#he loves her more than the beliefs he was indoctrinated in and lived and breathed for years AND I'M CRAZY ABOUT IT

[demacianbrawn]

❛ you could try not getting so beat up for a change. ❜ it's given in a playful manner. muscles relay true feeling, hesitation, uncertainty. an apologetic nature belying the happiness she portrays, smile remains even slightly. content if only to see her brother for a little while. i'm sorry she wants to say & it lingers, wanting everything but to have left another chip in his armor.

a breath is caught as she fights back emotions, brows furrowing as she buries herself into a hug. even if he were to throw her away, he's always been her protector she wouldn't blame him. she doesn't think she'd be upset at all if he held her accountable for everything. ❛ or get bigger armor, i think the pauldrons aren't making your head look small enough. ❜

If Garen could squint they could still be children, how often had he come home battered up and bruised from practice swordplay? A game that got out of hand? Falling out of a tree? It was a vital skill for all soldiers to learn to clean and care for wounds and it was something he had done since he was a mere lad, sitting on a plush stool in one of the rooms of home, bandaging up a cut on his leg or soothing a warm cloth over a bruised and dirty shoulder. Lux had been present for a lot of these moments, sitting by his side or making idle chatter, her tone of voice whisking away to questions about his adventures and if the cut on his leg hurt a lot or just a little.

His armor was long gone, stripped away to better access his injuries. He felt naked without the physical protection, and even more bare from the mental sort. Garen couldn't wear that armor where Lux was concerned, and it seemed even more apparent when he could read the slightest emotion on her face, the barely noticeable hitch in her tone. His usual stoic veil could melt away in an instant every time he noticed every moment her heart ached from where it was worn on her sleeve.

There's a similar hollow hitch in his throat once she falls into his arms, her playful jabs only making him feel guiltier. A better brother would have been more open, more honest years ago. He wouldn't have hidden behind his twisted sort of justice that he clung too for perseverance. They were a proud and strong willed family and yet there were cracks beneath the smooth stone surface of their lives, not unlike the patricide that lined the halls of their country.

The terrorizing fear he felt whenever magic was unleashed near him, a spark he had to get over every time was nothing compared to the hurt and hollowness etched onto Lux's face that only grew at she got older. A monster was he that he ever allowed her to become so lonely in the parts of her that made her shine so damned brightly.

Garen wraps his arms tighter around her, a deep scoff of amusement his only initial response as he ignored the screaming of his bruised ribs. " It's supposed to be a joke. When I wear my armor my head is small, but every other time people call me a blockhead because it's big. I can't win. " His dry response and an attempt to lighten the mood doesn't last, even as he pulls back to offer her the slightest attempt at a reassuring smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes.

" Getting beat up is worth it, Lux. I know you'd do the same. It's what we do. What I will always do. " He didn't always, thoughts he didn't voice, an inner chastising. He thought he was too late, he'll always feel like he took too damn long to protect her when it counted.

" Now stop squeezing me so hard. You'll bruise me worse than the fight did. "

[trans-yllz]

here's the list. because I am insane:

if we're being honest folks, I just can't resist an incredibly smart, competent, dangerous, powerful character. I can't resist the charm and the arrogance and the skill. we love an underdog and all that and people don't have to be good at anything to be valuable blah blah blah but I'm a simple man alright. wei wuxian is an incredibly talented, charming, attractive, and intelligent fictional man and I am not above admitting that the whole thing, predictably, has worked on me in real life. he's just good at everything, and I'm madly in love with him. he's perfect. he could kill me. he could kill anyone. he's so smart. he's talented. he's the love of my life. have I mentioned that he's perfect? I am not immune to falling for the dangerous prodigy genius who is unmatched in his skill and could charm the birds from the sky

wei wuxian is so human. oh wei wuxian is So human. I know that I just said he's perfect but he's so human and flawed and complex and I love it. it's so easy to like. hurt and laugh and cry and grieve and be angry along with him. there are so many moments in cql that instigate catharsis because he is a Character I Relate To tm, but I don't think any other character in the story or in media in general makes me feel Angry for them like wei wuxian does. at the peak of the post sunshot campaign arc when everyone is slandering him all the time, I always feel So mad about it, like someone is insulting my friend. because wei wuxian just feels so human. so much of his character works so well As A Character - a moving piece within the machine of a story, there to do its job and represent something meaningful and important, a function of the bigger picture meant to communicate something to the viewer and drive the narrative home. but he is also so human. so delightfully human and lived in and breathing, and it makes it so easy to adore him, because he feels like a real person that you love

I love wei wuxians arrogance honestly, his unfaltering belief in his own abilities and powers and actions. both in a gay hiiiii yiling laozu twirls my hair way and in a just like. it's very satisfying to watch way. him standing up to wen chao, shooting those arrows blindfolded without ever faltering, walking into jinlintai and demanding to know where wen ning is. it fucks. but more than just the confidence I love that he uses it to uplift others, never stepping on anyone's neck to boost his own ego. like moment I fell in love w him moment I Knew he'd be my little guy was when he recited the lan sect rules at the wen indoctrination camp. not only was he being cocky and arrogant and standing up to wen chao, he was also using the opportunity to show solidarity w lan wangji and the lan sect. and not to sound cheesy and lame and cringe but wei wuxians utter sureness in himself, his confidence and lack of shame, inspires me to be a more confident person in real life. I love you little wei wuxian that lives in the back of my head and encourages me when I feel embarrassed or out of place or awkward or silly

I love that, above all else, wei wuxian is kind. he is not always nice or soft or civil, but he is almost always kind, to the people who deserve it. I know that he killed like thousands of ppl in a moment of utter insanity and tortured wen soldiers with such ruthless, unabashed bloodlust that it even freaked jiang cheng out a little bit, but that's sort of the best part of it? that wei wuxian was pushed to do so many unspeakable things and yet still he is fiercely, defiantly kind. always. like it would be so easy for him to turn out bitter and cruel and resentful (like someone else we know 🤨) but he still manages to move through life with nearly ceaseless joy and kindness for others. even after he's resurrected and he wakes up with such exhaustion and discontent and indifference towards life and the world, he is immediately kind to the juniors, to the girl who lost her mind to the fairy statue, like its second nature to him. wei wuxian has suffered and he has killed and he has lost his mind and he has died and still he is kind to the girl people call crazy and her mother, without a second thought

this almost ties into confidence but it is not quite the same thing - I adore the fact wei wuxian is never anybody but himself. he likes to show off sometimes, he can manipulate people into seeing what he wants them to see, and he is, unfortunately, very good at hiding his hurt and his pain. but he is always, unapologetically, wei wuxian. he never falters or changes for anyone, ever. he lies, and he manipulates, and he puts on a show, but he never makes himself anyone he's not in order to get people to like or respect or love him. of course he's keeping the massive secret of his missing core, and you could argue that he's doing that to protect his image, but even at the face of that lie he is still always himself. and wildly he has this crazy aversion to vulnerability and openness, so good at deflecting from his sorrow, but somehow it is never contradictory to the honesty with which he carries himself. I don't know how else to describe it, he is just always, no matter what, wei wuxian, even when he is refusing to let someone see him cry. he just doesn't tuck parts of himself away in exchange for anything, never lets anyone beat him into being someone else. and I think that it is very brave an admirable from a person standpoint, and very unique and engaging from a character standpoint. I find that a lot of "confident" characters in fiction are always secretly insecure or putting up a front or hiding who they really are, that they're hiding some other version of themselves away in order to earn approval, and that can be great too, but I love that wei wuxian is Truly confident, truly sure and earnest and himself. and the little wei wuxian that lives in the back of my head who is only ever himself, encourages me to only ever be myself, too

*makes a list of my favorite things about wei wuxian in the notes app of my phone like a normal person*

[inb4belphienaps]

der Herbst

“Falling, to put it simply, isn’t pretty.

The air is heavier when you travel through it. An angel isn’t meant to fall. What happens then, when they do?

Well, you see, they are stripped bare.

Any resemblance to their former celestial self is taken from them. In their place, white turns black and fire burns. It rages in the form of the howling wind against their ears and swallows their dignity, leaving nothing in its trace.

Wings of a set are ripped and shed.

A ring of light, shines no more, not overhead.

The body, disfigured, laid to bed.

Then come the cries. Of pain, beyond comprehension. Of fear, beyond salvation. Of despair, beyond recognition. What was once a temple made for devotion, is instead shrouded in agony. It bears no resemblance to the punishments given by their peers. It is The Father, himself, damning them for eternity, forbidding them from ever even hoping to regain but a shadow of their former glory.

It is The Father disowning his child, shaming them for their decisions that have led them astray. The decisions that are no longer in line with his beliefs.

Oh.

Before that?

There are tears and frustration. Anger, rising like the tension in their bond with him. They begin to question their divinity. They do not see a favorable outcome. Consequences are weighed, and morality cemented. They realize that the bond they share with their brothers and sister is much stronger. Unbreakable, perhaps.

Unbreakable…they hope.

Chaos follows. The angel witnesses it happening like something out of a dream. A warning filled with malice, with a venom he’d only thought demons were capable of speaking. Moments soaked in desperation before the call to arms. Eyes filled with emotions he’d never thought possible. They are frightened. But they stand together, side by side. With their weapons raised and shields to the ready, there is no going back.

War with your own kind is different.

When they felt the end of their sword meet seraphic flesh, they hesitated. And they paid the price.

You think you know war. You think you’ve seen it all.

Until your brothers and sisters start falling. Like comets, like shooting stars, they plummet. They shriek. There is blood. Everywhere. In your nose, in your mouth, you breathe it. It clings to your skin and to your lungs. It dries on your hands and seeps into your very being.

Your sister screams. Amidst the ruin, you see your brothers too.

And then…she is falling. Weightless and yet ever closer to the ground. You abandon all reason and you fall with her.

Her light fades. The sky is black. You do not breathe. How can you? When she is hanging on for dear life, how can you yourself hope to live? The roaring of the heavens dulls into a hum. The deafening silence blurs your vision as you struggle to find someone. Anyone. Who can help. Who? Who is there if there is no Father? What can you do?

So you beg. You offer what little of you is left. Loyalty, the demon says. You are thankful he doesn’t ask more of you. Loyalty. It flows in your veins. Loyalty. It is powerful – “

With a quivering breath, Simeon closes the tattered cover to Lucifer’s journal. He hadn’t meant to pry. He didn’t think the man was the type to keep such things. To preserve them. Especially not in his study.

No, that wasn’t right. As he runs a finger over a crack in the leather, he flinches. He’d tried to destroy it before. Clearly, he had an attachment. Or maybe he wanted a reminder. A reminder of the days he’d managed to overcome and leave behind.

He knows for certain now. That they can never really see eye-to-eye. He doesn’t hold that knowledge inside of him. He doesn’t have that horror tainting his soul. He doesn’t have the strength to do as they did.

When Simeon read Lucifer’s words, his limbs had felt numb and his stomach had turned cold, as if someone had dropped him in a vat of ice. From that day on, they continued to haunt him. A man of few words as Lucifer was, had shaken him to his core.

.

Eventually, meaning becomes a thing of the past. He begins to loathe the idea of hiding in plain sight. The mask he wears begins to crack and what leaks from within reeks of anathema.

Love for another. And love for the self. Both were cast aside but not anymore. To love truly was to revel in the indoctrination of opposites. To commit was to marvel in the proclivity of damnation. To sacrifice was to bask in the purest forms of the pith of enlightenment.

It was an ascension for him. A choice he’d made over time, sure, yet a choice that was second nature to him. The very moment he’d decided to spin the world on its axis at an angle he could digest, he’d shown resistance.

If he thinks about it, Michael had always known. Deep down, perhaps he’d known it too. That the ways of the realm he called home, were not ways of kindness or ways of a better tomorrow. They were the ways of a flawed and arrogant man scrambling to hold onto tradition and forcing them upon those not within his grasp.

“Loyalty. It is powerful and a display of might in a different sense.

He reminds me of what it means to be loyal to oneself. Repeat this. Say it as many times as it takes for it to sink in.

Do I serve another master?

No. I only serve myself.”

He binds the leather shut and places the weathered journal back in its place.

A contemplative smile graces Simeon’s lips. To think he’d been frightened by these sentiments many centuries ago. How naïve he’d been. To have thought himself weak and impermissible. To have fashioned an entirely foreign identity out of spite. That was now beneath him.

There is clarity in the relief that floods him when he looks at you. In all your simplicity, you are a sight to behold. You shine, incandescent amongst the clouds. Only, they aren’t clouds. You are rooted in the earth, in the barren soil and the leaves, they form around your shape. You are a flower whose sweet scent is carried by the teasing breeze.

And he cannot think of anything more perfect than you.

As he fondles the base of his horns and traces their curvature upwards, he does not consider himself a demon. He is above that. He will no longer confine himself to ideologies. Instead, he will create.

He will create…with you.

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 6

( previous. )

Characters: c!Tommy, c!Wilbur Word count: 1896 words Content: wilbur soot & tommyinnit are siblings, reference to abuse, reference to torture, reference to death, healing, wilbur makes amends,

------------

Wilbur’s walking too fast for Tommy to keep up, he has to actually jog just to remain a step or two behind the man. It’s not hard to figure out where they’re going; they’re easily headed for some beach.

Tommy doesn’t want to be here. He wants to at least stay in the cabin if he’s to stay put anywhere, but Wilbur had given him a shovel and an axe and told Tommy to follow. There’s never much of a choice with an order like that.

Wilbur also hasn’t spoken to Tommy in close to an hour now. The trek is long, but it’s also a torture all on its own. Tommy doesn’t do well with silence, fearing that Wilbur is silently judging him or sizing him up. He feels very much like he’s marching toward his own demise.

He very well may be.

Keeping his gaze down, Tommy tightens his grip on the handle of the shovel, trying to keep focused on staying right behind Wilbur, ignoring how much his legs are hurting.They’re passing by abandoned portals, portals they could easily light. The idea that there would be paths waiting for them on the other side is a far-fetched idea though; they’re too far out from any sort of civilization.

After what feels like forever, Wilbur finally stops. Tommy stops next to him, peering out at the water. It’d be so easy to craft a boat and sail out toward escape, but that would just be more isolation and loneliness. The potential escape isn’t worth that.

“Grab as much sand as you can carry in your inventory,” Wilbur explains. “We’re going to have to make another trip, possibly to a desert, but this is good enough.” He offers Tommy a smile. It’s reminiscent of the old Wilbur, the one that ran L’Manburg with all the pride and charisma he used to possess. There are shades of it again, but not enough to induce an illusion that this is good. Nothing about this situation is good. Ranboo and Dream had also disappeared some time ago, and there’s no telling when they’ll be back.

