#changing his allegiances was a bold move but i think it was the right one. it makes him SUCH an interesting antagonist

[cthoniccompanion]

me during the major update trailer: huh prometheus is kind of an odd choice for a secondary antagonist

me after fighting him 1 time on olympus: oh actually I'm not normal about him At All huh

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers Part 1: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: As a Kitsune, you're tasked with sniffing out the illegal activities of the underground and reporting them back to the Civic Service Bureau. You'll be partnered with a Leviathan, who is the muscle to carry out the arrests, but can you handle what he brings to the table?

wc: 2.1k

tw: none

masterlist

“Chins up, kitsune! Leave your confidence at the door, and become one with your fear. For the first time in your lives, you will come to stare death in the face. And, unlike at that rubbish academy you were at for the last four years of your life, this is the real deal.”

You look at the man pacing in front of you, his blonde hair slicked back and eyes covered with a pair of peculiar glasses. He’s wearing the standard grey uniform for the upper ranked kitsune with a spotted tie, which would normally be out of uniform, but he’s the head of communications in the Civic Service Bureau, so it doesn’t matter.

“There’s only one thing separating you from a Leviathan in this world. You there, tell me what it is!” Nanami Kento points to the pink-haired boy beside you and Yuji Itadori gulps.

“Uh… cool haircuts and tattoos?”

You groan internally, wondering how he made it through the four years of training without dropping out. “Incorrect. Y/n, tell me what separates you from a Leviathan in the Civic Service Bureau.”

“Our lifespan.”

“That’s right. On average, a kitsune will live ten to twelve years longer than their headstrong and combative partner, hence why there are more of them than there are of us. But that doesn’t mean be reckless. The entire bureau relies on the intel, insight, and reports you bring back from the field. Now, if you think this isn’t the desk job you were promised, you are free to leave. You were only invited here based on your ability to spy and not be caught. But if you’re ready to serve your nation in the most honorable way, stay here.” Not a single person out of the four of you shifts their movements. “Perfect,” Nanami murmurs, eyeing you all carefully. When his eyes rest on you, you notice the different assessment he gives you. It’s the one thing everyone does the first time you meet:

Is she as good as her parents were?

You’re here not only to answer that question but to exceed it. Your parents raised you for this moment - to take on any task thrown at you, spy as well as they did when they were in the Kitsune. You would do all of that and more, then when it came time for you to settle down, you would marry a fellow Kitsune and live in the Grand Sun District with your peers. The trajectory of your life looks like an arrow, shooting straight for the stars and never coming down until your own star wanes into the night. But by then, there would be a legacy tied to your name, and no one would be able to besmirch your reputation. Ever.

“Alright, you will all be paired with your Leviathan after dinner. Go and freshen up; you have a long night ahead of you.”

“Sir!” You all salute the man with fervor, then you’re ushered to your temporary dressing quarters where you’re instructed to shower until you’re thoroughly cleaned, then to dress in the standard Kitsune uniform - a light grey shirt and grey pants, with a grey jacket. As you stand in the shower and wash, you remember your parents’ words:

“You’re the reason there’s still good in this world. As a Kitsune, you give balance to the chaos of the universe.”

They always made the job seem like a superhero’s task, but you learned much more about the types of jobs you would take on when you went to the academy. But you’d risen to each and every challenge, no matter what, and graduated second in your class, behind Nobara Kugisaki.

As you slide on the pants provided to you, you wonder who they’ll pair you with. In the past, each Leviathan was paired with their equal Kitsune, which meant you would be paired with the second-ranked in the incoming group. But they changed that rule when Gojo Satoru switched from being first in the Kitsune to being first in the Leviathans a year ago, disrupting the entire ranking system. Ranks from the Academy were just a formality now, thanks to him.

“Fall in line!” You toss your jacket on, then join the other three in the main room, coming face to face with Yuki, the head of the Kitsune and Reconnaissance.

“You all look like a spry bunch. But I hate to say that the Leviathans you’ll be paired with are tougher than last year’s group. Excluding Gojo, of course.” You all hold your breath, but she smiles, turning to Nanami. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

_____________________________________________________________

The cafeteria is silent with Yuji, Nobara, Maki, and you eating as quickly as you can, trying your best to scarf down the tasteless meal before introducing your partners. Finally, once you swallow down your water, you stand, grunting.

“Alright, I’m done.”

“Hey, hotshot,” Nobara huffs. “We don’t meet them until they’re ready. And you know how Leviathans are.”

“Slow, lazy, quick to anger,” Yuji groans and Maki nods, shrugging.

You sit back down, tapping your fingers on the table. “Perhaps they could speed it up.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Yui wonders innocently, pulling apart his bread roll.

“I want to get to work,” you admit, cracking your knuckles. “I’m itching to sniff out and dismantle some organizations.”

“Just because your parents took down the Motivir Group doesn’t mean you have to live up to their reputation.”

“Doesn’t mean I can slack off, either,” you grumble just as the doors to the cafeteria slide open. Yuki walks through, her brow raised curiously.

“It seems that they’re ready. Are you all set?”

The walk to the auditorium seems longer than it actually is as you pass by endless barracks, one of which would end up being where you stay in an adjoining room to your Leviathan. As your shoes clang on the metal rafters connecting the barracks to the main building, your heart beats feverishly in your chest. Of course, your Leviathan will be impressed that you’re the daughter of two prominent Kitsune, but would they expect you to--

“Watch your step.” You descend the staircase to the lobby of the auditorium and wait patiently for the doors to open. When they do, they reveal the hundreds of waiting Civic Service Bureau members, including the head of communication (Nanami Kento), head of surveillance (Mei Mei), head of foreign affairs (Yuta Okkotsu), Gojo Satoru, and of course, head of the Leviathans, Toji Fushiguro.

He sits in front of his group on the right side of the stage, elbows on his knees as he watches you all parade to the left side where the other Kitsune are seated. A scowl is painted on his face as he eyes each of you, and the Leviathans behind him look equally as bored, whispering to each other and snickering. You analyze the group, taking in their all-black attire and various haircuts, piercings, and tattoos.

When you look over to the Kitsune, they all look polished - hair slicked back, arms and legs free of any visible markings, and light grey attire. The only piercing you see among the crowd of your peers is in the ears, and even those are easily hidden. It wasn’t that you all were prudes or traditional, but to blend in, you had to be a blank slate, mentally and physically; adult tabula rasa.

“Is this thing on?” Toji groans, tapping the microphone just handed to him. You take your seat as he begins to speak, grumbling his words without enthusiasm. “Right. As you all know, today is the day when our newest members are paired with their partners and sent off on initial missions for an assessment of compatibility, blah, blah, blah. I’m going to skip the bullshit and get straight to the fun part.” Yuki mutters a string of curses as she gets up and snatches the mic from him, pushing her partner off to the side.

“Apologies, you all. We do have to read the pledge of the Civic Service Bureau before we continue.” You all stand, tapping two fingers to space between your brow and then to your heart, where they rest as you chant:

“I pledge allegiance to the Civic Service Bureau and to keeping the nation safe with authority, strength, and boldness.” The words echo in the auditorium, and then you all retake your seats.

“And now, a memorial to our fallen Kitsune and Leviathans.” The lights dim as the hologrammed faces of various Leviathans appear above the crowd. In addition to the many faces, there are two outlined in gold: Kitsune.

“Did you hear about the Leviathan that got his Kitsune killed while on a mission last year?” Maki whispers to Yuji, and you frown, turning in your seat.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Yuji answers. “I heard the Leviathan didn’t execute the raid properly, and the Kitsune was murdered by--”

“Shh!” Nobara hisses, turning back to watch the faces fade into the light, and the lights come back up as Yuki brings the mic back up to her lips.

“Alright, now I’ll pass it back to Toji so he can… do his job.” Yuki glares at the man and passes him the mic as he grins at her lazily.

“Thanks, Yuki. Such a riveting presentation. Let me start off by saying this year’s Leviathans have the grit and determination that moved even the Grand Council.” The Leviathans roar in response to this admission, acknowledging the head members of the Civic Service Bureau, who were conveniently not present. “Now, at the head of this year’s class, we have my own son, Megumi Fushiguro.” The black-haired, green-eyed man comes up to the stage, forgoing anything other than a blank look as Toji clasps his arm in solidarity. “He will be partnered with Nobara Kugisaki, as directed by the Grand Council.” Everyone claps as they should.

Nobara and Megumi shake hands, then move to the back of the stage to stand together.

“Next, we have Noritoshi Kamo,” Another blank-faced black-haired man. “And he will be paired with…” You anticipate your name being called second, thinking maybe they’ve reinstated the rank pairs rule. “Maki Zen’in.” You watch her walk up to Noritoshi and shake his hand, then join Nobara and Toji’s son. “Next, Choso Kamo and Yuji Itadori.” The two men forgo the traditional handshake and instead perform their own special handshake, no doubt practiced for this very moment. You look up to the elder Fushiguro, wondering who in the world was left for the daughter of heroes.

“This year, as we mourn the tragic loss of first-year Kitsune Yu Haibara, the Grand Council has moved to reassign his Leviathan in a show of forgiveness. So, for the second time - and for the first time in history - Geto Suguru will be paired with Y/n, as directed by special order from the Grand Council.” You don’t move from your seat as the massive man walks up to the stage, his black eyes roaming the crowd for his partner - you.

“Go,” Yuki urges you, but you can’t move.

There has to be a mistake.

“Y/n, please come up to the stage….” Toji rumbles. “Before I lose my patience.”

No. There’s something wrong.

“Get up there.” Yuki grabs your arm and lifts you out of your seat, pushing you toward the stage unceremoniously. When you finally stand in front of Geto Suguru, you look into his eyes and see… nothing. He stares at you, his silver nose ring shining in the lights, just like his long, black hair. But you don’t even shake his hand, opting to walk to the back and stand there, dumbfounded with crossed arms. Geto joins you, looking equally as miffed.

“Okay, great. So, that’s over, and now I can take a nap. Go have some light desserts, talk, get to know each other, and then go to your barracks.” Once everyone files out, you follow, searching for Gojo and Nanami. When you find them conversing at the chocolate fountain, you interrupt their conversation, temper flaring.

“Who chose that failure to be my partner?” you growl, pointing your finger at the man who lingers by himself at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the others.

“Whoa,” Gojo holds up his hands, taking a step back. “That’s a Grand Council question.”

“Partners can't be reassigned except in extreme circumstances,” Nanami reminds you. “This seems like an extreme circumstance, y/n.”

“He let his Kitsune get killed!” you yell, catching the attention of a few others nearby. “If you think my parents will allow this to--”

“Your parents are still under the directives of the Grand Council,” Yuki mentions, walking up to you. “They can’t get you reassigned even if they tried.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hiss, striding out of the lobby and to your assigned barrack before closing yourself off.

[bytheangell]

I Don’t Want to Say I (I Want to Say We)

( @shadowhunterbingo​ square: Arranged Marriage) (Read on AO3)

“What do you mean we don’t count?” Alec demands, voice rising to a near shout. Andrew keeps his expression as professionally neutral as possible at the outburst. It’s a closed meeting, and outside of the two Council members who requested it, the only person besides Alec is Andrew. This isn’t uncommon for them - Alec often brings someone else to meetings that could just as easily be entirely private, if only so he has a friendly face in his corner when dealing with some of the more antagonistic Council members. Andrew has been that ‘someone else’ for quite a few meetings that Izzy or Jace couldn’t make it to.

“Your marriage is hardly a sacrifice made in good faith,” Blackridge points out. “The warlocks feel the same. With how quickly - and willingly - Bane left with you for Alicante, they aren’t positive he won’t side more with you than his own people. He’s done it before. And so have you for him.”

“Everyone knows your allegiance is more to each other than each other’s people,” Lydia Branwell reluctantly adds. Andrew can tell that she doesn’t want to be here, and probably is only because the Council thought the news coming from her might soften the blow, given her history and connection with Alec. “Both sides want a newly arranged marriage to seal the agreement. Something purely symbolic.”

Andrew watches Alec silently struggle to keep his expression impassive, but he knows Alec well enough to catch the way his hands clench into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he considers the orders he’s being given. Andrew is impressed to hear Alec’s voice is almost even when he finally speaks.

“I can’t ask anyone to do that,” Alec says finally, shaking his head.

“You won’t be asking them, you’ll be ordering them. This isn’t a debate, Lightwood,” Blackridge tells him, with a smirk. “Trust me, I doubt Rey is any happier about being on the other end of this.”

Andrew, who’s remained otherwise silent this entire meeting, can’t help but react now. His eyes widen for a moment in surprise, gaze flicking from Alec to Blackridge in an immediate shift of interest. “Lo-- Mr. Rey is choosing the warlock?”

Blackridge laughs. “No, Mr. Rey is the warlock. The warlock council from the Spiral Labyrinth is likely informing him as we speak.”

Andrew’s blood turns cold. Lorenzo. Lorenzo is the other end of the arranged marriage.

A lot of thoughts go through Andrew’s head at that moment, but he can’t say any of them because no one knows about the relationship he’s had with Lorenzo for the past six months. A relationship Andrew almost could’ve pretended wasn’t that big of a deal if it wasn’t for the violent churn in his stomach at the thought of seeing Lorenzo with anyone else, or the sinking weight in his chest at the idea of losing him now, even if it was over something entirely out of their control.

No, that somehow only makes it worse.

“If you can’t do it, someone else will do it for you,” Blackridge adds to Alec, entirely unaware of the internal crisis Andrew’s having, suddenly realizing that Alec being in control of this situation is the only way Andrew has a chance of coming out of this with his heart intact.

“He can do it,” Andrew says suddenly, drawing three sets of surprised eyes in his direction.

“Andrew, I can’t-”

“You can do it,” Andrew repeats pointedly, hoping his tone and the pleading look in his eyes are enough to convey to Alec that he’s not just spouting generic ‘you got this, buddy!’ reassurances.

Alec looks him over curiously, but Andrew doesn’t risk being more insistent than he already was, not wanting to look suspicious.

“Alright. I’ll choose someone,” Alec agrees slowly. Andrew feels his shoulders sag in visible relief.

“You have three days, Lightwood. Or we’re stepping in,” Blackridge says, and a minute later he and Lydia are gone from the room.

Once they’re definitely alone again, Alec turns to Andrew.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Alec asks him.

Andrew hesitates. What is his plan? To stall in the hopes of Lorenzo refusing on his end? To make sure he can at least get a say in who is about to step in and ruin the best thing that’s happened to him in years? Or to be bold enough to put himself in a position he isn’t sure he’s ready for, in a declaration he is equally unsure Lorenzo will appreciate, or even agree to?

“I volunteer,” Andrew says before he can change his mind.

“You what?” Alec nearly chokes on the words.

“I volunteer. I’ll marry Lorenzo,” Andrew repeats.

“No. You don’t deserve that - no one deserves this,” Alec shakes his head. “I didn’t walk out of my own political marriage just to force one on someone else.”

“You aren’t forcing me. It’s fine, Alec. I’ll do it.” Andrew, Raziel help him, still can’t bring himself to admit why. He isn’t sure if it’s to protect Lorenzo and honor their agreement to not let anyone find out about their secret relationship, or because he’s afraid that admitting it wouldn’t be a true ‘sacrifice’ would force Alec to choose someone else. No matter the reason, he hesitates, guarding the truth even now.

Alec looks him over closely.

“You keep calling him Lorenzo,” Alec observes cautiously. “Are the two of you…?”

“Quite close already, Sir. Yes,” Andrew confirms without saying the word boyfriend. He knows he can trust Alec, but he also knows that Alec is bound, to a certain extent, to following orders. The less he knows the more plausible deniability he has later if questioned on his choice.

If he chooses Andrew at all.

“I see,” Alec’s expression softens.

“I can’t let it be anyone else. Please, Alec, let me do this,” Andrew says, openly pleading now.

“I still don’t like it. Give me those three days to see what I can do. But if it has to be someone… you’re certain you want it to be you?”

Andrew nods. “Yes.”

Alec sighs. “Alright. Thank you, Andrew.”

It isn’t until they’re both back at the Institute and Andrew receives a ‘We need to talk’ text from Lorenzo that a thought occurs to him for the first time:

What if Lorenzo doesn’t want to marry him?

They’re dating, sure, and Andrew would like to think that there’s something there between them… but dating and marriage are two very different things. What if Lorenzo would prefer someone else? What if he liked Andrew for now but had no intention of keeping him around forever? They’re doing fine now, but what if this offer is too much? What if this breaks them?

Andrew is a mess of nerves the rest of the day, barely able to fill out basic reports without his mind wandering until his shift is finally over and he immediately makes his way to Lorenzo’s. He walks, hoping the fresh air will calm him and clear his head, but it does neither.

The anxiety must be written all over his face, because the moment he steps through the door Lorenzo takes one look at him and says, “You already know.”

Andrew nods.

“It’s ridiculous!” Lorenzo exclaims. “Do you know they had the audacity to tell me it wasn’t even a sacrifice for me!? ‘What’s a couple of decades?’, they said! As if-” he words break off then, surprisingly emotional. “As if losing the time I’d have with you wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

Lorenzo thought he was losing him. Of course he did, Andrew realizes. Because he expects that the Shadowhunter chosen would be forced into it, the same as him. And maybe if anyone other than Alec were in charge, that would be the case.

“You don’t have to lose me, Ren,” Andrew starts, but Lorenzo cuts him off before he can finish.

“Damn right I don’t, because I’m not doing it. They can find another High Warlock if they have to.”

“Well,” Andrew says. “That would make the fact that I volunteered to be the Shadowhunter in the arrangement a bit awkward, then.”

Lorenzo, who’d been pacing back and forth in his barely contained frustration and anger, stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I was with Alec when they told him what was happening, and I… I volunteered. I couldn’t exactly stand there and listen to them discuss my boyfriend marrying someone else.”

“Andrew, I…” Lorenzo starts, but his words trail off. The silence that follows while Lorenzo processes the new information puts Andrew back on edge.

“If you don’t want to, that’s… well, I suppose it isn’t fine, but I’ll understand,” Andrew’s voice is quiet but at least it fills the silence. “We hadn’t really discussed our future that far before.”

“I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation,” Lorenzo points out.

“I’m not. For me, at least, it’s… well, if things kept going well that was always the endgame, wasn’t it? We’re just accelerating the timeline.”

Andrew can feel his heartbeat in his chest, the pulse points in his neck and wrists seeming to quicken with every passing second that he waits for Lorenzo to say something, anything, about whether or not he wants to marry him.

“You would really want to marry a warlock?” Lorenzo asks him, and the hint of disbelief behind the words guts Andrew. Lorenzo puts on a front so often that sometimes even he forgets how vulnerable his boyfriend can actually be.

“I would really want to marry you, Lorenzo,” Andrew corrects, taking a step toward Lorenzo to reach out his hands. He doesn’t take Lorenzo’s, however. Not yet. Andrew stops halfway to his boyfriend and waits.

For a moment he’s afraid Lorenzo isn’t going to move, but then he’s closing the space between them, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hands to wrap his arms around Andrew’s waist and pull him flush against his body, lips meeting in a deep, emotional kiss.

When they finally part for air Andrew looks into Lorenzo’s eyes to see the faint shimmer of unshed tears there before he blinks them away, smiling.

“Is that a yes?” Andrew asks, not wanting to leave anything up to assumptions at this point.

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirms, nodding. “I want to marry you, too.”

Andrew beams. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined proposing. I don’t even have a ring,” he laughs.

Lorenzo smirks. “I could do something about that,” he says coyly. There’s a wave of golden yellow magic, and then two beautiful golden bands rest in his open palm.

“Of course you would have engagement bands just sitting around for anyone,” Andrew laughs.

“Not just anyone,” Lorenzo admits.

Oh. “Oh, Ren…”

“You weren’t the only one hoping maybe someday…” Lorenzo’s words trail off as he looks up at Andrew with a soft smile. “I just didn’t expect to need them so soon.”

