#god the lore here is rich i wonder whats its like to just see this randomly LOL

[haileyywrites]

Summary: Tales of a mystical kitsune wandering the forest at night causes Kabukimono to go out and try his luck, for it is said they grant wishes to those who brave the night. His situation quickly turns dangerous, yet he is saved by the very person he was looking for...

Pairings: Kabukimono/Kunikuzushi x Kitsune!Reader

Notes/Warnings: Reader is completely gender neutral! Poc friendly! Platonic! Found family type of fic! Not cannon, basically an au! Not meant to be lore accurate! Little angsty possibly, but mostly just fluff! LONG!! Possible grammar mistakes you can point out!

“Have you heard? There's apparently a kitsune in the woods who can grant any wish!” An eager man gushes.

“A kitsune? Like Lady Guuji from Narukami Shrine?” Another asks.

“Yes! But this one can grant wishes!”

“Sounds like baseless rumors to me...” The other man dismisses his friend.

“Its not! Remember that beggar who hangs around here sometimes? He's now gone and rich I've heard!” He boasts.

“He could have just left and found a job, what exactly proves he's rich now? He's not even here.” The sceptical man questioned.

“Don't believe me if you don't want to, but it's true!”

Kabukimono had been listening to the two converse for some time now, he was completely entranced by the man's story and couldn't hold back any longer as he approached the two men. His eyes were glimmering with hope that the story was indeed true!

“Excuse me! Can you tell me more?” He asked shyly.

“Don't believe him, kid. He falls for these kinds of hoaxes easily.” The other man warned.

“No I don't! Anyway, it's said you need to go into the woods at night with a full moon and ask for the kitsune to appear with sincerity. If you're deemed worthy they'll appear and grant your wish!”

“Wow!” Kabukimono couldn't help, but be in awe at the thought of such a being existing.

“To me it sounds like something made up to lure fools into the woods at night to ambush them.” The other man sighed hopelessly.

“Hey, kid. If you do find the kitsune be sure to come back and prove this fool wrong!” The man smiled.

“Uh, sure!” He awkwardly answered.

Kabukimono of all shouldn't trust the words of humans or the deeds of mystical beings resembling gods, but... If there was a chance it was true then he had to take it! It wasn't like he had anything to lose if it wasn't true, but everything to gain if it was.

Every night he gazed at the dark star littered sky hoping to see the full moon shining above brightly, but only various states of crescent would show up. He waited inpatiently until the large full moon finally presented itself, he immediately rushed off to the direction the man had pointed him to.

The dark had never particularly bothered him before, but when all alone in a forest at night it was sure to make anyone anxious... The wildlife was surprisingly scarce and it was almost eerily quiet, only his own footsteps making the faintest noise. He felt like his every move was being watched by someone unknown, almost as soon as he had stepped into the dark he felt someone had their eyes on him.

Kabukimono's eyes darted from one direction to another as panic slowly settled in, he had no idea where he was going. He was all alone in the dark, all alone in a forest at night, he was all alone. Or was he? Which one was more terrifying, he wondered as his mind began racing with terrified thoughts he couldn't control. He could feel a cold sweat wash over him as his limbs began shaking.

“Wait!” He shouted before hurrying off to the direction of the animal.

Suddenly a unique looking kitsune fox jumped from the bushes before him, it delicately tilted it's head at the scared boy. He forgot all about his worries as he stared at the beautiful animal that didn't fear him in the slightest it seemed. It's eyes looked almost human as it softly gazed at him, but seeing as he calmed down soon enough the fox began walking away towards an unknown direction in the forest.

“Hey, kid!” A familiar voice called from the sidelines.

Confused Kabukimono turned towards the man who told him the story earlier that day in the village, the story that led him here in the first place. The sceptical man was behind the storyteller and was looking rather... uncomfortable for some reason. Perhaps he too didn't like treading through the dark forest at night.

“Oh, hi.” He answered before turning to look around for the fox.

“Whatcha looking for?” The man questioned.

“I saw a stranger kitsune, but I lost it...” He sadly answered.

“A strange looking kitsune?!” The man asked with excitement.

Kabukimono only nodded without paying much attention to the pair as he was still hoping to encounter the fox again, or at least find it's trace. As he wasn't paying attention the man grabbed his shoulders tightly before turning him around, his wide eyes gleamed in a terrifying way.

“It must be the one who grant's wishes! Oi, bring the rope! Did you see where it went?” He spoke quickly.

“Um, no... I lost it.” He answered quietly.

“What a bother...” The man sighed, but still didn't let go of Kabukimono's arm.

In fact - he held on tighter as the other man brought the rope that was requested earlier. Before Kabukimono could do anything he was wrapped tightly with the rough rope and tied against a large sturdy tree. There was nothing he could do to stop them and moving while bound so tightly burned against his skin.

“What are you doing?!” He asked in a panicked tone.

“Sorry, can't let you steal my wish kid. But thanks for leading us this far.” He grinned wickedly.

“Can we go already?” The uncomfortable looking man asked with a guilty look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah! Here.” He dropped a small pouch of mora on Kabukimono's lap. “For your help.”

He stared at the pouch on his lap with a hopeless expression... He was once again betrayed and he didn't even know their names. No matter what it seemed he was cursed to be forever betrayed and abandoned by not only people he knew, but also those he didn't. What a joke of an existence. He reached out for a glimmer of hope for his miserable life and he gets stabbed in the back.

“What a typical human thing to do.” A voice from the darkness said.

“Who's there?!” The man called out.

“The one you have supposedly been seeking.” Thry answered, but still didn't reveal themselves.

“The wish granting kitsune?!” The men asked in unison.

“O, mighty kitsune! Please grant my wish and bring me fortune! My wish is heartfelt.” He kneeled down with his hands up in prayer.

“You'd be better off begging from the Shogun herself. I will only warn you once - leave.” Their cold voice said.

“What?” The dumbfounded man asked.

A deep sigh was heard before their figure stepped out from the darkness, their every feature now illuminated by the moonlights glow. The pointed ears, hair and tail were the same color as the mysterious unique kitsune he had seen earlier - there was no mistaking it. Especially those chilling eyes that glared at the two men, they were so warm and gentle just a moment ago as they comforted him...

“Enough! I gave you enough warning and chances to leave, now I'll make you do so.” Their chilling voice spoke as their eyes began glowing.

Whatever happened next Kabukimono wasn't entirely sure as he quickly closed his eyes and turned his head away in - fear? He wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't want to witness whatever it is the kitsune did to them. Only when everything went back to the serene silence and he felt his restraints being pulled off did he open his eyes. Those warm and gentle eyes you had earlier had returned as you carefully removed the ropes from around him.

Out of instinct he jumped away since you were so close to him, but when he looked closer he could see you were caressing the tree he was previously bound to. The bark had slightly worn off in some places but overall it wasn't bad at all thus a gentle smile graced your features. It came as quickly as it dissapeared when you stood up and turned towards the the unconscious men.

“Humans are so bothersome, they always seek for the easy way out. Riches, beauty and eternal life...” You mutter bitterly to yourself.

“Tell me then, what is you seek?” You turn your gaze to the frightened boy.

He stayed silent before looking away from your intense stare, he stays silent as he thinks hard about your words. To wish for anything... What is it he truly seeked the most, wanted the most, longed for the most? He honestly hadn't thought that much or far ahead, despite being the creation of a literal god he had doubted your existence. Something as good as you couldn't possibly exist in the same world he did.

“A family, a home, a purpose... I'm not sure.” He quietly answered.

“Hmm... I'm not sure if that's something a simple wish could grant. It seems like something you have to create for yourself.” You answered honestly.

“...” The boy looked at you with sad yet strikingly beautiful indigo eyes. “Do you really grant wishes?”

“No. Nor have I ever heard of one that does.”

Your answer only made him more sad to the point he had tears brimming in his eyes. It didn't bring you any joy in saying it to him, but you didn't want to get his hopes up again in risk of him continuing to put himself in dangerous situations for the possibility of wish granting kitsune that didn't exist. You could never be fully sure, but kitsune were rare as it is so if such a being existed you would surely know of them.

“Follow this path down and you'll return to the village you came from.” You pointed behind him.

You turned your back to him and began walking away for the second time that night. You had nothing to offer the poor unfortunate boy, despite how much you might have wished to help him... You quickly came to a halt and froze in place as something cool latched onto your hand, turning back you could see the boy holding onto you with tears still brimming his round eyes.

He didn't need to say a word as you understood what his eyes were silently telling you. He had nowhere and no one to return to. He was silently begging you to take him with you, to not leave him like everyone else did. You were not particularly fond of humans due to their nature, but who could possibly say no to him?

“I see...” You said before gently holding his hand in return. “Say, have you ever visited a youkai banquet? The full moon is still high in the sky and they love to party during such nights.”

The boy wiped his tears away and shook his head to say no. “Then you're in for quite an eventful night.”

You smiled brightly as you walked hand in hand deeper into the forest. The youkai could be too energetic, loud and brash for you sometimes, but Kabukimono was clearly in need of company like theirs. You could endure it for one night to see that boy with a smile on his face.

A/N: Comments, likes and reblogs / any feedback is hugely appreciated <33

[lightlycareless]

IM BACK i got so busy right around when the last chapter was posted but im HERE NOW. and ive been reading so much,, all the lore from chapter 36 was SO GOOD im so sad im late to it but ohhhhhmygod. so much going on there and setting up REALLY good parallels between y/n and naoya when it comes to their relationships w their parents. the way both of them had their mother slowly get more and more distant due to circumstances outside of their control/caused by some fucked up third party... ough... this also reveals so much DRAMA like WHO CURSED Y/N'S MOTHER?? im throwing hands. and thats such a fucked up TYPE of curse too the way it fucks with the personality/behavior-- someone REALLY hated her huh

but ohmygodmyGOD chapter 37 has SO MUCH going on. like just starting off with matsuo being. insufferable. man. can a woman not get a drink in this house.

the entirety of this chapter is SO rich with so much emotion... like the way they're finally feeling like a couple is so sweet?? i KNEW naoya had it in him to be nice, even if it does take being on his death-bed for it to happen..

THE WEDDING RING HE CARRIES THE RING ON A NECKLACE W HIM AUAHUGHEHGH,,, i cant even begin to describe how emotional that made me the last section of the chapter where they're just talking to each other for once means SO much after having read the last 36 chapters of animosity and standoffishness like they're FINALLY talking and like. seeing each other? as people? its SUCH a pivotal moment and at the same time so small and domestic its amazing

AND HES GOING TO TRY TO LET HER SEE HER FAMILY AGAIN?? that opens up SO much drama and so many questions like-- is he going to stick to that when he recovers? CAN he stick to that or like he said is he not in a position to negotiate that much? (would he help her sneak out or sneak in a way for her to see them somehow if it came to that?) what kind of interaction would that even BE for her to see them again after so long-- would it lead to them not wanting to let her leave/go back to the zenin estate? theyd for sure know somethings up.. my favorite couple is finally coupling. 12/10. still obsessed w them

Hello!!!

Awww, don't worry about it!! Ngl I was a bit like, I wonder if they liked it, maybe I finally scared them away lol, my perfectionism slowly killing me inside 😭 But really, the most important thing here is that you're ok, and that you liked the chapters!! ❤️❤️❤️

I'm telling you, I didn't mean to make it that way but how Naoya and Y/N ended up being similar to one another is... wow, perfection. And ironic haha Y/N hates Naoya so, so much, that she literally can't see him as anything else but like complete opposites I mean, if you were to tell her "Hey, the two of you have similar backgrounds" she'd be like "ew no wtf!!!"

Which is why she was so baffled to learn that it's true 😭 they share the pain of having loss a mother, and in some ways, being disliked by their own family.

Also, for Minako's curse... I don't intend to explore more about it, so I'll just say it was someone very, very jealous of her and her children. Someone that just wanted to see the family burn, you know? (LOL, it makes it seem like Eiichi had some secret admirer or something. Or maybe her?! Like the yandere type "If I can't have you, no one can!!" Oof, I hope not on either accounts)

Now onto chapter 37 :>

The way Matsuo's behavior did a 180 was... I don't know what I was expecting, for it to not happen?? Let's be real, that man as soon as he got a bit of power decided to abuse it. Probably some resentment towards Y/N and her staff, how happy they are and the good relationship they have with her or whatever. Honestly, I do not care about that man. (I wonder what Naoya's reaction will be once he figures out how he's been treating her... HMMM)

I'm so glad you liked the fluffy parts with Naoya hahahahah even though as you said, it's when he's sick... oh, I just hope it doesn't all go away when he's not sick anymore, you know? GOD this whole thing hurts me so much for Y/N hahahah like she's trying so desperately to hold onto the fact that maybe this is the change she was unwittingly hoping for, that Naoya finally woke up from his stupidity and decided to act like a proper husband.