“What are we grabbing sand for?” Tommy asks to fill the silence. He’s already at work, grabbing sand and filing it away into his backpack. It’s messy and coarse, already getting into his shoes. “This already sucks.”

"Explosives,” comes the casual reply. Too casual for Tommy’s liking. He’d already had an idea, but the fact that Wilbur wants them both to fill their inventories, and then make a second trip scares Tommy. Narrowing his eyes, he pauses in his digging to lean against the shovel.

“Why are you doing this Wilbur? Why do you and Dream want to hurt everyone so bad? Why am I even here?”

“Instead of me answering those questions, can I ask you a few questions instead?” Wilbur too pauses, pressing his hands together as he studies Tommy with a pensive expression. “Please, be as honest with me as possible, alright?”

“No promises.” A nod signals for Wilbur to go ahead, however.

“Are you happy with your life right now?”

It’s a very pointed question that has Tommy flinching back. Instinct would have him deflecting or changing the subject entirely, but Wilbur looks like he’s waiting patiently for an answer. This isn’t the revived Wilbur, this is the one that had been Tommy’s closest friend for the longest time... brothers, even.

Part of him is tempted to lie, but that would be pointless. They’d talked endlessly in the void, with Tommy bitching every moment he could about how unfair his life had become. Wilbur knows him far too well.

“No,” Tommy finally mutters, turning away. “I’m not happy, but you knew that.”

“Is there anyone, any single person you trust and want to go back to?”

Tommy thinks of Tubbo, then of Puffy. He and Tubbo are still too awkward around each other, not having had a proper conversation since the final showdown with Dream. Sure they’d spoken a few times, but nothing deeper than arguments over where to live.

Puffy had made some promises, but he doesn’t know her from Sam, and Sam had broken his promise completely. With his shoulders slumping, Tommy shakes his head. Everything about this conversation is fucked up, and they both know it.

“Are you afraid of me?” Wilbur’s not ending his line of questioning anytime soon. This is the one question Tommy doesn’t really want to answer.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Wilbur falls silent as he turns away, going back to the task of gathering sand into his own backpack. The silence stretches between them, and Tommy feels it like a cold sweat on his back. It’s just as piercing as Wilbur’s questions, just as numbing as the afterlife. Silent, too, if the ringing in his ears is anything to go by. Even the lapping of the waves isn’t enough to snap him back to reality.

“Do you remember when we were younger?” Wilbur finally asks. The silence doesn’t snap Tommy back, but Wilbur’s voice does. Always a source of calm, always there to keep him grounded. It’s aggravating, this effect Wilbur has over him. Annoying and comforting at the same time.

“I don’t remember much anymore, Wilbur,” Tommy responds. “I remember wars and death and everything I worked for going up in smoke.”

“You don’t remember you and me?” Wilbur’s facing him again, wearing that ugly serene smile on his face. “You don’t remember how I used to read to you?”

“Vaguely.” It’s a dismissive answer, because Tommy wants to squash anything friendly out of his mind. The less he associates with Wilbur, the sooner they can end this game and he can go back home to his dirt house. “That was a long time ago, Wil.”

“It was our favorite activity.” Wilbur actually sounds sad. Tommy can’t tell if it’s acting or genuine, but he’s being drawn in anyway. Part of him wants to throw his arms around Wilbur and comfort him. A strong, loud part of him is already moving closer.

“I remember our favorite book was ‘The Hobbit’,” Wilbur continues. “I also read the Lord of the Rings trilogy to you a couple of times. You were so cute, hanging on every word. Simple times, Tommy. The best times.”

“I don’t have any best times,” Tommy snaps. “Like I said, I remember lots of wars. Lots of fighting and people dying. You died. I died, and now you kidnapped me. Why are you trying to butter me up? Wilbur this is so fucked.”

“I know. I messed up Toms. I messed up so many times, especially with you. Even now, I know what I did was cruel and stupid. I promise, if you give me one more chance, I’ll make it all up to you. No more pain, no more agony. You’ll have a support system-”

“Do I have to remind you of Dream?” Tommy snarls. His voice cracks as he speaks. “He’s the one who fucking killed me, remember? He had me exiled, he tortured me. And you come in like you know exactly what all took place!”

“Tommy I was dead. Had I been able to stop him, I would have. You know I would never condone anyone hurting you. I don’t like that you’ve been hurt the way you have been. I hate it more than anyone, trust me!”

“You still died and left me alone. If you weren’t so selfish, neither of us would be in this position! My life went to shit ever since you died, you don’t get to stand there and tell me you hate it.”

“I wasn’t good for the server. I wasn’t good for you. I thought that if I was gone, things for you would improve. I thought you would’ve won, that Dream wouldn’t have hurt you, or that your friendships would be strained.”

“Stop, stop!” This is embarrassing. Tommy’s crying, standing there in front of Wilbur and sounding like a petulant child. “Stop talking! Stop making me relive everything, okay? You weren’t there, you don’t get to act like you know what happened. It was shit. Everything was shit, everything is still fucking garbage, and now I’m stuck living with the one person who hurt me, thanks to you.”

“Toms. My Tommy...” Wilbur has tears of his own in his eyes. With his shovel falling into the sand, he gathers Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t resist, because everything about this hug means something. It’s an actual, loving hug, and not a ploy at manipulation. He can feel it in the way Wilbur is holding him, rocking bath and forth with tiny hiccups. “Tommy I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry you were hurt and cast aside by everyone. I’m here now, alright? It’ll be me and you, just like it’s always been.”

Tommy sniffles as he leans into Wilbur. He’s not returning the embrace, but Wilbur feels so warm. It’s been so long since anyone had hugged him like this, or just loved him. He wants to savor this feeling.

“All your long years we’ve been friends,” Wilbur whispers. “Trust me as you once did.”

“You want me to let it all go?” Tommy finally wraps his arms around Wilbur. “I don’t even know what to let go of.”

“All the pain, Tommy. “All the pain, trauma, abuse. All your attachments. Even the memories. With us, you won’t hurt anymore. Dream won’t touch you, and Ranboo is your friend. I’ll be your brother, okay?”

“...let it all go...” Tommy relaxes more into Wilbur’s embrace. Slowly, his arms come up to rest against Wilbur’s back. “Let everything I had go, right?”

“I’m here again. I won’t leave you. I promise you Toms. Tommyinnit, gremlin child. Vice President, and my best friend, brother...”

“Don’t overdo it now,” Tommy jokes under his breath. It earns a chuckle from both of them. The laughter helps him feel normal, like maybe everything really will be okay. This doesn’t feel like an indoctrination, really. Wilbur isn’t evil. Maybe he’s got some misguided beliefs, but Tommy missed him. There’s no one that can fill the void in his heart like Wilbur can.

“Point is, it’s you and me against the world,” Wilbur continues. “We won’t count the other two yet, so we’ll stick with just us, alright? When all this is over, I’ll read to you again. Any book of your choosing.”

“Will you read me The Hobbit again?“ Tommy pulls back enough to blink slowly at Wilbur. His vision is still wet with tears, but he’s cheering up. “And maybe we can watch the movies together?”

“Absolutely. Anything for you, alright?”

“Then I trust you.”

“And?”

“And...I’ll stay by your side.” Tommy nods.

There are matching sighs from the pair, with them looking awkwardly at each other for a moment. Then, with a blush, Tommy picks up his shovel again and preparing to dig up more sand.

“I still don’t get why we have to do this,” Tommy grumbles.”

“Tell you what, after we get back to the cabin, I’ll let you blow up the surrounding area. You’ve earned yourself a few explosions to vent your anger.”

His excitement is barely contained, with him moving faster and shoveling even more dirt. Okay, the situation as a whole might still be fucked, but Tommy can’t resist playing with fire. As a treat.

[sasskarian]

First Line Meme

I was tagged by @asaara-writes. Thank you, my dearest! <3 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

My Heart and I -

If there’s one thing about Evelyn Swann that the entire Commonwealth knows by now, it is her love of music. Silence does not mark Evelyn’s arrival anywhere— instead, the soft tones of Billie Holiday do, crooning about mountains moved for love. Or the sultry voice of Lady Day herself, Ella Fitzgerald, floating around her and the companions like a bubble of the past, dreaming on into the future. Heavy footsteps beat out a tempo contrasting Butcher Pete and his big old ‘knife’ and everywhere she goes, she trails ribbons of jazz and cheer.

Like Afterimages - 

The settlers call her a survivor. Sanctuary calls her a savior. Codsworth cries when she returns from the wastelands, dragging in another minute— heh— victory for the Minutemen, or another rescued synth she doesn’t tell anyone about. But Mama Murphy just calls her a ghost.

That’s what she is, after all. Just a two hundred year old ghost. Like a mirage, superimposed on the darkness, burned into immortality by nuclear fallout and tragedy. Evelyn is only sometimes here, those dark gray eyes a pair of rain clouds on the distant horizon, drifting on invisible fronts. The thunder is inside of her, too, a raging storm swirling in her chest, beating fists made of babies crying and gunshots rimmed in frost ringing out against her ribs.

The Thrill of Your Hand - 

Danse has been a soldier too long to be a deep sleeper.

That’s the first thing the Brotherhood trains you out of. The indoctrination comes later, because only a good soldier can be indoctrinated, and a good soldier has to wake up at the first hint of danger. So when he hears the first whimper from across the room, his eyes snap open.

Paladin’s Bubble - 

The Commonwealth is quiet tonight.

It’s not silent, by any stretch: Evie can hear the hounds in the distance, their mutated throats sending their boofs echoing through the streets of Boston even from a long distance, and somewhere— a mile or more— the whoop of a raiding party rises over the station’s lookout, too far away to do anything but pity the poor prey they’ve caught. Dogmeat grunts, his paws pushing against her armored thigh as he stretches. His ears are perked, though, so he’s just catching some rest while he can. Even the thwomp-and-hiss of her partner’s power armor is missing from the darkness, the red light of his scope the only thing highlighting his face in their little bubble of quiet.

After the Glitter Fades - 

“If there is a future to be had,” Fenris murmured, his lips hovering near Hawke’s, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

His gorgeous green eyes were fixed on hers and Hawke fumbled for a moment, a half-smile playing across her mouth as her fingers played with the crumbling stone behind her. Silly, but part of her almost wanted to believe him. With the smallest sound, Fenris leaned in, his gauntleted fingers sliding through her hair as he kissed her— it started out soft, a chaste brush of warm lips and warmer breath, but within a couple of heartbeats, it deepened into something that promised wildness and fire.

Glitter: Marginalia - (E)

She can’t remember what dragged her awake— only that it left a sour, desperate taste in her mouth like old coppers and the cheapest bottle of whatever would get her drunk enough to sleep.

Waking up with nightmares is nothing new. The Amell curse, as most of the Kirkwall film crews call it, has yet to hit Hawke directly, but it had taken her father (a stunt gone wrong) and her mother and uncle (an unlucky intruder)– had struck Carver, too. She and Garrett and Bethie are safe, so far, but it's only a matter of time until it circles back around. The curse is a generations-long predator, still and patient, and it will hunt them down one at a time if it has to  

Ah, Kirkwall, she thinks, some blend of annoyance and fondness and adrenaline mixing uneasily in her heart. You fuck with us again and again and still, here we are.

He Might Like That - 

“So. Let me get this straight.” Greef lifts his bad knee with a groan, settling it over his other leg so he can sprawl a little more indolently. Din’s HUD focuses in, shows the elevated temperature in the joint in a dark red, and he turns it off with a flicker of his eye. Greef lifts his glass again, takes a sip, and gestures with it before continuing. “You two. Not together?”

Where I Can’t Follow - 

The day Geralt of Rivia dies, he hears the whistle of the sword which almost kills him. There’s a series of tiny holes stamped along the spine of the blade, keeping weight down and adding a sinister shrill hiss through the air on each pass. The raiding party - if it can be dignified with such language - are nearly all armed with similar steel, with hunting horns, rattling chime-spangled shields, and bullroarer slings wailing and droning like an oncoming swarm of giant wasps. The effect is deafening, overpowering all efforts to coordinate the various companies on this mission.

Malicious Compliance - (M)

So this is how it feels to have a galaxy tremble at your feet.

Not just the galaxy, though— millions of lives shuddering under the weight of your boot on their necks cannot compare to the half-lidded gray-blue eyes drinking you in like you’re his salvation and damnation both. No, there is power in this, in these stolen moments with him, that rivals nothing else you’ve found anywhere among the stars.

He’s a brave man, your Captain.

Counting the Days (since Exegol) - 

“That’s good, Finn.”

Rey smiles, feeling the Force ebb and flow around Finn as he manages to lift himself a few inches off the ground-- along with the meditation mat, two glasses of water, and the plate of snacks they keep for anyone who comes to visit. Finn cracks an eye open, smiles back at her, and lands with a thump. For half a moment, she almost expects him to be disappointed that his training is progressing slowly: hyper-competency is a Stormtrooper trait he’ll never outgrow.

Star by Star - 

The galaxy looks different now.

It’s not just the cautious celebrations still happening, weeks later. And it’s not just the way people step back from her now, too much reverence in them for her comfort. It’s in the way she looks at the sky and sees the color of Luke’s eyes, and the gentle wind that feels so much like Leia’s hand, she cries. The way that Poe’s back straightens at the podium, broadcasting Republic news to everyone, and Finn’s hand clutching his under the table, their life forces bright and right in her senses.

Stardust and Memory (and a little bit of romance) - 

“Wow.”

Jaal chuckled against her ear, hands firmly on her waist; a good thing, probably, or she’d be on her face on the floor. “It is… a lot, I know.”

“No!” Sara protested, only wilting when Jaal tilted his head at her. “...okay, maybe a little. There’s just— a lot of them?”

Scars and Holes and Broken Things - 

Whispers follow him wherever he goes.

What’s left of the crew whispers in the halls, the mess, on the bridge, and conversations trail off when his ghost walks through, haunting the only place that's ever felt like home. Whatever they’re saying doesn’t matter, though—he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care. He hasn’t slept more than his body demands in weeks. Tali’s immune system has already begun to destroy itself, and even though the Normandy is stocked with more dextro rations than it’s ever carried before—

Almost like Shepard knew. Always prepared, that’s my girl.

Heart of the Woods - (E)

You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Can you think of me as anything more?

Less than a fortnight of sweet words, gentle touches, and stolen kisses are the only weapons she could levy against the trauma that shaped a man’s youth. And for a moment in time, Isera hoped.