With any last lingering doubts or hesitations gone from his mind, it’s Andrew who closes the space between them this time, knowing they’re going to be just fine.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 39: Rebel Song

The gang returns to the war-torn Orlesian countryside, and the welcome they receive is far from warm. Banter and action, this time with even more terrible jokes because Sera has come with :’D

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

Tristan rubbed his eyes with a yawn. The steady rocking of his horse and the thick, humid heat was making him sleepy. His backside wasn’t at its best either, admittedly: they had been riding for the better part of the week, and this day was already drawing near its end.

The journey through the Orlesian countryside had been everything that Tristan had expected, and worse. So, so much worse. His advisors had warned him that things would be different from when he had last been to the place, but even their expectations had been inaccurate, by a fairly large margin.

He and his party had followed the Imperial Highway for as long as they could- the only road, really, that was still accessible to travellers for the most part. Most other great roads, as the various Inquisition agents at the outposts they had stopped along the way had informed them, had been closed off by the barricades set up by either Gaspard’s or Celene’s armies, or were unsafe for small groups to traverse. That, too, was new: the number of outlaws and bandits had increased tenfold during the months Tristan had been away- and it hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing the last time, either. Last time around it had been bands of Freemen roaming the land- this time, it was men and women that evidently had even less than the deserters from the armies to lose and preyed on whoever was poor or desperate enough to travel the countryside alone without arms or protection. They were vicious, but cowardly, never taking on large or armed groups, and swore no allegiance to anyone at all.

Which raised the question: where were the Freemen?

“There haven’t been any sightings in weeks, Ser,” an Inquisition scout informed him, when they’d stopped for the night at an Inquisition camp just past Lydes. “After word has spread of your victory in the Emerald Graves, most of their camps were deserted soon after. Some say that they’ve returned to their homes, those who still had one, while others claim they have all moved out of the plains and gone to the West, where there are still empty places for them to settle, and no one to come after them.”

“The West?” Tristan had asked the young woman in curiosity. “There’s nothing past here at all, and all western roads lead to the Badlands. Even the Freemen that are left cannot be that desperate.”

The scout had simply shrugged.

It didn’t make much sense to Tristan- but then again, not much of what the Freemen did made sense to him. For the next few days, as they steadily trudged along the Imperial Highway, alongside throngs of refugees and the occasional merchant caravan that was still bold enough to brave the war-torn countryside, they kept passing by abandoned camps, or the old manors and watchtowers that had been claimed, rummaged, and then left to ruin by the Freemen. Apart from the occasional travel weary and worn down infantry division from either Celene’s or Gaspard’s armies, whose officers merely pretended to keep an eye over the towns and villages that had been claimed during the war, the only other people they encountered were beggars or tired and scared men, women and children with dirt smudged faces and clothes that were about to fall off their skinny shoulders.

Orlais really, really couldn’t get much worse than this.

With a sigh, Tristan straightened on his saddle, rolled his shoulders, tilted his head this way and that. Travelling on horseback all day did not agree with him, and the devastation all around him did nothing to lift his mood. He could feel his stomach churning and his head throbbing ever so slightly as the rays of the setting sun fell straight into his eyes. The only thing that settled his upset stomach on those days was his fine Antivan brandy, though he had been careful not to drink too much. He needed to stay alert, and the humid heat that surrounded them like a blanket took most of the edge off all by itself. Tristan could already feel his eyelids drooping, and it wasn’t even nightfall yet.

Well. One swig couldn’t hurt much, could it?

From atop his bay gelding, Dorian shot him a curious look when he saw him tipping his flak over his lips. Tristan swallowed the mouthful of brandy, then raised his eyebrows at him in question.

“How come you still have enough of this?” Dorian asked him in a low voice, steering his horse so he was riding beside him. “I thought you would have finished it days ago.”

“I’ve been careful with it,” Tristan replied as he carefully screwed the flask’s cap shut. “I only brought the one, and we still have weeks ahead of us. What?” he asked when Dorian blinked.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just… impressed that’s all.”

“Are you? I don’t know whether to feel proud or concerned that you think my resolve so brittle.”

“Brittle?” Dorian chuckled softly, “Not at all. I don’t know anyone that’s more stubborn than you are, in fact.”

“Except for you, you mean?” Dorian rolled his eyes, and Tristan grinned. How he liked to tease him. His lips that pursed ever so slightly, his eyebrow that lifted just a bit, the rueful little glances he shot him out of the corner of his eye before he looked away. How he managed to be irresistible even when irked, Tristan could never understand. It made him want to tease him all the more.

“In any case,” Tristan said casually, slipping the flask back in his coat pocket, “if you wanted a sip, all you had to do is ask. I’ve seen how you keep eyeing my flask.”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “Trust me, amatus, your flask is the last thing I keep eyeing.”

“Yeah, amatusss, your ‘flask’ is the last thing he’s been eyeing,” Sera snickered from the next horse over. “The first thing he’s been eyeing is your—”

“Sera,” Dorian hissed in warning. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare.”

“What? I was only going to say his arse.”

Dorian turned to glare at her, outrage writ all over his face. Sera burst out in wicked, high pitched laughter that made several of the weary travellers that were trailing alongside them on the Highway stop and gawk at them. Tristan bit his lip down hard to stop himself from laughing as well, but it wasn’t long before Dorian’s murderous glare was directed at him.

“You, too?” Dorian asked him pointedly.

Tristan gave him an apologetic little smile, still trying to stop himself from following Sera’s example, who seemed incredibly amused at having riled Dorian. “I mean,” he said in a strained voice, trying his best to keep a straight face, “she’s probably right. You’re not very subtle.”

Dorian clicked his tongue and punched him lightly on the shoulder, just as Sera slapped her thigh and cackled even more loudly. She laughed until her brown gelding whinnied in protest to her jerky movements and tossed its head back, causing Sera to almost lose her balance.

Dorian sniffed in disdain, then kicked his horse forward, his back straight and his head held high in defiance.

“Oh, come on—” Tristan laughed, following him with Almond. “It was just a joke!”

“No, it wasn’t!” Sera cackled after them both. “I call them like I see them!”

“Not listening!” Dorian replied with a wave of his hand, his golden rings glittering in the disappearing evening light.

From atop his horse, Iron Bull let out a deep, throaty chuckle. He stood almost two heads taller than everyone else, sitting tall and straight on the enormous draft horse Master Dennet had managed to find for him. It was a tough and calm mount, slow but sure footed, meant to draw carriages and plough carts rather than being ridden, but there had been no other horse suitable for the large Qunari.

It’s no Asaarash,  Iron Bull had said when he saw it, but it will have to do. Better than my own legs could, anyhow.

“With all the racket you three keep making," he said, "I’m surprised no Freemen have come crawling out of their hideouts to attack us. I would kill for some entertainment right now.” He winked at Solas, who was riding beside him on his chestnut coloured hart, “Get it, Solas? Kill for entertainment?”

Solas let out a small, exasperated sigh. “Yes, I do get it, Iron Bull. Unfortunately, the jest continues to be lost on me, as it has been the last five times you said it.”

“Ah, that’s ‘cause none of you can appreciate a good joke,” Bull laughed with a dismissive wave. “I tell you, those guys are just hiding in the bushes, waiting for us to lower our guard.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Want to bet on it?” Bull grinned.

Solas only frowned and looked ahead of him.

After this, they rode for a while in blissful silence, with Dorian’s annoyed pout relenting only after Tristan promised not to tease him again, then proceeded to peel an apple for him and carve it in the shape of a duck with one of his sharpest knives. It didn't look particularly good, but the apple was still sweet and crisp, and a soft blush had crept up Dorian's cheeks when he'd accepted it, so Tristan couldn't complain much.

Darkness fell all around them, and with it heavy clouds gathered overhead and a thick layer of mist covered the earth. The terrain changed slowly and steadily, with the tall grasses giving way to small thickets dispersed through the expansive land, and the flat plains rising in low, rolling hills. The air was so thick and humid that it made Tristan’s clothes stick to his skin, and the horses’ movements slow and sluggish. It wasn’t long before a droplet fell on his head, then another. Soon, raindrops were gliding past Tristan’s collar and the openings of his boots, warm like sweat.

“We’ll need to find shelter soon,” Tristan told them all, squinting in the half dark. The people travelling alongside them had dispersed with the approaching dusk and the rain, until it was just the five of them on the wide, hard packed dirt road. They should have reached the Inquisition outpost close to Verchiel a good two hours before, but the barricade that had been set up by Celene's soldiers at the Fleurcolline passage had greatly delayed them. Now they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, and with not much hope of reaching the outpost until dawn came.

“We can’t ride for long in this weather," Tristan said, gathering his coat around him, "and it’s dangerous to travel after dark.”

The rest of his party didn’t seem overly pleased to continue travelling like this either, with Dorian muttering curses under his breath as he wrapped himself in his leather overcoat, and Sera’s gelding tossing its head back in annoyance whenever the elf fidgeted on the saddle, which was a near constant occurrence. Bull and Solas seemed far less perturbed by the foul weather, yet no less tired.

“Shall we set up camp?” Solas asked, looking around.

“If you can find a decent spot,” Tristan grumbled. There was open space all around them, with only a few thickets of miserable trees that would probably not provide any shelter from the rain. The ground, too, was covered in mud, and he didn’t relish the notion of sleeping in a soddy tent, or having a miserable dinner of hardtack and cold cheese. Even Dorian’s and Solas’ magic couldn’t keep a fire going for long if there was no dry wood to be found.  

He let his gaze wander off into the distance, and was rewarded when he saw flickering lights, not too far ahead. A glance at his map confirmed his hopes; there was a small town nearby, one that the agents of the Inquisition they had last met had said was amongst the last standing this side of Orlais.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Sera asked when Tristan drew all of their attention to the village. “On we go, chop chop! Been dying for a mug of ale for hours.”

Solas glanced at the lights warily. “Do you know who is in charge of this town?”

“No one, as far as the scouts knew,” Tristan answered. Horville, as the place was called, used to be a crossroads town, meant for merchant caravans to stop and rest their horses and riders. Most of the buildings were inns and shops, with only a few houses for the people who worked there. After the war had broken out, it had been primarily frequented by the infantry and cavalry divisions that crossed the plains from time to time, staying only for a short while before moving on to the next post. It had been intentionally kept as a neutral ground of sorts, with no one army claiming ownership over the small town and its businesses.

Solas’ expression darkened. “No one that we can see, perhaps.”

Tristan considered Solas’ words for a few moments. Perhaps it was somewhat reckless to walk into a town that they knew so little about, but in the end his hunger and exhaustion seemed to overcome his suspicions. Dorian and Sera were none too quick to agree when he suggested they all ride to the small town in search of an inn to spend the night. No matter who was in charge of the village, they would hardly deny some weary travellers some rest, especially those with coin to spend. Right?

“Who are you, and what business have you?”

The guard standing behind the oak and iron-wrought gate had a gruff voice and an ever gruffer appearance, only partially illuminated by the lamp he held before his face. It was half hidden by his dark hood, but Tristan could still see the unkempt beard and the pock marks on his cheeks. Despite his rough appearance though, his cloak seemed sturdy and well made, and the leather handle of his sword hilt freshly worked. Business was going well in Horville, it seemed.

Tristan pushed his own hood back, and in his best Orlesian, he said, “We’re travellers, looking for shelter from this rain. A warm meal, too, and some drink to wash it down. Are you not going to let us in?”

The man squinted at them. “Don’t get many travellers like yourselves around these parts. Not anymore.”

“It appears you have now.” He let his lips curl in a cold smile, willfully ignoring the man’s hand that was already straying to his sword. His own hand slithered within the folds of his coat, pulling out his coin purse. “We’re not going to be any trouble. I assure you.”

The gold coin that Tristan tossed in his direction flipped in a small arc, catching the light of the lamp before it was snatched in the air by the guard’s practiced hand. The man’s beady black eyes widened when he beheld the coin, then his gaze flicked to each one of them in turn. After a few brief moments of intense scrutiny, he sniffed and jerked his head to the side, signalling for the men behind the gates to let them in.

“Keep an eye on your beast,” he said gruffly as their horses passed him by, shooting a baleful look at the Iron Bull’s horns. Tristan turned to glare at him, but the man only sniffed again and spat on the ground.

“Sour tit,” Sera mumbled under her breath, glaring daggers at the man over her shoulder. “Should have looked at his own ugly mug.”

“Pay him no mind, Bull,” Tristan told the Qunari in a low voice as he led his horse down the narrow cobblestone street. “Most of these people have never seen a Qunari before in their lives.”

“No worries, Boss,” Bull said, his lips widening in his usual, easy smile. “I’ve heard worse while sparring with the boys. These guys have probably seen their share of trouble. Can’t blame them for being cautious.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[vikingsagine]

My Religion & Your Pagan Ways (Ubbe Ragnarsson x Reader)

Yo whats up goisss? Okay, ew. Never doing that again. But anyways, yeah my heart will always scream Team Ivar but got to give this gentleman his spotlight. Thank the Gods for the actor that plays him, hottie. 

Summary: You are a Christian girl who lives in the world of Anglo-Wessex with a dream of adventure and freedom. That might just happened when you meet one of the many sons of the famous, Ragnar.

Warning: Sexism. 

It was known. You were weak and many people took advantage of that. You were weak because of your lack of voice, lack of skill at anything like cooking or cleaning, weak because you were so...tamed. It was known and most found it right. A woman is weak. 

That is why, when the most feared and legendary folk set foot in the land of Wessex, seeking shelter and protection for allegiance, it was meant to be. You knew, the first you laid eyes on their pagan faces, life was about to take a different turn. Better or for worse? It is yet to be settled.

Night came sooner than expected and you were sitting at the dining table, awaiting your Father and Mother’s company. Afton was still coming back from an emergency council with the other priests, whereas your Mother was sitting across from you, taking timid bites of her meat. 

“Mother there is news I would like to share with you and Father. It is quite important.” You avoided eye contact, fiddling with the cutlery in hand. You wanted to ask permission to leave Wessex and journey to other lands, there was a sense of adventure that stirred in the pits of your stomach. Yes, you were a Christian woman, obedient to their parents but you had dreams. Impossible as they seem, they were vibrant like the colors of a rainbow.

“Please don’t tell me it’s about your problem of seeking adventure.” Mother replied and took a sip of her wine. You felt slightly dispirited and glanced up at the woman, her nose too buried in the reflection of a mirror. “Your Father and I discussed these terms with you. There is no way you are going to leave the walls of Wessex, your position remains here until you marry a high lord or priest.” Just then, Afton walked through the doors, his clothes slightly disheveled and lips too pink. You pushed the noticeable different details away.

“What have I missed?”

“Oh nothing dear, your daughter still has the insane notion of going to ‘explore’. I think it is the fault of those barbarians.” Your Father gave you a hard and stern stare, daring you to dear speak or even explain yourself or hold eye-contact. But, as per usual you lowered your head and gulped.

“I see.” He hummed with a crude expression. You could feel the obvious rage from his ungraceful slurp of wine and chew of meat. “You must get rid of those dreams right away. You know you are destined to be here in Wessex and marry the future pope. It is a stupid idea for you to believe.” He let out an amused laugh, finding your want to leave the burdening walls of your home so absurd and entertainment. 

“Yes Father, I am sorry. I will pray to the Lord and the blessed Mary in hopes to keep my mind pure.” It was a rehearsed answer you repeated ever since you were a child, only changing the lines every so often. He gave you a small smile of forgiveness.

“Good, that is good my dear.” You bit back the burning tears and the sour pit of retaliation. But, oh you were ever so good at obedience and continued as if nothing had happened. If all has been forgiven. “You are a woman. You wouldn’t know how to fend for yourself. You are too gentle and soft, a true lady.”

At that moment, something snapped from inside. The barrier of what kept you from retaliating and what kept you submitting to every word thrown at you. A fiery storm that had been bottled up over the years popped and sizzled to every cave of your body. This world was a world you had been trying to fit in for too long, you yearned for freedom and choice. Strength. Your fate was set and you’d prove to your Father that because you are a woman, does not mean you are weak. It was time to be bold. You stood abruptly from the table and excused yourself, hiding the raging emotions. 

If it’s freedom and strength you seek, you know where the answer lies.

You swung back and forth, jabbing the tree with your supposed ‘weapon’, a stick. It wasn’t ideal but you had to start somewhere and even so, it wasn’t as easy as you’d thought it to be. A, this is the most physical activity you had ever committed, there was no reason for you before. B, it was scary being alone in the forest yards away from town, anyone could kill you and no one would hear.

“What are you doing?” Ubbe stood, arms folded in front and wore an amused smirk. You jumped at the sound and stumbled over a few branches, only to land on the ground with a thud. Seriously? This earned a low chuckle from the viking who made no move to help.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Heat flew to your cheeks as you stood up and dusted the leaves off your dress. “If you hurt me, m-my Father will-”

“Your Father will kill me?” He took a step closer to you and instinctively you backed away. This man was staunch and stood over your frame like a tower even if you were on the chubbier side of most women. His aroma seeped with power and it made you shrink inwardly. “Not to break your bubble princess, but you are miles away from town, in the middle of a dense forest, alone with me. No one would even hear your screams.” His form was close, you could feel him burn holes into your skull. This made you let out a scream and drop to the ground, eyes screwed shut and hands up as a way of defense.

“Please, please don’t hurt me.” 

“You Christian women are truly unbelievable.” You heard the crunch of his footsteps back away and watched as he left. “Worse then the men, weak.” He muttered, barely audible but you heard. Heard as clear as day. Without thinking you picked up the stick you were using moments before and struck the viking. Immediately regret filled your body. Ubbe froze in his tracks, not knowing whether to laugh or to be angry.

“I-I-” Say it, tell him you’re not weak.”I-I, I’m sorry.” The voice inside hurled, you were disappointed but you were afraid. It wasn’t like you wanted to hit him but it just happened. Something took over you like wildfire, something you never felt before. He marched up to your being, gripped the stick and threw it behind him with one swift movement. Your words were caught in your mouth as he held you firmly against the tree, body pressed into yours like glue. You tried to scream but he held his hand over your mouth. 

“Be quiet.” With a nod of his head, you followed his analytical gaze and saw four men. Strangers. Enemies. Vikings. You thrashed around in an attempt to run away but Ubbe squashed you against the tree. Not only was it completely violating your space but it made it worse because of the situation you were in. “Stop moving.” He barked with a firm tone, you obliged. “Stay here and don’t move.”

You watched as he crept onto the four men, head low and body slumped against the tree. Fear shook your body, so unaccustomed to violence or any dangerous situation. It was the first time you felt adrenaline and a rush of pumping blood. Ubbe weaved behind trees, a sword in his hand and then he spoke. Words you couldn’t understand but obviously the exchange wasn’t exactly good because the next they swung their swords and attacked each other. You watched in awe, how easily though rugged and rough, the Viking swung from man to man, killing left and right. The sight wasn’t pleasing however, it was beautiful to watch Ubbe so fluently whip the metal weapon like a pure sight of passionate art. 

“Ahh, please, please, ahh.” Someone grabbed you from behind, hands rough and smells intoxicating in the worst way. He smelled of old rotting flesh, alcohol and musk. A knife was held against your neck. “Please, please, please..” You started to cry and shake, there was no doubt that this man had no mercy. He yelled something which earned Ubbe’s attention, finishing the last man with a brutal blow. His chest heaved up and licked his lips, assessing your dire situation. Before another word came out of your captive’s mouth, his face was pierced by a sword and he was instantly dead. “Oh heavenly Father, please forgive me. Please, please. Oh my.” 