Because more than leaving the house, I think she, very, very deep inside, wants this whole thing to work. I mean, who wouldn't... she grew up in a loving family where her mom and dad loved each other very, very much. It's only natural that she wants something like that too if it ever happened! And Naoya... oof, he's handsome, rich, and she doesn't have to put herself in danger in order to make a living. At that point it was a win-win... until his personality came out 💀💀💀 Anyways, it's difficult, but I WILL MAKE IT WORK. I PROMISE.

Also, if you liked their interactions on this chapter, I think you're going to like the next one 😏 (Idk if it's worth anything, but I always thought Naoya would be like Kang Dooshik from Pearl Boy when he's not being a raging misogynist)

As for the promise... that is something we'll see next chapter as well. What's going to happen with it and whatnot. I'm like Y/N right now, a bit shocked that it happened, but on edge to see if it's true 😭 after all, it's a pretty heavy promise to make ... but that is something only Naoya can choose.

I just hope all the pieces are falling in place (correctly, I mean HAHAH) for that one chapter!!! I can't wait to write it, I think we're like... 2/3 chapters away from it. I swear, everything that will happen next is leading to that moment.

And I gotta say, thank you for being patient with me 🥺❤️ I swear, everything that is happening leads to that. EVERYTHING!!!! I just hope it pays off!!!! If not, I'll disappear from the internet. The shame of it all.... hahaha.

Anyways, thank you so so much for coming back for another update! And don't worry about reading the chapters later! My story is intended to be entertaining, relaxing (yeah sure, look at all that angst) so read it whenever you can ❤️❤️❤️

Once again, thank you so much for your support 🥺❤️ I hope you continue to like the rest of the story!! Take care, and see you soon!!

[cptn-m]

One Piece 1097 Review

Back on three chapters in a row! I was starting to lose hope, so even this chapter's short length can't take the shine off this win. Ginny has to win some kind of award for being the chapter that took the shortest amount of time between being introduced and appearing on a chapter cover. Excepting maybe Luffy and Zoro at the very start of the series. It's also rare for a chapter cover not featuring the Strawhats to feel so closely connected to the content of the chapter. The last time I remember feeling that was that one time Perona showed up right at the time she made her first appearance in years for one of the Wano interludes.

The start of this chapter spends a long time building our sympathy for Kuma. We've known for a while that he would be a tragic figure, and the noble goals he expressed in a desperate situation last week made us like him, but here, seeing him take on one of the series' greatest acts of self-sacrifice again and again we really get what a good and likable person Kuma has grown to be. There's some fun lore for his fruit here as well, learning that removed suffering would eventually return to its owner. I guess it works differently for his own removed memories though. I think this development also makes it completely clear that Kuma has ended up the way he is in the present as a means of taking on a huge burden for someone else in exactly the same way. The remaining questions are 'who?' and what circumstances resulted in sacrificing his mind being the only way to save them.

Despite the obvious-seeming build-up that Kuma and Ginny's relationship will be the heart of this flashback and her inevitable death will be its climactic moment of heartbreak, Oda leans away from the romance between the pair, with a timejump and a marriage proposal, and a level of ambiguity about whether they're actually intimately involved at this point at all. Romance has never been Oda's strong suit so it's probably smart of him to emphasise the dramatic and desperate circumstances and mutual moral outrage about the state of the world that brought them together instead.

And we go a long time without Bonney here. Maybe those theories about her being mentally and chronologically a child have some weight after all. At minimum she's younger than she appears, barring a massive misdirect.

The next sequence, at 22 years ago, is peak World Government politics. Money at the heart of it all, loopholes for the ultra-rich to save themselves (or at least their wallets) and the denial of human rights all the way through. No accountability or oversight, no compassion for the common man. No wonder the world needs Revolutionaries.

And that's exactly who arrives! The drip feed of Dragon info continues with the revelation that he used to be a Marine. I'd love to see any kind of interaction between him and Garp, knowing this. There must be so many complicated feelings between the two of them. And Dragon is 100% in the right. We can see in this very chapter what the Marines defend. There is no justice there.

What surprises me is how much time we're spending away from Sorbet Kingdom. Some are lamenting the idea that Kuma's 'Tyrant' epithet is just a grandiose name, but we know outright that Kuma is recognised by the public as a ruler of the kingdom. But how (and why) does he become a king after joining up with the Revolutionaries. Does taking the position relate to whatever deal he cut that ended in his cyborg state, or did he seize the country and declare its independence to use as a Revolutionary base and solve their supply issues? Maybe not, considering they're already using Baltigo at this point in the flashback and will remain there until (almost) the present day.

The final page of the chapter, kind of like the escape from God Valley last week, really rush ahead. It's a shame not to see more of what the Revolutionaries got up to in the eight years between scenes, but as with God Valley, this is Kuma's flashback not Dragon's, and there'll be time for the important bits of that later. Still sucks to jump around so suddenly, and to feel like we're ending the chapter mid-scene. I'm glad it's not a break week, because it would well and truly suck to not know what happened to Ginny and have the last panel focus on Dragon's reaction to her predicament instead of Kuma's. Sure, it's a common Oda move to reveal something shocking out of nowhere then flashback to show how it happened, but the pacing of this one feels off. I imagine the next chapter will save it though, with the flashback and Kuma emotional beats the story needs, and when it comes to the volume read the gap between reveal and explanation should be barely noticeable.

My assumption is that Ginny's captivity will be the beginning of the end of this flashback. It seems primed to involve Kuma with the Government and manipulate him into being branded a tyrant and giving up his sense of self. This was something of a transitional week, but the next one should be a big pick up. Looking forward to it.

Old reviews and more on my Wordpress.

[krikidilly]

They deserve to run in the rain together..

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

[concerningwolves]

Question for you! I see Fae show up a lot in the fantasy genre, and I really love it and want to play with those ideas in some of my own works, but I was wondering — is this something that can be mishandled? I’ve seen some discussion on things to look out for in terms of insensitive portrayal of neurodivergence, but I’ve also just been mulling over the fact that there is a lot of very rich folklore that varies depending on what culture you’re looking at, and that there is potential to disrespect that out of simple fascination for the trope. Being extremely American with no cultural ties to the folklore, I’m just not sure. Is there harm that can be done by sicking solely to the tried and true tropes, or alternatively, by trying to put a new creative spin on those ideas? So sorry if this doesn’t make very much sense, this was harder to put into words that I expected. I was just wondering if you might have any thoughts or advice on this

Oh, this is a nice question for me. Thank you, Nonny :3

Full disclaimer: folklore and mythology, particularly relating to the fae, is my special interest. That doesn't mean I'm an expert in myths and folklore (or the linked history/anthropology). I'm just a person who spends inordinate amounts of time thinking about these things and am exceedingly happy to infodump on the drop of a hat. So, my word isn't law, I'm always happy to hear other opinions, please correct me if I make a mistake etc etc.

"Can you mishandle writing the fae?" is something i have many thoughts on. If you'd asked me this a few years ago, I'd have been all "yes you can, the fae have been appropriated and butchered by popular culture blah blah blah" because I was insufferably anal about things being Correct. But lately, I've come to really love just how vast this – I guess you could call it the popular culture faerie mythos – is. So much of it isn't what a folklore purist would consider correct, but I'm fascinated by how these folkloric figments have evolved and become ingrained in the general psyche nonetheless.

I think writing the fae can become harmful if writers use Welsh/Irish/Scottish folklore as their base without properly researching or without an awareness of the historical context. There's this trend of ignoring centuries of actual history from these countries and instead creating a very warped idealistic fiction. For example, if a writer presents a fantasy world with faeries and says "This is based on Welsh mythology" and then goes on to perpetuate such bunkum as "they all worship a mystical moon goddess" then that's Very Not Good. Similarly, if a writer says "here is my fantasy faery race, they're based on Celtic [Irish] mythology" then I'm going to have some Problems with that, because Celtic mythology and Irish mythology aren't the same thing. (The Celts were an Indo-European people comprised of many cultures and tribes, spread from Ireland to central Europe. While their influence in Ireland is clear, not everything Irish is Celtic and vice versa).

Irish, Welsh and Scottish cultures have historically been persecuted by the English, and that shows in how the English retconned their respective folkloric beliefs to create the British fairy mythos. It's something writers ought to be mindful of but generally aren't imho. This "British" faerie mythos is actually a melting pot of Irish, Scottish, Welsh and Nordic folklore with a healthy dose of medieval romanticism. It's what gave us the popular images of the Seelie and Unseelie ("good" and "bad") faerie courts, wherein the fae are generally more "civilised" (read: like Proper British Victorians) and have humanoid appearances. I don't think that any story which uses this bastardised fairy mythology is automatically bad, but I do get wary when writers plunge into it without giving any thought to why the British fairy image is Like That.

I recently listened to Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke and I was absolutely enthralled. Clarke's fairies are based on the medieval romantic image of them, particularly medieval children's tales. They exist in the realm of Fairy, which is near to Hell, and have a society that falls somewhere between feudalism and the Victorian. What gripped me was how Clarke used the Bastardised British Fairy Lore to create this... almost satirical criticism of "Englishness" and what the English identity actually means (without tiptoeing around xenophobia, arrogance and racism). It's very much based on this bastardised British "folklore" but it works because that's the whole point. I found it thoroughly fascinating and enjoyable and basically haven't stopped thinking about it for a month.

I do get very excited when writers take a new angle with faeries, too! Like, Eoin Colfer's faries in the Artemis Fowl books were so cool. (Bearing in mind it's been ten years since I picked up an Artemis Fowl book, and I never read the whole series so most of what I know I've absorbed via late night Wiki reads and Tumblr osmosis, but anyway—) They live underground, which is a very neat take on the Irish Aos Sí. Irish fae folklore has the faeries living in mounds, as in, every mound in Ireland is its own faerie "court". Colfer's faeries call themselves the People, again, a play on the Irish because their name means People of the Mounds. I think what Colfer did was an extremely neat way of calling on Irish mythology to create a cool new fairy concept.

What you say about being American is an intriguing point in itself, too. I've said before that the American cryptid culture is simply delightful, because although it isn't what one would think of when you talk about folklore, that's exactly what it is. American culture is a melting pot. Which is to say, yes, as an American you won't have a lived cultural experience of, say, Irish folklore and how it impacts modern day life there, but there are elements of it all around you! Think about how in states where it's common to see vast fields of corn, it's also common for tales of corn demons. Sure, maybe that sounds like a weird tale some kids tell to scare one another, but to me it sounds a lot like the feldgiester of Germanic folklore.

American Gods by Neil Gaiman explores this concept that immigrants and settlers brought their own gods and mythological/folkloric creatures with them. I often think about this part of the book that talks about a faerie man who followed an Irishwoman to America because she always left out cream for him. I found that really heartwarming in this way that I can't quite explain. If you're into contemporary fantasy epics, I definitely recommend American Gods!

Sorry, I know this answer is getting quite rambly but I guess I... don't have a solid answer. Like I said, this is very much in my special interest wheelhouse BUT I'm not an expert. When I started out reading more about faeries and their various mythos I consumed a lot of nonsense, and I'm slowly sifting back through and unlearning much of what I took as gospel fact. I don't want to sound like I'm telling you what you can or can't do because that isn't my place (nor is it anyone else's). Really all you can do is listen to people from the cultures you're drawing from and research carefully and critically.

Happy writing! (*^▽^*)

[ichika27]

Mairimashita! Iruma-kun s2 ep21

Last episode for this season!

It’s strange we’re only getting 21. It feels like an awkward number to end on since many other anime that goes on for 20+ episodes have at least 24-26. Oh well, s3 has been announced so it’s all good I guess.

It's still the Apocalypse (the last day of it) and Iruma is trying to finish all of his homework which seem to be going well. He had a lot to do due to homework being doubled.