Common Ground (isn’t so hard to find) - 

“Skkut! Ryder!”

“Sorry, Enroh— oh!” Sara tried to stop, bounced into a low bench, and crashed into a pile of bruised, groaning Pathfinder on the other side. At least this time, she remembered to shield her head as she skidded to rest against the wall. Lexi would be pleased. Another concussion would get her put back under the scanner and that just ruined everyone’s day. “...ow.”

A Language Reserved for Lovers - (M)

The first time you touch him, his skin flushes red; the first time he touches you back, he trembles. Interesting, since if there is a word to describe him, it is steadfast. But there is more beneath the easy surface, beneath the deadly grace and unflagging stamina. He is loyal, and good, and so fascinating under the burden of his name. But nineteen is a young age, even if you're only a little older, and he seemed so young at first, unsure and innocent— then he gave you that crooked little grin, and stole your heart with it.

Every Beautiful Thing - 

I would prefer to be Mary Shelley. She died a widow.

Despite a foolhardy counter, thrown in indifference and pride, Edith never really thought she would be a widow. Despite her foolish quip so many years ago, she is no Mary Shelley. And despite moderate success as an author and teller of stories, the only thing she and Shelley have in common is a belief in a world outside of the everyday, and widowhood.

Yesterdays - 

He’s always thought she was invincible.

Sure, Morrigan told them the truth of the Archdemon’s death, an account more grisly and heartbreaking than the one Riordan gave; just the sort of tale that might ensnare a young boy’s heart, give him delusions of grandeur, while an older man might look upon it with resignation. But the truth doesn’t sink in until now.

If You Ever did Believe - 

“There are people dying,” Isera repeated slowly, as if she could make her advisers understand what she'd seen. As if giving her memories voice might lift some of their weight in her heart. “We couldn’t even get to Redcliffe because of the fighting.”

Three days of being stuck on a horse, only to have to turn around after three skirmishes— their first mission to the Hinterlands had been a remarkable experiment in failure. Isera had learned her skills at the hands of the best of her clan, had fought alone for years, and yet the shock of tripping over Varric and accidentally hitting Cassandra with a ball of ice had made their first fight a near loss.

Some saviors, Varric had laughed afterward, staggering around like baby nugs.

Glitter: Velvet over Veridium - 

If anyone had ever accused Marian Hawke of being a reasonable adult human being, she might have laughed at them. No, she'd have pointed and then laughed at them. But under all her bluster, and all her immature jokes, her dirty one-liners and cheesy pick-up lines, there was an adult hidden in there somewhere.

Okay, maybe I put more than one opening line, but I have a thing for context, dammit! 

This got so long -- mobile users, I’m sorry omg. 

Forwarding the tag (no pressure as always!) to @mayihavethisdanse @athreehundredthirtythree @thebisexualmandalorian @natsora @loquaciousquark @valdomarx @theggning @cullywullycurlywurly @systlin and @third-rail-vip 

[amethystshipper]

I was scrolling through my dash, as one does, and saw .gifs of the scene where the juniors are defending WWX to Sect leader Yao, and I was just smiling and thinking “ah, the kids are all right this time, it will be better”. And then I realized that ... the kids were all right the previous generation, too? And it would have been so easy to see them band together, especially after everything?

Hear me out. In essence, there’s no difference between the juniors and the ... OG juniors. (We need a name for them. Is there a name for that generation??? Cause we have the parents, and we have the juniors, what are WWX&co named??? Whatever, I’m sticking with OG juniors.) Each of these groups went through shitty situations, the OGs arguably through worse with the war and all. But before the war, we have 2 major bonding moments: the Cloud Recesses classes, and the Wen indoctrination. What if they actually bonded together, and their relationships were more flushed out? (Keep in mind I only saw the live-action drama, so that’s what I’m basing everything on.)

So, Cloud Recesses. You have the Jiangs, and then NSH, LWJ, WN and WQ added to the group, more or less willingly. JZX is still being a little bitch, but whatever, he’s there too, along with MianMian, who is arguably his biggest contribution. I will admit, there are ... levels ... of closeness. But you have the three gremlins getting together, and LWJ pulled in (again, levels), you have star-struck WN and tough WQ (who, need I remind you, took care of JYL at least once, which I bet the latter will not forget). You have LQR spitting blood because the boy is definitely his mother’s son, but LXC smiling indulgently, seeing his little brother finally make friends. (And LQR will remember that CSR was mischief made human form, and her son definitely follows in her footsteps, but both of them wanted always to help and not destroy, so there is definitely something wrong with the accusations that WWX wants to take over the world. And LXC will remember the Wen boy who stayed behind to save one of their own, and the Wei boy who dived in to help them both, and will not believe the grim tales of the fierce Ghost General and the Yiling Patriarch.)

After CR, WWX/LWJ/JC/NHS have their little murder adventure, with a WQ cameo.  LWJ is added to the gremlin dynamic and sure, he might not feel like he fits in at first, but WWX cannot seem to stay away from him, and he suffers in silence with JC while WWX is being an idiot and risking his life, omg, stop that, get down you demented cat, and then finds that there’s a certain bond little brothers with big brothers larger-than-life have, and maybe having two more friends is. Acceptable. They’re all supposed to be 15-16 at this point, teenage boys that started this adventure fully confident, at least on the outside. And then Xue Yang happens. And this is, I think, one of the biggest turning point for these four. Because, to a certain degree, all of them rely on rules. Their own, if nothing else. And here is a guy who just ... wants to see the world burn. He kills with no remorse, admits it gleefully, and is just awful in so many ways. This is their first brush with how brutal the outside world is, when they start to doubt themselves and their convictions. But then! XXC and SL appear, and it’s a breath of fresh air! Because there are terrible people and worse situations, but as long as they hold fast in their beliefs and work together and trust eachother, they can beat them!

So they go to the Unclean Realm, and they meet Daddy NMJ. And he’s been watching them approach, and he sees his little brother laughing with the boy in black, he sees him cackling while the one in purple is swinging his fists around; he sees him share a smile with Xichen’s little brother while the other two are laughing so hard they’re bent over so far they’re almost falling to the ground. And he doesn’t show it, because the Red Blade Master is gruff, and tough, and mighty, but in his heart he’s already adopted these kids who include his baby brother in their circle with so much ease, it’s hard to imagine him on the outside. (And in the future, when people are yelling about WWX’s darkness, this is the image he will have in his head: four boys being innocent and happy and his, how dare you try to touch them?!)

Cloud Recesses burns. LXC is nowhere. And then. The biggest paradigm shift - the indoctrination. Everyone arrives in Nightless City. The three OG gremlins watch LWJ back to his jade statue default, they lose their swords, they are on the same side with JZX and WWX/JC don’t know which one of these frustrates them more. It should be the looming war. It’s probably the JZX part. Now, I assume they spend at least a few weeks there, I don’t remember if it’s mentioned. But WWX always tried to get in front, to catch WC’s attention. (Because he’s the disposable one, right? High enough in status that WC is satisfied when he gets to punish him, but not a sect heir, not someone who will bring down a whole sect if he dies. Little does he know.) So don’t tell me that the others don’t rally around him. (Discreetly of course. They learn fast that he just gets more protective if others are hurt because of him.) There’s nothing stronger than a common enemy, and the Wens and WC, specifically, are definitely that. So they watch, and they remember WWX being beaten, whipped, humiliated, all so that others will not be. Not to mention that one night that he doesn’t tell even JC about, because it would crush his little brother to know he couldn’t keep his promise. They remember him staying behind so that they have a chance to escape the murder turtle. (And after the war, when the adults will try to damn WWX for being too arrogant and too prideful, the OG juniors will remember the kid who stood up to the Wen clan and has the scars to prove it, and all to protect them. Where was Jin Guangshan? Where was Sect leader Yao?)

Lotus pier burns. WWX disappears. JC and LWJ look for him for 3 months. And then. And then he comes back. And he burns the Sun to the ground, using dark cultivation and corpses and no sword, and everything that they were taught not to do, ever. And he succeeds where everyone else fails.

Afterwards, when the dust settles but not really, when life comes back to normal but not quite, when things become too boring apparently, the young ones see their elders muttering. And gossip. And look a bit too much at WWX, too closely. But this was a generation forged in the fires of war. They were not like their parents, who had time to figure out their shit and then go to battle, no. They were kids when it all started. There are no more kids amongst them now.

So when the minor sect leaders, subtly encouraged by JGS and JGY, talk about the “young” LC being a leader at such a young age with honeyed words that hide rot, NMJ and LXC rise to his defense. Both of them became sect leaders at young ages, both of them know how hard it is. LQR rises as well and the older ones expect him to be on their side, but they forget LQR got entrusted with a clan and 2 children that he was not supposed to have, so he will never demean another who was in an even worse position, but rose to the occasion despite everything that happened. The Lans promote knowledge and learning above all, and many people can learn a lot from Sandu Shengshou, wouldn’t you agree Sect leader Yao?

When the Jin sect complains about the Stygian Tiger Seal, rumors begin to spread from behind hand painted fans that they are after the artifacts of other sects. After all, does WWX not belong to YungmengJiang? Therefore, do his creations not belong to the sect as well? Who’s to say they won’t go after the treasures of the other sects next?

When JYL destroys Jin Zixun at Phoenix Mountain, JZX steps up to the plate and stands behind his fiancee. WWX is obviously her little brother that she cares deeply about, he will be his future brother-in-law, and honestly Zixun where were you even during the war?? You have demands now because?? Go shoot some arrows and chill. (JC is just standing there with crossed arms, looking at Jin Zixun without blinking, keeping a tight grip over Zidian who is the definition of  “lemme at him!!!” Jiejie doesn’t like it when he slices and dices people, although she’s not leaving much for him to chew on. It’s the most fun he’s had in years.)

When JGY sweetly suggest that there might be a viper poised to strike them in the back, NHS innocently asks “but San-Ge, didn’t your blow to WRH’s back help us win the war?” (NMJ has never loved his brother more than when he roasts JGY. Really, he could cry with pride. Here, A-Sang, there’s that fan you wanted. I ordered new birdcages to be build back home, you can have all the birds you want. Training is ... postponed.)

When news about the labor camps and the slaughtered Wens are revealed, many stay silent. A few of them cheer. But there are also a few that remember a boy willing to save someone from drowning, willing to risk his life to save the dead bodies of two parents. They remember the best doctor of their generation helping them heal, and rest, and save their loved ones. They remember that they are not the only children who were taken by this war, that they were not the only ones forced to make awful choices that haunt their dreams. They remember that it’s easy to stand back, but yet there was always one who stood up for the others, who would stand up for them, so how can they not stand with him now when he most need it?

WWX is not alone. The YungmengJiang clan is not alone. These kids went through hell and back in the past couple of years, and they will be damned if they will let another rise in WRH’s place. This ends now.

[winters-tales]

On “Death of the Author”, and Ending Comparisons

This has been weighing on my mind a lot, and as a writer it would be remiss of me to not offer my own views on things that have been happening with a certain literary author lately.

Death of the Author is a widely-known literary concept that has since been applied to just about all art forms. In Roland Barthes’ essay where the phrase was first coined, he puts forward that:

“ […] an author's intentions and biographical facts (the author's politics, religion, etc) should hold no special weight in determining an interpretation of their writing.”

In short, an author may have terrible views, but the work should be interpreted on its own merit, outright ignoring those background details.

Lovecraft is the most commonly referenced author when this theory is brought up; it’s common knowledge the man was racist by today’s standards, but it’s less common knowledge that even by the standards of his own time he was considered a bit too much. He had a black cat and called it a horrifying slur for its name (it’s the one that starts with N – feel free to look that one up, because I won’t write it here), and his outright racist and xenophobic views are interwoven and even central to a lot of his stories.

People point at Lovecraft as a good example of Death of the Author. Many people know he was racist, know he was deeply unpleasant, and still enjoy his works. His particular brand of cosmic horror has influenced many of today’s horror writer’s, with Stephen King saying:

“Now that time has given us some perspective on his work, I think it is beyond doubt that H. P. Lovecraft has yet to be surpassed as the Twentieth Century's greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale.”

High praise indeed.

He gets a lot of praise from white authors, and a lot of white authors urge readers to keep Death of the Author in mind when reading. I wonder how many readers of colour, specifically black readers, are able to apply this when reading his works? Death of the Author is easy to accomplish if you aren’t a target of the author’s ill will.

In much the same way, a certain author who rose to fame in the last 20 years has gradually (and very publicly) revealed herself as a truly ugly personality. Her books have increasingly come under serious and necessary scrutiny, as have her public views, and the picture they paint is one of deep disappointment for fans who have been there from the beginning. Fans who are queer, who are transgender, who are Asian, who are Jewish, and more besides – all have seen nothing but negative stereotypes in the books, and real-life vitriol from the author herself.

A series of books about living true to yourself, not letting the circumstances of your birth or your blood dictate who you are; a series that gave many abused children hope, is now an awful reminder that anyone can abuse you, even the people you’d thought were there to save you.

And this is where, we’d hope, Death of the Author comes in again – divorce the writer from her works and enjoy them on their own merits. Yes, her writings, like those of Lovecraft, are full of blatant displays of her personal views, but we can still ignore her, can’t we? We can still sit and read the books for what they are, maybe pretend they sprang into the world fully-formed with no mortal hand behind them?

No. Unfortunately, I can’t.

And this is where the comparison to Lovecraft must end. Lovecraft was practically an unknown in his time, with his works being sent to a close circle of friends, and published mainly in pulp magazines, never getting that big break to be able to make a living from his work. In life, he was so reclusive and his views so utterly vile that his ideologies were never influential. He died alone and in poverty at the age of 46, having no idea how influential his works would be on future horror literature.

Today’s author is widely known. She has a large, public platform from which she can make her views heard across the world. It is easy for her to find like-minded individuals with which to affirm her beliefs, and easy for her to find unsure people to indoctrinate (and make no mistake, that’s what it is).

Today’s author is so influential she has been quoted in political debates, something Lovecraft could never have dreamed.

When the author is still alive and has access to hundreds of thousands of minds who are willing to encourage and amplify her abhorrent views, you cannot simply ignore her. You cannot “kill” her and take her works and never think of her again. 

Lovecraft influenced a genre of literature, and artists from all walks of life are still taking inspiration from - and finding new takes on - his particular brand of cosmic horror. I for one am looking forwards to seeing what Jordan Peele can do with it – a black man using such a racist figures works in this way? Lovecraft is spinning in his grave at the concept, and that thought is a comforting one.