“You okay?” Ubbe questioned, eyeing your form for any injuries of some sort but there were only blood stains. Small but still real. You gave him a slow nod and held the cross necklace around your neck. “Good, we have to go back to Wessex.” He pulled a barely living man from the ground and dragged him along. 

~~~

After your unfortunate incident with Ubbe Ragnarsson and the random enemies of some other Vikings, it gave you a clear sight of how you would gain strength. Not only did that scary experience open your eyes to what you had to do but it also made you realize how you lacked a backbone. You are helpless and you are weak. And that had to change. 

“You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.” Repeating like a chant, you approached Ubbe Ragnarsson. He was once again fighting with the blonde woman, both intensely swinging their metallic arms and wore daring smiles. You couldn’t help but wonder if the two were an item. They did seem perfect for one another. There was a part of you that was envious of the viking women, they were brave and free. Though still looked down upon, they stood firm against all odds and beside their men. Soon enough they both finished, speaking in their native tongue until the woman left to another destination with two children.

“What is it you want princess?” Ubbe spoke, back still turned to you. You blushed slightly, he knew you were watching. 

“I-I, I haven’t thanked you for saving my life.” You stepped from the wall, standing a fair distance away from the viking. You noticed the subtle outline of his muscular back from behind his shirt. Even his backside made your heart thump. “So, thank you.”

“You’ve said what you must, you can go.” He turned around to finally face you. It was no surprise to you to see sweat dripping from his forehead and soaked the front of his shirt. Sticking to his prominent chest that puffed and heaved. He noticed your lingering gaze and chuckled. “Unless the Christian girl wants something else.” He leaned back on the bench which held many different weapons. Some you’ve never seen before.

“Yes, I do.” You took in a deep breath and finally peered into the vikings eyes for the first time. Oh, how you regret it. It was like falling into a  void of freckled specs of white in the endless pit of the purest blue. So light and so delicate. But hard as stone. “I-I-I, want you to, to, to um, to, there’s, well.” You pulled yourself back into reality and cleared your throat. “I want you to teach me how to fight, please.” Ubbe threw his head back in laughter, his voice bouncing with the sweetest sound of bitter muse. 

“It has been a long time since I’ve laughed like that.” He turned back around to his prior doings wearing a large smile. You didn’t expect any less of his reaction, it made you huff. “And here I thought you had a stick lodged up your ass.” You scoffed.

“I do not have a-ugh. Please teach me.” You followed his form as he walked around the wooden bench, ignorant to your voice. He was being nothing then rude. “I can pay you, gold and silver.” It still didn’t earn his attention, not even by the slightest. “My Father, he is one of the council members to the King, he has a lot of money. I will do anything for you to teach me.” Whatever you said, earned a reaction. He turned around abruptly and entered your personal space, blue eyes wandering over your face. 

“You are a priest's daughter?” You took a step back, he followed. You didn’t know whether it was a heathen thing to barge in each other’s personal space or whether or not it was just him. You placed your hands in front of yourself, keeping enough distance.

“Y-yes, I am.” He stood there giving you the most curious and intense stare anyone has ever given you. Especially a man. Not many men even glanced your way because of the reputation your Father held, daring not to touch a hair on your body. It was strange and uncomfortable to have the undying attention of a man. 

“You know a lot about your God.” The statement came out as more of a question and you gave him a slow nod. “Good. I accept the conditions of you teaching me your Christian ways.” As soon as he pulled his being away, you could feel the cold bound around your body. You were stunned. Why would a barbarian want to learn about God or Jesus Christ?

“Why?”

“It is none of your business. Did I ask why you want to learn to fight? No.” He was undeniably right. Instead you grabbed his hand and shook it, Ubbe gave you a skeptical look. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sealing the deal. Now you are bound to me.” He raised his eyebrows at your answer. “I mean, not bound ‘bound’ to me. Just, bound to me to not take your word back.” You let his hand go and flushed the color of pink.

“You mean, a promise?” He reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sealing the deal. But instead all you could feel was the flutter of your heart and the chatter of your knees. His touch was warm, rough from tough skin but still so tender. You retracted your hand and cleared your throat. “We will train in the forest, where we first met, early in the morning and later in the afternoon. Be there.” 

“Right, oh and no one can-”

“Don’t worry princess, your secret is safe with me.” He gave you wink, then packed the last of his weapons and left. You turned on your heel and headed home. Not only were you enormously happy but you felt accomplished.

[projecttattoo]

Tattoo culture in Western and European society.

In 2014, Harris poll reported that 20% of U.S adults have tattoos and there are over 21,000 tattoo parlors across the country.

According to a 2014 Harris poll, 20% of adults in the United States have tattoos, with more than 21,000 tattoo shops nationwide. It continues to show statistically that Americans are more willing to get tattoos. 

Tattoos are just a pure form of art and a very personal way of expressing.

I believe that American and European values in recognizing and respecting individual diversity can be seen in the acceptance of this culture.

This Western culture can't say everything is right, but it certainly works to socially accept the culture of tattoos faster.

In East Asian cultures, tattoos have led to popularization in the concept of crime, unlike Europe, and many people still live with this mindset, and this stereotype is deeply embedded in the overall culture of society, not only in a minority.

Based on the research above, we can say that we still need to change our understanding of tattoos and our perspective to get out of the culture of evaluating people only by appearance.

there is still the mindset that getting inked is representative of “alternative” or non-conformist tendencies. While today’s current young generations are working towards rebranding body art as a form of self-expression rather than rebellion, many people still associate tattoos with criminal, violent, or negative behaviors. But have we always viewed body ink this way?

A lot of people believe that tattoos got their start in Western culture as a result of sailors and soldiers who got their art done overseas, and say that the art form was reintroduced to European culture after sailors experienced it in the Polynesian islands.

Many of the ancient Pagans over in Europe used tattoos as spiritual symbols of protection or power, as spells for healing, or even to denote status. A tattoo could indicate a powerful shaman, a high-ranking member of royalty, or even a criminal.

Early Christians often had the image of the cross tattooed somewhere on their body (or an anchor, which was a once-common Christian symbol that has since fallen into antiquity). This is a practice that likely carried over from the Pagan faiths after Constantine led the charge in European conversion to the Christian religion. Tattooing became a markedly less common practice when the Church outlawed all forms of tattooing around AD 787, believing that any form of bodily modification or mutilation was sinful and against the original design of God. The Church’s firm disapproval of tattoos was certainly a large part of their later demonization in Western culture, but the practice of getting inked was far from over in the West.

Let’s fast-forward a few hundred years. There are a lot of things one thinks of when considering the English aristocracy, but tattoos aren’t generally one of them. However, tattoos were in fact very common among the English nobility. King Harold II’s body was actually identified post-mortem by his plentiful tattoos after he was killed in the Battle of Hastings (1066 A.D.).

WWII was considered a “golden age” of tattooing culture, and this was when much of the traditional art style of tattoos got its start (think bold lines, simple designs, and bright primary colors). Tattoos were looked down upon by many higher members of American society; like their counterparts across the ocean, by this time many saw tattoos as representative of lower or poorer classes. Eventually, tattoos even began to develop criminal connotations as gangs (such as the infamous Hell’s Angels biker gang) started to use tattoos as a means of identifying their members. The negative connotations got stronger when felons began to use tattoos to identify their allegiances and crimes or experiences in prison (the tear drop tattoo perhaps being the most well-known).

The negative portrayal of tattooed individuals in the media and in pop culture led many to associate the art form with the criminal and the rebellious for several decades. It has only been recently (within the last ten years or so) that younger generations have begun to fight back and reclaim the art form as one of self-expression, rather than rebellion.

Nowadays, tattooing has very much moved into the mainstream in the Western world. You can be hard-pressed to find an individual who does not have some form of ink on their body. People of all ages and from all different kinds of backgrounds- old, young, highly professional, blue-collar, etc.- are finding their way into tattoo studios. 

https://rampages.us/fiswagazine/2015/03/27/perception-of-tattoos-east-vs-west/

https://www.tattoodo.com/guides/styles/traditional

https://blogool.com/article/the-evolution-of-tattoos-in-western-culture\

[creepingsharia]

Must Read: “They Thought They Were Free”

…But Then It Was Too Late.

If you read nothing else this weekend read this excerpt in its entirety. It could easily apply to The Americans, 2001 – 201?. (some bold font added)

Originally posted on Creeping Sharia - December 17, 2011

Excerpted from:

They Thought They Were Free

The Germans, 1933-45

Milton Mayer

But Then It Was Too Late

“What no one seemed to notice,” said a colleague of mine, a philologist, “was the ever widening gap, after 1933, between the government and the people. Just think how very wide this gap was to begin with, here in Germany. And it became always wider. You know, it doesn’t make people close to their government to be told that this is a people’s government, a true democracy, or to be enrolled in civilian defense, or even to vote. All this has little, really nothing, to do with knowing one is governing.

“What happened here was the gradual habituation of the people, little by little, to being governed by surprise; to receiving decisions deliberated in secret; to believing that the situation was so complicated that the government had to act on information which the people could not understand, or so dangerous that, even if the people could not understand it, it could not be released because of national security. And their sense of identification with Hitler, their trust in him, made it easier to widen this gap and reassured those who would otherwise have worried about it.

“This separation of government from people, this widening of the gap, took place so gradually and so insensibly, each step disguised (perhaps not even intentionally) as a temporary emergency measure or associated with true patriotic allegiance or with real social purposes. And all the crises and reforms (real reforms, too) so occupied the people that they did not see the slow motion underneath, of the whole process of government growing remoter and remoter.

“You will understand me when I say that my Middle High German was my life. It was all I cared about. I was a scholar, a specialist. Then, suddenly, I was plunged into all the new activity, as the university was drawn into the new situation; meetings, conferences, interviews, ceremonies, and, above all, papers to be filled out, reports, bibliographies, lists, questionnaires. And on top of that were the demands in the community, the things in which one had to, was ‘expected to’ participate that had not been there or had not been important before. It was all rigmarole, of course, but it consumed all one’s energies, coming on top of the work one really wanted to do. You can see how easy it was, then, not to think about fundamental things. One had no time.”

“Those,” I said, “are the words of my friend the baker. ‘One had no time to think. There was so much going on.’”

“Your friend the baker was right,” said my colleague. “The dictatorship, and the whole process of its coming into being, was above all diverting. It provided an excuse not to think for people who did not want to think anyway. I do not speak of your ‘little men,’ your baker and so on; I speak of my colleagues and myself, learned men, mind you. Most of us did not want to think about fundamental things and never had. There was no need to. Nazism gave us some dreadful, fundamental things to think about—we were decent people—and kept us so busy with continuous changes and ‘crises’ and so fascinated, yes, fascinated, by the machinations of the ‘national enemies,’ without and within, that we had no time to think about these dreadful things that were growing, little by little, all around us. Unconsciously, I suppose, we were grateful. Who wants to think?

“To live in this process is absolutely not to be able to notice it—please try to believe me—unless one has a much greater degree of political awareness, acuity, than most of us had ever had occasion to develop. Each step was so small, so inconsequential, so well explained or, on occasion, ‘regretted,’ that, unless one were detached from the whole process from the beginning, unless one understood what the whole thing was in principle, what all these ‘little measures’ that no ‘patriotic German’ could resent must some day lead to, one no more saw it developing from day to day than a farmer in his field sees the corn growing. One day it is over his head.

“How is this to be avoided, among ordinary men, even highly educated ordinary men? Frankly, I do not know. I do not see, even now. Many, many times since it all happened I have pondered that pair of great maxims, Principiis obsta and Finem respice—‘Resist the beginnings’ and ‘Consider the end.’ But one must foresee the end in order to resist, or even see, the beginnings. One must foresee the end clearly and certainly and how is this to be done, by ordinary men or even by extraordinary men? Things might have. And everyone counts on that might.

“Your ‘little men,’ your Nazi friends, were not against National Socialism in principle. Men like me, who were, are the greater offenders, not because we knew better (that would be too much to say) but because we sensed better. Pastor Niemöller spoke for the thousands and thousands of men like me when he spoke (too modestly of himself) and said that, when the Nazis attacked the Communists, he was a little uneasy, but, after all, he was not a Communist, and so he did nothing; and then they attacked the Socialists, and he was a little uneasier, but, still, he was not a Socialist, and he did nothing; and then the schools, the press, the Jews, and so on, and he was always uneasier, but still he did nothing. And then they attacked the Church, and he was a Churchman, and he did something—but then it was too late.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You see,” my colleague went on, “one doesn’t see exactly where or how to move. Believe me, this is true. Each act, each occasion, is worse than the last, but only a little worse. You wait for the next and the next. You wait for one great shocking occasion, thinking that others, when such a shock comes, will join with you in resisting somehow. You don’t want to act, or even talk, alone; you don’t want to ‘go out of your way to make trouble.’ Why not?—Well, you are not in the habit of doing it. And it is not just fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it is also genuine uncertainty.

“Uncertainty is a very important factor, and, instead of decreasing as time goes on, it grows. Outside, in the streets, in the general community, ‘everyone’ is happy. One hears no protest, and certainly sees none. You know, in France or Italy there would be slogans against the government painted on walls and fences; in Germany, outside the great cities, perhaps, there is not even this. In the university community, in your own community, you speak privately to your colleagues, some of whom certainly feel as you do; but what do they say? They say, ‘It’s not so bad’ or ‘You’re seeing things’ or ‘You’re an alarmist.’

“And you are an alarmist. You are saying that this must lead to this, and you can’t prove it. These are the beginnings, yes; but how do you know for sure when you don’t know the end, and how do you know, or even surmise, the end? On the one hand, your enemies, the law, the regime, the Party, intimidate you. On the other, your colleagues pooh-pooh you as pessimistic or even neurotic. You are left with your close friends, who are, naturally, people who have always thought as you have.

“But your friends are fewer now. Some have drifted off somewhere or submerged themselves in their work. You no longer see as many as you did at meetings or gatherings. Informal groups become smaller; attendance drops off in little organizations, and the organizations themselves wither. Now, in small gatherings of your oldest friends, you feel that you are talking to yourselves, that you are isolated from the reality of things. This weakens your confidence still further and serves as a further deterrent to—to what? It is clearer all the time that, if you are going to do anything, you must make an occasion to do it, and then you are obviously a troublemaker. So you wait, and you wait.

“But the one great shocking occasion, when tens or hundreds or thousands will join with you, never comes. That’s the difficulty. If the last and worst act of the whole regime had come immediately after the first and smallest, thousands, yes, millions would have been sufficiently shocked—if, let us say, the gassing of the Jews in ’43 had come immediately after the ‘German Firm’ stickers on the windows of non-Jewish shops in ’33. But of course this isn’t the way it happens. In between come all the hundreds of little steps, some of them imperceptible, each of them preparing you not to be shocked by the next. Step C is not so much worse than Step B, and, if you did not make a stand at Step B, why should you at Step C? And so on to Step D.

“And one day, too late, your principles, if you were ever sensible of them, all rush in upon you. The burden of self-deception has grown too heavy, and some minor incident, in my case my little boy, hardly more than a baby, saying ‘Jewish swine,’ collapses it all at once, and you see that everything, everything, has changed and changed completely under your nose. The world you live in—your nation, your people—is not the world you were born in at all. The forms are all there, all untouched, all reassuring, the houses, the shops, the jobs, the mealtimes, the visits, the concerts, the cinema, the holidays. But the spirit, which you never noticed because you made the lifelong mistake of identifying it with the forms, is changed. Now you live in a world of hate and fear, and the people who hate and fear do not even know it themselves; when everyone is transformed, no one is transformed. Now you live in a system which rules without responsibility even to God. The system itself could not have intended this in the beginning, but in order to sustain itself it was compelled to go all the way.

“You have gone almost all the way yourself. Life is a continuing process, a flow, not a succession of acts and events at all. It has flowed to a new level, carrying you with it, without any effort on your part. On this new level you live, you have been living more comfortably every day, with new morals, new principles. You have accepted things you would not have accepted five years ago, a year ago, things that your father, even in Germany, could not have imagined.

“Suddenly it all comes down, all at once. You see what you are, what you have done, or, more accurately, what you haven’t done (for that was all that was required of most of us: that we do nothing). You remember those early meetings of your department in the university when, if one had stood, others would have stood, perhaps, but no one stood. A small matter, a matter of hiring this man or that, and you hired this one rather than that. You remember everything now, and your heart breaks. Too late. You are compromised beyond repair.

“What then? You must then shoot yourself. A few did. Or ‘adjust’ your principles. Many tried, and some, I suppose, succeeded; not I, however. Or learn to live the rest of your life with your shame. This last is the nearest there is, under the circumstances, to heroism: shame. Many Germans became this poor kind of hero, many more, I think, than the world knows or cares to know.”

I said nothing. I thought of nothing to say.

“I can tell you,” my colleague went on, “of a man in Leipzig, a judge. He was not a Nazi, except nominally, but he certainly wasn’t an anti-Nazi. He was just—a judge. In ’42 or ’43, early ’43, I think it was, a Jew was tried before him in a case involving, but only incidentally, relations with an ‘Aryan’ woman. This was ‘race injury,’ something the Party was especially anxious to punish. In the case at bar, however, the judge had the power to convict the man of a ‘nonracial’ offense and send him to an ordinary prison for a very long term, thus saving him from Party ‘processing’ which would have meant concentration camp or, more probably, deportation and death. But the man was innocent of the ‘nonracial’ charge, in the judge’s opinion, and so, as an honorable judge, he acquitted him. Of course, the Party seized the Jew as soon as he left the courtroom.”

“And the judge?”

“Yes, the judge. He could not get the case off his conscience—a case, mind you, in which he had acquitted an innocent man. He thought that he should have convicted him and saved him from the Party, but how could he have convicted an innocent man? The thing preyed on him more and more, and he had to talk about it, first to his family, then to his friends, and then to acquaintances. (That’s how I heard about it.) After the ’44 Putsch they arrested him. After that, I don’t know.”

I said nothing.

“Once the war began,” my colleague continued, “resistance, protest, criticism, complaint, all carried with them a multiplied likelihood of the greatest punishment. Mere lack of enthusiasm, or failure to show it in public, was ‘defeatism.’ You assumed that there were lists of those who would be ‘dealt with’ later, after the victory. Goebbels was very clever here, too. He continually promised a ‘victory orgy’ to ‘take care of’ those who thought that their ‘treasonable attitude’ had escaped notice. And he meant it; that was not just propaganda. And that was enough to put an end to all uncertainty.

“Once the war began, the government could do anything ‘necessary’ to win it; so it was with the ‘final solution of the Jewish problem,’ which the Nazis always talked about but never dared undertake, not even the Nazis, until war and its ‘necessities’ gave them the knowledge that they could get away with it. The people abroad who thought that war against Hitler would help the Jews were wrong. And the people in Germany who, once the war had begun, still thought of complaining, protesting, resisting, were betting on Germany’s losing the war. It was a long bet. Not many made it.”

Copyright notice: Excerpt from pages 166-73 of They Thought They Were Free: The Germans, 1933-45 by Milton Mayer, published by the University of Chicago Press. ©1955, 1966 by the University of Chicago. All rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that this entire notice, including copyright information, is carried and provided that the University of Chicago Press is notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of the University of Chicago Press. (Footnotes and other references included in the book may have been removed from this online version of the text.)