Why was homework doubled? It's the consequence of a past action...

It was due to the bet from back at the Walter Park arc! They remembered about it (I kinda forgot about it, honestly, since so many things happened since then).

Grandpa Sullivan is the one to choose the winners and decided it was all of them making them all both the winners and losers of the bet. With this, both the prize and punishments applied - they were treated to an expensive meal but they also have to deal with a ton of homework. Kalego-sensei is pissed he had to pay for everyone’s food but was very happy to tell them that they will be suffering for the rest of the apocalypse.

Iruma worked hard and got through all the homework though.

This Apocalypse Iruma had: gone on vacation with his friends, went on a sleepover at a friend's house, and went on a date... so naturally, this time around he's spending time with family!

He and Grandpa are gonna go buy school supplies. I kinda missed when me and my family did that back in the day. I always found shopping for school supplies fun.

Due to the season's earlier events, Iruma has gotten pretty popular it seems so Grandpa gives him anti-recognition glasses for a disguise. Ain’t the boy cute? I dunno why but with anime characters, glasses actually either add or subtract from how good or bad their appearance is.

Haha this reminds me, there’s this anime called “Castle Town Dandelion” and the MC is a girl who hates standing out and in one episode, her sister gave her glasses that could allegedly do the same thing Iruma’s glasses here could. It doesn’t work like that and everyone just acted as if it does to make her feel better. Akane needed this version lol.

They're headed to Magical Street to go shopping! A new area has been introduced to both us and Iruma.

This is apparently where shops, parks and also teacher's dorms are located. I’m wondering why the teacher’s dorms are here when back in the episodes where Iruma joined the student council, it seems he and the student council members were staying over at school. Why isn’t the dorm for faculty members at school, too then? Weird.

Iruma's Grandpa is pretty popular, too. People crowded around him as soon as they saw him but doesn't recognize Iruma due to the glasses. Makes me wonder why Grandpa didn't wear ones himself lol.

Grandpa Sullivan isn’t just popular as he’s well-liked, too.

First, clothes shopping! Iruma tried on a coat as they need some for the upcoming winter. Grandpa decides these were good and takes an entire rack. Damn they're rich lol. He tells Iruma to just wear a different one everyday.

They're buying accessories next and Opera suggest that Iruma buy a collar for his familiar which is Kalego-sensei lol. Iruma knew it would not end well if he actually did that and declines. Opera is disappointed by this... they really want to mess with Kalego, huh?

I think it’s funny but I also pity Kalego-sensei. Having to deal with his senpai’s antics long after graduating. The nightmare of many former students.

Next they're buying books! God this makes me miss going to book fairs.

Grandpa tells the staff at the desk what books he wanted and each one he lists off automatically flies down next to him (pretty cool). Grandpa explains that Iruma would need a lot of books to learn more spells. They talked about the spell Fractal (which Iruma used to princess carry Ameri last episode) and Grandpa tells him that with enough practice, Iruma could also use it to be able to fly. Grandpa takes this chance to show-off to Iruma by using it to take down a shoplifter. Everyone in the store is amazed but Iruma's praise is the one Grandpa cares about the most.

They continue shopping for stuff. This was funny cause the way Grandpa said the lollipop's name reminded me of how Doraemon introduces the items from his pocket. Also, does this mean that lollipop has no expiration date?

The day ends with the two having a talk (Opera went and got the carriage). Iruma says he had a lot of fun at school which made his Grandpa happy knowing Iruma has gotten used to living here. Grandpa tells him that the new semester would be even more eventful than this one and showed him a poster of what I assume would be the festivals the other fans have been mentioning.

In the middle of their talk, Iruma suddenly asks Grandpa about how to become a Demon King (likely cause he overheard some people wondering aloud why Sullivan, a powerful demon, didn't want to take the job despite being qualified for it).

Grandpa is surprised and speechless for a moment but then becomes happy and says if Iruma is asking cause he wanted to be Demon King then Grandpa will support him. Iruma explains he’s just curious.

Flashback! It seems Grandpa used to work for the former Demon King, Delkiller.

Too bad his face is covered. I’m curious to know what he looked like when he was younger.

Oooh... we finally see him - the infamous Delkiller that's been talked about for a long time. His face isn't completely properly shown for now, I guess but he’s shown to be pretty huge. He seems lazy but he also takes pride in the Demon World he's created. The flashback ends here though.

His hair color reminds me somewhat of Evil Cycle! Iruma’s hair color...

We get a bit of lore info from Grandpa about Demon Kings.

Grandpa explains about the 13 Crowns - representatives of the Demon World who help govern it - and that to become a Demon King, one must possess the trust of every single one since they'd be the one to rule the Demon World.

He also explains the role and power of the Demon King - their word is law and they are the Demon World itself. Demons will do as they commanded. The Demon World is a reflection of whoever ruled it and right now, the Demon World is a fun place because Delkiller-sama was a fun person.

Grandpa explains that with all these in mind, he doesn't know if he'd even get the role someday if he wanted it or if he ever did, if he'd be worthy of it. It’s such a big thing after all.

If he did become the Demon King though, he says he'd do this: make the Demon World "Iruma"-themed lol. Seriously though, he says he'd support Iruma if he'd become the Demon King and would like to see what kind of world Iruma would create.

These statements are very ironic considering who would end up being future Demon King haha.

While Iruma said he didn’t want to become Demon King, he did end up thinking about it. What if he did become the Demon King?

Hmm... for someone who isn’t interested, he looked like he was thinking deeply about it.

They get back home and later that night, Iruma checked the stuff Granpa bought him.

Iruma finally gets a hold of the Demon King Prophecy! We've heard about the prophecy before but Iruma probably hasn't yet until now. After listing the stuff about the future king, there’s a shot of Iruma’s hand with his ring haha. Upon reading this, Iruma thought more about it: What kind of world would it become if he were to become the Demon King?

You’re not the only one wondering Iruma. I’m sure the rest of the fandom is wondering that, too.

The new semester begins! The entire Abnormal class is told that they now have to attain Dalet (4) rank before their second year begins as it's the minimum they'd need to graduate - failure results in them losing the Royal One classroom!

--

Not gonna lie, the shopping part of the episode reminded me of the scenes at the beginning of the firsts Harry Potter movies with them shopping at Diagon Alley. It’s fun and I got to see more of the Demon World. I wonder if they’d show us other places in the Demon World in the next season.

Grandpa happily doting on Iruma made me think that maybe it’d have been better for him if he had gotten to adopt Iruma as a child. Iruma is already a teenager and so their time they could spend together wouldn’t be as long or as often since Iruma had friends and busy with school. On the other hand, Iruma gained a lot of experiences in his crappy life before getting here and it did help him become the person he is. I guess the problem here is that he’s human and he probably ages faster than everyone else. :P

Like I mentioned before, it feels weird we only got 21 episodes this time. I was hoping there’d be another arc before the end of the season. There’s already a season 3 announcement and for next year, I think, so its all good. It might feel like a long time but I thought the same back when season 1 ended and now the finale for season 2 had just aired. Time flies fast.

I just wanna point out that in the last scene at the classroom when they were being told about the rank raising they gotta do, Agares is shown with his eyes visible. I’m glad they never put that mask back to cover his face cause he looks good haha. Glad they kept this detail.

Well, thank you for reading this and the other posts, too if you did. I guess we’d have to wait for season 3 now. I’m glad this show is popular enough to gain another season so fast. :)

[retphienix]

I'm not sure if I should make this the finale post or not to be honest because I plan on playing some of the DLCs soon, so I'll make this a 'light' finale post because I'm sure I've said more than enough through my playthrough.

Morrowind genuinely surprised me. I heard all the oldguard TES fans saying it's way different and some claiming it was miles better.

Specifically I remember when Oblivion came out I heard from somewhere that Oblivion was just "dumbed down Morrowind" and kid me was like "What the heck are you talking about, Oblivion is the best game in the world (right now)???"

But man, they weren't wrong, but that's hardly what I'd point at in Morrowind in comparison.

Then again my memory of Oblivion is all rose tinted nostalgia and half memories.

What Morrowind is to me today is a fantastic fantasy game with some really interesting lore, a villain I love, a world that feels alien, troubled, imperfect and intriguing, and a gameplay cycle that felt really satisfying to me from the very start to roughly level 20 or so.

I REALLY like how pitiful and overwhelmed I felt at the start of this game- it felt fucking awesome to me and I know for some that's a weird statement and others it's the most obvious thing in the world but man is it true.

Level 1 in Morrowind as a newbie who doesn't know up from down is like waking up in the woods naked with the sound of hungry wolves all around you.

It's brutal, and exciting- every little victory- a potion, a new dagger, a new piece of armor- feels like the world to you.

I LOVED the early game in Morrowind, more than I ever liked it in Oblivion, Fallout 3, Fallout NV, Skyrim, or Fallout 4 (yeah I'm looping the bethesda engine NV in).

Because I constantly felt like I was punching up at a behemoth but I was getting away with it from time to time until I started to feel more on par with the behemoth, and eventually I overcame and hit end game and really became the behemoth and that was fun in its own right.

But I've been "mega end game god" in like 900 dang games at this point, it's always fun! And feeling like I earned it (like here) makes it feel better! But the journey often beats it and Morrowind's journey was so fun to me.

But yeah, beat the main quest. I did a lot in this game, and barely scratched the surface.

Beating it immediately made me think of how fun it would be to challenge myself to beat it- or another objective- right from the start without dumping hundreds of hours into leveling because that early game is a treat.

About the only things I didn't fully love were most of the quest designs showing their age.

Nothing super egregious, but there really was a lot of extremely simple "fetch thing" "Kill thing" "Walk to place" quests that didn't hold additional story value to make up for it.

Not to say simple is bad, but to say having a LOT of my playtime being killing various creatures for no real story reason beyond being asked to makes some actions feel pointless and like busy-work.

There were also quests that DID tie story in, which was really nice to see- things like inter-guild relations becoming a thing for some quests, or some quests having consequences further down the quest chain depending on how you completed it, and of course (as implied) some quests having multiple solutions with some of those solutions being interesting in how you find out about them.

I mean I think it's really neat how the fighter's guild has like 4 quest givers and if you blindly follow them you'll be doing all kinds of questionable stuff with questionable end goals, but if you talk to each of them you'll find that one of them is much more trustworthy and honorable than the rest, and it becomes a common loop to be sent on a quest for the FG and swing by him to ask if the quest sounds legit- AND MANY AREN'T! AND HE OFFERS ALTERNATIVE SOLUTIONS! THAT'S COOL AND LET'S YOU MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BEING TOO LOYAL AND FORGETTING YOUR MORALS BECAUSE YOU ARE "JUST PLAYING A GAME" BUT REWARDS YOU FOR QUESTIONING THAT LOYALTY AND SEEKING ALTERNATIVE SOLUTIONS! THAT'S AWESOME! Though the solution almost always being "just talk to the good guy before you do the quest" was slightly lacking, but such a cool idea.

But there wasn't a ton of this, but there also wasn't not a lot of this- it was an idea they clearly considered playing with and did when they could- I just wish there were both more and that it was used more on the menial tasks you're asked to do as well. I'm a sucker for multiple solutions is all, and consequences appearing later and altering how events play out or quests line up is always cool and I think it only happens a couple times in some guild quests if I'm not mistaken-

But again, I didn't do much in the grand scheme of things lol.

A TON of time invested and still, a metric fuckton to do including 100% of both expansions lol.

So- Morrowind. I really like this game :)

I think it's my favorite TES game, though I might change my mind whenever I revisit TES4, but I can at least say it's my favorite early game BY FAR and PROBABLY my favorite TES game.

I wonder if I can get buff enough to kill Dagoth Ur with like potion abuse. I haven't looked into it, all I know about him (and I knew before this gameplay also, I was just attacking out of curiosity) is that phase 2 rapidly regens health at like 2 billion a second or something, so you have to one shot him if at all possible.

Also I knew that he was supposed to be weaker depending on how many ash vampires you killed, but that that wasn't properly implemented (and I don't think the morrowind code patch bothers fixing it?).

Anywho- great game. I've been playing a lot of good games lately now that I think of it. I mean most of this blog is me playing good games, but I feel like, and I could be mistaken, but I feel like there was a stint there where I was playing "complicated" games and "games I don't enjoy but want to see the merit of so I'm being a sourpuss while I play".