Today’s author has influenced nothing but hatred – even the fictional world she built is nothing new or ground breaking. I see personal takes on her world all the time, fans breathing headcanons into life where characters become teachers instead of policemen, where the world is rewritten to include all and exclude none but her and her ilk. I love those headcanons more than I liked the original work, but they are few and far between and getting quieter as she gets louder. People are divorcing themselves from their hobbies just to escape her.

What is the answer? How do we get Death of the Author to work when she is very much alive and shows no sign of stopping her campaigns of hatred? Deplatforming only works if the platforms she uses are willing to do what is necessary, and we’ve already seen that Twitter – from where she regularly holds court - isn’t willing to do that.

Death of the Author is, itself, a flawed concept, since it isn’t possible to create art that doesn’t reflect even a small piece of yourself. Lovecraft was racist, Hemingway was a misogynist, Sir Terry Pratchett was righteously angry about the state of society – these all shine through in their work. And today’s author is a TERF, one who is impossible to ignore no matter how hard you try.

How do we move forward with Death of the Author when she refuses to relinquish control?

I don’t have an answer except to hold myself to a higher standard than her. To promise myself that any work I do gets seen by sensitivity readers, to make sure that the reflection of myself that goes into my work is the reflection of myself I want to be remembered for.

Perhaps in this age of technology, where the author refuses to let us forget her, Death of the Author can only come about with the author’s death. Maybe then we can start healing from the damage she’s done.

---

*TERF: Trans-exclusionary radical feminist; a subset of so-called “feminists” who do not believe trans people exist or should have the same rights as cis people.

[brooklynislandgirl]

what would you REALLY do to Billy Manderly if you could without consequence?

Honesty Hour || Accepting

Conspire not with the Enemies of Ascension.

Of the eight Protocols, this was the only one utterly inviolate. Magick without conscience is a terrible thing. And in order to sidestep the worst excesses of wizard-tyrants and the potential cataclysm of their hubris, not to mention the beginning of a war that no one then knew would last over five and a half centuries, from the first shots fired at Mistridge, to the betrayal of the First Cabal, to the mostly stale cold-war ongoing. When the Traditions signed them in 1466 near the end of the Grand Convocation that formalised the Council of Nine and all that would come after the Protocols have governed not just the inter-Tradition interaction, but also the relations of Mages and Sleeper. With the Technocrats and the Spirits and all that lies in the unseen world. Despite upheavals, vacant seats within the Council for long periods of time, and infighting, the Protocols have always managed to survive.

While younger mystics might snicker at their archaic verbiage, the principles of the laws are clear, as are the punishments for infractions. As with any set of laws, they are meant to apply to all and equally, though “equally” has turned out to be quite flexible over the years. Tradition magi who break minor Protocols might be brought before a formal Tribunal. In the absence of strong organisation and Masters, such Tribunals are rare, so serious offenders might simply be killed by their cabal-mates if they step too far out of line.

But considering her cabal are all ohana? That hasn’t happened. So while she sits here, in the face of Judgement by an Elder, Beth understandably knows fear like never before. Try as hard as she might, she cannot control the wild beating of her heart. The sheen of nervous sweat that is starting to cause her to glow in that specific way. Nor can she control the lines gathering at the corners of her mouth and eyes. All the while her mind screams and rails against the questioning because she is doing no harm. She has betrayed no secrets of Tradition or Council. She has not sacrificed any other Mage to the Technocrats. If anything, she is slowly, systematically reclaiming her younger brother from them. Not on purpose, of course, but by simply showing him the other side of the metaphysical argument.

If she is being asked about a more personal relationship, well, it’s none of the Tradition or the Council’s business, is it? She certainly doesn’t go into other people’s lives and tell them how to conduct themselves in those relationships. And there is still no harm being done. She and Billy are adults. They are separated by a few months, Beth being the older of the two, but well into their thirties. Billy did not use his greater size or strength to coerce her into anything, Beth did not set out to seduce him in any way, but especially NOT with her Arts. Everything that has happened between them has been rational, organic, and above all else, consensual. 

It’s true that maybe Andy and Jay aren’t very hip on the situation. Baz and AJ have never weighed in and somehow she feels that so long as no one is physically or emotionally damaged that they really won’t. Luc merely shrugs and makes passing joked that what should he say, he’s from the deep bayous and he’s seen worse. Maybe the loudest voice of dissent if there is any at all is that of Vincent. And his objections are admittedly as archaic as the Protocols can be, as he’s both the cabal leader but also a Catholic priest, who happens to be Beth’s confessor. He has known her for a long time and has been worried for her soul since before Billy rejoined the family, because she is a witch and her beliefs are heretical to begin with. For a second that yawns into an aeon, Beth closes her eyes and breathes out a sigh. Nausea sits in her insides like a hungry vulture, shading itself with branches of vertigo and exhaustion. Any one of those could be handled well, but all at once ~particularly the dizziness~ it’s overwhelming. She digs deep to muster as much dignity as possible and then opens her eyes, levelling the Elder with a passive gaze. “Truth be told? We would renounce ties to both the Traditions and the Technocratic Union. We ~Billy and I~ are bound by blood and by soul. We sprang from the same seed, yes. But it is more than that. We have always been. Siblings, lovers, parent and child. We have been enemies and friends. We have been strangers drawn together for a purpose. There is no single definition of what we are and were, could be again if allowed. That means more to me than anything. It means more than the power of the Wyck themselves. And if needs must...” The formal language, every painful vowel and consonant pronounced deliberately, is difficult to maintain, necessitating the slight pause.

“The Protocols say we must not conspire with the enemies of Ascension. And you would deem him so because he was found and trained by the Technocrats. Worse as an affront is that he is Iteration X, those who believe there is ideal perfection in blending flesh with machine. And while that ideal is perfectly abhorrent to me, my brother has been kinder and gentler than some of our tradition Sisters. Than any half-dozen sleepers you care to name. He does not threaten me with indoctrination and rehab, does not try to make me see the errors of my way. He has never thrown me under the wheels of control. If anything he has betrayed his own tradition a thousand ways a thousand times. And I don’t really believe he gives a fig about controlling sleepers and reinforcing the stranglehold the Technocrats have on reality.

“So what would I do? I would take his hand, and step into the umbra. We would travel together just as the first man and woman did, learning the lay of the land, as it were, a new Eden spread out before us. I would love him as he would love me, whatever way that might be. And if we are speaking frankly, Priestess, we are supposed to, as Verbena, embrace life’s joys and pains. To experience nature and life the way it was meant to be. We are reflections of the divine mysteries, yes? Well, the same Goddesses and Gods we strive to understand? Are not so different than we. Egypt, Greece, Rome... almost every ancient religion, almost every first monarchy was built on blood. Love between siblings was nothing shameful then. I see no reason that it should be now, if we willingly choose one another. It’s not like I can befoul our lineage more than it already is, and it’s not like we would have to consider the potential for ruining all those children we can’t have with genetic disease. “I also find it very difficult that I ~insignificant as I am, in the grand scheme of things~ am the biggest evil to focus the Tradition’s eyes on, when disease runs rampant and is decimating humankind. When the Wyrm has so many of its coils crushing the earth that there is starvation, pollution, climate change, and wide-spread corruption everywhere you look. That no one can be bothered to help for fear of being demonised for it. The world is desperately crying out for salvation and we are letting Her die day by day locked in our own pride. So you’ll excuse me if I can’t take you or this inquisition seriously.”

[animaechanthoughts]

Attack on Titan Episode 55 "Midnight Sun"

A part of me knew, at the end of episode 54, that they were going to have to make a choice. Armin or Erwin. I could not have imagined how well this episode handled telling the story of their decision and how it concluded... Honestly, god-tier writing in this episode! But that's the reason why Attack on Titan is my favourite anime. Not only for the themes, great characters and breathtaking animation. The well written story is what sets it apart from anything else I've ever watched or read. NOT just including anime/manga. 

Zeke didn't even think for a second or look like he even wanted to think about whether there was a way for him to save Bertholdt. Honestly I hate this guy for so many reasons.

He talked about Eren being brainwashed by Grisha, but I would bet a lot of money that he was the one doing the brainwashing. In the beginning (after finding out the truth about Reiner and Bertholdt), you could see they felt very guilty for what they were doing. But in the conversation that Armin and Bertholdt had recently, when Armin wsa trying to reason with him, you could see that Bertholdt had been completely indoctrinated with Zeke's beliefs. 

The way he made killing all those soldiers into a game. There is no redemption for this guy. He's absolute scum. 

Now about Armin. I'm not sure how realistic it is that he survived being burnt alive. But I have heard of rare cases where people did survive critical third degree burns. It doesn't inhibit my enjoyment of the anime though (they didn't push the boundaries of realism that far considering the nature of the anime). He was barely alive after all, so it's not completely unbelievable. Especially considering this is an anime where people transform into colossal titans.

I posted a poll recently on my YouTube about who wins "best boy" of the season for Attack on Titan (since Spring 2019 just ended so the rest of the season is going into Summer 2019). Levi won by a landslide and after this episode I can understand why. It's hard for me to explain exactly why but... Not only is he the best fighter, a talent which is invaluable in this world. He is also very calm and calculating, but in this episode he chose with his heart. It was a huge responsibility. But in the end, I believe he made the right choice. Despite how hard it must have been for him. 

Mikasa's VA did an absolutely amazing job in this episode and one of my favourite scenes is when Hange is holding her back and she says "there are people I want to bring back, too". She keeps talking (an exceptionally moving "speech" about loss) and it transitions from holding Mikasa back, to just... Holding Mikasa. I really loved that. 

"No matter who it is, there comes a day to say farewell." - Hange

Questions to think about: 

- How do you feel about Jean convincing Hange to spare Reiner, considering the way it ended? Honestly, I'm mad he got away, but I'm not mad at Jean, because... Well, what would the point be?  

- How did the absence of background music affect your enjoyment of the episode? For me, I feel like it added to the emotional weight of the decision, which was the focus point of the episode. It was as if time were standing still. It definitely was the right cinematic choice, to let the voice actors and actual story move us, instead of relying on the music to (in a way) "tell us" how to feel. 

- What could be in the basement?? After all the build-up, it would be ironic if it were something seemingly insignificant or small. I have no idea what it could be, something that will give them information about the people/culture beyond the walls? Maybe. I have this feeling that it's going to be something they need to figure out. The solution to all their problems is not going to be written down on a post-it note. 

A few more notes: 

- Hange has a letter for Krista/Historia from Ymir. I wonder why it was so important to him that he was thinking about it and trying to protect it in that situation. 

- Eren shouting "Come on! Just keep breathing!"after finding out Armin is alive really breaks my heart. I love their friendship so much (Armin X Eren X Mikasa). 

- I honestly still don't know who I would have chosen if I were in Levi's shoes. Even as a viewer, if I could save a character, I wouldn't be able to choose between Erwin and Armin. 

- I love how Levi says "Eren, keep your emotions out of this". Eren has always been an emotional character, all the way from season 1 and it is one of the reasons I love him so much and why he has been on my favourites list since back then. I love when Levi says this, also because at the end, he ends up choosing with his heart over his head, too... He wanted to spare his friend, his commander, even if that wasn't what was best for humanity. 

- When Eren is talking about the Armin's dream to see the ocean, I love how he acknowledges his own shortcomings. His anger for losing his mother and his hometown's destruction... "The only thoughts in my head are full of hate. But he's is not like that." I don't know why this makes such a deep impression on me. I guess it's because people are always complain about how Eren is annoying. Which is fine, of course. But it's moments like these where I am really in awe of this character's raw humanity. Despite him being the only titan (inside the walls) for all this time... He is, and always has been, only human. Fighting for his freedom. 

#1 Scene:

When Eren stood up for Armin.

"It's... No different if we lose... Armin. Hasn't it... Always been like that? He's the reason we saved Trost by plugging it with a rock. He revealed Annie's identity. It was Armin who came up with the idea of moving at night! The only reason we uncovered Reiner's hiding spot... and the only reason we defeated Bertholdt... was all because of Armin! The one who's going to save humanity isn't me or the commander! It's Armin!"

Amazing voice acting. Amazing "speech" (if you can call it that). This was the moment I really realised Armin's value for humanity - it really does rival that of Erwin, if not match it! This was such a powerful scene.  

Comments: 

"Erwin, you are my favorite character in the anime no one represented human determination and curiosity like you now rest my friend your dream will live on with the people who live. TO THE BASEMENT FOR ERWIN GIVE YOUR HEARTS!!" - iritthander on Crunchyroll

"This episode offers only a small glimpse of how much responsibility Levi has on his shoulders. It's crazy how much discipline and mental fortitude he has, to be able to calmly decide on who to save. Amazingly well written character." - 69aquarius on Crunchyroll

"I love how the cowardly guy tries to defend Erwin, but he starts to contradict himself. I think it's a complex and brilliant dialogue because it shows how shocked he was after the charge. He was grateful to Erwin, but at the same time he hated him because he sent him to die." - @angelkuhnpost on Twitter

(my response to the above tweet was "yeah, like Levi said... They wanted him to be [a devil/demon]. Essentially... they (humanity) needed Erwin to be who he was to have advanced as far as they have up to now..."

[SPOILER(ish) WARNING, KEEP READING AT YOUR OWN RISK] 

Wolf Wynterson (on my Discord) shared an interesting comparison between the German VS English subtitles for this episode. When Zeke says to Eren "You look nothing like your father" in the German subtitles your is left out. So he says "You look nothing like father". This would mean that Zeke is Grisha's son. It's especially likely since Zeke also mentioned "I know exactly what you're going through"(I'm not sure of the exact words). 

At the end of Season 3 part 1, I speculated that Zeke is Grisha's younger brother (or is somehow related to Grisha - it's pretty obvious visually, after all). Looks like instead of brothers they are more likely father and son... Hmmm. Grisha does look a lot older than Zeke. I just assumed Grisha was the older brother, but I guess we'll find out soon enough...

[lordrethandus]

The Flame That Guides Us Home Finale

The command chamber was a tangled web of felsteel arches and tempered glass, resembling the inside view of a monster’s half-open jaws. The sun shining through the stained windows turned the warm yellow sunlight green, casting a viridian hue on everything… and everyone. More gan’arg engineers than they could count were scrambling over each other and squabbling amongst themselves in a feverish rush to get the Krakenax up and running again. The felguards keeping them in line were far better armed and armored than their counterparts as well, looking more like bipedal black beetles than demons.