http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/511928.html

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[vixbluffart]

Janus will change his name: a Sanders Sides theory

So, as we all know, Janus has joined the light sides. He’s going to want to make it seem like they made the right decision letting him in, since his acceptance made Roman leave. 

So what will he change it to?

Ethan

Why is he changing it, and why to Ethan?

1. The connotations of Janus

In case you don’t already know, Janus is a two-faced Roman god of doorways, transitions, beginnings, and endings. One head looked into the past, the other toward the future. The implications that two-faced brings about wouldn’t help Janus’s case to become more of a light side, so he’d want to change it. The name Ethan also follows the traditional naming conventions of the light sides (PattON, RomAN, LogAN) and would showcase him in a transition, a new beginning (as his original name suggested he represented). It would show his allegiance to the light sides and help them be convinced they made the right choice. If he’s willing to change his name to gain our trust, he must be trustworthy, right?

2. Ethos, pathos, logos

One of the most popular fan names for Janus (and one I had been convinced of) was Ethan, because it helped complete the ethos, pathos, logos trinity that Logan and Patton had started. Ethos, pathos, logos refers to different types of argumentative speaking used in speeches and debates (it’s quite effective in my experience). Ethos is convincing the audience you know what you’re saying, pathos is using emotions to drive your point, and logos is using facts and logic to back up your words. This makes sense in the context of Sanders Sides. Janus always wants to seem like he has authority on the subject and is qualified to speak, Patton constantly uses his emotions and kindness to convince (both these shown in SvS), and Logan always uses people or studies to prove his points (Yerkes-Dodson Curve anyone?). It all fits. But, what I, and many others, forgot to consider, however, was the fact that all the dark side names from that point on ended with -US, not -*vowel*N (like Virgilius/Remus). Since Deceit was a dark side, he couldn’t have a name ending with -AN. This all changes as of the recent episode since he’s now a light side. The above can be applied to him now.

Okay great, you’re saying. If Janus can change his name, why didn’t Virgil? He desperately wants to be considered a light side and to distance himself from Janus and Remus. 

I hear you, and I’ve got an explanation. 

Virgil never thought about changing his name. He thinks that cutting off the -IUS is distance enough. It doesn’t sound like he’s a dark side, or ever was, unless you know his full name in the context of ancient Greece (little side note, I love how all their names are connected to Greek and Roman mythology. I’m a huge classics nerd and it makes me happy). 

All this to say, he’ll be in the episode where Janus changes his name. Remus might too. Possibly even Roman shows up. What would they think?

Virgil: He’ll be confused about how Janus can just, you know, change his entire name, just to seem allegiant to the light sides. He’s never even thought about doing that before. He thought shortening his name would help distance himself from his past, but all it did was make it so that he would never belong on either side. No name ends with -IL. He’s going to spiral, think he’s not really as good as he thought. If the light sides can accept Janus with all his scheming and lies (because he still thinks of Janus as a liar), what does that say about his character? Is he any better than Janus? Maybe he goes to comfort Remus and sees how upset he is. Maybe he joins back with him, goes back to his original name, Virgilius. Maybe in the gamble Janus made to join the light sides, Virgil has gone back to the dark.

Remus: We never see his reaction to Janus joining up with the light sides, but I’m pretty sure he’d be crushed. Virgil already left, now Janus? He’s going to be sad, confused, upset (heartbroken? I’m a big dukeceit shipper), wondering what he did to warrant this. He’s going to be furious when Janus changes his name. It’s the ultimate betrayal to him. Now he’s all alone. Or, at least he was for a while. Until Virgil joins him.

Roman: Roman isn’t going to be convinced in the slightest. He’s going to think that it’s just a bold move to gain their trust, only for Janus to attack and hurt them and Thomas. It’s too big of a gesture. he tells himself. If he wanted our trust, he would prove it to us normally. Not like this. He’s not going to understand how Patton and Logan can just trust him after their history. He’s going to storm off when they won’t listen to him. He’s going to go to Virgil’s room because he knows that Virgil wouldn’t buy the story of “I want to prove my trustworthiness hahahaha”. But Virgil is gone. Roman is alone, with no one to believe his accusations, whether they end up correct or not.  

ALRIGHT that was a lot of theory. I’m pretty convinced it will happen. Like 99.99% convinced it will be a part of the next episode. It’s honestly a crime we didn’t see Virgil’s reaction to Janus joining the light sides, but at least we can see his reaction to this.

[wolffishgrin]

No Uncertainties

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1813

It had been rough few weeks for you because dating a celebrity was tiring and that too Park Chanyeol at that. Your relationship was comparatively new, six and a half months to be exact if you count from the day he officially asked you out. You both had met at a party through mutual friends. Initially, it had been random talk about random things but then you both ended up talking about how dedication and passion are important in whatever line of work one is in and in that moment you both knew that this short introduction would go a long way.

After that it was messages, late night calls and secret dates whenever his schedule allowed. It was sunshine and pixie dust until one day the news broke out about the two of you dating with pictures to support the claim. You panicked but Chanyeol was by your side through all of it. He made sure to make you stay away from the hate comments and remarks. Seeing him standing like a rock by your side made you at ease and slowly things started to get normal when more and more people came forward accepting your relationship. But it wasn’t the end, was it? All started going down the hill when a week later a photo of you and your best friend Mark made to the internet with a very bold caption ‘Is Park Chanyeol’s girlfriend two timing?’

It was a photo of you and Mark hugging each other, taken on the day the news of your dating broke out and all the outrage of the fans got to you. You were trying to hide your face because you didn’t want anyone to see you crying, especially Chanyeol, because he adored his fans and you didn’t want to make this difficult for him. So, you talked to Mark, your best friend, your go to person. He was the one who introduced you both at one of his fancy parties, which you had been reluctant to attend because you wanted media to be as far as possible from your life. But fate had something else planned for you. For more than two weeks your personal life had been splayed all over the internet for millions of strangers to read and gossip about.

These past few days, after your and Mark’s photograph scandal, Chanyeol had been distant. He stopped calling you, he stopped visiting you. The calls you initiated didn’t last for more that three minutes, with him answering in monosyllables and in the end saying that he is busy and would call you later, of course that call never came. The one time he called was to inform you about the time he’ll pick you up. Regardless of everything going on, it was his parent’s wedding anniversary and you couldn’t skip that. He had asked, more like commanded you to attend the dinner party with him.

He picked you up at 6:45 sharp as he said he would. You opened the door to your apartment to a dapper Chanyeol in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt with hair gelled up, away from his forehead. The journey to his parent’s house was quiet, his grip on the steading wheel a little strong, his uninterrupted focus on the road except for occasionally looking at you with grim expression and you sitting straight, trying not to move in an attempt to not disturb him. To say that he was looking hot in that attire plus the serious Chanyeol with the whole knotted eyebrows and dark, deep eyes would be an understatement and yet you were...scared.

You were a nervous mess but you gathered yourself together and put up a heart warming smile when you greeted his parents. They were more that happy to see you, for a change one could say. But were they really? Or was it just the pressure of everyone present there, it left you wondering.

Five minutes into the party he went to talk to the guests one by one, switching from one group to the other, leaving you to fend for yourself. Luckily his sister found you and stuck by your side.

“Loosen up a little, y/n.” She whispered in your ear, sending a chill down your spine and you felt like you would break into tears any moment.

“You can’t let it get to you. I know you are strong and my brother chose right. So, fight it, for the both of you.” You were too overwhelmed to speak anything, so you just listened to her. She put an arm around you and rubbed your arm, bringing you closer to her.

By the time all the guests left and it was only the close relatives who sat at the table for dinner, you had zoned out. He was the same cold Chanyeol again. It was as if he refused to acknowledge your presence anymore even though he was sitting beside you. You couldn’t take his behaviour anymore. To think that he had was doubting your integrity made you sick to your stomach. At least he should give you a chance to explain yourself. Why bring you together in the first place if he was going to treat you this way. His sister’s reassuring words couldn’t hold you up anymore.

To make it worse his cousin, Mijoo spoke.

“Chanyeol, you didn’t invite Mark?”

All heads turned towards you both. What was her problem? She had been trying to bring up the article throughout the party but this time she crossed limits by trying to humiliate you in front of everyone, especially his parents.

You could feel him tensing beside you. The grip on the fork in his hand tightened. He seemed to control his anger and asked through gritted teeth, “Why should he be invited?”

“He seemed close to y/n. I mean that’s what the articles over the internet say these days.” She scoffed.

And then what came next almost gave you a heart attack. Chanyeol banged both his hands on the table with a loud thud and stood up. Anger seeping from every cell of his body.

You whole body jerked unconsciously in response to the sound. You’ve never seen him this angry.

“Get up.” He barked. “I said get up and leave.”

“What did I do?” She replied. Bitchy tone long gone, now replaced by sweet innocent words.

“You think I don’t know what you are trying to do here? Passing snide comments at my girlfriend”

“Your girlfriend? She scoffed. “Your girlfriend who didn’t leave the first chance of sticking herself against her so called best friend?”

“Careful, Mijoo! You are treading on thin ice. Think twice before uttering anything about her” His voice dangerously low.

“Or you gonna do what?” She challenged him.

“How about enlightening the police about your love for bribery?” And her expressions changed.

What was happening? You were confused.

“Not so confident now, are we?” He smirked.

“You thought I’ll never get to know that it was all your doing. The thing about these people who take money to do something is that they can always swear their allegiance with someone offering more.”

“It only took me a few thousands of dollars and he spilled everything, word to word.”

“She doesn’t deserve you.” She screamed.

“And you’re gonna be the judge of that?” He shouted topping her voice and then everything went silent.

You just couldn’t take it anymore, your head was spinning from all the drama unfolding in front of your eyes. So you escaped to one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. You stood there, looking over the balcony embracing the thoughts on your mind. To think that there are people who would, no scratch that, there is someone who went to such lengths to break you both apart hurt you so much. You were clueless and helpless.

But you also felt at peace thinking that Chanyeol stood up for you. He knew. He didn’t doubt your loyalty. You needed your pillar of strength. You needed him. Mijoo was the least of your concern. You just wanted him there, with you and then you felt a pair of hands sliding across your stomach. You didn’t hear him coming and honestly you didn’t care. Everything you needed was here, hugging you.

You leaned into his embrace closing your eyes, capturing his heat and his scent, in return he placed his chin on your shoulder and tightened his hold on your belly. You both stayed like that for what seemed like forever.

“I’m sorry.” He broke the silence first. You opened your eyes upon hearing his sudden confession. You tried to face him but he didn’t let you.

“Hear me out please, y/n”

You placed your hands upon his, giving him the signal to continue.

“Mark came to meet me the very next day those photos started circulating and he explained everything and when I say everything I mean it. He told me the he had his doubts that someone from our circle had their hands behind this but he couldn’t say exactly who. So I took noona’s help. A little digging and she found out the name of the person who published those pictures. When Mark and I questioned him he gave Mijoo’s name. I wasn’t exactly shocked because she had been trying her tricks to gain my attention for so long. But no one messes up with my family and gets to walk away.”

Family. He called you family. That single word was enough for your tears to escape down your cheeks.

He paused and then you turned, this time he didn’t stop you. You could see your ChanyeoI in front of your again with same warmth in his eyes. He cupped your face in his hands and wiped your tears with the pad of his thumbs “I love you y/n y/l/n. I know I’ve been treating you so badly and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that. I could see you trying so hard to stay sane after all that was happening. I could see you trying so hard trying to talk to me and trust me when I say this it broke me every time. But I wanted her to believe that we were really not talking to each other. I wanted to make her vulnerable, for me to expose her.” You were too dumbfounded by his sudden confession to speak anything. Sensing your hesitation he continued to speak his part, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to wipe your tears and don’t even think for a second that I doubted you. Also, I don’t know about you but I have no uncertainties regarding us.”

This time you spoke, “I love you too, Park Chanyeol.”

You both smiled at each other, leaning to kiss at the same time.

[wellhellotragic]

If Looks Could Kill 14/27

Summary: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises.

Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down.

Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor

Rated: M for language, violence, and smut.

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

The night felt like it was dragging on forever.

When Emma and Killian had first sat down to eat, she was simply grateful that she had found him before Tamara could do anything. She had gotten to him just in time. Now though, as she felt the adrenaline beginning to wear off, her mood was starting to sour. She watched as the other girls continued to down the rum infused drinks, which lead to them becoming more flirtatious towards Killian. Agent Charming had come over at one point and said something to Killian over his shoulder, but Emma hadn’t heard what he said. After that, Killian seemed to change, and he too become more flirtatious. Part of her wondered if one of the drinks the waiter brought over hadn’t been just tea.

As she watched him talking to the other girls in his sultry accent, Emma tried to push all of her emotions to the side, but every time she looked at Killian, all she could see was Tina Greene grinding down on Killian. She knew she had no claim to Killian, and that he was technically free to do whatever he wanted, but she had been sure that he didn’t want any of the other girls there. A big part of her job was reading people and being able to sort the truth from lies, so how could she have read him so wrong?

She tried to focus on other things throughout the evening. There was idle chatter going on all around the table; Killian even tried to joke around with her. She plastered a smile on her face, the kind she used for her undercover marks, but she knew Killian could see right through it.

Halfway through the meal, August had reappeared long enough to wave Emma over to him. He quickly reminded Emma about the gift he had for her once she was done with the case and bid her farewell. Just before he left, August asked Emma to be careful one more time with a pleading look in his eyes. Killian had seemed to tense the moment Emma returned to the table, and he stayed that way for the rest of the evening.

Emma asked Killian if anything was wrong, but he waved her off stating that he was fine, just still a bit tired. She immediately knew it was a lie, but there was something in his sad smile that kept her defenses down. As the dinner progressed, both of their emotions seemed to run the gambit. She was still irrationally angry and hurt, but kept reminding herself that he wasn’t hers. Then there was the fact that Tamara had once again made an attempt on his life right under their noses, and both times Killian had come far too close to death.

Killian seemed to be battling with himself internally as well. Sometimes when she looked over towards him, she saw this glimmer in his eye that appeared to be reserved for only her, but other times, when he wasn’t aware she was watching him, there was sorrow. The shade of blue seemed darker, like an endless sea of stormy waters, a sea where she could become lost for days.

It wasn’t a thought she should be having. She was there on official business only, and even then, he wasn’t interested in her. That was perfectly apparent from the evening before. She had left before it had gone any further, but her parting image was of Tink unbuttoning her shirt, and Emma’s traitorous mind had been more than willing to fill in the rest of that scene in the form of dreams. Nightmares really. It was just as when she had walked in on Zelena and Walsh in their bed, only this time it was Killian, and he showed no remorse. She had woken with a knot in her stomach that hadn’t relented all day.

When dinner was over, the group made their way back to the limo. Killian stopped to help some of the more inebriated girls before stepping inside himself. Emma had managed to find two empty seats, and made sure that he sat next to her, but they rode back to the mansion in silence. They shared a few pitiful smiles, but no words, even when Killian parted to return to his guesthouse. Emma went to bed frustrated.

Emma woke the next morning feeling exhausted and slightly sick to her stomach. Ruby telling her that Graham was waiting for this in the RV only made things worse. She knew they were going to get yelled at for the lapse in security. Emma had already chastised herself for talking to August in front of everyone while she was supposed to be looking after Killian, but she knew that no matter how upset she was with herself, it would be nothing compared to what Graham would say.

Both Emma and Ruby were dressed and headed down to the RV at first light. She let her mind drift off, remembering how she had jogged with Killian to the docks. They had decided it would be their thing, but then Tamara tried to poison him, and he was too weak to go, then there was his date with Tink, and now she was too upset the night before to make plans. She missed it, she missed him, and that realization only made her feel even more ill.

She and Ruby could hear yelling before they even entered the RV. Ruby gave her a look, one that Emma had come to know over the years. It meant that no matter what, they stayed united. They had discussed it before they went to bed, getting their ducks in a row. Emma nodded in understanding and Ruby pulled back the door just enough for them to squeeze in.

Even with the size upgrade from the van to the RV, things were still packed. It clearly hadn’t been chosen with the intention of having eight people crammed inside. Will, Robin, Ava, and James were all sitting in a row and what appeared to be a makeshift couch. Regina and Graham stood near the front of the RV. Emma immediately noticed how red Graham’s face was, and that he was clearly not in a mood to be trifled with.

“Nice of you two to finally join us,” Graham snarled out. “Sit.”

Emma hadn’t known Graham for all that long, but she had always assumed him to the quiet contemplative type. This angry version of him took her off guard. Emma looked to Regina to see if she were going to add anything, but instead she gave Emma a small smile before returning her gaze to her feet. Ruby and Emma took the two remaining seats in front of the monitors where Will and Robin usually sat.

“So, would either of you like to give me your versions of what happened last night?”

Ruby tried to say something but Graham cut her off again. “Because from where I’m standing it looks like we’re running a two bit operation here, where everyone seems to think that they’re playing a game of hide and seek with Mr. Jones. Is this too hard for you all? Should I get some new agents on this?”

“It’s not their fault,” Emma interjected. She knew it was a bold faced lie. Everyone was equally to blame, but she couldn’t sit back and watch them get yelled at. Ruby shot her a murderous look, but Emma ignored it. “I was supposed to be watching him, but then someone that knew me showed up and I had to distract him so we didn’t blow our covers. I lost sight of him for one minute and that’s all it took. I’m sorry. ”

“Who?” asked Regina, looking slightly nervous.

“Just an old friend. It doesn’t matter.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Graham sounded furious. “And does this friend know why you were there?”

“Do you mean does he know that I work for the FBI?” Emma’s words came off harsher than they should have considering that she was speaking to her boss, but it really wasn’t his concern. She had handled the situation already.

“I’m sorry, I fail to see the difference. So who is he?” Graham made sure to emphasize the last word.

“Seriously, he’s just an old friend and it’s been dealt with.”

Emma could see all of the cautious glances the other agents were exchanging.

“And if you’re so sure, why can’t you just give me his name?”

Emma felt her pulse quickening under Graham interrogation.

“His name is August Booth. I’ve-”

She was interrupted. “The writer? Are you kidding me Emma? How is that not a problem? You really think he’s going to give a crap about his allegiance to your friendship when there’s a story involved, especially one with a tabloid magnet like Killian Jones at the center of it?”

Graham didn’t even wait for Emma to respond. Instead her grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the RV, away from the other agents and Regina.

“Emma, do you honestly trust him? Because if he says anything, writes one word about this, all of us are screwed. You get that right?” Graham demeanor changed immediately, and he seemed concerned now.

“I trust him.”

Graham nodded at her before taking a step back. He turned and ran his hands through his hair in what appeared to be a genuine effort to calm himself. When he turned back to Emma, he almost invaded her space. His knuckles grazed her cheek and Emma froze, completely shocked by the gesture.

“Emma, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I have a lot of people putting pressure on me to get this case solved, and if anything goes wrong...” he paused. “Look, that doesn’t matter, and it’s no excuse for my behavior. I know this can’t be easy for you, pretending to be interested in someone like him. If you need anything I’m here, okay?”

“Okay,” Emma managed to choke out, still completely unsure of what to do or say.