Now I feel like the last 10 dang games were strictly good and or great. Can't say that's a bad thing :)

If you haven't ever played Morrowind before but you're familiar with say Skyrim, I'd honestly say give it a look. A look first- because it's a thick game to begin and you might be able to discern it's not for you based off a look- but a look none the less.

It's Skyrim with more RPG nonsense going on and a more brutal "rags to riches" hero story for your protag. Might be up your alley as much as it ended up being up mine :)

So up next is EITHER an entirely different game with some ocassional Morrowind posts as I touch on the expansions, or more direct Morrowind content as I emphasize the expansions until I finish them, but I'm leaning towards the former.

I think beating the main quest has earned Vaksten the Idiot a short break.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Crew of the Omen.”

A little bit from the other new alien species aboard the ship, as requested. I hope you like it :) 

Tesraki

The Tesraki had all worked with humans before, but when they mean they had worked with humans, it was more like they had been around in the area where humans were working and mostly tried to stay out of their way. Between the two younger Tesraki Captio and Subit, they talked a lot about how the soldier Tesraki,  Etium had been involved in the Drev war..

They weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not seeing as there were very few Tesraki who had actually survived an encounter with the Drev, but the chunk missing from his ear, and the way he seemed to show so much deference to the humans when they first stepped aboard the ship.

Than and he didn’t seem as afraid of them as the two younger Tesraki were.

And there was a lot to be afraid of

Stepping aboard the human ship, it became very clear that they were entering a different world.

They huddled together behind Etium, their ears drawn back to their heads, their tails tucked together as they stood before the massive room watching as large machines and hovering trucks rolled by. The human voices were raised, yelling up over each other in their guttural chattering call. They had been on the ship before of course, but this would be the first time the doors would be shut behind them.

A group of humans stepped past them, their large armored feet clattering against the ground, their bodies moving like lithe snakes.

There was a lot of money being moved here, and a lot of money being moved very poorly, though none of them were quite sure how to bring that up.

“New meat!”

They turned on the spot to see a human sitting cross legged atop a cargo crate. It showed them his teeth. The two younger Tesraki squealed and backed away hiding behind the older as they looked up at the grinning predator above them.

Etium seemed to be the only one who wasn’t concerned.

“M-meat.” One of them whispered 

He wasn’t aware the word accountant meant something different in their culture… that being that they were going to get eaten.

The human slipped down from where he was sitting to land on the floor.

The Tesraki squealed again and backed away.

“Fresh meat is a figure of speech. Just means you are new on the ship. We don’t eat sentient lifeforms.”

They couldn’t help but notice that he left out the non-sentient lifeforms. When the humans looked at them, they looked at them hungrily, like maybe fresh meat had not been some sort of figure of speech like it was claiming. Still, they kept relatively quiet unsure of what to believe.

“Don’t listen to them, they just like to mess with people.”

The Tesraki turned in a sharp circle watching as another human came marching up through the ship long fur billowing about their head.

“They don’t mean any harm. It's just a social hazing ritual they like.”

“I am familiar.”

The two younger tesraki glanced at Etium ears pulled back.

That would have been nice to know earlier.

They looked back, watching as the doors receded into the distance, and knew they were walking into a den of predators.

Celzex 

Everything here was big, very big, and it sort of managed to make them very angry. They marched onto the ship, though their marching didn’t get them more than a few feet onto the human ship before they almost got stepped on by a marching column of humans. They froze in place led by their leader who stood tall before them, the very real son of lord Celex, Lord Avex.

He waited, and they waited, for his great stature to attract the attention of the humans. 

Of course, it did not take long until his presence stopped another column of humans bringing cargo in from the other side of the hanger. They drew to a halt just before the Celzex, their eyes widening in fear. A few of them made vocalizations of confusion and intimidation, that manifested as very high pitched squeals for a human. They lifted their hands before their faces and chest as if to guard themselves from the danger that the Celzex possessed.

“Lord Avex, we were told of your imminent arrival.” One of the humans announced bowing his head, “There was an…. Extensive briefing about how to treat your eminence.” They bowed their heads in that way humans tend to have to show difference towards their betters.

“Please, allow me and my comrades to escort you to your quarters.” The humans lowered themselves slightly towards the ground, dropping onto one knee, “As a sign of difference to your great status please use these men as your mounts, for the ship is large and we have a long way to go. 

There was a silence as Lord Avex waited eyeing the humans with some concern.

They were a proud race.

From the corners of their eyes, the Celzex could see the humans shifting nervously, probably out of fear and awe to how great and terrible the Celzex truly were in such numbers. 

“We will accept your offer, human.”

The humans prostrated themselves even further, lowering towards the ground so the Celzex could blimp aboard, first onto their knees and then onto their backs, and then onto their shoulders as they took back to their feet. 

From the back of a human they were very high up, and very impressive.

Lord Avex was sure that their group cut a very imposing parade across the ship. The Celzex atop their human mounds, two of the most dangerous species in the galaxy.

And they did turn more than a few heads as they went, with wide eyes and open mouths the other humans stared and made similar sounds of awe and fear as had the others.

The humans on which they rode appeared more than smug, their head lifted pridefully clearly pleased at those they were able to carry.

It was a great honor after all, and who could blame them for thinking so.

The other humans must have been jealous to ferry along such important figures as the Celzex.

And of course they were eventually brought to their quarters on one of the middle decks. It had all the things that they requested, and promised access to a human 24/7 if required.

One of the humans bowed their head to lored Avex, “My lord, Admiral Vir was sorry he could not be here to witness your glorious arrival. He sends his deepest apologies and an invitation to a meal tonight as a human show of good faith. Also, due to his laxness and improper greeting he would be more than willing to act as your steed whenever you wish for his insolence and penance.

Lord Avex found this to be an agreeable apology.

Somewhere Adam Vir was quite pleased with himself for coming up with such a smooth reason to hold a Celzex, while continuing to maintain interspecies relations with one of the most powerful species on the planet.

Burg

Maverick was surprised to find people in the chapel when she walked aboard, less of people and more of an alien and a few people when she stepped in. She was even more surprised to find that this particular alien was not a Tesraki, or a Celex, but a bug-like creature with sharp mandibles, and an array of colorful wings.

“Burg!”

She said the phrase out loud, surprising herself and the burg, who nearly leaped out of it’s own carapace as it turned to look at her. Its wings were a pleasant blue color shot through with little streaks of brilliant green. 

It rested a few of its front hands together and bowed to her as she pulled to a stop, “Greetings, I am Miran, religious scholar of the burg and a social envoy of the new king and queen of the burg homeworld. I am here to foster a mending of relations between our two species and contribute some of our knowledge and culture to your endeavors.”

Maverick lowered her hands.

“I see, I wasn’t aware that the Burg were part of the GA.”

The creature sat on one of the pews, “We are not, formally, but we have since updated our status as a protectorate of the GA while we attempt to mend things between ourselves. Forgive me for startling you so, but I had hoped that you might accept my help in your religious gathering room. During our time of war, the old queen tasked me with learning about your species, and in so doing I fell upon your thriving religious culture that reminded me of the stories of our own before the queen abolished much of our tradition.”

“A burg who is a religious scholar…. I would not have assumed that.”

“And what denomination do you frequent?” He wondered looking at her with expectant eyes and a surprisingly open face for a creature she had once thought to be hideous and gut churning. The butterfly wings helped she supposed, “A random flavor of Christian, though it’s not really important.” She walked over to sit next to the burg who was looking around their little chapel with great interest.

“Do you have a religion?”

The burg’s antenna twitched, and it clicked it’s mandibles, though the way it performs the action was less worrisome than the way that she had seen it in the past, “I do, I do. I follow the old religion, in a time where the burg believed in many gods. I Believe mostly in the gods of the east, the ones that frequent the tops of mountains and are connected with the ideals of honor, adventure, and scholarly pursuits.”

“Honor?” She asked in surprise 

He sighed, “I understand it will take a while for your species to see us for what we really are rather than what our queen has led you to assume about us. But once upon a time we had a rich culture that was perpetuated on the ideals of honor and loyalty, though that loyalty was soon corrupted into the ability to hold grudges for a very long time and that bravery crossed a line into stupidity that nearly had our nation destroyed, but…. I had honestly hoped to talk about more enlightening subjects. Please, tell me more about your great culture and religious traditions.

Maverick smiled, “Where to begin…”

Finnari 

The humans were so nice to them. At first they had assumed that the humans would be scary, and they had been right. The fins on the sides of their heads had flared in agitation as they saw the humans, and they had backed away in concern and worry as soon as someone had approached.

But as the humans stopped and bowed, they were surprised and the gentle way in which they moved, and even reached ou  to touch the finnari in a kind way.

They were welcomed aboard the ship with open arms, and it was quickly accepted that here is where they would be safe.

Here they would be accepted.

The finnari are very trusting like that, and so had no problem when their quarters were proven to be situated right in the middle of the human quarters away from the other aliens at the center of everything. This had something to do with their role on the ship, working specifically with the psychological team (They were expected to be needed quickly) Two of them were healers, nurses by trade, and the other two worked with psychological issues, one of them was certified in a cuddle clinic as it was shown the Finnari ahd a similar impact on other creatures as the humans did.

They would be comfortable here, surrounded by all the humans where they would be safe. WHen you are friends with the wolves, there is nowhere safer to be than in the midst of their den.

And so they got to meet and to know their human comrades very quickly, invited to play games and to sit and chat, A few of the humans, less affable than the others might have attempted to be snappish or aggressive towards them, but they were quickly cut off by other humans who would not allow that sort of behavior.

They were going to get along very well aboard the ship.

Conn

There were more voices here than there ever had been before, and threw as a lot of work for him to get done. Conn had been pleased to learn that he was one of the reasons others were forced to sign a waver when boarding the ship. THey had to acknowledge his presence and tell the GA and the UNSC that they were not liable if Conn decided to share any of their personal secrets. They had to make sure that the UNSC or the GA could not be sued if Conn decided to do something stupid.

He was even more pleased to learn that many potential candidates had dropped out when hearing that he would be on the ship.

He was not, however, particularly pleased about their new mascot, a white Leviathan emblazoned on the side of the ship. The Admiral had argued that the thing had saved his life and Conn had argued that that thing had tried to eat his people in the past.

However when the Admiral pointed out that conn didn’t really care about them he hadn’t really been able to argue, and shut up despite his grouchiness.

Now he was fulfilling a role that the Admiral had given over to him rather silently.

The man hadn’t exactly asked him to do it, in fact he had specifically tried to avoid thinking about it when conn was around because he didn’t think the idea was particularly ethical.

Honestly, it was the whole reason why conn had decided to do it in the first place. If the Admiral didn’t want him to do it for ethical reasons, he was totally going to do it. In a way, Conn was sort of the defacto police force on the ship, monitoring thoughts and the minds of others as he went through trying to determine who was going to be a a problem and who was not though he didn’t mention these to the admiral just yet.

He sort of wanted to see what they were going to do, besides, the Admiral still needed to be punished.

He flated up the hall, reaching the familiar mind of the animal waffles, who he had come to familiarize hismelf with. She was very nervous when it came to leaving the commander now, worried that he was going to vanish for no good reason only to leave her alone like had done not so many months ago.

The Admiral did not plan on it, so he tried to sooth her animal mind just a little.

He floated onto the bridge and behind the man’s seat.

He knew when Adam sensed him.

And they both acknowledged each other

“Conn.”

“Admiral.”

‘Everything goes well?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The Admiral seemed pleased conflating the fact that Conn would do something if anything was ACTUALLY WRONG.

Conn was annoyed to realize he was right. 

[joonkorre]

@drarrymicrofic prompt: remake

not gonna say much on this. yall should find out what's going on yourselves :D. ao3

“What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t need to think; he’s done enough of that in the past two months, since the day he opened his front door to see the strange woman’s sharp smile. But he thinks anyway, one last time before he answers.

He’d have to leave the wizarding world behind. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that drastic. However, if he doesn’t want his frequent disappearances to catch the Ministry’s attention, then it’s best to withdraw into the Muggle world altogether, as far from its control as possible. Mother has Aunt Andy, Teddy, and friends from her book club now, she’ll be fine with him visiting only a few days each year.