“For ten thousand years you nipped at my ankles. For ten thousand years you chased me.” Miraan the Benevolent shouted, her voice echoing off the walls with a thunderous boom. Her Benevolence sat atop an ebon throne of melted felsteel and charred skulls, most of which belonged to the eredar she personally killed. At first she didn’t turn to acknowledge their presence; but it wasn’t until they were all inside did the door suddenly close and lock behind them. “I was afraid you would die before we had our chance to meet again. Do you remember what you told me before we were separated?”

“Andar thadore…” One of the elves whispered to the others. “Falas dela’na…” J’azel glanced over her shoulder to see them begin to split up, likely after the crewmen and the honorguard defending them.

With a deep breath she turned back to the ebon throne. “Miraan… it’s not too late to stop this madness.” J’azel slowly continued her approach, but her sister’s guards watched her every move. “I didn’t come here to fight you… I came to save you!”

“Save me?” Slowly the throne turned on a pivot, until J’azel was able to look upon her sister’s marred body. The first thing J'azel noticed were her scaled leathery wings draped over her shoulders. Her once tiny horns had grown wild and untamed, spiraling upward like a crown of gnarled thorns. Eyes that once shimmered a soothing blue were now as black as pitch, as were her jagged teeth and forked tongue. When Miraan rose from her throne she spread her wings wide, casting a long shadow that stopped a few inches from J'azel's hooves; a tangled mess of throbbing flesh and twisted metal plates covered what remained of her right arm, with scars reaching across her chest and down her waist. “Spare me your lies, naaru puppet. Your pitiful light is fading, and the encroaching void cannot be stopped with prayers. Only the Legion can halt the black tide! Only Lord Sargeras can save the universe from its own corruption!”

Tears began to swell in J’azel’s eyes, but she swallowed her panic to try and get through to her sister again. “The Dark Titan is imprisoned! The Legion is on the brink of collapse! Please, Miraan! Come with me and we will escape this chaos together!”

“As long as I still breathe, the Legion will prevail!” A surge of fel energy coursed through Miraan’s body like crackling lightning. “If you lack the will to fight for your beliefs, then you will be swept aside like ashes in the wind. Behold the power of Fel! And death! AND CHAOS!”

<Battle Music>

In an instant the chamber was filled with light. Raw felfire surged down the stairway toward J’azel like a roaring green avalanche! She raised a shield of magic before the flames rushed forward to swallow her whole, slamming against the hardened light to send J’azel skidding backward. Even over the deafening roar of the felfire she heard her sister’s maniacal laughter. Slowly Miraan descended the stairs, her extended hand seemingly unaffected by her overwhelming power. J’azel’s back was pressed against the sealed door now, unable to move and unable to see; if she dropped her focus for even a second, her shield would shatter, and her life would be over. Cracks began to creep along the hardened light despite all of her will and strength devoted to her divine shield, sending smoke and heat into her defenses while the air in her lungs began to burn. “So… strong…!” J’azel could feel the ship around her begin to spin now that she had to struggle for even the slightest breath. “I can’t… keep this up…!”

Then the flames subsided. J’azel collapsed to her hands and knees, choking and gasping for air at the moment’s respite. She glanced up to see one of the elves attacking her sister, the one clad in gilded steel with a claymore wreathed in fire.

Varkol swung his massive sword down with all of his strength and weight behind it, but all he struck was the stairs Miraan was standing on a moment before. The Eredar raised her hand and unleashed a torrent of flames toward him, but the hilt of his sword opened up to reveal a shard of crimson obsidian that greedily sucked up every cinder and ember she sent his way; the flames of his sword flared up and turned fel, but not for long. Varkol planted his boot against the scorched stairs and twisted his entire body into the next swing of his sword. Ribbons of felflame leapt from the edge of his blade and lashed out at her, forcing Miraan to escape into the air with the aid of her wings; she would have to kill this one a different way if he was bold enough to turn her spells against h-

A blast of spellflame struck Miraan in the back, but her hardened scales rendered the fireball more annoying than harmful. She retaliated with a blast of her own, and the pyromancer, along with several dozens of her own crew, vanished in a wave of smoldering felsteel and cinders. The elf reappeared a few yards away to fling yet another meager fireball at her face, but Miraan smacked it effortlessly away before it reached its mark.

J’azel was on her hooves again, pausing only to see her sister suspended in the air and sending her crew back to the Twisting Nether in her blind rage. She looked down to see the steel clad elf waving at her to approach. Without question J’azel obeyed, sprinting across the melted floor with barely a glance anywhere else. Varkol lowered his smoking sword against the stairs and patiently waited beneath. When her hooves landed on the flat end of his blade, she was vaulted high and far into the air, her own sword raised over her head. J’azel was launched skyward, seeing her opportunity to end this battle the moment Miraan turned her back to her and fired at the pyromancer again; but she blinked, and the moment was gone.

Instead of burying her lightforged sword in her back to pierce her heart, she aimed for her wings. Miraan screeched in agony all the way down, and they both bounced off the stairs before sliding across the floor of the lowest deck. J'azel rose to her hooves before her sister did, but with the power still out, this entire area was cloaked in darkness.

“It doesn't have to end like this…” J'azel used the runes on her sword as a makeshift lantern, yet all she found was the wing she sliced off her sister, and streaks of blood leading further into the dark. “We were a family! Mom and dad died buying us time to escape the Legion!”

“Yet here we are. Two sisters stumbling in the dark… searching for answers...” It was difficult to pinpoint which direction her voice was coming from, forcing J’azel to rely on the trail of blood to find her sister. “You can't stop destiny Jazzy... no one can. Our parents were fools to think otherwise.” Her voice came from behind, but all J'azel found when she turned as a wall and an echo. “When I learned my baby sister was all grown up and indoctrinated by the Prime Naaru, I hoped this day would come. I wanted to see your face one last time… perhaps even bring you to your senses. But now that this day has finally arrived, I feel… underwhelmed. I thought you would be stronger than this. Smarter than this… but you’re still the stupid little girl I left behind.” Her voice seemed much closer now. “At least you’ll see mom and dad again, soon enough.”

“They loved you! As I do!” J’azel spun around again to find nothing but empty darkness. “You were a good woman once… you were kind… and brave…! I don’t know what horrors they did to you… but the Legion no longer has you in its claws! Fight back against their twisted evil!”

A cruel laugh bounced around in the darkness. “You think they tortured me? Pulled me apart and pieced me back together? Is that what you think of all us eredar that joined the Burning Legion? Hahahahahaha….!” J’azel reached the end of the blood trail, but her sister was still nowhere to be found; searching for her like this was a fruitless endeavor. Instead she lowered her sword and dimmed the runes until all she could barely see a few inches away from her face, and put all of her focus on trying to hear her sister’s approach. “When we got separated, I went and searched for the demons. I found them, not the other way around. They don’t kill anyone willing to listen, even I knew that as a child. I wanted more than some meager job living in the shadow of greater eredar, J’azel. I wanted power. They were happy to oblige. If only you knew what true power feels like… what freedom feels like.”

“I’ve chased you for ten thousand years. I’ve seen every planet you’ve personally ‘liberated’. You’ve enslaved, tortured, desecrated, and burned countless innocents all for the pursuit of Sargeras’ favor. If you can’t see the absolute… evil in that… then you are no longer my sister!”

“The weak should fear the strong. It’s cruel and heartless, true, but it’s the way the universe works. You’ve spent too many years watching my ascension from afar to understand that undeniable fact… or maybe you just need to live long enough to watch your precious Light fade away forever. The Burning Legion is a blessing, not a curse. If you knew what the Old Gods were capable of as we do, you would know how righteous our cause is. The Legion can’t afford peaceful diplomacy when the Void threatens to consume all life. When I rend your soul from your corpse, I’ll keep you around so you will finally see the truth for yourself!”

J’azel heard a hoof clap against the floor to her right. Miraan’s claws scraped across her blade in a shower of sparks, illuminating her snarling face just for an instant before the darkness returned. Another flash of light and her claws barely missed J’azel’s neck. She ducked and rolled out of the way as the whole deck flashed green from Miraan’s torrent of felfire searing the spot on the floor she once stood on. She swung her sword up on her way back to her hooves and struck Miraan, but when she lit her runes up to illuminate her grisly work, she found her blade was caught in her clutches. “Close.” Miraan the Benevolent hissed, grinning. “But not close enough!”

Her sword was ripped out of her hands. A barbed knee slammed into her stomach and punched a hole deep into her pilot suit. Her sister grabbed her by a horn and tossed her across the room; J’azel was still gripping the black shard of metal in her gut when the familiar flash of felfire returned to blind her. With one hand she raised her divine shield, but her runes were still recovering from the last time, and she was bleeding out. Miraan’s black claws punched through the shield like it was made of glass; a hoof shot out and caved in one of her knees the instant her shield shattered. “WEAK! JUST LIKE FATHER!” A hand wrapped around J’azel’s neck and raised her into the air. “Do you have any last words, my dearest sister?”

Footsteps gave Miraan the Benevolent reason to pause, and before long the elves her sister brought along with her had surrounded her down in this lightless deck. “You have nowhere else to go, Miraan.” Another voice called, causing Miraan to snap her attention to the elves approaching from the darkness. “Today, you answer for your crimes against Azeroth. Against the Horde.”

“Take a step closer and I kill her!” She hissed, squeezing even harder; J’azel was barely putting up a fight to free herself, but the elves didn’t seem to notice or care.

“SELAMA ASHAL’ANORE!” Varkol shouted before charging forward. Eristel unleashed a colossal blast of unrestrained spellflame, forcing Miraan to drop her sister to defend herself; she reached out and parted the volley of magic away from her body, but the crusader’s silhouette behind the flames was the only warning she was given of his imminent attack. Varkol swung his claymore with everything he had, burying the blade in Miraan’s mangled arm. The wreath of flame melted the felsteel within moments, boiling her blood and deafening the deck with her screams. Audrey came from behind the eredar and slammed her shield into Miraan’s legs, forcing her to one knee; a hand grabbed her by one of her horns and pulled her head back, with a flash of steel against the flames.

“A-kreesh!” Miraan managed to shout before the knife sliced through her neck. Her fel runes etched into her armor unleashed an explosion of raw fel magic, conflagrating the woman behind her, while sending the crusader and her sister airborne. Enraged and no longer restraining herself to protect her ship, her malicious gaze settled on the pyromancer that tested her patience one too many times. A concentrated beam of pure felfire exploded from her open mouth, searing her lips and shattering her front teeth.

Eristel raised his hands and muttered a counterspell he learned from Zerethel’s grimoire, catching the lethal blast in his palms before it coursed down his arms and into his chest. He felt his soul ignite. A burning, blinding, boiling heat poured out of every pore and every inch of his body, but he couldn’t waver. He tasted eons of chaos, hunger, rage, and power the likes of which few mortals could even fathom. Absorbing such magic and making it his own was all he could do to stave off the agony and panic that was devouring his soul with each passing second, and when he finally had enough, he returned the felfire tenfold through the palms of his hands.

“AAAAAHHHHH!” Miraan held her hands out to defend herself, but it was too late. Like standing in the exhaust port of the Krakenax the felfire ripped her off her hooves and sent her spiraling through the exploding air, her scales melted and fused, her eyes and hair completely gone. When she landed across the chamber, she disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ashes, in a small pond of liquid felsteel.

“Eristel? Eristel?!” Varkol forced himself back onto his feet when he saw the pyromancer collapse face first onto the floor. He rushed over and rolled him onto his back to check for any signs of life, but the fel corruption on his skin was palpable. “Talk to me, Tidebloom! Come on… open your eyes! Eristel!” A meager cough was all Eristel could muster. He was covered in burns of varying degrees, and if he didn’t get medical treatment soon, he would likely perish.

J’azel slowly rose to her feet and staggered over to where Miraan had fallen. There was so much she wanted to say, but when she saw what became of her sister… “Miraan… please.. You can still be saved…!” There was no answer. “Please…! Come back to me…!”

“Alore balas!” The only standing elf shouted, grabbing J’azel by the arm. “Anu’thalar?! Selathor bethala!”

“Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!” J’azel struggled with all of her might, but she was too weak to put up much of a fight. Varkol then tossed her over his shoulder just as a rumbling explosion went off in the distance; the bombs placed in the engine room of the Krakenax finally detonated!

Varkol stopped halfway back to Eristel to pick at the smoldering corpse of his comrade, retrieving warped and crusty dogtags that he slipped into his armor before rushing back to the pyromancer. A light illuminated the lower deck again, but this time it was coming from high above. Another explosion caused Varkol to stumble, but he caught his footing and grabbed Eristel by the collar to drag him to safety. J’azel continued to scream and reach out for Miraan as the familiar hum of the Gladicaar roared high above. Even as lightforged warframes swooped down to their rescue, she continued to fight to get back to the only family she had left. “MIRAAN! MIRAAN! MIRAAN! MIRAAN!”

J’azel saw the Krakenax rip open and disappear under the mushroom cloud of an azerite-infused manabomb before the Gladicaar ascended back into orbit, and before she lost consciousness.

[mischievouspoltergeist]

When my mother got sick last year, someone asked me why I had such an issue with taking care of her (as I'd expressed I really didn't feel like I 'had' to or owed her that much as she had never taken care of us ever, let alone when we were sick, but that I intended to try anyway) since I called her my best friend (supposedly, at some point, I believe I probably did, it was something she made me say at family gatherings a lot).

It's taken almost a year and a whole lot of shit for me to answer that question: I was stuck in an abusive relationship with my mother and the only way to survive was to make myself believe we really were friends. Because if I let myself realise she really didn't care about me, I could never have sorted in my head why I did everything she wanted, why I went along with so much and why I stuck around.

In many ways, the pattern of abuse was identical to my relationship with a man who had narcissistic personality disorder (diagnosed, aware of it and chose not to engage in help). Except, I left him after four months, but for at least three of those I was kept on a string of believing I was the problem whilst he screamed in my face, bullied me and physically abused me.

My relationship with my mother lasted 23 years. For many of those years I was still a child. I was so easy to indoctrinate with ideas and beliefs that I was the root of all the problems in her world. I went with it. I've spent years feeling like I ruined my mother's life because that's what she told me. I've spent YEARS trying to make up for what I did by being born because that's what she told me to do.

It's led to me growing up to become a vulnerable adult. When I think someone loves me, I think their opinion about me must just be right. Because surely someone who loves you wouldn't tell you were a fat whore unless it was true, right?