With that, Graham leaned in closer. Emma didn’t move, unsure of what exactly was happening, until she felt Graham’s lips on hers. The kiss was chaste, and completely unexpected. It was also completely unwanted. If it had been any other man, she would have kneed him in the balls, and then kicked him again for good measure, but this was her boss. The same boss that she had regrettable flirted with, and apparent lead on.

Crap.

“Come on, we should get back in there.” He sounded breathless.

Emma nodded and silently followed him back, careful to avoid eye contact with him.

The evening with Emma had been awkward at best. After nearly dying under the weight of faulty equipment and a full barrel of rum, Emma had seemed concerned for him, and he took that as a good sign. After she had sat next to him for dinner and gone out of her way to help him avoid consuming more alcohol, he was even more sure that she returned his affections. Then August had reappeared, and everything changed. Every interaction seemed like it required more effort, and she seemed to distance herself from him.

He was exhausted physically and emotionally and ready to just call it a night. The past few weeks had taught him to appreciate crawling into an empty bed. Before the show, he had needed a woman to distract him until he was too tired to think about anything real, but now he relished the alone time. Granted, there was a particular blonde that he still wouldn’t mind curling up next to, but that wasn’t a possibility right now.

The limo dropped everyone off at the mansion and the girls filed out one by one. The small graveled road that lead to his guest house was too narrow for the limo to turn around in, so Mary Margaret volunteered to give him a ride on the golf cart she used to travel around the estate. Emma had walked back into the mansion before he could say anything, so he jumped onto the cart before any of the other woman could attempt to maul him.

When he made it back to the cottage, he showered for the second time that day and brushed his teeth. The clothes he had worn to dinner reeked of alcohol and he momentarily considered throwing them out entirely before opting simply to throw the bundle in a corner and trudged back to his bed. Just as he was about to flop down and call it a night, he noticed a small yellow piece of paper on his pillow.

Jones,

I can’t begin to express how sorry I am for what I’ve done to you. I know you think that I did it for myself, but the truth is that I did it for you too. I thought I was helping you, and now I realize that regardless of my intentions, I should have given you the option. I promise you, it’s not a mistake I plan on repeating.

I don’t expect for you to forgive me anytime soon, but perhaps this will help. She’ll be there by the time you wake in the morning.

-Regina

Killian smiled at that, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She was on her way, and he couldn’t be more thrilled. That evening was the best sleep he’d had since this all began.

Back in the RV, the agents were trying to regroup. Everyone had calmed down after Graham had tempered himself. Emma showed them the faulty screw that she had picked up. She had been careful to pick it up with a tissue so as not to get her prints on it and put it straight into an evidence bag when she got back to her room.

Emma told them that as soon as she stepped into the basement, she saw the top shelf wobbling as if it was loose. Tamara had used Killian’s body weight to give it the finish push needed to dislodge the rack of rum barrels and make it look like an accident. The problem, however, was that Tamara had been with them the entire time, and wouldn’t have had enough time to mess with the equipment. Everyone came to the same conclusion;

Tamara had a partner.

“Emma, I know you said you trusted him, but are you sure that August didn’t have anything to do with this?” Robin asked.

“What?” For the third time in less than an hour she was completely blindsided.

“It’s just a little coincidental,” Charming supplied. “He’s a writer, maybe he’s trying to create the perfect story.”

“Seriously? I get that you guys don’t trust him, but can you trust me. He has nothing to do with this.”

“Emma,” Ruby started. “We’re just trying to cover all of our bases. You have to admit that August is a little shady.”

Emma was furious. Not only was everyone thinking the worst of someone she cared for, but they were insulting her ability to make rational choices. She was about to storm out of the RV when Ava came to her defense.

“If Emma says it wasn’t him, then I believe her. I know we haven’t worked together for very long, but I’ve come to trust her instincts.”

Emma was grateful for this woman. She mouthed the words thank you.

“So perhaps we should go through the distillery’s security footage to see who else was down there.”

“Sorry, but we already tried that and no luck.” Will said. “They don’t have camera’s in the basement, or in the stairwell leading to it.”

“What I don’t understand is why Jones keeps running off with the woman. I’ve seen the footage; he has no interest in her.” Regina had made the first solid observation that morning.

“Sorry Regina, but I’ve found that when a pretty woman is in the room our boy seems to start working with his other, much smaller brain.” Will seemed quite pleased with himself.

Regina was less than impressed, rolling her eyes at him. “Miss Lucas, you were the last one seen talking to him before he disappeared. What were you talking about?”

“Oh, oh, oh.” Will started cheekily. “Let me guess. They were talking about to spring lingerie line.”

This time it was Ruby’s turn to smack Will on the head.

“Oi, I’m only kidding, sort of. Come on, I know me mate and he’s not a conversationalist when it comes to the lasses. It doesn’t matter what they talked about, because all he heard was ‘take me to bed.’ That’s just the way he works.”

Ava took that as her cue to jam her elbow into Will’s side with as much force as she could muster.

“Miss Lucas? If you please.” Regina was tapping her foot in the floor of the RV causing it to shake a little.

“If you must know,” she said as she scowled at Will, “we were talking about Emma. He saw her with August and asked if they were involved.”

“And what did you say?” Emma blurted out.

“I told him that I didn’t know. You’ve always been very protective of August, Emma. I don’t know what you guys are to each other, and I told him honestly that I didn’t know. The two of you looked pretty comfortable with each other so you really can’t blame him.”

If Emma thought she was furious before, she was irate now. Ruby had no right to tell Killian anything about August, and she was fairly certain that Ruby had said more than she had admitted to. This wasn’t the first time Ruby had stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, but this was over the line.

“Typical.”

Robin looked towards his girlfriend in question.

“Isn’t it obvious? When Jones is upset, he acts out. He thought Miss Swan was flirting with August, and lashed out by playing seven minutes in heaven with the woman that’s trying to kill him.”

The remainder of the meeting was a blur to Emma. She managed to pay attention just long enough to discuss a new check in system to ensure that someone constantly had eyes on Killian. Her thoughts kept drifting back to what Regina had said, though. Killian had been jealous. But if he cared about her the way Regina had implied, why had he been so eager to sleep with Tink?

The meeting ended soon after, as the girls needed to return to the mansion to avoid suspicion. Regina left first, followed immediately by Graham, as they had driven in together. Graham had grabbed Emma’s hand on the way out and given it a light squeeze before walking out. Charming found his way out next and Ruby followed shortly after him, having realized that Emma wasn’t speaking to her. Robin apologized for Will’s behavior, and gave him one more smack on the back of the head for good measure.

When it came time for Emma to head back, Ava stayed close and called after her just before she snuck back into the house.

“Emma!”

Emma turned hoping that whatever Ava had to say would be quick. She wasn’t looking forward to being in a confined space with Ruby, but she just wanted to get away and crawl back under her covers.

“Sorry, I know you’re in a hurry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“No you’re not. The way everyone ganged up on you back there was uncalled for, but you’ve been in a funk since yesterday. You can talk to me if you want. I promise it won’t go past us.”

“I promise, I’m just peachy.”

“Emma, please.”

“What is everyone’s problem? I’m fine. Killian’s fine. All of the girls he makes out with are fine. Graham’s, just- just let it go already.” Emma felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Is that was this is about? You’re upset because Killian made out with Tamara? I’m not excusing him, but he was hurt and did something stupid.”

Emma interrupted her. “It’s not about him making out with Tamara. He slept with Tink!”

“What? When?”

“Don’t play stupid with me Ava. I saw them on their date.”

Ava tilted her head and looked to the side as if she was trying to replay the night in her head. Her lips began to curl in the corners.

“Emma, they never slept together. In fact, we had to force him to even talk to her, much less touch her. I tried to keep it as G rated as possible, but Agent Charming kept pushing Killian for more and more until Killian nearly broke.”

“What?” Emma couldn’t quite grasp what Agent White was telling her.

“She tried, she really did try to seduce him but he was having none of it. The only reason they even kissed was because Graham ordered James to try to make Killian feel something for Miss Greene.” She paused waiting to see if Emma was going to say anything. “He asked for you, you know. He wanted you on that date, but the network had already planned on Tink going in, so my hands were tied. Emma, I see the way he looks at you. He’s crazy about you.”

Emma kept watching the ground, trying to process everything Ava had told her. “So they didn’t sleep together?”

“No, Emma. He only wants you.” With that, Ava walked past Emma into the secret door, leaving Emma to her thoughts.

Killian woke with excitement. He felt like everything he had gone through in the past few weeks had just been a nightmare and now things were settling back to reality. He wasn’t worried about his confusing relationship with Emma, or the pressures of the show, or even the fact that he had almost died twice in as many weeks. He got dressed quickly and headed out before even looking at his schedule for the day. Everything the network wanted could wait. At that moment, there was nothing more important than her .

The journey out to the docks felt longer than normal. By the time he arrived, he was almost out of breath from jogging. He made a mental note that he needed to start exercising more. His self-deprecation was cut short at the sight of her in all of her gloriousness. The new sails that he had ordered had not only come in while he was gone, but Regina must have had them installed as an extra apology.

Everything else was just as he remembered it, and he took a moment to just inhale the scent of well-aged wood. As children, he and Liam had always talked about owning a boat of their own one day. They were going to find an old pirate ship and salvage and restore it to its former glory. Both boys had known that it was only a pipe dream. Neither of them had a penny to their name at the time, and when Liam joined the Royal Navy, he said he had all the ship he needed. The dream had died, as had Liam.

When Killian started dating Milah, new dreams were formed. She had never been a huge fan of the water for long stretches of time. She preferred flying to her destinations. Milah told him that as a little girl, she had dreamed of living in in a fancy home in Notting Hill, and Killian was determined to make that happen for her. It had helped drive his music career. The band had really been taking off in Europe, and they were just on the cusp of a break out in America when everything went to hell.

After abandoning London for Boston, Killian was left with nothing but the dream he and Liam shared. He took all of the money he’d been saving for the dream house and used it to buy the Jolly Roger, and slowly over the past two years, she had come back to life. The only thing left to do now was sail her across the world, something he had planned to do as soon as the show was over, but now he had pause.

 Killian had never intended to develop feelings for anyone on the show, but then Emma blew into his life and the Earth seem to tilt on it’s axis. God, he was pathetic, pining over a woman who probably wanted nothing to do with him. Last night, he had been so sure of her, of them, until August had come back to talk to Emma. That’s when all of the pieces started falling together. Emma had a past with August that she didn’t share with anyone, and Ruby had said that August was bad news. Emma seemed tense when he first arrived, and the look Ruby had on her face was almost murderous. After only a few brief words though, Emma had relaxed, falling into easy conversation as if they naturally knew how to fit together. They had no problem touching each other or showing each other affection.

That’s when it came to him; August was Emma’s cheating ex. Moreover, if their friendly conversation was anything to go by, Emma seemed more than willing to forgive him.

God, he was an idiot. Here he was, falling for a taken woman. He walked around the deck, letting his fingers slide against the smooth wood of the railing. He told himself that the Jolly was the only lady he needed in his life. Then, as if a sign from the heavens he heard his name being called.

“Killian?”

If he wasn’t there, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with herself. He hadn’t answered his cottage door, and after the incident with the paramedics, the balcony was now common knowledge in the house and had become a gathering place for many of the other women. They had another rose ceremony that evening, and she didn’t want to wait anymore to talk to him. If she didn’t get to him now, she’d have to wait until after the ceremony, and by then it might be too late. She needed to clear things up before he did anything that they’d both regret.

When Emma reached the docks, she was shocked to find a huge ship moored up to the docks. It certainly hadn’t been there the day before. She wondered if it was another destination date planned for the show, but the ship seemed like an odd choice. Ruby had explained the her before the show that sometimes the contestants went out on yachts, but this was a far cry from anything like that.

She called out for him again, before spying movement on the edge of the ship.

“Emma?”

“Hey.” She was suddenly nervous. In her hurry to get to him and talk, she had forgotten to plan out what she would say once she found him. “Um, can we talk for a minute?”

Nothing.

She was certain that he’d heard her, so his silence must have been an astounding no. She hadn’t prepared herself for that reaction.

“Please, just for a moment, then I’ll go and leave you alone.”

“Permission to come aboard granted.” His words lacked their normal enthusiasm.

Emma made her way on to the deck. The ship was breathtaking from this viewpoint. Everything was pristine, and while she knew nothing about old ships, everything seemed original.

“Welcome to the Jolly Roger. What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.” Emma tried to smile, but it was tempered by the sadness etched across his face.

“She.”

“What?” Emma asked.

“She’s beautiful. Ships are always referred to as women.”

Emma nodded. This conversation was off to a great start and she wasn’t sure how to salvage it, or even how to begin it really.

“I was an orphan.” The words fell out of her mouth before she realized she was saying them. It wasn’t exactly what she had hoped to start with but she found that when she started, the rest of the words seemed to flow freely. “Technically I was orphaned three times if we’re keeping count.”

Emma watched Killian, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed confused by her random revelation, but intrigued nonetheless.

“I was found abandoned on the side of the road when I was a couple of days old. The nurses at the hospital said I was probably two or three days old but they weren’t certain. It’s kind of strange really, I don’t even know when my own birthday is.” Nervous laughter bubbled out of Emma’s mouth, but Killian waited for her to continue. “When I was a few months old, I was adopted, and I stayed with them until I was almost three. The couple that took me in had tried for years to get pregnant, but they finally gave up and decided to adopt. I don’t remember much about them, but they were kind and loving. Then, right before my third birthday, or at least what they celebrated as my birthday, they found out they were expecting their little miracle baby.”

Emma felt a tear roll down her cheek. She hadn’t told this story in years, not even to Walsh or Neal, and she had no idea why she was suddenly blurting it out to Killian. He seemed to sense what was coming next, and he moved closer to her, his jaw clenched.

“They decided that two children was going to be too much for them to handle, and since I wasn’t really theirs, they sent me back. By then I was too old to go with anyone else. Everyone wants a baby, not a three year old that was returned like spoiled milk. I grew up in foster homes after that, and the occasional group home. That’s where I met August. He was an orphan like me. His parents had lost custody of him because they were too addicted to drugs to remember he existed long enough to feed him. We hit it off right away. He was the first real friend I ever had, and then he left. He’s grandfather found out about August’s parents and came to get him and raised him. I was all-alone again. After that, I ran away a lot, lived on the streets, broke into houses, and stole food. That’s how I came to live with the Swans.”

Killian had moved so that he was standing right in front of her, wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I stole something from a drug store and got caught. Leo Swan was the sheriff who came to arrest me. As soon as he heard my story though, he said there was no way he was sending me back, not when he knew I would just run away again. Instead, he brought me home, and somehow he and his wife Ruth took me in as their own. They officially adopted me was I was fifteen. I managed to get back into school without falling too far behind, and by the time I graduated, I was top of my class. After I went away to college, I got a phone call one day telling me that my father had been killed in the line of duty. I came home to try to help my mother, but she was inconsolable no matter how hard I tried. She passed away two months later. They said it was a heart attack, but I know she died of a broken heart.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. She let her tears fall freely then.

“When I was a lad,” he started, “my mother died. My father took care of me and my brother for a bit, but it all became too much for him and he left us alone to fend for ourselves. Liam, my brother, did his best, but really he was just a young boy himself. He joined the Royal Navy to support me, but for obvious reasons I couldn’t go with him. Instead, I was lucky enough to be taken in by a friend’s family. My brother died shortly after I joined the band. I know what it feels like to be alone Emma, but you don’t have to feel that way, not if you’re willing to let someone in.”

She could feel his arms tighten around her for a moment before he released her so that he could get a better look at her face.

“That’s not what this is. This, it isn’t tit for tat. You shouldn’t feel like you have to dredge up painful memories just because I did. That’s not why I told you.” Emma could barely even form full sentences and she was fairly certain she was just babbling now.

“Then why did you tell me?” Killian’s brow was furrowed.

Emma steadied herself with a deep breath. This was the entire reason she tracked him down right?

“I just meant that there’s nothing to be jealous of because there’s nothing going on. Between me and August, that is. He’s like a brother to me. I’ve known him longer than anyone else in this world. I don’t tell people because it’s no one’s business, and he doesn’t tell because it would ruin the mysterious persona he’s built.”

“But Ruby implied...” He left the words drift off not wanting to say them out loud.

“Ruby doesn’t know. No one does. There’s nothing between us in that way. There never has been.”

“Then why tell me?”

Another deep breathe. “Killian, it’s one thing for Ruby or the rest of the world to misinterpret my relationship with August. It’s completely different for you to misinterpret it though.”

Killian’s face softened as he pondered her words. She waited to see if he would say anything more, but it seemed like he was waiting for her to take the lead, just as he had every time before.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him into her.

[sheikah]

Just for Fun: A Reading with the Game of Thrones Tarot Deck

Hey, everyone! Since I’ve been in my post-Con ofThrones high and really excited about the series again I decided to pick up the official GoT tarot deck to check out. I was particularly interested in the deck because the accompanying guidebook explains why each character’s artwork was chosen for each card, and as it is official HBO merchandise, we can consider these character interpretations “canon.” Before I discuss individual cards, though, I decided to try a reading for fun. I used one of the recommended formations in the book, focusing on a central question or idea for a prediction. Specifically, I focused on the ending of the series. I’m not very superstitious but I thought this could be interesting anyway!

I used the “Old Gods” spread for my reading, which required the drawing of five cards, each of which would have a specific meaning for the reading/prediction. I used only the major arcana to draw from, cards 0-XXI. I also chose not to shuffle in such a way that cards would be reversed (the guide said this is fine), so I have no reversal interpretations, just upright. Here’s what I got:

1. The Old Gods: What you need to know about a past situation.

For this one, I drew XI, Justice.

As you can see, this card features Ned serving as Hand of the King. Here are some excerpts from the guide:

Key Meanings: Justice, action, decisions, clarity, perception, balance

The card’s number, XI, when expressed as 11 has two numbers of equal value and so is a symbol of balance, equality, and choices. 

A decision goes in your favor and you are judged fairly, provided you are deserving. You succeed, also, in tests, interviews, and negotiations. Past mistakes or arguments are laid to rest; in all matters, you act according to your conscience and for the higher good. The card also signifies improved finances, support, and good advice. The spiritual aspects of the card see you connected with divine guidance. 

Additional Meanings: Signing contracts

I bolded parts of particular interest to me. I did this reading thinking of the ending of the series, and as a primarily Jonerys blog, a “good” ending for me would involve amity between Jon and Dany and peace for the realm as a result of their actions. Since the first card, which wound up being Justice in my particular reading, deals with important matters of the past, I take this to mean the “past” events unfolding in season 7--the successful alliance between Jon and Dany, culminating in a balance of power between them. Dany surrendered her own power to Jon’s cause willingly in 7.06 and vowed to fight for him before he even swore allegiance to her. At the same time, Jon readily swore fealty and declared her his queen. This equality of feeling, in which both parties were ready to submit to the other, to me fits the “balance,” successful “negotiations,” and solidifying of a “contract” between Jon and Dany. They stand on equal ground in their alliance and are on the same page. At the same time, they have finally “judged” one another “fairly,” and Jon has ruled that Dany is deserving of his fealty and the North’s loyalty. As past events, these would obviously be key factors in the unfolding of season 8 and the end of the story!

2. The weirwood: What strengthens you? What past experiences and knowledge will help you endure?

I drew I, The Magician, for the weirwood.

This card features Littlefinger, with various symbols of his power in the background. 

According to the book, The Magician is an intriguing card.

Key Meanings: Success, willpower, messages, manifesting, inspiration, diplomacy