Other than that, there are no downsides. He has nothing to lose except maybe his life somewhere down the line, but everybody dies at some point, don’t they?

He lifts his gaze to the buzzing light on the ceiling, its shine cold and apathetic. To the mahogany bookcase, filled with tomes upon tomes full of ancient rites and rituals, of creatures considered ‘cryptid’ even to wizardkind. To the bookend that is shaped like a crow, which flaps its wings when its beak is tapped five times, unlocking the hidden safe behind the bookcase. The safe that stores all the actual research and data he’s collected, jealously and fearfully hoarded.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows enough to be aware that the lore Pansy snorted at when he first mentioned them, the creatures Mother dismissed as another of her bored rich son’s new obsessions, are the same ones Unspeakable Granger narrowed her eyes at when she walked past his table in the canteen and caught a glimpse of his notes. He had a feeling then that he shouldn’t even make any indication that he was interested in these things, which was proven to be correct when Ministry personnel started loitering outside his office more after that day.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows his findings are not safe in anyone’s hands but his. The Ministry still repeats its tendency to care more about itself than the common people. The Department of Mystery, practically its own entity due to how even the Minister is forbidden from accessing most of its files, has motivations he can’t comprehend, which means motivations he can’t predict. There is no way to know if his colleagues are truly interested in “that old wife’s tale, that Bigfoot, Cthulhu shite Malfoy’s into” or will report him to those who know how to deal with him, to Unspeakable Granger, to the Department of Mysteries. His findings are not safe in anyone’s hand but his.

But if he says ‘yes,’ they are.

Draco dips his quill in the ink bottle the woman—“Dr. Stewart,” she’s introduced, calm and sure—provided him and signs his name on the contract and its related documents. No hint of anything other than indifference is shown on her face, and he wonders how many others before him has she recruited.

Once his thumbprint has been collected, the last step of the process, he Vanishes the ink on his finger. Dr. Stewart raises a brow but says nothing more. She stands up, holding out a hand.

“Welcome, Dr. Malfoy. The SCP Foundation is glad to have you with us.”

Shaking her hand, Draco feels something slide into place at his new title. He smiles politely, heart thundering in his chest.

“Have you worked with wizards before, Dr. Stewart?” Draco asks as he starts packing the valuables at his work desk into his briefcase. Dr. Steward has come to the Ministry by Floo, and though she seemed a bit disconcerted after stepping out of the Ministry Public Floo #13, she didn’t hesitate to follow him to his office. Thus, seeing her reaction to a simple Vanishing spell has certainly been a bit strange.

Dr. Steward gathers the documents to secure in a folder.

“My colleagues have—some of them have Muggleborn and Halfblood relatives—but not me personally,” she answers. “My apologies, I still need to get used to seeing magic in… this way. Ironically, we have more luck with magic users from other dimensions than from our own, especially with what happened in recent history.”

The Second Wizarding War ended barely a decade ago. Its victims, both people and nature, still bleed. “I can see why you aren’t very keen on interacting with us up-close these days,” Draco nods, careful.

“Precisely,” Dr. Stewart says. “So, believe it when I say you’re the exception.”

Draco stiffens. “Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s still a bit hard to, ah, believe that.”

“You are the exception,” she says. “We need professionals in the occult, especially those who dabbled in the Dark Arts along with other types of magic. Not many wizards of your kind in Great Britain remember the Original Gods and Old Magic, but you have that link, whether it be through honest religious belief or just intensive research.”

She crosses her legs. “We’ve had our eyes on you for a while, Dr. Malfoy. We need someone who’s willing to look for the oddity in the mundane, and when our people heard rumours of the infamous Malfoy heir having a—highly accurate, by the way—fixation on conspiracy theories and cryptozoology, visiting various parts of the world in pursuit of those ‘tall tales,’ we knew we need your intellect.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say. He was sure everybody thought him unhinged; even Luna seemed off around him these days instead of enthusiastically rallying after his theories like she usually would, gradually gravitating toward Granger whenever they’re in the same room.

“Our goals are different; the SCP Foundation wants to keep humanity safe and alive, you want knowledge and just knowledge. But I hope you find yourself in your element while working with us, finally having access to all the information you’ve been working so hard to find out.”

She tilts her head just so, and Draco can tell she knows he likes what he’s hearing. His thirst consumes him, makes him risk, makes him sin. He has to go insane to stay sane. Despite the small price of most likely dying from working with dangerous anomalies at the Foundation no matter how pretty Dr. Stewart advertises it, every cell in his body sings at the chance to know what is lurking beyond the folds of reality.

He thinks of Mother, of Aunt Andy, of little Teddy, of Pansy, of Blaise. The vision of them killed, maimed, snapped from existence because he didn’t do anything to help makes his gut twist, his throat parched. He’d kill himself from the guilt, a well-casted Sectumsempra. He decides.

His goal is no different than the Foundation’s from now on, and he has no qualms about that. With this opportunity, he is free at last, free to do the work he knows is important, to help and change without outside interference.

He is reborn.

Draco’s back straightens, and he moves his wand this way and that, orchestrating a cacophony of tomes and devices to levitate from the heavy bookshelves to the duffle bag he brought along.

“Dr. Malfoy, did I not tell you where you’ll be stationed?”

Draco halts the objects’ action mid-air, staring at Dr. Stewart.

“I was under the impression that I am to be working at Site-91,” he says, “in Yorkshire?”

“As I thought, I forgot something,” Dr. Stewart sighs, the first sign of human imperfection leaking through. She searches through her briefcase, long nails clicking through the files. “Sit down, please, and there’s no need to pack up your belongings.”

Sending the objects back to their original places, Draco takes his seat, brows furrowed. He toys with his wand, a tick he hasn’t been able to be rid of ever since Potter’s returned his wand after years of what seemed to be perpetual emptiness without it.

“There we go,” Dr. Stewart says and flips open a thick, stapled stack of paper. “You are to stay here for the duration of your first assignment. Count yourself lucky, starting work right away.”

“Stay here? But—”

“There is an anomalous individual working here,” she says, hard lines etched on her face. “You will act like you’ve not changed your career and continue to ‘work’ in the Ministry. Because of your proximity, we expect you to gather as much information as possible about him. You can use any method, as long as you stay alive and well to report back to us and receive your salary. Not to worry, we will assist you as this individual is, like most of what we deal with, deadly when pushed.”

She slides the file toward him and settles back against her chair. Draco is admittedly no less surprised than before.

“Wake up and get ready by 6 AM this Saturday, for we’ll come to get you at your house and go to Site-91. There are other information and protocols you need to know, and you’ll also get the equipment suited for this assignment,” Dr. Stewart adds.

Draco has a few questions, but from the way she ends with a close-mouthed smile, he reckons any at all would be regarded as idiotic. Well, at least she told him something.

With a slight sigh, he opens the file. The peculiar layouts and code words fly past him—he’d have to ask for a manual of some kind, Muggle science-y terminology has never been his best suit. However.

“What,” he breathes, leaning close to the file, eyes wide, “what is he—what is—”

However, there are two words he can’t mistake, no matter how sleep-deprived he is or how blind. A name, in fact.

“What is Harry Potter doing in this file?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dr. Stewart asks, lacing her fingers on her lap. “Think. His lifelong exposure with the Dark Arts and artifacts, how volatile and explosive his power is, and most importantly, how dangerous he is even to the brightest magic users. There’s a reason why we don’t meddle with your kind. You already have the means available to contain certain anomalies, but Potter is different, and we have to step in this time.”

Draco stares at her, then at the name in the file, at the picture attached, slack-jawed.

“The oddity in the mundane, Dr. Malfoy,” Dr. Stewart leans forward, a knowing look on her face. Draco's legs feel like wooden trunks, sunken into the ground. "Get used to it, and get focused. Because if left unchecked, Harry Potter might very well get powerful enough to become a reality bender."

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"

Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.

Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.

The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.

Why do you call me brother?

We are family.

We have different parents but share the same blood.

You need to meet your people

You are my sister

I have no other family. Don’t leave me!

We all have family

What are the dreams of a cat?

Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.

If they come in peace, we welcome them.

I’m just a mutt.

Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.

I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.

They don’t get along, y’know.

A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.

Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!

So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?

If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.

Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.

Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.

You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.

Everything’s told in metaphors.

A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.

Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”

If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.

Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.

A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.

Not enough to go around.

Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?

It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.

This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.

Such promises are soon broken.

Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?

Why must I always be alone?

Master, what would you have of us?

Nothing exists for him but annihilation.

Go across the world

Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.

He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.

There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.

Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.

Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.

That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.

Only through struggle can we progress.

Only through sacrifice can we succeed.

We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.

We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.

Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.

Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.

As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.

Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.

I have my own ideas.

We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.

Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.

Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.

The first of our kind were nearly the last.

Those it caught were devoured.

Let this be your legacy

My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.

All people will fear you, and all animals, too.

Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.

I banish you from sight!

They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.

As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.

It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.

Secrets became the only thing to bind us.

It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.

Very territorial, and I know how that feels.

There are enough horrors in the night already.

Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.

That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.

Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.

Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.

Gods damn the dogs for that!

Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.

She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.

Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.

If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.

We are where we are born.

I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.

Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.

Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.

We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.

Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.

We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.

It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.

We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.

We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.

We may be exiled or branded.

Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s

survival.

Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.

We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.

We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.

We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.

Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.

We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.

Our knowledge is our concern.

We will not share it unless we wish to.

We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.

We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.

We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.

Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.

We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.

There is no forgiveness for this crime.

Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.

I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.

That felt good.

Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.

I say they’re not as smart as they might think.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.

I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.

As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.

The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.

Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.

For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.

We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.

We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.

I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.

Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.

Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.

I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.

We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.

It’s a wonder anyone survived.

We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.

The world is falling apart.

I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!

We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.

We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.

Do I lose my cool?

The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.

Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.

Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.

I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.

People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off

Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.

They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.

Look around you if you doubt it.

Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.

Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.

We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we

can stand.

The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.

Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!

Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.

Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.

We know what we are.

To hell with them all!

Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.

The morning it foretells is up to us.

We must come together, yet retain our pride.

We are the keepers of secrets.

Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.

[libralita]

Way of Kings Reread

This is my post Rhythm of War reread so if you don’t want spoilers for Rhythm of War then come back later. These are essentially just the notes I took during this read through so things like “Szeth is darkeyed” isn’t really stellar commentary but there are a few interesting things in here. Also this reread was like…very sporadic so I probably missed things.

“A man with a long grey and black beard slumped in the doorway, smiling foolishly—though whether from wine or a weak mind, Szeth could not tell.

‘Have you seen me?’ the man asked with slurred speech. He laughed then began to speak in gibberish, reaching for a wineskin.”—Page 23

 Oh god, it’s Jezrien. Nooooo.

I’m curious to see how Humans being voidbringers plays into Szeth’s punishment.

“Occasionally, light would flash without the thunder. The slaves would groan in terror at this, thinking about the Stormfather, the shades of the Lost Radiants, or the Voidbringers—all of which were said to haunt the most violent highstorms.”

Interesting that they’re called the “shades”, perhaps referring to cognitive shadows?

“Talenelat’Elin, bearer of all agonies.”

Wait…do people know about Taln?

“This room is called the Veil…That which comes before the Palanaeum itself. Both were here when the city was founded. Some think these chambers might have been cut by the Dawnsingers themselves.”

First of all, Veil, haha. Second, interesting bit of lore.

“Thaylens had their own systems of rank.”

I’d like to know what it is.

It’s very interesting that philosophy and history are feminine arts and yet the merchant is still trying to sell Shallan on a romance novel

I wonder if Yalb still has his drawing. It was probably ruined so that sucks.

“There, she used all her remaining sphere to fill of all nine colors and all three sizes.”

Hmmmmmmmm. Nine and three. Interesting

“Then he’d have someone to talk to in Damnation. They could reminisce about how terrible Bridge Four had been, and agree that eternal fires were much more pleasant.”

K…Kaladin please don’t joke about that.

“His ways were odd—though Lirin made certain that his son didn’t mix up the Heralds and the Lost Radiants, Kal had heard his father say that he thought the Voidbringers weren’t real. Ridiculous.”

RIP

“He reached the base of the slop, wind-driven rain pelting his face as if trying to shove him back toward the camp.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“She looked exhausted. ‘These things are heavy!’ She lifted the leaf. ‘I brought it for you!’”