It was so easy to dodge questions like 'why do you put up with her if she literally is so rude to you all the time?' with a 'idk. She's my best friend' because don't best friends speak every day? Don't best friends do things together constantly? Don't best friends scream at their best friend when they haven't spoken to them in 5 hours? Don't best friends kick and shout and scream when you say you're busy and can't do anything that day?

My friends witnessed many incidents with my mum and would ask, incredously, why the fuck I hang around her when she spoke to me that way, and it would just be a shrug. It was easier to go along with it than fight it. Fighting back meant being screamed at and frightening displays of controlling behaviour. It was as simple as if I hung around my mum daily, the abuse was at around 30-70% severity dependent on her mood. If I ignored her for a few days, then the abuse was at 80-100% severe. Imagine going to spend the day with someone who is going to yell at you every time you speak, put you down at every chance, find an insecurity and dig and dig and dig. So you avoid that by letting her abuse you just a bit less daily.

I was dependant on my mum for much of life's little things and she made sure of that. It's been hard and relying on my friends to help me is difficult and scary because I'm so used to it coming with a cupful of abuse. I'm always on edge, waiting for it to blow up in my face.

I also just don't know where to draw lines thanks to my mums abuse. How much abuse is too much? My chart is way off. I will keep trying cos god, the size of the cup of abuse my mum fed me daily was absolutely huge compared to the abuse I've ever had from others. Someone could say one nice thing about me and abuse me the rest of the day and that would still be less abuse than my mother dealt me.

I made so many excuses for her. She admitted fully she never wanted me from the start - my dad wanted me but when I was born, he changed his mind and got a job so she had to put her life on hold and so I ruined everything. I was a problem from the start because I was female, and that meant I was going to be abused in her eyes, so she detached herself (was she ever attached?) rather than even attempt to protect me. I excused her for that. I first shouldered the blame for why she hated me when I was 6/7 years old and she told me about her own past. The grand irony is that had she been watching, had she cared to pay attention, I would likely not have been abused. The grandest irony of all was that my biggest abuser was her.

I still catch myself excusing her. 'Oh I always went silent after she screamed at me for daring to ask her not to be nasty towards me. Maybe I could have spoken up more.' even though I know logically that only made things worse. I remember once asking her if I could remove the furniture from my bedroom when she was away (so I could store it in her room) so that I could remove the black mould growing all up my windows, my walls and (as I later discovered), all up the sides of my actual bed and mattress. I was so ill all of the time and my breathing was a mess. I could smell it all the time, it was so overwhelming and although I cleaned what I could, due to my bedroom being a closet, I couldn't get behind anything without removing everything. She said no. No reason, no explanation, just no. Like most things that benefitted me. I was incredibly frustrated and begged that I could barely breathe for mould, she screamed at me that I deserved it and it was my fault. Black mould had been a persistent problem in that room long before I moved into it, as she had lived there before and seen it. I finally raised my voice and told her I wasn't going to accept this blatant disregard for my health and I was going to do it next time she was away anyway. I was paying rent at that point but it did not stop her getting up and getting in my face and telling me to get the fuck out her house. The third or so time she had kicked me out. There was no reasoning with her. She liked it when I suffered.

She is a narcissist through and through and I have been suffocated by narcissistic abuse for 23 years. Even now, she attempts to abuse me via my brother and father and even the government. She has lost her victim - the last person willing to take her shit. Most her family and friends are not willing to help her for more than five minutes as she treats them unkindly when she realises they will take it and stick around. I've watched her do it, and it just gets worse and worse for those people like it did for me. But they leave, because it has not been 23 years for them.

I don't even know where I'm going with this. I'm just... Through. My dad accepted my ultimatum and chose me. It's a weird feeling and a promise I hope he can keep. I know she asks him for information and I have told him to stop giving it to her repeatedly.

To those who think a mother deserves for their child to revere them permanently just because they birthed them... You're wrong. It is our actions and choices that shape our relationship and at every choice, my mother chose to act in her own interests with no care for anyone else. This is a woman who let a man beat her children whilst bragging to them he'd never hit her cos he knew she'd leave. I gave both my parents chances to mend our relationships and believe me, my dad was an appalling parent growing up. He was atrocious. But he decided he wanted to mend that relationship and he wanted to be a dad. Yes, it's sad he didn't realise it sooner but I'm happy for the relationship I have with him now, even if it's not perfect and he really doesn't know how to dad sometimes. My mum? My mum will still tell you it's my fault she finished her degree a year later than she wanted because I was born and I ruined everything 23 years ago. I dared to be born female and put that stress on her. She holds it over my head like it is my responsibility to fix. It has broken me. I've spent 23 years trying to make up to her the faults of my being born and nothing will ever, EVER be good enough to do that. I have given all I have to give. I literally have nothing left to give.

[brigdh]

Continuing to catch up on book reviews

River of Teeth by Sarah Gailey. Around 1910, a US congressman proposed to import hippos into the southern states as meat animals (supposedly "lake cow bacon" was delicious). Obviously this never happened, but Gailey has written a novella set in the world where it did. In her 1890s, an enormous stretch of the Mississippi River has been dammed to create a shallow marsh in response to the hippo ranching boom; unfortunately this marsh is now overrun with feral, man-eating, escaped hippos who have turned the area into a lawless danger zone. Winslow Houndstooth, former hippo breeder and current mercenary, is hired by federal agents to clear out the ferals and return the marshlands to government control. He promptly gathers the crew he needs to pull off the job. River of Teeth follows typical heist-movie structure: the long opening sequence of assembling the team, each with their own speciality; the suspense of putting together a plan and setting the pieces in motion; and finally the actual heist, which of course goes wrong in several unexpected ways, adding new and exciting twists to the plot. It's a structure refined to perfection by the Ocean's movies, and Gailey follows it faithfully. Except that this heist takes place in a Wild West where the cowboys all ride hippos. There are even different breeds of hippos, selected for size or speed or fighting ability, and given the same sort of loving descriptions and characterizations as any fiery stallion or faithful steed in a traditional Western. How can you not love this? I also appreciated the clear attention to diversity in the cast. There's Winslow himself, a bisexual Korean-British man giving to flirting and sleeping with anyone who catches his eye; Regina "Archie" Archambault, a fat Frenchwoman who's a skilled conman and pickpocket; Hero Shackleby, black non-binary demolitions expert who has to be coaxed out of retirement for one last job; Adelia Reyes, described as "without question, the deadliest, most ruthless contract killer of her day" and also a Latina woman who's eight months pregnant; and finally Cal Hotchkiss, inside man and literally the token white guy – Winslow explains that they need someone with privilege for part of the plan. Unfortunately, despite all of the amazing rule-of-cool in the above paragraphs, I didn't much like River of Teeth. This is Gailey's first full-length piece of writing (she'd published short stories before) and it shows. The biggest problem is simply that it's a novella packed with a plot that desperately needed to be at least a novel, and the smushing and cramming required to fit it all into such a small space did a great deal of damage. We're told, for example, that Winslow and Hero fall in love, but this takes place pretty much entirely off-page and we're given no explanation for Winslow's sudden transition from one-night-stands to devoted commitment. That kind of character arc really needs room to breathe if it's going to be believable. In addition, there are several betrayals and shocking double-crosses, but they all come so quickly one after another and we know so little about the characters in question that there's no emotional weight to any of them. Finally, there were some mistakes in the worldbuilding, the biggest of which was the fact that the dam that created this new marshland was upriver of the marsh. That's... that's not how dams work. Right? I'm now second-guessing myself because I can't find anyone else complaining about it online, but it bugged me through every single page of this short novella. Literally every page, because it was on a map included before the story started, so I was already confused before I'd read one word. I'm sad that I didn't like River of Teeth, because I expected to; it's such an incredibly cool concept and bit of history. But the execution just didn't hold up to the idea, alas. Babylon's Ashes by James S.A. Corey. The sixth book in The Expanse series, and the first one to be almost entirely free of alien plot devices (though they do show up for a spectacular ending, well-foreshadowed and still totally surprising). Humanity in this future is divided into three groups: those who live on Earth, those who live on Mars, and 'Belters', those who live in the asteroid belt and beyond. Earth and Mars have been the superpowers dominating the solar system, while the Belters suffer under heavy taxes, tariffs, and fees for importing water, gravity, air, food, etc. At least, that's how it was until the previous book, when a small group of Belter terrorists/freedom fighters (depending on your point of view, as the old joke goes) diverted asteroids into colliding with Earth, killing billions and rendering most of the planet uninhabitable for the foreseeable future. They also infiltrated the Martian military (leaving its government to fester in infighting and backbiting and eventually to collapse into a constitutional crisis) as well as barring any entry to or exit from our solar system, thus cutting off potential resources that could be used to aid Earth's or Mars's citizens. That was Nemesis Games. Babylon's Ashes is the fallout. The Belter terrorist group unsurprisingly begins to falter as its component small segments follow divergent goals, a problem heightened when Michio Pa, the main military commander, realizes that unless everyone stops fighting and immediately focuses on rebuilding infrastructure, all of humanity is going to starve to death in a few years. Her solution is to rebrand herself as a pirate queen, capturing necessary resources and delivering them to those most in need, a move that pits her against both her former terrorist allies and the newly forming Earth/Mars/some of the Belt coalition. Meanwhile, Filip, the seventeen year old only son of Marco, the terrorist leader, is slowly coming to realize that his father is maybe not that great of a guy, but is instead an unreliable, short-sighted narcissist who happens to be blessed with immense charisma. There's a lot of good stuff in this book. Unfortunately, there's also nineteen goddamn POVs, a simply ridiculous number. It's the first time in this series that I struggled to remember who was who, which is never a good sign. Some of the POVs are ones we've seen before (Holden, Naomi, Amos, Alex, Avasarala, Prax, Bobbie, Anna, Clarissa), some were previously minor characters now upgraded to narrators (Namono, Anna's wife; Dawes, governor of Ceres, largest city in the Belt; Fred, political leader of the centrist Belters; and the previously mentioned Pa, Filip, and Marco) and some are entirely new (Salis, Jakulski, Vandercaust, and Roberts, all four minor technicians working on Medina Station, which was cut off after Marco sealed the solar system). Nine of these characters only get one chapter each; that's barely enough time to get a sense of them as a personality, much less for them to have a storyline. Of the remaining ten, the only ones who get enough screentime to manage an actual character arc are Filip and maybe Pa. Though to be fair, Filip's arc is an incredibly well-done portrayal of an angry young man from a sheltered background – he doesn't realize it, but he's been indoctrinated in Marco's beliefs since birth – just beginning to question how he was raised. Outside of those two, though, the plot and themes of Babylon's Ashes fall a little flat with no one for the reader to emotionally latch onto. Significant portions of the book feel more like a detailed nonfiction account of a war – lists of places and dates, battle maneuvers and troop movements – than they do a novel. Which is really too bad, because Babylon's Ashes does have worthwhile things to say. I particularly liked the recurrent theme about how war makes it very easy to view our enemies as less than human: We’re not people,” he said. “We’re the stories that people tell each other about us. Belters are crazy terrorists. Earthers are lazy gluttons. Martians are cogs in a great big machine.” “Men are fighters,” Naomi said, and then, her voice growing bleak. “Women are nurturing and sweet and they stay home with the kids. It’s always been like that. We always react to the stories about people, not who they really are.” “And look where it got us,” Holden said. “I always thought that if you gave people all the information, they’d do the right thing, you know? Not always, maybe, but usually. More often than when they chose to do the wrong thing anyway.” “Everybody’s a little naïve sometimes,” Alex said, feeling as the words passed his lips that maybe he wasn’t quite following Holden’s point. Maybe he should have taken the first of the sobriety pills before he’d left the men’s room. “I meant fact,” Holden went on as if he hadn’t heard Alex at all. “I thought if you told people facts, they’d draw their conclusions, and because the facts were true, the conclusions mostly would be too. But we don’t run on facts. We run on stories about things. About people. Naomi told me that when the rocks fell, the people on Inaros’ ship cheered. They were happy about it.” “Yeah, well.” Alex paused, rubbing a knuckle across his upper lip. “Consider they might all be a bag of assholes.” “They weren’t killing people. In their heads? They were striking a blow for freedom or independence. Or making it right for all the Belter kids that got shitty growth hormones. All the ships that got impounded because they were behind on the registration fees. And it’s just the same back home. Father Cesar’s a good man. He’s gentle and he’s kind and he’s funny, and to him Belters are all Free Navy and radical OPA. If someone killed Pallas, he’d be worried about what the drop in refining capacity would do before he thought about how many preschools there are on the station. Or if the station manager’s son liked writing poetry. Or that blowing the station meant that Annie down in Pallas central accounting wasn’t going to get to throw her big birthday party after all.” “Annie?” Alex asked. “I made her up. Whoever. The thing is I wasn’t wrong. About telling people the truth? I was right about that. I was wrong about what they needed to know.” There's more, about politics and alliances, small-scale loss and planet-wide grief, protest and authority, and if history is made by sweeping changes in economies and technology or the choices of individuals. It's all meaningful and well-done, but... it's just hard to care without a character who cares. I needed fewer POVs. It's funny how such a minor-seeming stylistic choice can overwhelm so many other positives, but I simply didn't enjoy Babylon's Ashes the way I enjoyed the previous books. Ah, well. At least the next one in the series seems to return to the usual four-ish narrators.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

“They fully embraced vulnerability. 

They believed that what made them vulnerable made them beautiful.

They didn’t talk about vulnerability really being comfortable, nor did they talk about it being excruciating as I had heard it earlier in the shame interviewing.

They just talked about it being necessary.

They talked about the willingness to say, ‘I love you,’ first.”

-- Brené Brown

I have been reflecting on the mantra, Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo, for a few days now. I think I may never tire of meditating this beautiful mantra  (”prayer”.) The best I can translate this prayer is to say, “I call on my highest self to receive.” I can’t say that I live every day remembering to call on my highest self, that I live every day honoring Love/God/my Highest Self within me. But, I think I am beginning to more consciously align with the Love within that defines us all.

When I first began my formal journey in yoga, I reached out to the person who has most inspired me as a Yogi. I told him, “I am beginning my formal training soon! Do you have any advice for me?”

He responded with enthusiasm, of course. When I think of a happy, balanced life, I think of this beautiful soul. In fact, at the beginning of our training, we were asked to describe the person who most exemplified Yoga to us. To describe him, I used the words, “childlike wonder,” and “joyful curiosity,” In our email exchange, this beautiful friend of mine told me to remember that the guru, the person who is equal parts student-and-teacher, the person who is learning and teaching, is found within.