Action, ideas, and energy abound. It’s time for inventiveness, expansive thinking, and new directions, so the card often comes up to show new work, relationships, business start-ups, and other creative ventures. At the spiritual level, you connect with your higher self, or true purpose. If you’re waiting for news, the card tells you that you will soon have the information you need. 

Additional Meanings: Significant journeys, moving home

If we connect these ideas to the meaning of the weirwood card drawn, this is encouraging as an outlook for the next parts of the story. The weirwood is about “what gives you strength.” From the start, the appearance of The Magician here is telling--”diplomacy” between Team Dragonstone and the North provides strength. “New directions” politically and “new relationships” like that between Jon and Dany are what drive success. We can see both characters finding their “true sel[ves],” as Dany is humbled by the loss of Viserion, turning her focus toward saving others instead of continuing her conquest. Jon, likewise, finds his place at Dany’s side rather than the uncomfortable burden of leading the North amidst great conflict. As for receiving “news” and “information,” I see this as a nod to the reveal of a Targaryen baby, solidifying Jon and Dany as family and giving them strength and motivation to win the war. Lastly, the additional meaning of “home” is something that would resonate deeply with both characters as both have been without a definite sense of place, home, or family up unto this point. 

3. The Children of the Forest: What do you need to watch over? What needs attention or protection?

Here I drew XVIII, The Moon.

This card depicts the Moon Door from the Eyrie, and it’s a card with typically negative connotations. Again, I found this very interesting as the card shown for the Children of the Forest position.

Key Meanings: Illusion, the unconscious, mystery, deception, uncertainty, dreams, indecision

The card’s number, XVIII, reduces to nine, the number of tension and realization.

You may feel confused, disappointed, or disillusioned. Emotions run high, and you sense the need for a decision, which feels like a great risk, vulnerable as you are. Ask your intuition to guide you forward and discern what is a real option and what may be fantasy. When you do this, you may discover your true path and the work you were meant to do.

The Children of the Forest position on the spread shows “what needs attention,” and where to place one’s focus or “protection.” The guide’s description of The Moon card ties in perfectly to a possible prediction of Jon’s reaction to the reveal of his Targaryen parentage. I suspect he will feel “uncertainty” and “deception” after having lived his whole life under a false identity; this coming after the “mystery” of his parentage being solved for him at last. The guide even specifically uses the term “realization” as a cause of tension. This could leave Jon feeling “confused,” “disillusioned,” and vulnerable” as he is forced to make a “decision.” Will he accept his Targaryen heritage, “discover[ing] [his] true path,” what he was “meant to do?”

4. The heart tree: What you can do now; what you might commit to.

Here, I drew a potentially worrisome card: XX, Judgement.

Judgement depicts the Night King raising wights at Hardhome. But it is not necessarily a negative card. 

Key Meanings: The past, second chances, memories, guilt, awakening, the soul 

The card’s number, XX, reduces to two, the number associated with opposites and choices. 

Judgement often appears in a reading when you are on the brink of change, and with it come memories, dreams of the past, and people reappearing in your life You may decide to give a situation or relationship a second chance, or otherwise review your behavior and see, at a higher level, the life lessons offered. The card also suggests spiritual awakening, mediumship, and connecting with angels and guides. This is a powerful opportunity to make sense of the past. 

To me this card might be the most exciting yet, because I see it as a prediction of Jon’s reactions to being a Targaryen. He will be forced to reflect on “the past,” on “memories” of Ned’s protection of his identity, and an “awakening” of his true self as the Targaryen heir. This card is said to appear “on the brink of change”--possibly the new world order in the wake of the Long Night. I think it is reasonable also to expect Jon to brood in moroseness and uncertainty after the reveal of his Targaryen heritage, possibly causing a temporary rift between him and Dany. The Judgement card’s appearance under the heart tree--“what you can commit to”--to me signifies that Jon will “decide to give [the] situation or relationship a second chance,” “review[ing] [his] behavior” when he was doubtful and returning to Dany ready to commit. Like the advice he gave to Theon in 7.07, he is ready to “make sense of the past” and accept this “powerful opportunity” to come into his own as a Targaryen and possibly a husband, father, and king. 

5. One with the sight: The answer. The truth.

For the final card, I drew IV, The Emperor.

The Emperor depicts Jon carrying Longclaw. As I said, the guide recommended thinking of a question while drawing cards. For me, the question was, “will the series end in a positive way?” Since the final card in this spread is “the answer,” I think that the answer to my question is “yes!” The Emperor is a positive card, especially regarding endings and a prediction of Jon’s and Dany’s futures.

Key Meanings: The patriarch, authority, protection, support, courage, order, structure

The card’s number, IV, means stability and structure. In numerology, four is linked to a square, as all sides are equal.

The Emperor denotes the father, husband, male partner, or other influential man. In respect to a situation, the card gives a “yes” to questions . . . and it shows that disputes are resolved. The card also signifies support, trust, and order after a period of chaos or uncertainty. As he is paired with III, the Empress, the Emperor can represent a committed relationship. 

Additional Meanings: Making the right decision

This card is so perfect for the “one with sight” position, I can hardly believe that it’s what I randomly chose. It foretells, in my opinion, all positive things regarding the question I had in mind: will the series have an ending that I find favorable?

I would love to see Jon ending the series in a position of “authority” and “protection,” providing “order” and “structure” to his family and the realm. I also like that this card means “all sides are equal.” To me this shows equality between Jon and Dany: a situation in which neither takes precedence and the relationship is harmonious. Looking at the ending of the series as a whole, this also bodes well for the various kingdoms of the realm. In season 6 Dany told Yara that the Iron Islands could be an independent kingdom under Yara as queen. Dany told Tyrion in no uncertain terms that other kingdoms could be independent if they asked, so long as they were loyal and abided by her new codes of conduct that forbade raping and pillaging. Keeping this in mind, we can possibly predict a future with no all-powerful Iron Throne, but a network of independent countries sharing equal power and operating in an alliance, much like the United Kingdom or Europe. “Disputes are resolved” after a “period of chaos and uncertainty” during the Long Night. I also think it is significant that the Emperor card is specifically noted to be “paired” with card III, the Empress. This card depicts Dany in the GoT deck, confirming a pairing of these characters in a “committed relationship,” an ending that is the “right decision” for everyone. 

Obviously all of this is just for fun. It’s tarot. I don’t put any real faith in it. But it was cool to see how the cards fit so well with each of the five positions in the spread, and I honestly wanted a positive spin after hearing so many doom and gloom theories for Jon and Dany at various panels at the Con. After all, George told us the ending is “bittersweet.” To many, the destruction of the Iron Throne and the lack of an established monarch ruling over all seven kingdoms could be “bitter.” But a reform of that system based on equality would be more in line with Jon’s and Dany’s character development and a “sweet” conclusion for those who do survive the War for the Dawn :) Anyway, I’ll probably make another post examining some of the individual cards and what their character analyses in the guidebook can tell us about them and a prediction for the final season :D

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

It seemed like an eternity ago when they were still young and happy,always playing,sparring and climbing up the rooftops.  She was the daughter of the legendary thief,La Volpe,and the Mistress of a famous brothel,working as underground information gatherer and what they all had in common was their allegiance to the Assassins' creed.  The young girl only took her mother's beauty,grace and sly personality from her mother,and from her father,who she never met,all the fox-like characteristics.  Soon enough,along with her emerald eyes,the fire-kissed girl became known as the 'Volpina' or 'Gazza Ladra',a bird that steals everything shiny. (It's quite sly and catching her it's difficult. This bird is small and elusive.)  Everyday,she'd dress in comfortable breeches then bolt out of her room,climbing the rooftops,the jumping in the training area of the Auditores,where Federico and Giovanni would usually train.  Ezio,the younger brother,had to sit and analyse,but he'd get quite obnoxious,until the girl'd arrive to spar with him.  Unfortunately,his cheerfulness always faded easily,as she beat him up in the blink of an eye,and chuckling,she'd go jump around Papa Auditore,begging him to train her.   It was all fun and games for the trio,and even while they sneaked out,to avoid a tedious training,and ended up fighting with Vieri,they still had a good time together.  But that all changed one dreadful day,when her mother was set up for public execution for her involvement with the Assassins.  Nobody knew who betrayed her,but one thing's for sure:  Young Kitsune was heartbroken enough seeing her mother screech in pain,burning tied on a stake,that she stole Giovanni's dagger and threw it at her neck from the crowd,ending her pain.  And that was her first kill,and the beginning of a difficult life of thievery. 

 -----Timeskip----- 

10 long years have passed until the girl went through Firenze once again,wearing a long,elegant dress and walking down the streets- But she was stopped by a young man with his hair tied in a red ribbon and warm,chocolate eyes.  He was so awkwardly shy,that he could only gaze at the red-head and grin...creepily.  Facepalming,the girl shook her head at his childishness,and walked past him,smiling.  He was cute,but only if he would actually- Speak.  However,she barely took a right,that she suddenly heard a frantic "Bella!Per favore,aspetta un momento!"  Turning around,she saw a familiar face Could it be...? 

Kitsu:Federico...?  Federico:Si,mia cara,sono io! 

He face suddenly lit up in excitement and she jumped to hug her old friend that she missed dearly.  She obviously forgot how close she was to the Auditore home,but he took her home for a nice coffee and a piece of cake.  They chatted merrily,until laughingly,he told her about his poor attempt at teaching his brother how to flirt.  The girl gasped in realization- 

Kitsu:That was Ezio?!  Federico:You met him?  Kitsu:I...think so...  Federico:*chuckles*Mi dispiace,I haven't trained him properly yet.  Kitsu:He doesn't know it was me,does he?  Federico:No,I haven't told him yet.  Kitsu:Don't tell him.  Federico:Why?The poor boy hasn't stopped talking about you since you disappeared.Don't lie to me,you have feeling for him as well.  Kitsu:Of course I do,don't be ridiculous...But that's exactly why you cannot tell him anything.  Federico:Why do you deny your happiness?  Kitsu:Federico,I live a life of thievery,I've only come here to steal a rare artifact to sell it,and blackmail some people,tomorrow I'll be leaving to Venice.I cannot give him what he wants.  Federico:*sighs*You're one complicated girl...  Kitsu:Please try to understand the circumstances...if he forgets me,it will be better for him.He can one day find a girl he'll like much better than me,settle down and all that,and he'll be happy.  Federico:It's not that easy,Kitsune,he's one stubborn boy and you know very well.Even if he'll get a hundred women,he'll still have you in his mind.  Kitsu:I just want him to be happy,Federico and I cannot offer him that.I cannot offer him physical love or any kind of family stability.I'm a thief.  Federico:And a very good one,at that.I swear,this is going to be an eternal fight of stubbornness between you two.  Kitsu:Federico...per favore...  Federico:*sighs*I cannot promise anything...but I will try.  Kitsu:Grazie mille di cuore,mio migliore amico...  Federico:*chuckles*Hope I'll live long enough to hear you say that again.  Kitsu:I don't see why not.I'll most likely be the first one to die anyway.  Federico:*winks*Foxes don't die that easily.They're too smart for that.  Kitsu:*smirks*Oh,you~. 

 After sharing a heartfelt chat,the girl had to leave and complete her mission in Firenze,then take her leave and meet with her father for more tasks to do,hoping that her travels will allow her to return to her friends soon enough. 

-----TIMESKIP---- 

 Years passed,and her newest mission was to send a message to Monteriggioni,to Uncle Mario,and to her surprise,behind the main desk sat the young Auditore girl,Claudia. 

Kitsu:Claudia?What are you doing here?  Claudia:Oh,Kitsune?It's so great to see you!It's been way too long!  Kitsu:Don't get me wrong,I missed you to the moon and back...but why are you here,managing the finances? Claudia:*sighs*Oh,yes...We had to move here after the attack.  Kitsu:*alarmed*Attack?What attack?What happened?Why wasn't I informed?  Claudia:That bastardo,Vieri!He betrayed us!And because of him,papa,Federico and Petruccio were hanged! 

The poor red-head had to clutch her chest in pain,crestfallen at the news. How could that have happened?! If only she were there,she may have been able to save them! 

Kitsu:What about Ezio?!Where is he?!Is he alive?Is he okay?!-  Claudia:Yes,he's fine,don't worry about him.Madre is well too,but still recovering over the losses.It didn't happen long ago.  Kitsu:Oddio...Oddio Santo...how could this happen...Arghhhh!I could have crushed that traitor,Vieri!  Claudia:Kitsune,calm down,per favore.There was nothing to be done.If not even papa and Federico could save themselves...  Kitsu:I'm so sorry...I should leave.I don't want to bring more misfortune to your family...I've done enough as it is.  Claudia:Cosa?Kitsu,are you insane?You are not a bad luck sign,so never say that again- 

 But their conversation was cut short as the same young man with lovely chocolate eyes opened the door,and when he locked eyes with the dumbstruck fox girl,he just...  Stared. 

The girl,however,left the scroll on the table,saying who it's addressed to,and swiftly pulling on her hood,she jumped out of the window,trying to run away from the inevitable.  She fought she would escape easily,being nighttime and all,but she wasn't expecting to be hit in the leg and fall off a building,right on a haystack. She tried to escape unseen,but a hand grabbed the back of her coat,stopping her in her tracks.  Ezio:It's been a while,hasn't it.  Kitsu:Y-Yeah...  Ezio:Perché...?  Kitsu:Perché...cosa?  Ezio:Federico told me it was you.  Kitsu:*sighs*I'm sorry...I just...  Ezio:Io so...I know.Don't be sorry.  Kitsu:How embarrassing...You must know,however,that I still cannot let myself slip.No matter how much I want to.  Ezio:If you want to start a war of stubbornness,then I will gladly indulge,but you might be surprised at the outcome.  Kitsu:Ezio...Why don't you understand that I'm not the only woman in Italia?You could find someone so much better than me-  Ezio:Ti amo.Get what you will of that,but my feeling won't change. 

 She could only shake her head and cover her face,trying not to cry. As much as her heart ached for emotional warmth and comfort,a thief couldn't make mistakes.  Muttering a farewell,she went to the nearest inn to rest,thinking of what's been happening.  The cute little boy she once knew,turned into a fine,handsome man...who grew a beard.  And that scar on his lip from a previous gang fight was surely attractive...  No!  She couldn't think of that...she couldn't.  She won't fall into temptation. 

 ### 

The next day,however,things were hectic- The peaceful city of Monteriggioni was under Borgia's attack.  That pest,Cesare,even managed to kill poor Uncle Mario...  But the 3 Auditore managed to escape unscratched.She brought bad luck everywhere she went.  That's why,upon contacting Machiavelli,he told her the task she's supposed to do to help liberate the cities from the Borgia Tyranny.  Unfortunately for her,she was captured by Lucrezia,stripped to her undergarments and hands tied behind her back,she was was pushed out of the carriage to be humiliated by the Borgia twin. 

Lucrezia:Did you honestly think you alone could defeat us?How pathetic.  Kitsu:Who said I was alone?  Lucrezia:I don't see anyone saving you right now.Oh,don't tell me...were you betrayed?  Kitsu:There's no point rescuing the dead.  Lucrezia:*laughs*But you are not dead yet,and nor will you be for a while.I can let you free,though.Just tell us about your silly little Brotherhood.  Kitsu:*snorts*You're quite bold to ask that,don't you think?  Lucrezia:They all say that,before they feel a little pain.  Kitsu:You're wasting your time,but do as you wish.I won't say a word.  Lucrezia:We will see about that.Any last words?These will be the last words you say out of you cell,as a free woman,so I will choose them carefully.  Kitsu:Last words...huh...if this is how I go then... 

 The red-head look at the clear sky,feeling the last bit of hope draining,and shouted as much as her lungs held her.   "IO AMO EZIO AUDITORE!VITTORIA AGLI ASSASSINI!"  Lucrezia’s face scrunched in anger as she took a metal bar and hit the small girl's leg and back,making her fall on her knees in front of her.  Then,she forcefully grabbed her face and whispered,poisonously- "Nobody is going to save a wretch like you".  The Borgia woman ordered her guards to bring her to the tower and lock her,and prepare the torture instruments,hoping she would finally spill the truth.  No more than a day passed,and Kitsune was leaning on the wall,hugging herself in a corner,trying to avoid any further damage.  Suddenly,rapid footsteps could be heard going in her direction,which made her cower even more in her corner.  But much to her surprise,a gentle voice called out to her.  It was her saviour.  Her love.  Her Ezio.  And he had the key to get her out of there. He crouched down in front of her,wiped her tears with a handkerchief,then picked her up bridal style,trying to escape the prison.  She clinged on his neck tightly,muttering numerous thanks to her saviour,but he could only stare at the bruises on her pale skin,as he made went left and right.  As more guards kept coming,he raised her up on a horse,and slapped its back for him to leave in haste,not allowing to girl to protest.   "Go to the Headquarters!Machiavelli,La Volpe and Claudia will be there!"    Back to the brothel,where she once grew up,her father put her in a bed,and Niccolo tended to her wounds,as the girl reported about the mission.  It was all worse than expected,but at least it was manageable. 

 -----

That night,the girl tried to sleep,hugging her pillow,but was still in high alert,thinking of all the problems they had to solve,when the door softly crept open.  She slid a hand under the pillow,and grabbing the dagger,as soon as the stranger approached the bed,she raised at put the blade to its throat.  Much to her confusion,the intruder chuckled lowly and put a gentle hand on her hand. 

Ezio:Instincts never die,do they?  Kitsu:Ezio...?Are you alright?I was so worried,you just sent me off and-  Ezio:Worry not,bella,I am in perfect shape.  Kitsu:I see...I'm glad...I was so worried...All this time,no matter what I did,I only brought bad luck and misfortune...and they all died...If you were to die too,I...couldn't live with myself...  Ezio:Then it's great I'm so Godly,cause I won't die so easily.  Kitsu:Don't say that!Federico said the same thing,and he died!I couldn't handle your death as well!  Ezio:You seen,mia bella,that's the thing.If I have you by my side,I am invincible. Kitsu:Ezio,please,you know very well-  Ezio:No.Not anymore.Stop denying both of us of what we deserve plenty.We've been through so much,you know very well we cannot stay apart.  Kitsu:*tears up*I just want you to love someone who deserve you...who could male you happy and love you like you deserve...And I'm not worth it. Ezio:If you are not,then nobody else is. 

He then knelt on the ground,and cupping the crying girl's face,he kissed her tenderly,then put his forehead to hers.  Ezio:This nice feeling...I know you can feel it too.You've been denying and ignoring your heart for so long,that it started to hurt,but with time,it can heal and bloom like the beautiful fiore that you are.  Kitsu:I...don't know what to say...It's nice,but can we,really?  Ezio:There is nothing in this world that can keep me away from you.  Kitsu:Ti amo,Ezio...I love you so much...so much that it hurts...and I know that I've been hurting you so much in the last years...  Ezio:*smiles*Love is worth anything.Ti amo ach'io,mi cuore.Per sempre.  Hearing that,her breathe hitched in her throat and she hugged her paramour tightly,feeling his warmth and love radiating. 

After so many years,two soulmates have finally been reunited,and now are able to enjoy their time together,as lovers. It took a while,but it was all worth it,for after all the despair and misery they've faced,they can finally feel that one positive emotion they've all been longing for: 

Happiness.

[jouissezduprintemps]

Something to Gain, Chapter Seven: Rasa’s Daughter

Rating: T Words: 3052 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Sequel to Something to Prove. Shikamaru and Temari navigate their relationship now that it’s in the public eye.

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Kankuro stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down the empty corridor, on his way to his brother’s office. Evening had fallen, and the building was mostly empty at this time of day. Gaara was always the first to arrive and the last to leave; Kankuro had come to remind him that he needed to eat and suggest that he join the rest of his family to do so. In the dimly-lit passage, he grew too comfortable in the relative silence. He was startled when a voice shouted, shaking through the building.

“Damn it, Joseki!” Tojuro shouted, slamming his hands down on his colleague’s desk. “We gave you your two days. Baki is the only council member who agrees with you. Rasa would never stand for this!”

“Rasa is dead.”

“And we have a demon ruling in his place! You think this is stability?!”

Kankuro hid himself inside one of the darkened alcoves that littered the hallway. Once displays for Suna’s treasures, they had long since been abandoned in favor of proper storage. At the moment, they were perfect to conceal himself from sight. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Tojuro was far too bold if he was voicing such opinions.

“Careful, Tojuro,” Joseki’s voice remained calm and even. “The wrong person might hear and accuse you of treason.”

“Right. Rasa’s daughter goes and makes herself a Konoha whore, but I’m the one committing treason,” Tojuro spat.

“Get out of my office.” The next word was a growl. “Now.”

Tojuro stormed through the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the wall. Kankuro remained concealed. A quick series of hand signs produced a clone, which he sent to follow the loud-mouthed councilman. He needed to report to Gaara, and quickly. If Tojuro was indeed their information leak, he was likely to slip up when his anger ran high. After a few seconds, when he could be sure that Joseki wouldn’t leave his office, Kankuro hurried down the hallway as quietly as possible.

“I don’t need to practice. I know what I’m going to say.” Temari ran a comb through her hair as she spoke. “Besides, none of it really matters. Once Gaara finds the leak, he’ll come forward with how all of this was planned. Those councilmen can shove their walking sticks back up their asses and get on with their lives.”