I love her so much I could cry.

Szeth is a dark eyed.

We need to get the void sphere back.

“It was fairly ordinary, a simple piece of rock with a few quartz crystals set into it and a rusty vein of iron on one side.”

Iron.

“‘Today,’ King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, ‘is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn’t you say’”

Owwwwwwwwww my heart

“One might say that gods, as a rule, should fear the Althei nobility. Most of us at least.”

Y’know…Sadeas has a point

Actually they should probably fear Taravangian.

Sadeas wears red plate. I always imagine him in green.

Shardplate is naturally slate gray. I wonder if it’s the same color as what your limbs go if they’re cut by a shardblade. Hmmmm.

“Adolin found himself wishing, passionately, that his father would do a little more these days to live up to that reputation.”

Adolin, sweet pie, NO

I miss Elhokar so much

Also the Thrill of Contest, that’s interesting.

“I felt like a youth again, chasing after your father on some ridiculous challenge.”

Dalinar, we all know that it was Gavilar chasing you

“There was someone watching me in the darkness that night.”

My poor baby…

“‘I defy you, creature!’ Elhokar screamed. ‘I claim your life! They will see their gods crushed, just as they will see their king dead at my feet! I defy you!’”

Elhokar…

“Adolin—stalwart as always—had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin.”

Hmmmm, Adolin v 4 is becoming a pattern.

“Dalinar should have been there to defend him. Only two things remained of his beloved brother, two things that Dalinar could protect in a hope to earn some form of redemption: Gavilar’s kingdom and Gavilar’s son.”

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say.”

It has been ten years and I still have no idea what this means.

“Kaladin punched Moash right in the gut, where he knew it would wind him. Moash gasped in shock, doubling over, and Kaladin stepped forward to grab him by the legs, slinging Moash over his shoulder.”

Ahhhhh I could read this paragraph over and over again.

“He worked himself ragged. In fact, he felt close to collapsing several times, but every time he did, he found a reserve of strength from somewhere.”

I wonder where.

“Rockbuds had opened nearby, their vines reaching out to lap up the beast’s blood.”

Gross.

Insult his son and the Blackthorn will peek through

“I had…things to be about.”

I don’t like the way Wit said that.

“You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of both of us?”

That is a very interesting line for Wit to say…Also concerning. Wit what are you up to?

It’s very interesting that without Sadeas and Gavilar, Dalinar has to learn how to be a politician. It’s clear that both men maneuver others while Dalinar is blunt force. Good character development, I really love it as a political scientist.

“Brother, follow the Codes tonight. There is something strange upon the winds.”

Hmmmmmmmmm, I think Gavilar was planning his death.

“We’d protect Gavilar’s son. No matter what the cost, no matter what other things came between us, we would protect Elhokar.”

…Would…Elhokar have died if Sadeas was still alive?

“The book was used by the Radiants as a kind of guidebook, a book of counsel on how to live their lives.”

That…something that I forgot. Dalinar maybe you should have some required reading in your Radiant generation.

It’s interesting that Shardplate and Rsyhadium have no problem with humans using them but shardblades do.

“Dalinar was shocked that he could remember the story word for word,”

Hmmmmmm

“Could he train himself out of freezing in battle like that?”

End me.

“You sure he’s not decayspren wearing a man’s skin?”

S…Syl…is that a problem we have to deal with?

“They break the land itself! They want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!”

The…humans?

“‘Hm,’ he said. ‘Yes. We’ll be getting right to that soon. It’ll be grand. Lots of prancing, sauntering, and er…’

‘Promenading?’ Yis the leatherworker offered.

‘Isn’t that a type of drink?’ Adolin asked.

‘Er, no, Brightlord. I’m fairly certain it’s another word for walking.’

‘Well, then,’ Adolin said. ‘We’ll do plenty of it too. Promenading. I always love a good promenading.’”

He and Shallan are truly made for each other.

“Highprince Aladar has begun to talk of taking a short vacation back to Althekar. I want to know if he’s serious.”

Oh?

It’s very interesting how Gavilar after death is portrayed as having grown weak and yet there’s so much reverence for him.

Three gods, huh?

It’s interesting that Dalinar can feel the thrill in these visions.

“It was a topaz entwined with a heliodor, both set into a fine metal framework, each stone as big as a man’s hand.”

Is that some kind of fabrial? Is she an edgedancer/truthwatcher? She seemed to have Stoneward shardplate. How confusing. I guess she could have borrowed Shardplate.

DABBID MY SON!

“‘Next time it could be you!’ he called. ‘What will you do if you’re the one that needs healing?’

‘I’ll die.’ Moash said, not even bothering to look back. ‘Out on the field, quickly, rather than back here over a week’s time.’”

Oh that would be so unfortunate.

REREADING THIS BOOK WITH THE TEFT SECTIONS OH OHHHHHHHHH BOY SUFFERING. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE

“I was under the impression that you were going to aid the queen in protecting the king’s interests in Alethkar.”

That is interesting to think about. What would have happened in Navani had stayed in Alethkar? Did the Unmade compel Navani to go? Or would she have been under the influence of the Unmade?

“I have determined that the queen is sufficiently endowed with the requisite skills needed to hold Alethkar.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh

“‘Well, I suppose that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I kind of trust Sadeas.’”

Interesting. Also my son, my love, Elhokar...you are so dumb.

“‘You still argue he isn’t a bad king?’ Navani whispered. ‘My poor, distracted, oblivious boy.’”

HE COULD HAVE BEEN GREAT

Ishar is the herald of luck?

WAIT ROION! TURTLE MAN! My baby!

My god I sometimes forget that Dalinar has no fucking chill and no impulse control.

“The Almighty himself depended on the Alethi to train themselves in honorable battle so that when they died, they could join the Heralds’ army and win back the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is that…Honor’s influence or Odium’s? Or has Odium corrupted this idea? Because judging by Rhythm of War, Odium’s end goal was to raise an army from Roshar and then send them across the Cosmere.

“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate.”

Whaaaaaat? You Dalinar. Pffttttt Noooooo. Pfffftttttt.

“‘He is well, though you presence here is sorely missed. I’m certain he could use your counsel. He is relying heavily on Brightness Lalai to act as clerk.’

Perhaps that would make Jasnah return. There was little love lost between herself and Sadeas’s cousin, who was the king’s head scribe in he queen’s absence.”

First, there’s another Sadeas we must deal with besides Sadeas’s nephew that I’m sure will be around in arc 2. Second, interesting wonder where that drama stems from.

“They may be a little too stable. The world is changing outside, but the Shin seem determined to remain the same.”

Hmmmmmmmmmm

“Gavarah hadn’t reached her twentieth Weeping when she proposed the theory of the three realms.”

WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA. Lemme hear this theory, my dude.

“He reminds me of my uncle Dalinar. Earnest, sincere, concerned.” “We could do with more men like Taravangian,”

I…mmm….aw man…I…that’ll be a yikes for me.

“He found a half-finished bridge. It had eventually grown out of that one plank Kaladin had used.”

ASODFKJSLDFJSLDF JUST LIKE THE FOURTH BRIDGE

“Had something moved in the darkness?”

His spren?

“‘Roshone lets them know he finds them contemptible. And so they scramble to please him.

‘That makes no sense,’ Kal said.

‘It is the way of things,’ Lirin said, playing with one of the spheres on the table, rolling it beneath his fingers. ‘You’ll have to learn this, Kal. When men perceive the world as being right, we are content. But if we see a hole—a deficiency—we scramble to fill it.”

This feels like how Lirin is acting in Rhythm of War.

Y’know it really makes sense why Kabsal would be working for Thaidakar.

Is…Kabsal attempting to get Shallan to join the Ghostbloods? Rhythm of War makes me wonder how honest Kabsal was towards Shallan. Yeah, Jasnah thought Kabsal was just manipulating her but she didn’t say how she knew this.

“He smiled, then drew the bow across the edge of the metal plate, making it vibrate. The sand hopped and bounced, like tiny insects dropped onto something hot.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is called cymatics. The study of pattern that sounds make when interactive with a physical medium.’

As he drew the bow again, the plate made a sound, almost a pure note. It was actually enough to draw a single music spren, which spun for a moment in the air above him, then vanished. Kabsal finished, then gestured to the plate with a flourish.”

Well, Rhythm of War certainly made this more interesting.

“Bridgemen aren’t supposed to survive. There’s something about that. He wouldn’t be able to ask Lamaril. That man had gotten what he deserved, though. If Kaladin had the ability to choose, such would be the end of all lighteyes, the king included.

Your inner Moash is showing.

“I want you to go back into the barrack and tell the men to come out after the storm. Tell them to look up at me tied here. Tell them I’ll open my eyes and look back at them, and they’ll know that I survived.”

No wonder a religion might be forming around Kaladin.

“Teft lingered too, as if thinking to spend the storm with Kaladin. He eventually shook his head, muttering and joined the others. Kaladin thought he heard the man calling himself a coward.”—Page 517

Brandon Sanderson, leave me the fuck alone.

“‘Taking the Dawnsahrds, known to bind any creature voidish or mortal, he crawled up the steps crafted for Heralds, ten strides tall apiece, toward the grand temple above.’—From The Poem of Ista. I have found no modern explanation of what these ‘Dawnshards’ are. They seem ignored by scholars, though talk of them was obviously prevalent among those recording the early mythologies.”—Page 524

Wait…who’s he? And aw man this becomes more relevant in a few years.

“‘Then you’re not a murderer,’ Kaladin said.

‘Not for want of trying.’ Sigzil eyes grew distant. ‘I thought for certain I succeeded. It was not the wisest choice I made. My master…’

‘Is he the one you tried to kill?’

‘No.’”

We need some backstory.

Marabethia sounds similar to Twitter.

“It claimed that humming of all things, could make a Soulcasting more effective.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren by the Almighty to care for humans once were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is…that right?

“‘We believe that the Voidbringers were real, Shallan. A scourge and plague.. A hundred times they came upon mankind. First casting us from the Tanquiline Halls, then trying to destroy us here on Roshar. They weren’t just spren that hid under rocks, then came out to steal someone’s laundry. They were creatures of terrible destructive power, forged in Damnation creature from hate.’

‘By whom?’ Shallan asked.

‘What?’

‘Who made them? I mean, the Almighty wasn’t likely to have ‘created something from hate.’ So what made them?’

‘Everything has its opposite, Shallan. The Almighty is a force of good. To balance his goodness, the cosmere needed the Voidbringers as his opposite.’”—Pages 634-635

Thaidakar’s reveal really makes Kabsal a more…suspicious character. Like how much does he actually know? How much does Thaidakar actually know? Also, I don’t know if Odium is the opposite of Honor. I guess we’d need all 16 shards names to compare.

“A city where people lived in gigantic, hollowed out stalactites hanging beneath a titanic sheltered ridge.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

“‘I doubt many would disagree. But I mention these horrors for a purpose. You see, it has been my experience that no matter where you go, you will find some who abuse their power.’ He shrugged. ‘Eye color is not so odd a method, compared to many others I have seen. If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.’

Kaladin nodded slowly, but Moash shook his head. ‘No I’d change the world, Sigzil. And I mean to.’”

Hmmm, yeah that didn’t exactly work out.

“‘That makes you wiser, presumably?’

‘Damnation no,’ Teft said. ‘The only thing it proves is that I’ve more experience staying alive than you.’”

Brandon. Leave. Me. Alone.

“Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. ‘He watches!’ the boy hissed. ‘The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm…playing a tune that no man can hear!’”—Page 671

Is…is that a reference to El?

“I’m sorry I drove you to suicide. Here’s some bread.”

How people on this website think Moash’s redemption arch is gonna go.

“‘…why Thaidakar would risk this?’ Amaram was saying, speaking in a soft voice. ‘But who else would it be? The Ghostbloos grow more bold.’”—Page 701

Jasnah was complaining last chapter how she hates being wrong but she was wrong about Shallan’s intentions and that Amaram is not as smart as he seems. Yeah, he’s wrong about who sent the shardbearer to kill him but if I was in the cosmere and someone tried to kill me, I would assume it was Thaidakar. On that note, holy fuck, I need to know what conversation prompted both Gavilar and Amaram to assume that someone trying to kill them had to be Thaidakar. I really hope that Gavilar’s pov is next for KOWT for his death so maybe we could get a conversation where they talk to Thaidakar through cube skype or maybe this avatar (whatever the hell that means.) God Rhythm of War makes this scene so much funnier.