Yoga as a practice, as a way of life, is not indoctrinated to any one belief. For a yogi to find his/her highest purpose, for a yogi to find Holiness, (s)he reconciles within him(her)self that God is found within.

I am thinking now more than ever that Beauty, Love, and Truth are principles that we cannot realize without our Self being called into consciousness. How can I find Beauty in Another without first seeing it in myself? How can I find Love in Another without first finding it within Myself? How can I find Truth in life without having first understood Truth within my Self?

I believe that all of these things about meditating, breathing, and practicing movement are all beautiful attempts at pointing us towards to the Beauty that resides within us All. 

I spoke with a dear friend tonight, and I shared, “I feel you,” can be expressed in Italian as, “I have the same scars.”

Part of life is understanding pain, as much as I would like to say otherwise. In another blog post, I described pain as, “the plane from which all other emotions are understood.”

I believe that we all have a choice in life. And, wow, is it a Choice or what?! It’s like in Harry Potter, the Sorting Hat. It’s an intention that defines the rest of our understanding. It’s a choice every day. And, I would like to postulate that the Greatest Choice, the Most Meaningful Choice of Our Lives is this:

Will I continue to be Vulnerable?

Or, will I close up?

It’s so difficult to choose to remain soft. I used to look at a cactus and say, “Yes, this is me.” The sharp spokes, the lack of water and therefore of sustenance, the arming of oneself against everything...

It used to be me.

Then, I felt the soft touch of the sun as I went on a slow walk. I felt my breath moving beautifully through my body. I felt the soft grass underneath my feet. I heard birds singing their songs overhead.

I thought, “But, wait! Isn’t there something more?!”

I hoped, “Is there not something more?!”

I believed, “There is something more!”

The Stronger, the Braver, the Greater thing I found is to continue to believe in my Self. If we believe that we are Worthy, that we can find Love first within Our Selves --  and we will inevitably find it in others.

Now I say that vulnerability is necessary. To live a life with “childlike wonder,” with, “joyful curiosity,” I must be able to be Courageous with my Self. I have found Love, and there were times I would have never thought it possible. But, now that I know this journey, all I want to do is pass it along.

All I can hope is to pass it along!

After this past weekend practicing yoga, I spoke of my gratitude in being able to, “pass the baton.” Sometimes the best thing we can take away from our sorrow is being able to help another through their own.

Sometimes, the best we can do is help another to be vulnerable, to ask for help, and to believe, that eventually, all that feels Lost will become Found: the teacher, the Guru within, full of courage, will continue to Learn, and to Teach along the way.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Proxy Cosmos- Andromeda

(An alternate reality where Alec Ryder lived, and both twins were awake during the events of Andromeda.)

Chapter Two:

"It's a seizure! Her brain can't handle the connection!"

"Don't you dare, Elsee. Don't you dare leave me alone with him," Scott screamed at his sister, running her cot down the lengthening halls of the Hyperion. Lexi's glance betrayed her inner battle to force him away from the situation, her lips moving as the monolog worked its way through her.

"Ryder's implant is overloading, I suggest a hardwire connection," Scott did have an improvement for SAM, make the damned thing respond accordingly to the situation. His calm and collected voice did nothing to soothe him, just irritated him beyond belief.

As if hearing his distress, Elsee's hand reached for him. She still pulled through for him, even when half ways dead. That last show of effort the final blow in her struggle to stay alive.

 One, two, three, four, five, six.

SAM's calm voice announced that she was clinically dead. Offering a cold apology for the life lost to them, the machine's expression of condolence falling short.

 Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

He didn't remember screaming, just the warm arms surrounding him. Holding him tightly in shared grief, the blur of his emotions too consuming to realize the man holding him was crying too. Attempting to soothe a man he hardly knew.

 Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.

Those arms released him, allowing his body to slip to the floor. But he wasn't left alone, no, the stranger stayed at his side. Instead, the hand on his shoulder kept him grounded, something to focus on that wasn't his sister's death. Scott's head stopped swaying.

 Twenty, Twenty-one, Twenty-two.

He was numb, was he supposed to be numb already?

Elsee gasped.

Within seconds, SAM confirmed the best possible news. She would live. Scott wasn't ready to move just yet, so he remained, allowing the doctors time to scramble over his sister without getting in his way.

"I'm already reading that you Ryders are a stubborn bunch," Liam mused.

Scott's coarse laugh felt unnatural, "you'll come to regret that soon."

The man chuckled offering out a hand, Scott took the help regaining his feet.

"Doctor T'Perro, Doctor Carlyle, Scott; there has been another complication that we must discuss," SAM's voice chimed before he had made it more than a step away from the node.

"SAM?" Lexi and Scott echoed.

"To save Elsee I had to interface with her on a deeper level," if Scott didn't know better, he thought the AI was feeling uneasy, "removing her implant or my connection to her will be...problematic, likely resulting in her death."

"Dad will love this."

======

"So, we technically have two human pathfinders now?" Scott asked as Ryder Sr was finally out of earshot of any Nexus officials.

Alec's explanation of Elsee's transfer had come at an awkward time, or rather his willingness to speak about it came at an awkward moment. Alec had hoped Scott would forget it in the blur of running into the rest of the Milky way's travelers to Andromeda. He almost had- especially as the daunting news hit them one after another. Garson, failed worlds, riots, expulsions, and the widespread trouble with the aliens -Kett- they had encountered on habitat seven. But his son wasn't going to let it slide.

"Yes, some glitch in the programming," Alec didn't like the word glitch. Not in association with his work. If word got out that he had removed various safety locks and boosted SAM, it could get him into hot water. Even in another galaxy where the role of an AI was not viewed as entirely evil. Giving himself an advantage over the other Pathfinder's could also disrupt a fragile alliance between the species, which in retrospect was just asking for trouble. But he was here now and needed to deal with the consequences of his actions before Scott peeled back more of the layers.

Scott chuckled, "wouldn't the Nexus leadership be happy about that. Some untested newbie having all the authority of a Pathfinder."

"Addison would quit on the spot," Alec found the thought amusing, "Tann would have a field day, he'd be glad to have someone new to try and indoctrinate."

"Elsee will love this-"

"She doesn't need to know," Alec huffed, it would be easier that way.

"And why not? I get the not wanting to stir up shit, but we're already down three Pathfinders having one more could tip the balance for team Milky Way."

"Or tipping the balance toward team human could result in breaking down all diplomacy the Nexus has left."

It was Scott's turn to sigh, "because buffing up your own SAM wasn't enough."

Alec went silent, not answering was always easier. His son may not have pushed him away as much as his daughter had, but things were still not comfortable between them. Alec's discharge had caused Scott many issues throughout his short career- he was at fault for the boy being stationed at a relay. It was likely the cementing reason for Scott agreeing to relocate to another Galaxy; he had little choice of a fair life back home.

Alec's coughing into his hand the only interruption of the silence between them.

Scott distracted himself for a few minutes longer by looking over the terminal detailing the last year. He was brooding and hovering over something. His bottom lip was protruding in the grimace his face wore.

"Aren't you going to see her?" He finally spoke.

"I don't think she would appreciate waking to her 'dear' old dad," Alec deflected, "besides, I need to prepare for our departure to Eos."

His son snorted, whirling passed him with quick steps. The door closed loudly, finally allowing Alec to study the speckles of blood dotting his palms.

======

Elsee shot from the cot, breathing in deeply as if all oxygen had left her for hours. Waking up to an unfamiliar room was a harsh wake-up call from what one thought was their death. Her eyes followed the ring of pale blue light until she calmed.

"Welcome back, Elsee," SAM greeted.

"What happened?"

"You were clinically dead for twenty-two seconds."

It felt longer, the way her body ached.

"Did the rest of the team make it?" Elsee remembered her brother reaching for her, then her dad inexplicably removing his helmet.

"Hey," the voice that came was soft, a low rumble coming from the floor beneath the cot, "you're still with us."

"So I'm not a ghost," she let out a hiss, moving her left leg sent a branch of pain burning up her spine, "fuck, I can feel pain."

Rumbling laughter escaped his lips as he rose from the floor, "unless this is some wacky comedy about a cop and their paranormal partner."

Elsee grinned, receiving one in return as the man spoke into the Omni-tool, "guys, get to SAM node! Ryder is awake."

Carefully she picked her way to the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the ground as an easy start. That went well, so she felt comfortable twisting around the see SAM's tube behind her the light still a little bright for her liking.

"So, who were you talking to?"

"SAM?" she stated with a cock of her head.

"I didn't hear him."

"Maybe, I'm the one with a quirky paranormal partner," Elsee deadpanned. His chuckle was born out of politeness, but she had something else on her mind, "My father... Scott, where are they?"

"Ahh, that," Liam cleared his throat, "they're fine. Sadly no champagne."

"Champagne?" Had she missed something?

"You might not need to hear this right now, but the Nexus is a mess," Liam breathed in deeply, the way his eyes shifted away making Elsee think he was hiding something.

"And?" she pressed.

"We're the first ark to arrive," he flinched, requiring another goad from Elsee to continue, "none of the golden worlds have panned out. Some riots, stuff like that. Apparently, the Nexus wasn't even aware we were here at first. But hey now that we brought them a Pathfinder, this can all be fixed."

"That's," she stuttered, still processing all of this at once, "that's quite a bit of bad luck."

"Idiot mouth should have waited to say anything."

"No, I needed to hear it. But, thanks," Elsee looked at her hands," is the Nexus everything we hoped it would be?"

"I haven't seen it for myself."

"Why not?"

Liam's words came with an easy roll of his shoulders, "it wouldn't be fair if you were the only one left out," it was unashamed, open, and for once said without the wake of tragedy, "plus waking up in a strange place after nearly dying would be a little scary."

A smile crawled its way across her lips, beaming at the man, who met her glance with a gentle, but unyielding look in his big amber eyes, "you shouldn't have. But thank you, Liam."

His crooked smile was heartbreaking.

"Scott and my father aren't the type to show, " rather than continue to sit around and be smitten by this man Elsee decided it was time to get moving, her first attempt ended with little more than her ass replanted in the cot. The second attempt ended on a better note, as the kind man continued to extend support by pulling her up and into his side. Stooping down, so her much shorter frame didn't need to extend her arm too extremely. The scent of shea butter with the hint of coconut assaulted her at once, inhaling it the scent with appreciation.

"Now, you are definitely Prince Charming," she cooed.

"Find me a horse; I'll do better," making an exaggerated show out of his wink.

"Does that include waking me from slumber with true love's first kiss?" The words left her with a face sprawling blush, damn, was she embarrassing herself.

His belly rolled with laughter, the hand not holding her waist covered his mouth. Sending both of them teetering off balance, while he attempted to regain his composure. Despite the way her face was flaming under heat, she couldn't help but fall victim to the infectious laughter. Elsee didn't know why, it was terrifying, her mouth was terrifying.

"That was horrible," she balked out.

"Be a tease, El," he gurgled through chuckles.

"El?"

"Seemed shorter, is that okay?"

"I like it."

======

Scott hustled from the door with a shake of his head, he could always visit Elsee later. For now letting her flirt was preferable to the awkwardness of interrupting whatever poor attempt she was making.

[forkanna]

[AO3 Link]

See also: @pankite

Anna Saunders wasn't the most religious person out there. Sure, when she still lived with Mama she went to church and Sunday school alongside her sister, and never questioned a single thing they taught her. That had been easy. After all, the phrase "the faith of a child" is a phrase for a reason.

It was a good deal harder for her to hold onto complete faith in a God who would allow Anna's beloved family to split apart when she was just a little girl, and to keep her entirely separated from her sister and best friend, Elsa, from grade eight onward. Not impossible, but harder. While she still believed in God and the Bible, when her Papa took her with him away from their home in Toronto to the smaller, far-away city of Winnipeg, she no longer had the unshakable faith she held as a girl.

Therefore, Anna surprised even herself when she signed up to be a counselor at Peterhouse Bible Camp, well over six hours away from home. She needed the money, the job paid enough to make it worth her time, and she liked kids. But she was dreading all the religious indoctrination she had been able to avoid for the past five years. Especially given how much her beliefs had changed.

But her father had a secret smile in his eyes when he first handed her the pamphlet, promising that if she went, she would not be disappointed.

So there she was, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she followed after another eager counselor named Rapunzel. She was guiding her towards the dorms that she would call home for the next few months.

"You're really gonna love it here," Rapunzel gushed, cheeks bunched and eyes alight with excitement. "These kids really need to be fostered to Jesus, and like, where else is a better place than here?! And there's so many fun games, and activities — and wait until you see the lake! It's gorgeous!"

"It sounds wonderful!" Anna gave the other girl a warm grin. Her cheer was infectious and the more Rapunzel spoke, the more pleased and excited Anna became about taking this opportunity. She beamed and hoisted her bag a little higher. "Me and my sister used to go camping at a lake with our parents all the time when we were little. I've always wanted to go back again! Is there canoeing or kayaking in the event plans?"

"Is there ever!"

The two chatted on as they walked. She was practically buzzing by the time they reached the cabins that housed the campers, eager to meet her dorm mate and the group of kids they were supposed to keep an eye on.

"...and lanyards, of course," the other girl was still rambling. "I mean, how is it even camping if there's no lanyards?! But my fave is macrame." Then she brightened and hopped up and down. "Oh look - it's Aurora! She's the head counselor and she's- well, look at her!"

Anna glanced over in the direction Rapunzel was looking and felt her cheeks heat up in response. The woman was stunning! With long blonde hair and warm, honey brown eyes. She was kneeling in front of a small girl, speaking softly to her, but she looked up and smiled at the two younger counselors briefly.

"Wow," Anna breathed. "She's… really pretty! And she seems nice. I mean, n-not that I can tell from all the way over here."

"You have no idea! When I first started here last year, she was the one who took me under her wing, and… I mean, I just can't say enough good things about her. A true Christian, and she's so good with the smalls! And nice to pretty much all the other counselors!" In a quieter voice, she added, almost to herself, "Not like that other girl…"

Anna looked over at Aurora again, watching as she patted the girl's head gently before sending her off. For a second, she pondered on what Rapunzel said about the woman being a true Christian and wondered if any advances she made would be met with disdain. In the end, she dismissed the thought; it would be too much of a potential problem to ask her directly.

"What other girl?" Anna asked instead, having just barely caught the whisper. She furrowed her brow slightly. "Is it someone I should watch out for?"

Blinking, Rapunzel looked over with a vaguely-embarrassed smile. "O-oh, nobody! Gossiping is a sin, right? I'll let you meet people on your own, maybe you'll feel different if I don't tell you a bunch of stuff first." Then she glanced down at Anna's paperwork. "Counselor cabin four, huh? This way."