“See, when you say things like that, it makes me think you should give it another run-through.” Shikamaru’s eyes scanned the paper in his hand, moving over the outline that he, Temari, and Gaara had agreed upon.

“I’m just tired,” Temari explained as she turned the knob on the sink, letting cold water run through the pipes. “I’ve talked more to people in the last few days than I do in a year. That’s a lot for me.”

Shikamaru hummed his acknowledgement, listening as she splashed her face. After a moment, he looked up and admitted, “I’m worried that we don’t have any solid leads.”

“We’ll have Ino’s sensory skills in the council chamber with us. If anyone reacts, we’ll know. Kankuro will be watching the village from the aviary; Choji is going to patrol the kazekage building, where we’ll be. Baki is going to lead a training exercise for the guard as an excuse to keep watch over the gates. If they show themselves, they won’t have a chance. I imagine they’ll assume I can’t, or won’t, fight because they think I’m pregnant. Trust me, we have the upper hand.”

Well, at least she wasn’t worried about it. If only he could be so sure. “Lady Tsunade is going to have a field day with this when I file my report.”

“You’re helping preserve the alliance from outside forces. Yeah, it’s a little unorthodox, but Ino’s the one who needs to take the fall for that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Now, stop using all your energy thinking of contingencies. I need you sharp for tomorrow morning.” She took the paper from his hands and set it on her dresser, well out of his reach. “We’re too far gone to back out now.”

She might as well have been walking into her own trial. The judgmental glares of the councilmen tried to burrow into her skin as she approached the table, at which she boldly took her usual seat. Ino stood behind her chair to her right, severe and unyielding in her assumed position as bodyguard. The role came naturally to her, which was a blessing to the operation. To Ino’s left stood Shikamaru, who did his best not to look alert. The village knew him as the lackadaisical chunin exam proctor; to change his demeanor would be a complete giveaway.

Gaara glanced to his immediate left to look at his sister. To his right, Kankuro’s seat sat empty. It would be incredibly taboo to invite Shikamaru to take the seat, even if there was no real reason for him to stand. The gesture of allowing a Konoha nin to sit at the Suna council table would be too bold a move.

Temari’s eyes were cold as she stared down each of the councilmen in turn, daring them to make the first move. Her power play worked in her favor, and she decided to push it further. She shifted in her chair and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and weaving her fingers together. “I know I wasn’t called to the council to be gawked at. If you gentlemen have something to say, I suggest you do it.” Her challenge hung in the air, refusing to be ignored.

Shikamaru resisted the urge to wince at her brash tone. She clearly thought she’d already won, even though the battle hadn’t started. For now, all he could do was stand back.

Sajo, the narrow-eyed councilman on the other side of the table, was the first to speak. “Lady Temari, you must know that this council puts the good of the village above all else. Due to your…” he cleared his throat, “predicament, there are factors that need to be considered for the sake of Sunagakure.” He proceeded with caution, carefully choosing his words. “You are Rasa’s eldest, and, although the council selected Gaara as Kazekage, any child you bear will be from the main branch of the kage bloodline. Ordinarily, this would be natural, but the child in question isn’t entirely Suna.”

Picking up for his senior, Goza stroked his goatee as he spoke. “Even with the alliance in place, this council cannot accept a Konoha child as an heir to the kage bloodline, even as a firstborn. The conflict of interest is too great.”

“You talk as if my brothers will never have children of their own,” Temari countered.

“As that may be, there is no way to know that either Gaara or Kankuro will produce an heir of their own before tragedy strikes.” Goza’s words clearly referenced Gaara’s temporary death and Kankuro’s brush with Sasori’s poison. Both young men could easily be dead by now, and this served to emphasize his point.

Ebizo moved in his chair, surprising most of the council that he wasn’t asleep as they had assumed. The old man narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Shikamaru. He said nothing, and Joseki took his chance to speak.

“I suppose it would be best if we start at the most basic level,” Joseki spread his hands on the table. “You clearly intend to keep the child.  What does your…” he hesitated, trying to find the best word to describe Shikamaru in this situation, “lover plan to do?”

Speaking for him, Temari stated, “If you’re asking if he plans on remaining a part of our lives, the answer is yes.”

“The council cannot support a relationship such as this across village lines. Emotional ties are one thing; with a child in the mix, it could be a diplomatic nightmare if our villages go to war.”

“And would the council continue to disapprove if he were to relocate?” Temari asked, addressing the entire table.

There was some mixed murmuring before Tojuro voiced their answer. “Yes.” His decision fell heavy in the room. “He is born and raised Konoha. Relocation is no guarantee of allegiance.”

“Well?” Ebizo spoke, his voice strained and wavering with age.

“Honored Grandfather,” Temari began.

“No, Princess. I was talking to him.” He pointed a bony finger at Shikamaru. “I want to know what he thinks.”

Shikamaru wasn’t expecting to be addressed so openly. His mouth felt dry, but he pushed himself to speak. “Honored Grandfather, sir,” he used the same honorific he’d heard Temari employ, “I will do whatever it takes to remain with Temari and our child. I don’t know what this council will decide, but I would swear my allegiance to Suna tomorrow if it was required.”

The old man smiled a toothless grin, chuckling to himself. “Oh, Chiyo will haunt me for saying it, but I like him!” He looked over at Tojuro. “You don’t get to be my age without knowing what loyalty looks like. That boy would die for our princess, I guarantee it.”

“Honored Grandfather, that doesn’t have much to do with the problem at hand,” Tojuro did his best to maintain his respect and civility toward his elder. “Rasa would never stand for this, and neither should this council.”

“Rasa is dead,” Gaara rasped, adding his voice to the mix for the first time. “You’d do well to remember that I am not my father, Tojuro, and my Suna is not his.”

Tojuro’s hand balled into a fist underneath the table. “Yes, my lord.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Temari said coolly, “I came to this council meeting as a courtesy. I have already made up my mind. Whether the council approves or not, I know which move I’ll make.” She met Tojuro’s gaze. “You say my father wouldn’t stand for this. I’ll remind you that he was strictly utilitarian. Tell me, what solution would he choose?”

Tojuro clenched his jaw, angry that he didn’t have an answer. Fighting her insolence would only put him in a bad light, and so he remained silent. To his ire, Ebizo’s wheezing laugh sounded to his side.

“Very good, Princess. Very good.” Ebizo’s face wrinkled more dramatically than it already was. “I couldn’t say you’re wrong, either. Your father wouldn’t be pleased, but he would draw the same conclusion, I’m sure.”

“And what would that be?” Joseki asked.

“Our Lady Temari plans on relinquishing her bloodline claim and relocating herself.” Ebizo’s tone made it sound as obvious as telling someone the sky was blue.

The table went up in a roar as protests fought over one another, trying to be heard above the rest. Ebizo, Gaara, and Temari remained silent, and the glint in Temari’s eye betrayed her amusement at the result. Leave it to the Honorable Grandfather to land her shocking twist better than she ever could.

Shikamaru looked down at Temari with wide eyes. This wasn’t what they’d discussed, what they’d planned. Sure, it got a bigger reaction than they’d hoped for, but he didn’t know where she was going with this. She’d completely abandoned the strategy.

When the room quieted, Temari explained, “To the council, having Shikamaru relocate is a risk. My child having Konoha blood is a risk. You’d have me abandon both, I’m sure. But Suna has my brothers, two possible branches for the family. If the council wishes to follow the law of my father, it should see that my relocation will cause the largest net benefit to the largest group of people.”

Ikanago slammed his fist on the table. “Such an action would have you branded a rogue nin!”

“That decision is mine and mine alone to make, Ikanago.” Gaara didn’t try to veil his threat. “This council serves to advise, not rule. Remember that.”

Ikanago stood, his chair scraping along the sandstone floor. “I refuse to stand by while this council seals the fate of Suna. I will have no part in this.” His footsteps echoed throughout the room, and, by the time he reached the door, Tojuro and Ryusa followed his lead. When the door clicked shut, Gaara stood, placing both hands on the table.

“Dismissed.” In an instant, his sand enveloped him, and he was gone.

“Let’s go,” Temari looked up at her companions before standing. It was time to move. So as not to arouse suspicion, the trio walked out of the room with purpose. In a low tone, she whispered, “Ino, go back up Choji. Check the offices. We’ll head to the street and see if we can’t use ourselves as bait.”

Kankuro scanned the streets from his perch, hidden in one of the many open windows of the aviary. He’d come close to falling asleep when he saw three figures storm out of the building that was his mark. He narrowed his dark eyes against the sun, watching their movements. They stopped and seemed to exchange words before parting ways. One of them walked to the north, but the other two broke into a run at the west and south. Now, that was interesting. To his regret, none of them seemed to be headed his way.

He had a choice to make. He could only track one of them. Trusting his instinct, he set off after the westward-bound council member, running along the rooftops, just out of sight. He couldn’t be caught before he had proof that this man was a part of the information leak. For the moment, he had to lie low and keep his distance.

The council member – Ryusa, he could tell now that he was closer – took him in a massive loop back toward the administrative building, and Kankuro started to wonder if his presence had been detected. Ryusa slipped down an alley, turning left, then right, then left again. When he stopped, he stood in front of a back door, shrouded in shadow. Kankuro hid himself in wait, and it wasn’t long before Ryusa was joined by both Tojuro and Ikagago.

Ikanago knocked four times on the door with various pressures, and the door cracked open for him. He and the two others slipped inside, and the door was swiftly shut behind him. Kankuro had to move quickly if he was going to get backup for this one.

Ikanago put as much detail as he could into the scroll, trying not to leave out anything of importance. Tojuro was peering insufferably over his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to stab him in the thigh with his pen. If this plan was to continue unhindered, they needed to maintain some semblance of camaraderie.

Once finished, he rolled the scroll back up and made a series of hand signs, sealing it with a jutsu. To anyone else, it would look like a basic letter. There was nothing to make it official or any sign that it would be from someone of importance. The messenger was chosen for the same reason; a boy of sixteen, with nondescript features and an average build, stood across the room, waiting patiently for his assignment. They were paying him handsomely to deliver the message, and their partners were sure to do the same upon his arrival.

Ryusa stood opposite the boy, making sure he knew his responsibilities. “Now, tell me again.”

The boy bit back a groan. “I’m taking the message past the demon desert, to the boarder of the Rain. I’ll be met by a man in a black and red cloak with a mask over his face. I’m supposed to pass the scroll off to him and take the long way back, so I don’t look suspicious.” He frowned at his employer. “Can I have my money now?”

“Ingrate,” Ryusa growled as he handed him a bag of coins. “Ikanago!”

Ikanago tossed the scroll to the boy, who caught it and tucked it away in his pack, along with his payment.

“Now get going,” Tojuro commanded.

The boy disappeared up the flight of wooden stairs, headed for the back door. In a matter of seconds, there was a loud crash, a heavy thud, and the boy came tumbling back down into the cellar. The three councilmen jumped to the ready, kunai drawn.

Kankuro threw himself over the railing, diving at Tojuro. Their kunai clashed, and they broke apart, only to clash together again. Temari followed her brother, using her closed fan as a club to send Ryusa flying into the wall. Shikamaru engaged Ikanago while Ino bound the hands of the messenger boy, her knee planted firmly against his spine to keep him from moving.

The cramped quarters made fighting difficult. Kankuro and Shikamaru were used to mid-range tactics, but Temari was a long-distance fighter by nature. This almost proved fatal when Ryusa threw himself at her, lodging his kunai in her abdomen up to the hilt. Ino was quick to intervene, engaging him in hand-to-hand combat.

Temari stumbled, her hands clutching her side. She knew better than to remove the kunai. There was nothing more she could do. She barely registered that Kankuro had trapped Tojuro inside Black Ant before he was at her side.

“Tema! Aw, shit. Tema, you’re gonna be ok. C’mon, sis, stay with me.” He gave her a small shake as her head fell onto his shoulder. “Fuck! Hurry it up!” he shouted at his comrades.

“Ino!” Shikamaru shouted, holding on to Ikanago with his shadow possession. His teammate struck her opponent in the head hard enough to concuss him before hurrying to his aid. She wasted no time in binding him. As soon as she was done, she was at Temari’s side. She took her from her brother and lay her gently on the floor.

“Shit. She’s losing a lot of blood. I’m going to have to do some patchwork before we can get her to the hospital.” Ino looked at Kankuro, who nodded. “Tema, this is gonna hurt, but you’ve got this, okay?”

“Just do it,” Temari hissed, clenching her jaw as Ino removed the knife. She was bleeding freely without the obstruction, and Ino worked quickly to close the wound enough that she wouldn’t lose anymore blood. The last thing she saw was Ino gesturing to Shikamaru and Kankuro to give her more room. Then, everything was black.

[omcgrath05-blog]

Blog Assignment #3

Jaws Book Cover/Movie Poster, 1974 by Roger Kastle

From a personal perspective, I think this is a really cool piece of art that perfectly represents the material it is advertising. The fact that it’s an oil painting really gives it an authentic feel, and the bold red typeface really pops with the blue foamy water. 

Historically, this piece was first used as the cover for the novel, and was allowed to be used as the poster for the movie free of charge. This is a move I believe worked heavily in the movie’s favor, as I don’t believe there is a person in the world who hasn’t seen or heard of this piece. The simplicity of the poster plays right along with the simplicity of the story. Anyone could take one glimpse at this poster and get a perfect idea of what the movie is about.

From a technical perspective, this piece was painted with oil in a very short amount of time. Kastle based the image on one of the earliest scenes from the book, a young lady going skinny dipping and eventually being eaten by a giant shark. Kastle used stuffed sharks from the American Museum of Natural History as inspiration for the shark, and a model who lay across two barstools to simulate a swimming motion (NYP). It doesn’t sound very professional by today’s standards, but this was first painted nearly 50 years ago at this point. The piece is set up so your eyes first see the bold red letters that spell out the title, followed by the swimmer who is closest to the title and finally to the gigantic shark with several rows of deadly teeth drawn so realistically that the artist wishes you to feel intimidated by them. 

Ethically, the piece gives viewers an idea of what the movie is about in a very blunt way. It doesn’t outright say anything, but it gives the viewer enough of an idea so that their mind fills in the rest. It isn’t necessarily a happy moment, but I’d argue that Jaws doesn’t have a whole lot of happy moments in it. The book and film aren’t trying to make you happy, they’re trying to show you a humongous shark destroying everything before it ultimately dies. Some small changes were made in the transition from book cover to movie poster however. More foam was added around the lady swimming so it wasn’t as noticeable that she was skinny dipping. 

Culturally, as I previously stated, this piece is one of the most well known movie posters in history. I’ve seen all kinds of merchandise based on it, wall posters, shirts, blankets, cups etc. It is such a simple yet effective piece of art that I would argue it has cemented its place in american culture as a piece of art, and as a movie everyone should see at least once. 

This mural is one of many that have popped up all across the world since the helicopter crash that killed Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna and several others on January 26th, 2020. Personally, I find these murals impossible to dislike, even as someone who grew up rooting against Kobe as a Celtics fan. This was and is a situation so much bigger than basketball, and seeing how people of all ages and team allegiances came together to mourn was so heartwarming. I chose this mural in particular for its use of typography with combing “LA Culture” with the style of the Lakers logo. 

Historically, Kobe was one of the most important basketball players in league history. Millions and millions of people grew up idolizing him, and he was truly a once in a lifetime talent. He did things that had never been done before and will most likely never happen again. One of the biggest things was spending his entire 20 year career as a member of the LA Lakers. Most players end up playing for at least one other team at some point in their career, but Kobe was the exception. When people thought of Kobe, they thought of the Lakers and vice versa, a fact that made his passing all the more difficult for the people of LA.

On a technical level, these murals are rarely produced as professional products, more often than not being labors of love by those greatly impacted by his passing. They have been done in more unique styles than one could possibly list, the one I just shared being made entirely out of triangles. The first mural used a typeface that mimicked the logo of the LA Lakers, swapping out “Lakers” for “Culture” to represent the impact Kobe had on LA culture. The typeface shows a level of familiarity that will make people feel even more comfortable when viewing the mural. The mural made out of triangles uses a fancy white font to describe the meaning of the mural, switching to a bold yellow font for the date 4/13 and the number 413. This again, shows a level of familiarity as well as helping people better understand what the artist was going for with this piece.

On an ethical level, these murals do a great job of paying tribute to a person that has inspired and stuck with so many people. It would be different if say, people were selling art of Kobe, trying to profit off of the death of an american icon in any way they can, but thankfully that is not the case. These murals, old and new, were all passion projects made with the intent to pay tribute and help those around them heal.

On a cultural level, words can’t really describe the impact Kobe truly had on LA culture, basketball culture or even culture in general. Everyone at some point in their lives has attempted to throw a crumpled up piece of paper into a trash can and either said out loud or thought to themselves “KOBE.” Even those who really don’t watch basketball know his name, know what he represents. He was an american icon, one of the best basketball players in history and these murals help keep his memory and legacy alive. 

Lyst 2015 Advertising Campaign

Personally I’m not much of a fashion nut, I mostly shoot for comfortability over style, mainly sticking with t-shirts and jeans, so these ads don’t really speak to me. That’s not to say I think there is anything wrong with these pictures, they all look very professional, the photographer Charlotte Wales did a very good job here. the typeface does a good job sticking out, making sure it is the first thing you see when looking at the ad. I’m just not really in the fashion market. 

Historically speaking, this was Lyst’s first advertising campaign from back in 2015. I had never heard of Lyst before viewing these ads, but I get the vibe that they are targeting and audience that is more self aware. For their advertisement of high waisted skirts, they show a model wearing them with the simple tagline “Get High.” These advertisements were from 5 years ago, but they fit right in with their most recent advertisements as well, maintaining the sterile backgrounds with a model and a simple self aware tagline.

From a technical perspective, there really isn’t a whole lot to say with these ads, they are incredibly basic. As previously stated, you take a model wearing the product, put them in front of a sterile background (preferably brownish/greenish colors) and slap a snarky white tagline on top and boom. A detractor of this strategy I feel is that the ads all feel very similar. You could argue that is the point they were going for, but they come of as a bit bland even with the injected snark. And an advertisement coming off as bland in an extremely competitive market like fashion can’t be seen as a positive. But I’ll say it again, I’m clearly not the target audience Lyst is advertising towards, so I could be in the minority and these could be very effective ads. They must be doing okay if Lyst is sticking with this style after five years.

Ethically speaking, the objective of advertisements is invoke a feeling of desire and curiosity in the viewer. I wouldn’t say these advertisements are harmful in any way, I could absolutely picture seeing any of these ads while walking through the mall or maybe in a hair salon. These ads don’t appear to be attempting to try to make any sort of statement with their models, clothes and taglines other than “we’re not your grandma’s fashion outlet.” Like I previously said they are self aware to an extent. These ads were made in part based on searches and statistics from their website. When they noticed searches for wax and high shine jackets were up, they made the ad on the far left, and when they noticed sales for high waisted skirts were down, they made the ad on the far left (WWD).

When looking at cultural impact, these ads leave a lot to be desired. As I previously said, before viewing these ads, I had never heard of Lyst before. And speaking as someone who again, is not the target audience for advertisements like these, fashion ads really don’t stick out to me. In most cases I feel if the company logo was taken out of two ads and I was told to guess which is which, I would most likely fail to identify the ads correctly. 

References

https://wwd.com/business-news/media/lyst-launch-ecommerce-first-advertising-campaign-10279480/

https://news.artnet.com/art-world/kobe-bryant-tribute-murals-1764546

https://nypost.com/2015/07/26/how-the-famous-poster-from-jaws-was-created-and-lost/

[themanofonebook]

—Why do you have Javert be non-religious?

—This is going to become very long very quickly.

I know that, in the musical and movie, Javert is portrayed as incredibly religious, which makes me cringe a bit; not because religion is a bad thing, not at all, but because it makes Javert’s duty seem like a mission for God, which waters down his character — Javert was serving the law because it was his only option, but also because he truly, deeply believed in Justice and fairness, even if he wasn’t merciful. The two are often seen to go hand in hand; not so with Javert, but you lose that in the musical/movie and it brought me down a bit, I’ll admit.