“You’d have changed your mind. In a day or two, you’d have wanted the wealth and prestige—otehrs would have convinced you of it. You’d have demanded that I return them to you. It took hours to decide, but Restares is right—this is what must be done. For the good of Alethkar.”—Page 703

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—this is why we reread—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Kaladin is going to have some words with Restares.

What happened to Baxil and Av?

?????????????????????????? Why do these two Ardents know about the Physical/Cognitive/Spiritual realm?

“Eight weeks? Forty days of winter at once? That war rare.”—Page 728

Did the weather used to be more consistent on Roshar?

Oh god Rhythm of War has made the Recreance so hard to read.

“If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite.”—Page 741

A hypocrite is a just a man changing or something. I forget the quote.

“Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”—Page 753

“And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim.”—Page 754

Look at the foreshadowing.

“‘Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.’

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more religion. ‘Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?’

The ardent smiled. ‘We will speak with you again.’ He bowed low and withdrew.”—Pages 756-757

OKAY AT FIRST I THOUGHT THIS WAS FUNNY BECAUSE THE ARDENTS GET VERY MIFFED AT DALINAR IN OATHBRINGER BUT “we” HOLY SHIT THAT’S ONE OF BUG PEOPLE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I can imagine why this bug man wants his goodwill because they’re pretty sure he’ll destroy them.

“‘This thing will not happen,’ Rock said. ‘Is impossible to get sphere out of the chasms.’

‘We could swallow them,’ Moash said.

‘You would choke. Spheres are too big, eh?’

‘I’ll better I could do it,’ Moash said. His eyes glittering, reflecting the verdant Stormlight. ‘That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. It’s worth the risk.’”—Page 766

I swear to god, one of these days Moash is going to swallow a sphere.

“You call him the Stormfather, here in Alethkar.”

So people in Alethkar think that Jezerin and the Stormfather are the same person?

“Light grows so distant. The storm never stops. I am broken, and all around me have died. I weep for the end of all things. He has won. Oh, he has beaten us.”

O…Oh man, I hope this isn’t foreshadowing for KOWT.

“We should have expected this, Dalinar thought. We started bringing two armies to a plateau, so they have done the same.”—Page 781

Interesting that Kaladin thought about this when fighting the Fused by Dalinar didn’t fighting the Listeners

“When other men failed, a field of crops got worms in them. When a surgeon failed someone died.”

Well…if your crops fail then you could very much cause a town to starve to death.

“Though there was one thing he clung to. An excuse, perhaps, like the dead emperor. It was the soul of the wretch. Apathy. The belief that nothing was his fault, the belief that he couldn’t change anything. If a man was cursed, or believe he didn’t have to care, then he didn’t need to hurt when he failed. Those failures couldn’t have been prevented. Someone or something else had ordained them.”

Those are some fucking foils right there.

“They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their face in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…”

Babbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbby

“I wish to sleep. I know now why you do what you do, and I hate you for it. I will not speak of the truths I see.”

The sibling?

“I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.”—Page 881

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

LISTEN I KNOW ELHOKAR IS AN IDIOT BUT HE’S MY IDIOT

“The further you look, the more pieces that wind breaks into.”—Page 995

That’s interesting

“A champion could work well for you, but it is not certain. And…without the Dawnshards…”—Page 997

Well, we’ll see how Rysn plays into this.

[vanityloves]

🎫 here's a gush pass! feel free to gush about whichever f/o you want, however much you want, then send this ask to 3 other selfshippers!

oh man, thank you jsjsj ive gotten a few of these but ive been too anxious to actually go off ab my f/o but, lets fucking gooooo!

can i talk ab the actual animation of the source material is that allowed?

they gave us this but we ended up with

WHICH LISTEN- I enjoy n love regardless. I just find the contrasts in phases fascinating and funny. I loved his appearance in phases 1 and 2; what a fucking iconic character design. The animation is so endearing and amazing- the thicker lines, the fluidity, the range. Like the first gif that shows the vibrations of the vehicle in his shoulders/shirt? The simplistic art style was nice and even if hes Hard On The Eyes, I'm like 🥴 ok ugly ❤.

Not like the newer mvs are any less quality content - its nice to see the use of thick and thinner lines and there's definitely a different feel to it - more child friendly or easy going? Idk how to explain it. Murdoc as a character is still very, Not Child Friendly, and Im always like :cursed emoji: when someone says that their 14 year old watches their videos like help, his dick is out in at least 3 dif vids (censored ofc but man).

They definitely lost me after the 4th phase though and many people argue that the band/music lost its meaning, which i can honestly agree with (esp when they didnt name officially name 4, 5 and 6. Im p sure ppl refer to 4 as We Are Still Humanz).

I was never an avid/active fan of keeping up with the characters and didnt really think they had any story anyways, i was like "feel good inc is sexy. melancholy hill's a banger" so honestly, finding out that these apes actually have lore was fun.

Murdoc being the given this tragic backstory made my eyes Zoom, and ofc I was like "oh youre funny looking and sad. I want you ♡." In a weird way, I take a lot of comfort that 'we both have shit parents' and 'no one really thought we'd amount to anything'. to be fair, i haven't accomplished anything yet, and even if hes a bunch of pixels who i know doesnt really exist, its kind of motivating bc he never gave up? A literal quote from him being "If there’s a dream in your heart, never let anyone tell you you’ve got no talent. Get out there, embarrass yourself, and prove to the world you’ve got no talent." With how many failures hes faced he never stopped trying to prove himself worthy of attention and fame and love, which is ambitious and kind of intimidating with how much confidnece he has.

Hes a complete bastard of a man and not even close to being a good person. He's definitely complicated but can be boiled down to "just an abusive asshole", which, hey, fair. I hate the way he treats 2D, its so toxic and terrible. Honestly, its inexcusable and he needs to apologize, grow and learn a LOT and god knows he needs therapy.

I think the most tragic thing ab his character is that he basically ended up like his father and to some extent, he acknowledges it. His bad habits and behaviors stem from abuse and neglect which doesnt excuse his actions but, "man hands on misery to man." I feel like theres a haunting part to his whole life - we don't know much about his mother and brother but from assuming things, I know they weren't innocent, clean, or soft spoken, let alone, kind. I think he has a "It runs in the family" mentality and gives into it bc there's no use in running from something so deeply engraved within him.

But as a man of contradiction, hes shown to care, despite "hating everything, including himself". To be short, his father was a failure and a man thats never worked for his own money, so he contradicts that and escapes that part of 'failure running in the family' by forming Gorillaz. I do think theres something way more ab his character in that regard. I think theres a lot that he needs to work on but he's escaped a part of that mindset, and his 'Plastic Beach'. I wonder what theyre gonna do with valley of the pagans thing.

I guess as a band, theyre not gonna show a lot of "behind the scenes" stuff like that. We wont know if he ever gets help, or apologizes, or even feels sorry - its up to us to decide which is a safe game to play on Their Behalf.

People are upset that hes actually cleaned up a bit and is shown to be nicer bc they miss having that disgusting, cruel man which again, I understand. He has always been the antagonist to the entire band. But as someone that likes to see people happier n mellow (or, boring) rather than doing shit and compensating for their depression, its nice to see that type of development (or downgrade, depending on how you see it).

This could be Their (read: jamie and damon) way of being lazy by making him 'mellow out w/ age' or whatever it is. It definitely seems to woobify his character and intentions but well, His Main Goal, Was To Blow Up. And Act Like He Dont Know Nobodaaayyy argargarg and guess what? He's already made it- he's successful, he's rich, he's famous, he's adored. Now what? Maybe this is just his way of taking it easy from here on out - who knows.

Gorillaz definitely took a turn after all the brand deals so it lost its meaning (since one of the phases had a 'fuck capitalism' message) and with that, Murdoc is no longer allowed to be the stank bitch hes was always meant to be, no more obvious sex and drugs, for the new gen 🥴 ironically a lot of songs 'today' are always complained ab being ab sex, drugs, and whatever, but they def needed to step on the breaks when Money/Companies got involved. So here we have The Wigglez 😌💕

ANYWAYS, I LOVE HIM LOTS, HAVING MANY THOUGHTS

[warlock-enthusiast]

Toss a coin to your Blood Hunter

the ever generous @kasiael bought far too many coffees on ko-fi :P and will receive some stories during this year and probably the next.

She asked for the first meeting of two D&D npcs!

Fandom: Dungeons&Dragons homebrew campaign / Hella x Zaos

Rating: M (light gore, strong language)

------

She was in deep shit.

Really, really deep, supernatural shit.

Hella hid behind some debris, hoping that the ghouls wouldn’t catch her scent.

Why had she managed to maneuver herself into such a tight corner? She should’ve waited for reinforcements. Some more members of their Blood Hunter order, ready to fight at her side. 

Of course, she was young, barely 20, and a bit too arrogant, and she knew about that, but she also showed remarkable skills and control of her growing powers, so this should have been a standard job. 

Her mentor Alarik surely would yell at her for acting brash and without thinking and make her read through volumes of monster lore with the idea of boring her to death.

Well, if she survived.

Death by ghouls or by books. Well, tough choice. 

Right now the group of ghouls had followed her scent through some old, elven ruins. Lush and overgrown with greenery and flowers it seemed like a relic of better times. Nowadays frost covered most of her homeland. Was this place an old temple? Hella had sketched some of the runes and statues earlier, hoping that a wiser Bloodhunter could make sense of them. 

All Hella understood were words about a forgotten, smaller deity granting blessings for a good hunt.

How ironic.

But some rich merchant had paid them a handsome sum to keep his business routes safe. Hella guessed that that guy wasn’t the brightest or most experienced. Dertona itself offered less safety and more snow, ice and gruesome nature combined with ancient monstrosities. Any merchant would be advised to settle down in the south, maybe near Ebrus. 

Dertona never rewarded the soft or weak.

A ghoul growled and grunted right next to her. 

“Fuck.” 

Hella closed her eyes, wondering if she should let go and unleash her inner beast. Trust her inner monster to defeat other monsters. She’d been bitten two years ago and still faced problems controlling herself in wolf form, indulging a lust for blood and flesh. If everything went wrong, she’d slaughter the nearby village men by men. 

She couldn’t risk hurting innocent people.

No. Hella pressed her lips together, suppressing another memory of slain people. 

“Concentrate, breathe.”

Fleeing didn’t appear to be an option, neither did wolfing out. That left some bottles of alchemistic fire and her trusty swords. 

Better fight them then. Night would soon cover everything in darkness, which only granted them more of an advantage. 

“Need help?” A smooth voice cut through her thoughts and Hella flinched, cursing herself for not monitoring her surroundings. Quickly, she drew one of her swords and craned her neck to find an … elf?

Standing just above her, seemingly not a care in the world, features handsome and delicate. “What? Who… what?” “Just a simple elf, wandering around and helping ladies in dire need.” He inched closer and Hella smelled herbs and salt on his clothing and skin. Elves were known for their sneaking skills, though it still amazed Hella how he’d manage to get close to her without alarming some ghouls. 

Hella threw a bottle of holy water into his general direction.

It exploded against his chest, covering him in pieces of glass.

“Eh?” “Just making sure you’re not one of them.”

He had the audacity to smile. “I’m not.”

“Fantastic. Then help me please.”

The strange elf nodded and grabbed her hand. He seemed stronger than his lithe build implied and pulled her to her feet. Never say no to a potential ally, as Alarik would say. Not to mention her own desperation at her less than stellar prospects. 

Their combined motions attracted their enemies. A whole pack of fleshy, undead beasts, ready to tore their throats out and to eat their guts. 

“Here they come.” Hella raised her swords, closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her heartbeat slow and steady. Every mistake meant certain death and failure. 

And she wasn’t born for failure. 

The first attacker died quickly, sliced in half by her blade.

Her new ally preferred using a bow and killed the second with two arrows. He showed fantastic marksmanship and took position on some old stones. His steady aim helped keep some of the ghouls at a distance. 

Hella never lost footing but pushed and sliced and relied on her years of training. Blood soaked the ground. 

With him at her back, Hella found new confidence, a new focus flowing through her veins. Almost as if magic surrounded them both, vanquishing all her tiredness and somber thoughts. 

