeling that there was nothing to his existence that was worthy. Life held little to interest him, and he felt little connection to the world or anyone in it, even himself.

 Rikarah had changed that. In her quiet, steely-eyed focus on her view of truth and justice, she had changed his life and forever altered its course. She had opened his eyes to the grade power he possessed and the responsibility this charged him with to use it for the world’s benefit. How could he not, when he had so much potential at his disposal?

 Rikarah was physically weaker and smaller, lacked the sort of super powers that could be used on a daily and practical basis for protection or defense, and had no more money or family in the world than Phillip himself; if anything, she had been given far less in the way of advantage. And yet, by the time she was seventeen years old, she had already begun her life’s mission of identifying, and then ending the lives of people too twisted up in their abusive behaviors to deserve them. And she had started out with her very own family.

 Over time, Phillip had come to understand and believe in Rikarah’s view of the world, and to accept her view of his responsibility to it. It was she who had urged him to find those who had persecuted himself in his childhood, to take them out before they could harm others. It was also she who encouraged him to find his sister Jessica and insert himself into her life, to begin to know her- and to gradually bring her to understand their view of the world, in hopes of bringing her to join them.

 They both saw Jessica’s involvement in the death of Kevin Kilgrave as a very promising sign. If she had killed once, for the good of the world, it shouldn’t be too difficult to bring her into accepting the idea of killing again for the same reasons.

 But Jessica had been quicker to catch on than they had expected- too quick, even for the fact of her being a private investigator by living. Phillip blamed Patricia Walker for that. The woman had been interfering with his sister’s life since they were barely teenagers, and now her claws had sunk so deeply into her that Jessica couldn’t seem to separate herself from her influence. Without Trish there, it would be easier to sway Jessica into their way of thinking. And the easiest way to weaken Trish, from what Rikarah and Phillip had come to understand, was to first remove her mother from the picture.

 It would have been done anyway, at some point. It was because of Dorothy Walker that Phillip had grown up apart from his sister, living in abusive homes. It was because of her lies that Jessica had thought him to be dead for more than half his lifetime. She was a liar, a con artist, and a child abuser, an opportunist of the worst kind, even towards her own daughter. The world would not suffer for her loss, and its gains would be considerable.

 88

 The plan was simple. Rikarah had subtly tracked the woman’s routine for the past several days, and when Phillip let her know that the time had come for them to make their move, they arrived separately at her address, following at considerable distance. They had assumed and been correct to see that Dorothy would disregard Trish’s warning for her to leave town, too arrogant to assume anyone could want her dead or be successful in making it happen. Rikarah waited for her outside of her talent studio for up and coming young actors and models as Dorothy made her way to open for the morning, with Phillip following at a distance. As Dorothy moved to unlock the door, clearly intending to go about her day as usual to bully young girls in the name of “career advice and advancement” all while making considerable money, Rikarah called out to her in a cultivated mix of hesitation and urgency, stepping into her peripheral view.

 “Ms. Walker? Ms. Walker- you’re Patsy’s mother, aren’t you? Dorothy Walker?”

 She had deliberately used the name that Dorothy preferred to call Trish rather than Trish’s own preference, in a subtle alignment with the woman. Dorothy turned slightly, narrowing her eyes as she looked Rikarah up and down. Finding her to be physically unthreatening and not recognizable, she raised her eyebrows at her.

 “Yes? Do you or your daughter have an appointment with me today? I don’t take walk ins, young lady, but if you want an appointment for yourself, let me advise you now that you should consider acting over modeling. You have the figure for it, but hardly the height.”

  She turned back to unlock the door, but froze when Rikarah spoke again.

 “Please Ms. Walker, it’s Patsy. She’s…I don’t like to do this, go behind her back, but you’re her mother, and I feel like you should know before anyone else. You have a reputation in this town, you’re so respected, maybe you can do something to help before it’s too late for her-“

 “What’s happened?” Dorothy demanded, spinning around fast and facing Rikarah fully and with intensity. “Keep your voice down, if she’s doing something to ruin her reputation again- we can’t have this discussion out where just anyone can hear! Just who are you anyway?”

 “I’m Emily Oliver,” Rikarah lied smoothly, and when Dorothy looked blank, she added, “I was an extra on It’s Patsy, they used me in party or school scenes a lot. I don’t expect you to remember or know me, Ms. Walker, but I’ve always followed and admired you and Patsy. I hate to see her destroy herself now when you’ve worked so hard to repair her reputation to everyone. That Jessica Jones, she-“

 “I should have known it would have something to do with Jessica,” Dorothy hissed under her breath, shaking her head grimly. “That girl has always been a thorn at my side from the day she- but never mind, we can’t have this conversation out here. Emma, was it? Come inside, before the girls start arriving.”

 She gestured for Rikarah to follow her, and Rikarah started to, then hesitated.

 “Wait- I left my phone in my car. Someone sent me some photos of Patsy, they thought it was funny, I guess, but- maybe if I show you, maybe we can stop them from getting out to the media. Maybe-“

 “Yes, yes, go get your phone, make it quick, now,” Dorothy said impatiently, nodding her head and flapping her hand as though to dismiss the younger woman. “Meet me inside. I’m locking the door, I can’t be having clients come in and overhear this. Ring the doorbell when you’re back, I’ll let you in.”

  This was exactly what Rikarah and Phillip had been hoping for; they couldn’t have planned a better set up themselves. Nodding, biting her lip theatrically, Rikarah turned to walk towards the parking lot, taking her time about it, even as she watched out the corner of her eye to check that Dorothy did indeed go into the building and lock the door behind herself.

 Now it was all up to Phillip. Retrieving her phone, she texted him a single word, “okay,” and he was ready. Exiting Rikarah’s car, even as she slipped inside it, he casually walked past the studio, hands deep in his pockets. To anyone passing by, he would look no more than a person on his way somewhere, uninterested and uninvolved in anything suspicious.

 As he passed directly in front of the front door, he paused, looking towards it. With a few moments of intense concentration, he visualized Dorothy, waiting for Rikarah within. Twenty seconds later, screams burst into the air, and the sound of smoke detectors blared forth shrilly as Dorothy Walker’s skin began to burn.

 With the same casualness as before, Phillip continued to walk, bypassing the dying woman as Rikarah pulled out of the parking lot. Several blocks later, as she stopped at a prearranged stop sign, he slid into the passenger seat beside her. Mission accomplished.