So Anna trailed after her, deciding to change the subject if it made the other girl uncomfortable. "Hey, Rapunzel… you're a pretty devoted Christian, right? How do you feel about… certain things? Like dating and stuff? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Well… I do have a promise ring Flynn gave me," she said with a slight blush, flashing it at Anna. "We're still not sure we're like, ready for all that, or interested, or anything… but, um…" Obviously, this was a hard thing for Rapunzel to talk about; she seemed to want to say a lot more but thought it would either be burdensome for Anna, or that it wasn't "Christian" to keep talking about her almost-boyfriend.

"That's a really pretty ring, " Anna praised awkwardly, noting the discomfort still gracing her new friend's face. She nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and scrambled to pick another topic before she spotted a sign with a large black "4" and she let out a silent sigh of relief. "Well I guess this is my cabin; I'll see you around!"

"Right!" she called back as she turned down the landing, most likely to find her own cabin. Her cheeks were positively aglow with excitement. "See you around, new friend! Ohhh, this is gonna be so much fun!"

Anna waved as she watched the other girl walk away. "See you tomorrow!" she called after her and giggled as she turned to the door and pulled out her key.

"She's nice," she commented happily to herself. She was enjoying herself so far and was very excited to meet her new roommate, especially if she was half as nice as Rapunzel was. Without further delay, she pushed the door open…

Only to halt in the doorway, her face draining of all colour as she leaned against the door to support her suddenly weak knees.

Her roommate's shirtless back was facing her; smooth expanses of snowy skin that was only slightly covered dark blue straps of a bra. A bra that she got a full view of when her roommate turned and revealed her perfect breasts and flat stomach that Anna just couldn't look away from.

"Oh… my God."

"What? Who's there?!" The voice was muffled from being on the other side of thick cotton, of course.

"I'm so sorry! Oh my god, I'm sorry! I-I didn't think!" Anna quickly covered her reddening face in her hands while turning her back to the other before she could get a proper look at her face. Her own face felt like it was in an oven as she kept rambling apologies. The memory of the boobs was so fresh, she couldn't think straight!

Which made sense, because she wasn't straight. She had several crushes on both boys and girls over the years, and had even dated a lovely French exchange student named Esmeralda, who still took Anna's breath away when she thought about her. Most of the time, she embraced her sexuality, but once in awhile, it presented a problem such as this.

After another moment of struggling, the stranger was able to pull the shirt the rest of the way over her head. "You really ought to knock before you… burst in on someone when they're… oh."

As Anna's face continued burning, she finally uncovered her it and risked a glance over her shoulder. Only to be knocked off her feet a second time.

"E-Elsa?"

At odds with the order of things, the taller, blonder girl chose that moment to cover her bare chest with her arms, blinking her long lashes in complete shock. Her plump, pink bottom lip quivered a few times before she managed to croak, "What the- Anna? Wh-what are…?"

Her previous embarrassment and brief arousal was completely forgotten as Anna flung herself towards the older sister she hadn't seen in years, grabbing her into a tight embrace and pressing her face into Elsa's shoulder.

"Elsa! It's really you! I haven't seen you in forever! I-" She felt so overwhelmed in her pure elation at seeing her sister again that all she could really do was snuggle into the older girl and try desperately to hold back happy tears. "I missed you so much!"

"You missed- how did you get-" For a few more seconds, Elsa sputtered and stood there, not quite embracing her back but neither pushing her away. One hand did fall to the crest of her red head, caressing it for just a moment.

Then she gently pushed Anna backward by her upper arms, gazing down at her with bewildered blue eyes. "Wait, wait. Anna, what do you mean that you've missed me? I thought... you didn't want to see me anymore."

Anna stared at Elsa in disbelief, her eyes misty with unshed tears. "Wh-What?" She frowned at her sister. "What made you think I didn't want to see you? I tried calling every week up until last year! Mom always said you were too busy to talk to me… so I stopped calling, but I still wrote letters and you never replied to them! I even tried going to visit once but you were out of town! Why would you think I no longer wanted to see you?! If anything, I honestly thought it was the other way around…"

Pale eyebrows drew together on the elder sister's forehead. "What are you saying? I never got… Mom never told me about a single letter or call, not for the past few years. She said…" Her eyes went flatter, and she took a step backward away from Anna. "She told me that you and Father weren't… that neither of us could trust 'sinners' like you. I didn't want to believe her, but when the calls stopped coming, and you never visited anymore…"

Anna's lower lip trembled. "Why did...Why wouldn't Mom pass my messages on?" She whimpered, feeling dread and hurt like a punch in the gut. "Why would she say that about us? Papa said he only stopped visiting because Mom told him to… and I wanted to visit, but Papa only had enough extra to send me the one time and you weren't there, anyway!" She glanced at the wall, all of her previous elation having evaporated. "Why didn't you try calling us instead? Why wouldn't you get the story from us first before believing that me and Papa are horrible people so easily?"

"And you think I had any reason not to trust my own mother? The one who stood by my side, raised me and provided for me? Was my entire family after you two ran off to the west?!" Her chest was heaving, and after a moment she glanced down at herself before turning back to the suitcase that stood open on one of the two beds in the small room, catching up an official camp polo shirt. "You… I can't believe that. Right about now, I think you would say anything to convince me you and Father didn't completely abandon us."

"You honestly think I wanted to leave?!" Anna demanded. "I was five, Elsa! All I knew at the time was that Papa was going away and I didn't want him going alone! I didn't want to leave you or Mama but if I didn't, Papa would have been all alone! And it got even worse when the visits stopped completely five years back!" She shook her head. "I just don't understand why Mama wouldn't tell you about all the times I tried to talk to you! Besides, why would you pin all this 'abandonment' stuff on us when you and Mama never made any effort to come and see us either?! That isn't fair, Elsa!"

"Enough!" The shout was sharper than her voice had been before, but once the shirt was down over her head again, she took in a long breath and let it out slowly. "Enough. Listen, we… I don't know what you're doing here, or why, but… let's just try not to get in each other's way for the next month. Alright? I… I don't want to end up resenting you any more than I already do."

Anna stiffened at the cold words but she simply straightened her back and moved to pick up the bag she had dropped at the entrance.

"F-Fine," she managed to choke out, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She moved over to her own bed, placing it down roughly before digging through it in a vain attempt to keep herself from looking over at Elsa. She felt tired, sad and hurt and she knew she would break if she saw her sister's chilling eyes again.

'At least we don't have to start working with the kids until tomorrow,' she thought bitterly when Elsa swept from the room without another word. What once looked like a fun few months had now soured from a single conversation.

                                                  To Be Continued...

[steelsworn]

ok how about 2, 4, 6, 8, 23, and 42: Jamie experienced some significant ideological indoctrination in his past. Does the thought of that bother him and make him question his reactions to more than the "big questions" (like synths, ghouls, etc.)? Basically, after leaving the BOS, does he ever worry that his thoughts/decisions/even feelings are subconsciously influenced by his former ideologies?

42 character development questions!

I’m gonna put these under a cut because they’re pretty long ( ESP. THE LAST ONE )

2. How much physical space do they use, active and at rest?

So Jamie’s actually pretty low maintenance if I’m being honest. He doesn’t really need a whole lot of space for the purpose of living. He needs a bed, food, and water. Just the essentials ( Nuka Cola is an essential in his eyes but that doesn’t really relate to needs ). Generally Jamie’s content having a smaller space to live in and since he’s not the kind to have excessive need for personal space he’s kind of used to tight quarters?? So effectively he’s pretty low maintenance for physical space purposes.

4. What is their size and build? How does it influence how they use their body, if it does?

Jamie has a well muscled athletic build. He’s not excessively huge nor is he juggernaut bodybuilder size but he has well defined muscles. In terms of height he’s pretty average standing at around 5′9-5′10 so in terms of physique where he really shines if physical fitness. He’s fit and it shows, this is because of all the physically demanding training he underwent when he joined the Brotherhood. Since then his fitness has served him well. He’s used this athletic build of his to fight and defend himself on more than one occasion and since he uses Queen Anne’s Revenge as one of his weapons his athletic inclination has made the use of that weapon far more effective in the long run. 

6. What are they like in motion–in different environments, and in different activities? What causes the differences between these?

Generally Jamie’s mood shows through his body language a lot. There are certain bodily cues that can be seen that will hint at what he won’t willingly say out loud. This is applicable to anything relating to his environment around him so for example, Jamie LOVES the rain. It’s one of the things he still really appreciates since he got out of the Vault. He didn’t think Rain would really be a thing anymore since the bombs dropped but for him to be able to travel the Commonwealth in the rain makes him genuinely happy. This can be seen in his expression but more noticeably in how he carries himself. He tends to relax a bit more. His posture shows it and often times he’ll find a puddle to stand in or near so he can watch the raindrops disturb the surface. He loves seeing the rain and he loves BEING in the rain. It’s little things like that. Jamie’s actions tend to be very telling of how he feels in the environment he’s in.

8.  Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

This is a little bit tricky because there are a few select places that make Jamie HORRIBLY uncomfortable. So I’ll start with what makes him MOST at ease. If I had to pick a place for that it’d be either Diamond City or The Castle. Those are really the only two settlements Jamie genuinely feels safe from the Brotherhood’s reach. Yes the Brotherhood COULD attack either of those places but the likelihood of them successfully getting him out is slim. Seeing as the Castle is heavily fortified as is Diamond City, they’re just the two places in the Commonwealth where he feels like he can just stop and take a breath. It’s usually pretty easy to tell this because he doesn’t look nearly as tense when he’s in either of these places. He looks genuinely relaxed because he isn’t as worried as he normally is. For uncomfortable I’m going to have to go with ANY VAULT or Fairline Hill Estates. Both of them are linked to very dark and very unpleasant memories. In fact Jamie’s reaction to seeing Fairline Hill Estates was so severe that he actually puked and had to leave ASAP because the longer he stayed there the more violent his panic attack reaction got. In the case of Vaults, they just amplify his usual tense demeanor. Normally Jamie looks very ‘guarded’ which would be considered normal for most people in the Commonwealth, but in or near a Vault Jamie begins to show very obvious visible signs of discomfort. 

23. How do they respond to difficult social moments? What makes them consider a social situation difficult?

Social dilemmas are honestly hit or miss. A lot of times Jamie feels pretty confident in difficult social scenarios because he wants to do what’s best for everyone. Now on too grand of a scale this actually creates a ‘people pleaser’ in him which results in disaster but on social dilemmas that bring morality into it, those tend to be very circumstantial. Honestly Jamie 9 times out of 10 just tries to keep the peace in moments of difficult social interaction. He doesn’t like that kind of trouble and if he truly doesn’t have anything helpful to say he’ll just remain quiet. An example would be in the case of Curie’s personal quest. He had very mixed feelings about the dilemma. On one hand Curie is wanting to move into a synth body for the sake of further immersing herself in her research, however for the sake of viewing her as a trustworthy person Jamie supports the idea. So he handles it pretty well for the most part. For a situation to really cause problems for Jamie it’d need to require very gray problems. An example would be the issue of whether or not the innocent staff in the Institute should be allowed time to escape. On one hand HE TRULY wants to help people and that means giving innocent people the opportunity to flee. But at the same time it’s likely that those people agreed / believed in the ideals of the Institute which could cause potentially devastating consequences should they decide to try and rebuild the Institute.

42. Jamie experienced some significant ideological indoctrination in his past. Does the thought of that bother him and make him question his reactions to more than the "big questions" (like synths, ghouls, etc.)? Basically, after leaving the BOS, does he ever worry that his thoughts/decisions/even feelings are subconsciously influenced by his former ideologies?

Ok so this is a pretty complex question to answer in terms of explaining the indoctrination and upholding brotherhood of steel ideals. The short answer is yes. Jamie constantly feels conflicted about whether or not his view of the world is skewed because of how the Brotherhood seemingly brainwashed his impressionable mind when he got out of Vault 112. The long answer isn’t quite as simple. You have to understand that Jamie was EXTREMELY impressionable, almost like a child, when he first emerged from Vault 112. He’d spent 200 years interacting with the same group of people over and over again having his memory wiped over and over again that it basically made him naïve to everything outside of the confines of that ‘metal prison’ as he called it. The dilemmas he’d been faced with were culture shock. Until he got out of the vault, he didn’t know what Ghouls were, feral or otherwise. He had no idea super mutants existed. He didn’t have any clue as to what the world was like or the gray realities that existed out there. So he basically, LIKE A CHILD, took the impression of the Brotherhood as a means for formulating his own opinion. And for nearly a decade he followed those beliefs like law. Fortunately he wasn’t so intense and harsh about his discontent for non-human races with the Lyons chapter that he turned into a radical like Maxson, but it most definitely skewed his views on a lot of the creatures in the world. As he grew older and he learned more and saw the heinous acts of terror that Maxson order it began to dawn on Jamie that the opinions he’d clung to for so long weren’t as pure and noble as he once thought. There were cracks in the perfect image that he didn’t before. The final straw was Paladin Danse as you already know but many of Maxson’s actions drove Jamie further and further from his belief. Now to answer the actual question, yes. Jamie worries constantly about whether or not he has the full story about something he maybe hates or generally dislikes. A perfect example is non-feral ghouls. He was extremely cruel to non-feral ghouls for upwards of 10 years and it’s only after embracing the idea that whether they’re ‘machine on the inside’ or not, synths are humans that Jamie has begun to open his eyes a bit more to the notion that perhaps he’s still wrong about other beings. The only exception to this rule is Super Mutants. Jamie still sees Super Mutants as ABSOLUTE BARBARIANS. There’s very little that will change his mind and that’s because every encounter he’s had with a super mutant ( bc he never met Dr. Virgil ) has been hostile and the super mutants he’s had to face have been brutish ogre-like beasts. So his perception is based off personal experience that fell in line with what the Brotherhood was saying. But for Synths, Ghouls, anyone who’s a little eccentric, Jamie has begun to try and actively curb his behavior but he can’t help his prejudices. He still gets those bigot thoughts because they were so beat into his head that they’re basically like a bad force of habit. So Jamie worries on a daily basis about whether or not what he perceives is what is truth, and since joining the Minutemen he’s made an active effort to check himself and catch those behaviors so that he can make a point to rectify them. However ultimately he bears this extreme guilt that is unlikely to go away. All in all the Brotherhood’s ‘aftermath’ effects on him have been causing him a lot of stress so he’s made a conscious effort to be more open minded with certain things that in the past he would have been hostile or racist about.

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