Firstly, it’s good to remember what book we’re reading. Les Misérables has heavy religious themes, and that’s an understatement. The Amis are religious, we have Sister Simplice (we’ll get to that, don’t worry), and, most importantly, Jean Valjean and the Bishop. Now, Valjean and Javert are supposed to offset one another while being the same in many ways: they are two sides of the same coin. Therefore, it can be assumed that they are both doing the right thing in their own manner; Valjean, with God; Javert, with the law; and we have seen that Jean Valjean often serves God with the absence of doing what is lawfully acceptable, so can it not be assumed that Javert is serving the law with the absence of religious influence?

Then there is the way that Javert looks upon Madeleine. It is not with the “eyes of God”, as it was with the Bishop and the candlesticks; his are the eyes of the law, Earth’s justice, nothing Heavenly (nor anything particularly devilish, as many might think; remember that Javert is not malicious, Hugo makes that as clear as possible in his character introduction), but constantly watching nonetheless. It’s a sort of yin-yang, a dog chasing its tail — you need both to make a circle, and without one (the law, or the lawless; justice without religious morals or religious morals without justice), you would come to a standstill.

Then we have Javert with religious context in the book. The book with one huge theme being the glory of God. Considering this, the times when Javert and religion are at play and Valjean is absent are… few. Let’s look at one, during Fantine’s arrest.

“Come!” said Javert, “I have heard you out. Have you entirely finished? You will get six months. Now march! The Eternal Father in person could do nothing more.”

At these solemn words, “the Eternal Father in person could do nothing more,” she understood that her fate was sealed. She sank down, murmuring, “Mercy!”

Javert turned his back.

Normally, one might interpret this as Javert making a reference to God and therefore showing religious allegiance, but hold for a moment. He is arresting Fantine, sending her to jail for six months. She just spewed about half a page or more begging him to release her, taking responsibility for her actions but pleading with him to let her go, because she is already in an unfortunate position. Javert then speaks of “the Eternal Father”, but this is directly after Fantine’s speech; one could see at as him saying that even if God were to depart Heaven, come down from the sky into Javert’s station house, and argue on Fantine’s behalf, Javert still would not budge, because this is what the law dictates. To make this all the more valid, Fantine requests mercy and Javert turns his back on her. There is no room for mercy in the game of lawful right and wrong.

The second occurrence of Javert coming into direct contact of any sort with religion is when he goes in to find Madeleine and instead encounters Sister Simplice.

Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.

It will be remembered that the fundamental point in Javert, his element, the very air he breathed, was veneration for all authority. This was impregnable, and admitted of neither objection nor restriction. In his eyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief of all; he was religious, superficial and correct on this point as on all others. In his eyes, a priest was a mind, who never makes a mistake; a nun was a creature who never sins; they were souls walled in from this world, with a single door which never opened except to allow the truth to pass through.

On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire.

The “ecclesiastical authority” was the chief of all. God? Not quite. It states that he is religious… in this point. In the honoring of members of the Church, all of whom adhere to his idea of order. While there was some separation of Church and State at this point (the King was appointed and had not derived the right to rule from God), it was not extreme, and he would still hold a veneration for those who devoted their entire lives to their purpose — like Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie. Ecclesiastical is “of or relating to the Christian Church or its clergy”; so it is not God whom he holds this admiration for, but the people of the Church… of which it is never mentioned that he is a part of, and we can deduce that he is not.

Nuns and priests, in his (slightly naive) mind, are people who trumpet only truth, and we have seen that Javert is a thoroughly honest man. They are “walled in from this world”, they are not tainted (as Javert perceives himself to be) by the dregs of society, or by criminality; the proverbial “gutter”.

I think that the deciding factor in this passage concerning, “Is Javert a religious man?”, is his first response to seeing Sister Simplice. Were he a member of the Church, even seeing a nun praying, he would wait until she was done and then approach her. He does not do this, no; he withdraws almost instantaneously; then he moves forwards, becausethe law compels him to do so. No matter his respect for Simplice, he is going to do exactly as his duty demands of him.

And then we come to “Javert Derailed”.

As opposed to posting a passage as I have before, I’m just going to run along and thread in quotes as they are needed. Javert is moving towards the Pont au Change (notably between the Palais de Justice and the Notre-Dame Cathedral), and, in leaving Valjean’s doorstep, he has “ceased to be simple”. Hugo has always described Javert as having a “simplistic mind”, as well as a “narrow forehead”; whereas others who have wider brows often are both religious and worldly in their views. Javert’s mind is no longer as clear-cut as it once was.

I said we weren’t going to do big passages but then we come to this:

All sorts of interrogation points flashed before his eyes. He put questions to himself, and made replies to himself, and his replies frightened him. He asked himself: “What has that convict done, that desperate fellow, whom I have pursued even to persecution, and who has had me under his foot, and who could have avenged himself, and who owed it both to his rancor and to his safety, in leaving me my life, in showing mercy upon me? His duty? No. Something more. And I in showing mercy upon him in my turn—what have I done? My duty? No. Something more. So there is something beyond duty?” Here he took fright; his balance became disjointed; one of the scales fell into the abyss, the other rose heavenward, and Javert was no less terrified by the one which was on high than by the one which was below. Without being in the least in the world what is called Voltairian or a philosopher, or incredulous, being, on the contrary, respectful by instinct, towards the established church, he knew it only as an august fragment of the social whole; order was his dogma, and sufficed for him; ever since he had attained to man’s estate and the rank of a functionary, he had centred nearly all his religion in the police. Being,—and here we employ words without the least irony and in their most serious acceptation, being, as we have said, a spy as other men are priests. He had a superior, M. Gisquet; up to that day he had never dreamed of that other superior, God.

This new chief, God, he became unexpectedly conscious of, and he felt embarrassed by him. This unforeseen presence threw him off his bearings; he did not know what to do with this superior, he, who was not ignorant of the fact that the subordinate is bound always to bow, that he must not disobey, nor find fault, nor discuss, and that, in the presence of a superior who amazes him too greatly, the inferior has no other resource than that of handing in his resignation.

But how was he to set about handing in his resignation to God?

At this point I don’t think I really need to say anything else, so I’ve bolded all of the important points.

In summary:

Javert is religious because society tells him that respect for the Church is necessary.

However, most of Javert’s “religious inclination”, or the need to follow something by-the-book, without wavering, with the utmost devotion, is dedicated to the law.

While respectful towards members of the Church, he does not allow that veneration to stand in the way of obeying the law.

He is meant to offset Valjean in that Valjean is all morals with little societal conscience, and Javert is all societal conscience with few morals — morals in the spiritual sense, as we remember that Javert is not violent, nor does he lie; he simply does not expend kindness or mercy because he views it as dirtying that which is just.

He will still bow to any superior when presented with him; it just so happens that this superior is God, and on a higher level than any that Javert has ever known. It says that his scales are unbalanced, with one shooting up towards the heavens, the other down… towards the river; beforehand, they would have been level with the Earth. Javert, with his narrow worldview, would have only focused on what was before and around him, not above or below.

He does not commit suicide because of any religious urgings, but because God is on such a level that he views his own death as the only acceptable means of repentance.

Ergo, Javert is about the closest thing to an agnostic or atheist that we’re going to see in a work of 19th century literature who is not a villain… in the Christian sense. We don’t know if he held any other religious views that would coincide with his heritage.

I think about this too often.

[doctor-sweet-blog]

Stupid Martyrs () [Swynlake’s Anatomy]

In which Tibbs and Sweet catch Minnie breaking the law, and argue about who is going to take the fall for her...

@exsgttibbs, @sweetheart-minnie

[tw for--i dont think there are any]

TIBBS Tibbs was feeling sort of at odds. He had been drawn to the Agora with the rest of them, and had sworn his allegiance to their new Queen, but now - well, after the massive earthquake and the speech and all of that, things were winding down, and he had a little time to think. He knew he wasn't a doctor in this life (was being a doctor even a THING in this life?) and whilst he was content to keep his head down and work, the work felt sort of... Lacking. Pointless, maybe? 

He was sure it would pass. He just had to get settled, and keep out of trouble.

MINNIE  Minnie had truly gotten sort of use to the whimsical throwing of tricks Swynlake threw at it's residents from time to time. After living here for almost her whole existence it became less and less of a surprise. However, this whole... "new world" thing... where she had been drawn to the Agora like the rest of the town, no this was something the brunette knew she wasn't going to simply get use to. A queen? A two-class system? She was a slave?! Granted, according to this new path that was fleshed out for her, her masters treated her well and kindly, but even that part of her didn't like the queen's regime. As it was, both parts of her wasn't keen to staying with their fingers crossed. She had met another slave in her house who was willing to teach her how to fight and defend herself.

It was after everything had winded down, and the sun was setting leaving the town hidden under the shadows of the dark that Minnie was quietly moving with some weapons in hand. She hadn't expected to find anyone that was until she accidentally ran into a familiar figure.

".....Tibbs? Or err Dr. Tibbs? Or... not...? I'm sorry still trying to get use to it all...." She laughed a little nervously, trying to sneakily hide her weapons from sight.

SWEET  Sweet was not stalking. He just happened to have been out--heading to "his" flock on the edge of town for the evening shift, when he caught sight of Tibbs heading across a broken street. Abandoning his post with ease, he started following the man. Mostly to make sure his friend wasn't being an idiot--it seemed like something Tibbs might do. Be an idiot, that is.

And then, out of nowhere--Minnie appeared too.

His strides got quicker, coming up beside Tibbs, arms crossed. It looked like he was wrong about who was being an idiot.

His eyebrows jumped up on his forehead. "Minerva, what on /earth/ are you doing?"

TIBBS  Tibbs had looked up when he heard his name, and upon seeing a familiar face, had allowed a small smile. He wasn't sure he had seen anyone he knew all day, so seeing Minnie was a relief, even if she was looking rather... Twitchy.

"Yeah, me too. It's a big change--" he didn't get to finish, interrupted by Sweet (he didn't have to turn to know it was him).

He spun round on his heel, jumping back a step. How long had he been there? "Sweet? What the hell--". .

MINNIE Minnie had not seen Sweet at all! In fact, she had been fine with merely speaking with Tibbs and hiding the weapons from view when Sweet had appeared out of no where! She looked up at the man biting her lip nervously as her fingers clung tightly around the weapons.

"I'm not doing anything." That was a bold face lie, but she wasn't about to implicate anyone on what she has been doing.

"In fact I was just... taking a walk. The only wrong thing here is that I was walking alone, which I know isn't clever, but it isn't like all of this could be taken in so easily." It was a bloody lot to take in. "So I forgot an escort." A male babysitter. "Lucky you two popped up then."

SWEET  Sweet would chuckle at both of their surprise, if this wasn't such a high stress situation. He was good under pressure, but Hell opening itself up was an entirely different beast than the warzones in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Minnie's sweet smile did nothing to calm the pressure in his heart that was telling him this was Very Not Good.

"You shouldn't be going anywhere so soon to dark, it's dangerous," he chastised her, gently, but firmly.

TIBBS Tibbs knew that Sweet had a point, actually - Minnie probably shouldn't be roaming the streets at night on her own, not without an escort, and with demons and ghouls and god knows what else flitting about town. Looking from Sweet to Minnie, Tibbs gave a soft frown.

"He's got a point." He nodded. "But she's not alone now." he added, looking to Sweet, trying to find some kind of middle ground. "We can walk you back to your house."

MINNIE  Minnie looked from Sweets to Tibbs as they both took turn reprimanding her actions, even if it was done lightly. She knew they meant well for her, was sort of looking out for her, and that was sweet, it truly was, but now wasn't the time for that. Logically speaking, what both men were saying was true, she shouldn't be out wondering alone at night in this new world of theirs.

It would be smart to simply oblige by the rules, keep your head low and wait till it all blew over. That, however, was the problem. Minnie wasn't so sure if all of this would blow over. It wasn't a spell they were under after all, all of this was entirely different, and she couldn't just stay still with her arms crossed doing nothing about it.

Again she looked at both men, her teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek. If she moved now... they'd see the weapons... but what other choice did she have? "Oh, my house... sure. I uhh it's the House of Water, but you both really don't have to. I'm sure I can sneak back just fine."

SWEET  "Not a chance," Sweet said at once, having to bite his tongue to not add /young lady/. Instead, he eyed a pair of hulking demons coming towards them in the near-darkness, their eyes glinting red in the low light. He took a step to the side to flank Minnie, Tibbs on her other side.

"We're not doing anything wrong," he told the brutish beasts. They didn't say anything, just stared at the trio silently, but Sweet could hear their breathing--it rasped like wind through nettles.

TIBBS  As soon as he saw those demons he had a pretty bad feeling, and whilst legging it in the other direction was a nice thought, Tibbs feet were planted firmly against the ground, half hiding Minnie behind his shoulder, his eyes on the things. If something bad /was/ about to happen, he wasn't about to let it happen without him.

"We were just leaving." He added. He had no idea which way the House of Water was, but their best bet was in the opposite direction to those demons, red eyes watching them in the half-darkness. He didn't look at Minnie, but it was her he spoke to. She would have to lead the way, after all. "Let's go."

MINNIE  Minnie had every intention to respond right back to Sweets, but instead found herself basically covered by both men to be blocked from the line of vision of the brutish demon that now before them. Minnie's heart felt like it had now lunged itself in her throat.

No, no, no! This was not suppose to be happening!

She could hear both men speaking to the beast, Minnie staying ever so quiet behind both figures trying to think of a logical way out of all of this.

She had weapons in her person, nothing extravagant a couple of daggers, but she still had them. She wasn't a smith, strike one and then she was out at /night/ in the /dark/ strike two.

Of course all of that appeared highly suspicious and now she was expected to move, that would show her weapons. Minnie looked up at Tibbs she did not want to move maybe if she offered directions instead...

"My house... it's not too far off from here.. it's umm behind us, two blocks down and then a left."

SWEET  One of the demons stretched out its long claws, making a "give me" motion towards Minnie. Sweet didn't know what they could want. He hadn't see the weapons that Minnie was hiding. So, he just leaned his body in front of her more, heart racing. He couldn't tell if it was his or Tibbs or Minnie's or all three of them. But, he did his best to ignore it. Standing solid.

"Let's go then," Sweet said, putting his hand back and pressing on Minne's stomach gently to get her to take a step backwards.

He took a step backwards too, though he kept his eyes on the demons.

One of them disappeared in a column of smoke and reappeared behind Minnie--yanking the bag on her shoulder off, dumping the weapons out onto the street with a hiss like water being poured over steam.

TIBBS Weapons. They echoed as they clattered to the ground, and for a second Tibbs' mouth fell open, his eyes on them. Christ. Bad enough that the three of them were out after dark, but now they had weapons with them - or rather, the unaccompanied woman had weapons with her.

What was Minnie even doing with those?

Tibbs, who had been still as Sweet had moved Minnie back now stepped forward, towards the demon that had outed his friend.

"They're not hers." He said, shoulders back. He was really the best candidate, here, right? He was a smith. It made sense. "I'd given them to her, to give to her master. That's all."

MINNIE  Minnie had felt Sweet press on Minnie's stomach and she instantly was broken out of her fear to well move. She took a step backwards to turn around and head back to the House of Water and that was then she was face to face with demon beast those glowing red eyes starring straight at her. Her heart only crawled up more in her throat practically hitching the motion of breathing all together. She had frozen in spot dread crawling over her skin as the demon poured out the evidence of what she had really been doing.

Tibbs seemed to have move a lot faster than Minnie's fear would allow her to as she suddenly found him in front of her falsifying a lie that could very well place him into trouble. Her heart fell from her throat and sank, but she knew better than to talk. Any word from her mouth would spill out the fear that was gripping at her, so she simply nodded her head.

SWEET  Before Sweet could do exactly what Tibbs was the bloody bastard did it first.

There was no way he could allow that to happen. He wasn't letting either Tibbs or Minnie go to jail. He'd take the fall for both of them. Whirling around, turning his back on the demon he was facing, he stared straight at the other one's face, coming shoulder to shoulder with Tibbs.

"No, they're mine--I'm planning a rebellion and I needed weapons. Minnie knew a smith. I didn't. She didn't know what they were being used for. Take me." The demon looked over Sweet's head to its brother and they both hissed at each other in confusion.

TIBBS  For God's sake.

He looked at Sweet with narrowed eyes - no. He was the one taking the blame, here. He wasn't about to let either of his friends be sent down into the Underworld, he just wouldn't have it. He could see the demons conversing, evidently confused. Tibbs couldn't blame them. It was about to get even more confusing.

"I'm the smith. I've been the smith of the House of Earth for a while now. I used to be a warrior, I was captured, and I was plotting against the Queen to regain my freedom. Minnie had nothing to do with it, and neither did he--"

Now he looked to Sweet, his eyes narrowing, hoping that Sweet would understand the silent /keep your mouth shut/ Tibbs was sending his way.

"And neither did he. It was me. Take me to the Queen. I'll confess it all to her."

MINNIE  Minnie couldn't believe what she was currently seeing here. She wasn't so sure if the demons were the ones more confused or if Minnie herself was. They were both trying to take the fall. That in and of itself made her chest feel tight. She couldn't allow them to do that! This had been /her/ fault not theirs even if they were both parading the idea of it being theirs. If it had been any other situation and Minnie was just a stranger looking in, she would shake her head and comment how they were both being idiots trying to out rank the other to take the fall.

That wasn't the case, however, as she tugged at both robes whispering harshly, though quiet enough so that only the both men heard her. "What are you doing?! You-you can't-stop just—just stop. I-you guys /can't/ I won't let you!"

SWEET  Sweet just scoffed at Tibbs.

His heart did give a tug at Minnie's harsh whispering but he wanted to protect her and he knew that someone was going to have to take the fall for this. And it couldn't be her. Both Tibbs and him had been alive much longer and they'd seen much worse (not that Minnie hadn't been through her fair share of tragedy.) He couldn't allow her to go down to the Underworld.

And he couldn't let Tibbs either. This was more--personal, in the sense that Sweet didn't have much of a reason outside the fact that Tibbs was his friend, and he didn't want him hurt. Would rather be hurt himself.

"Well, I'm planning to take the Queen down--I was going to use that knife, right there." He kicked it with his foot, making the demons hiss and one of them grabbed his arm, making him cry out from the burning heat from the demon's grip.

TIBBS Tibbs looked to Minnie as she whispered, but he knew it was no good. He wasn't going to let her get in trouble, and he wasn't going to let Sweet get in trouble either. They were his friends, probably the closest thing he'd had to "brothers in arms" since he left the army, so yeah - he wasn't going to let either of them go to jail. Even Sweet, though he seemed so intent on going. The shout Sweet gave echoed off the walls of the houses that had sprung up, and Tibbs couldn't stand it.

"The /sword/. I was going to use the sword, and take the head of the Queen to show the rest of the citizens, to end this--"

MINNIE  They both weren't listening! Even when she had pleaded for them to stop they both continued to do so! And when Minnie heard the cry that had pierced from out of Sweet's lips her own hands had to clasp her mouth to keep it from screaming herself. She moved then getting closer to Sweet but looking at the demon. She could feel tears pulling at the rim of her eyes, her vision becoming blurred, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. She had /never/ meant for any of this! Why hadn't she simply kept her head down?!

"Please p-please s-stop!" She didn't know who she was speaking to at this point whether it was Sweet, Tibbs, or the demon. "I-it wasn't t-they d-didn't—" Do anything? It wasn't there fault? The demon wouldn't believe her at this point, not when both men gave convincing stories that could far surpass a measly little woman sneaking out with weapons. At this point tears were streaming down her eyes and Minnie... she didn't know what she could possible do!

SWEET Sweet shouted again as he saw the other demon reach out for Tibbs, reaching out and grabbing him by the biceps too. Sweet got a look of Minnie's tears as she came towards him and he felt his heart twist.

"No! Minnie! Stay back!" he shouted at her, just as both demons gave great flaps of their wings. The ground opened up beneath them and they jumped into the air, before diving down and disappearing into nothing, leaving Minnie standing on the sidewalk, all alone.

For Tibbs and Sweet the world was black, black, black nothingness until they were thrown down into the pits of the Underworld with the other condemned.