She caught the elf’s gaze. “Only a few left.”

“After you!”

Hella used her own blood to further strengthen her strikes, cutting her skin above her wrists. Drops of blood danced on her swords as she killed another one. 

One of them broke through. He collided with Hella, sending her straight on her backside, while moving far too close to the elf. Claws cut through leather and skin and the elf used a hidden knife to push it through its skull.

He patted the dead ghoul’s head. “Ouch. Not nice.”

“You’re okay?” “I think so. Just a nasty scratch.”

“And your back?” “It’s fine.”

The elf raised the corners of his mouth and inspected their fallen attackers. Some of his arrows seemed to be intact and he started to collect them. 

With their enemies dead, Hella took a moment to inspect her unlikely saviour. Tall and slender with dark, longish hair and very grey eyes he looked so out of place and more suited to the crystal city down south. Not to mention that his tan skin spoke of other regions too. 

Hella coughed to hide her staring and offered him a handshake. “Ah, thank the Gods. What is your name?” “Zaos.” Unfathed by her inspection, he nodded and took her hand in his. 

“Glad to have met you.”

Zaos laughed and it echoed through the ruins. “I’m sure it’s a pleasure.” 

What an arrogant prick. Hella moved a few steps away to clean her swords, trying to sound casual, while also luring him into sharing information. “And you from around here?” “Yeah, here and there. I don’t exactly have a home?” His eyes wandered to the sky. “Not any more, so I prefer the road to actually settling down. I keep meeting interesting people.” “I see.” Hella furrowed her brow. “A mystery then.”

Zaos smiled, eyes too bright. “A riddle, if you will.”

So, he wouldn’t share his story yet. Maybe he belonged to the forest and was a hidden beast as well? Or a part of the Feywild, which bled into her world from time to time. 

Would alcohol loosen his tongue? Trying to get more information couldn’t hurt and he wasn’t hard to look at, which came as a bonus.  

Hella patted his shoulder. “Care for some wine?” “Is this an invitation?” “Yes, follow me to my camp and have some wine with me. I can take a look at that scratch mark and hopefully you won’t murder me in my sleep.”

“I’d be grateful and don’t worry. In general, I don’t murder people in their sleep. I wait for them to wake up.”

Hella snorted. “Haha.” “Lead the way.” Zaos bowed and something in his eyes reminded her of a wolf. 

[rj-anderson]

Why I Write About Faeries

I went to look up this essay tonight and found that the page where it was originally posted had been deleted, so I dug it out of my e-mails so I’d have a copy of it SOMEWHERE on the web that I could link to. Here it is, slightly revised and updated from its original format:

The Beautiful Other: or, Why I Write About Faeries

When @shvetathakrar​ asked me to participate in her “Three Days of Fey” blog series, I was delighted to accept. But what to talk about? So much has been said about faeries already, by authors far more dedicated to and knowledgeable about the subject. Did I really have anything new to add?

But then I looked back at some of the previous posts by other faery book authors, and realized that I might be coming at this topic from a rather different angle after all.

You see, what interests me about faeries, or at least what led me to write my own faery book, is not their immortality, or their unearthly beauty, or their power, or their inhuman cruelty and caprice. All those elements are certainly present in the lore about faeries, and other authors have written compelling books based on those faery traits. But I wasn't interested in exploring what faeries are and have, so much as what they aren't and haven't.

As a child and teenager, most of the faery-related stories I read were about humans being charmed or abducted or otherwise drawn into contact with faeries, and the faeries were seen through a very mystical lens as these beautiful, dangerous Others. I'd also seen faeries portrayed as frivolous, silly creatures, like Tinker Bell. But they always seemed to be viewed from the outside, through human eyes, and I found myself wondering about the faery's perspective. How might the human world, with all the aspects of daily life we take for granted, appear to a faery who'd never seen it before?

The more I thought about this idea, the more I liked it. I was especially drawn to the possibility that faeries might be just as fearful of, and fascinated by, humans as humans have traditionally been of them. What would the first encounter with a human being be like for a faery? What would she find shocking, or frightening, or enticing about us?

Obviously the idea of faeries being afraid of humans is easier to understand if there's a size difference, so I quickly settled on the idea of writing about small, winged faeries in the Victorian mold (though the idea of faeries as tiny humans with wings didn't actually start with the Victorians: as Melissa Marr has pointed out, you can find something similar in the Welsh legends of the Ellylon). But small faeries can easily come across as twee, and I didn't want that. So as an antidote I decided my faery heroine would be dangerous in a purely physical sense: not some delicate child-woman dressed in gossamer and flitting about on butterfly wings, but a fierce, deadly assassin who could maneuver like a fighter jet, and take on enemies twice or three times her size.

But here the logical part of my brain raised an objection. Why would a faery need to develop those kinds of fighting skills if she could just as easily defeat her enemies with magic? The answer was, of course, to remove the magic. Which then handily supplied me with one of the most important elements of the plot, as my heroine sets out to discover what happened to her people's lost magic and try to get it back.

Even so, I didn't just want to write a story about vulnerable little faeries vs. scary giant humans. Somehow my heroine's natural fear and hostility toward a potential predator had to develop over the course of the story into a powerful attraction, similar to the allure that Faeryland and its inhabitants have traditionally held for humanity. And here I found that far from having to turn the old fairy tales on their head, my ideas were actually confirmed by them. Time and again in the folk tales we find out that the beauties of Faeryland are only an illusion, that its riches turn into withered leaves by the light of day, or even that the faeries themselves are hollow inside. The ordinary world, for all its flaws, is far more meaningful and real, and the human traveler enticed away by the faeries eventually finds himself longing for home.

So ultimately, Knife and its sequels Rebel and Arrow are not about the perilous beauties of some enticing magical realm and its inhabitants so much as about finding the magic and the wonder in our own human world – discovering, in essence, that we are the Beautiful Other. Which is not to say that our existence in this life is idyllic, or anything like it. But there's a dignity and value in being human, "made in the image of God" as the Bible puts it, that's worth celebrating, even though as humans we often fail to appreciate that and yearn for immortality, or stunning beauty, or magical power, or all the other kinds of things that faeries represent to us.

I couldn't have explored that idea nearly as effectively through the eyes of a vampire or a werewolf or a zombie or a ghost, because all of those creatures were once human themselves, and the human world comes as no surprise to them. My heroine needed to be from a race similar enough to humans to be plausibly interested in them, yet different enough to see them through fresh and wondering eyes.

And that's why I write about faeries.

[mousehole5000]

okay im rewriting tgcf (only in my head im lazy) here are my notes on hua/lian specifically this is long bc fuck it. major spoilers obviously and same trigger warnings as the content of the book

disclaimer disclaimer disclaimer that i dont know anything about the cultural background of anything in tgcf or story tropes etc etc this is just I Think It Would Be Neat If..

there’s not really any reason to keep hc as a kid in the backstory BUT in the story in the intro (which i like narratively) it still says that it was a child who xie lian caught. it’s one of those things that got added to the legend to make xie lian seem even more noble, there are also probably a few other inaccuracies in the intro that get found out as the story progresses. in actuality hc was kind of a known troublemaker to the city guards or whatever or had been in the past. maybe his mother just passed after a long illness and his tumble off the wall was intentional. either way he’s kind of pissed at xie lian for saving him. xie lian is concerned about his health so he has to stay at the palace for a while he recovers and only interacts with xie lian a few times. there is a point where he says out loud all the things about the divide between the rich and the poor that have been illustrated by the scenes with mu qing. feng xin tells him to shut up but mq goes dead silent bc he kind of agrees but can’t say and does have his loyalty to xie lian (its a whole thing) and the resentment begins

also i think young hc’s personality is similar to his personality in the present but a bit more reserved and he’s got like this plucky streak or something. also he is unquestionably gay

anyway hc sneaks out of the palace and xie lian catches him obviously but they have a brief little heart to heart where xie lian is like “look you can go if you want here take this money food” etc and demonstrates that he has actually listened to what hc has to say and hc is like “wow no one other than my mom has ever listened to me in my life so thats what that feels like i kind of like it” and he probably is a bit awestruck by xie lian in different ways and after that is like “okay this kingdom sucks but.. that guys not so bad”

sad ironic sense that if xie lian hadnt ascended until he was older he may have actually be able to do something about the problems in the kindgom but alas we have a cycle to perpetuate

the “take me as the meaning of your life” scene still happens p much the same but xl doesnt recognize hc who is actually now at his lowest point. hc tried to find ways to make things better for people like him but he simply did not succeed (maybe his were efforts quashed by the corrupt authorities? its implied probably) and he’s more disillusioned with the kingdom and life than ever but still is holding on to those memories of xie lian as proof that it doesnt have to be like this but that thread is slipping until!! whose fucking voice is that??? thats right its the one person you ever believed was truly good and went and proved you right by ascending to the heavens at age 17!!! guess its time to stan him forever

anyway hc joins the army but legally or whatever and tbh i would have hated the flower cave scene regardless of anything i just hate any sort of s*x pollen trope or anything so thats gone (they can have a wound tending scene or something tho thats the good shit) and instead we have HL getting overwhelmed by some other demons or something together and xie lian protects hc and they both get injured very badly (maybe hc would lose a limb but im not sure how that would work once hes a ghost so thats on hold for now until i figure it out) and xl is fine but this situation ends up being part of why mq kicks hc out of the army but yes hc still ends up dying on the battlefield anyway </3

the wuming stuff is the same i think but also at some point xl is despairing and says something about that guy he saved from falling and wonders what happened to him and fire ghost wuming is like !!!!! (wait does this happen in canon? honestly it should)

in mount tong’lu i was tempted to actually have hc have a similar moment to the bamboo hat scene with the humans who are trapped in there but im not sure if i just want it to be the same as xie lian’s story... also i like the idea of hc needing to hang onto his devotion to get through his first few centuries of being a ghost so maybe he’s just inspired by xie lian’s sacrifice with the sword and the souls and thats why he claws his own eye out as a sacrifice

so this can go one of two ways from here!!! both are me projecting hardcore so take them with a grain of salt im not saying im right about the way relationships should be these a re just my thoughts <3

1. (the not fun one but it still has a happy ending) the story more or less continues the same as canon. pure and simple devotion is what carries hc through the centuries. we get to see some ghost city antics and its fun but there is nothing complicated about the devotion hc just wants to find xl and protect him. hualian eventually meet. they get along pretty well!! eventually there are cracks. when you hold someone in your mind for so long you have expectations for them that no person can meet consistently. hc thinks that since he’s seen xl during the worst time in his life that he can handle anything but it turns out that as amazing as xl is, he is also just a person and sometimes he is wrong or irrational or annoying. xl is so happy to have someone who will listen to him talk that he kind of neglects to really get to know who hc is as a person and hc is kind of like “huh i didnt expect this but im kind of hurt. i genuinely thought that i just wanted to serve and protect you but actually im my own person and this is weird” but he doesnt say anything he thinks he has to stick to his promise and it gets kind of uncomfortable!! maybe his luck goes haywire bc his faith gets rocked for the first time ever and they end up having to talk it out but their relationship is stronger for it <3

2. (i think this one is fun) hc struggles with waiting. he does it but its hard. he has doubts and when all his efforts to find xl are fruitless he starts to grow bitter and curses the day that xl saved him. his faith burns low but doesnt go out. then ghost city!! hc realizes that he can finally help people like him, even if theyre ghosts now and hes grateful for the chance to do this and grateful to xl and resigns himself to waiting. but its still hard!! he realizes that his luck is tied to his devotion and gets kind of pissed about it!!! he tries to remember all the good things about xl but its hard!!! his search becomes more about repaying a debt so he can be free than anything else, he just wants to help the common people spirits with no strings attached (this actually allows him to keep his luck bc he has the same wish as xl and thats what makes him a true believer!! is this corny? does it make sense? i dont care) and so eventually when he finds xl he’s like okay how quickly can i repay this debt/how can i keep my powers but then xie lian is... so good... and hc actually really likes him he remembers why he swore his devotion in the first place. now hes conflicted!!! dont worry they fall in love tho <3

wow this was really long if you read this hiiiii. anyway when i reread ill try to pay more attention to yin yu and he xuan for hc’s 800 years. hua cheng we’re gonna get you some friends and lore i swear to god