#i mean you can argue with me but it would be for naught

[broodpuff]

(spoilers for part 2?)

this scene is so poignant to me, my friend has never seen Wicked and when we watched the movie she kept saying that it’s going to be a love triangle thing where they turn on each other because of fiyero, which granted yeah when that whole thing happens, glinda is hurt, of course, but it never even leads to a shouting match.

In the deleted scene there’s not an ounce of jealousy or suspicion, just that glinda is someone elphaba can trust, that she would be there for elphaba. I know there’s much to be learned in part 2 but there’s never any strife between elphaba and glinda due to fiyero, he could never come between them.

He just helped me rescue the cub. Right. But...

[augustinewrites]

“hey, stay on your side!”

satoru pouts when you hit him with a throw pillow, pointing to the opposite end of the couch. half an hour of his inching closer to you had been for naught.

“is it a crime that i want to be close to you?” he questions. “my one and only? my other half?”

“you mean your better half,” you correct matter of factly. “and i’m just following the doctor’s orders. you’re barely healed.”

“i’m plenty healed,” he argues, gesturing at his crotch. “and i’ve been cleared for some low-impact, very loving and tender love making.”

“it’s still too soon,” you point out. your boyfriend is many things, but patient has never been one of them. he’s been not so quietly counting down the days since he’d gotten out of the hospital. “after two months of abstinence, i don’t think you’d be capable of anything ‘low impact.’”

(you’re not sure if you would be, either.)

he begins scooting closer to you again anyway, batting his pretty blue eyes in an attempt to change your mind. “but it’s just cuddling—”

“it’s never just cuddling with you. you’re the horniest man i know.”

“okay, i’m willing to overlook the fact that you know other horny men if you at least agree to some very loving, extremely intimate kissing.”

“fine,” you agree. then, as an afterthought, “but no tongue.” 

satoru throws his head back against the couch cushions, groaning, clearly vexed with this entire situation. 

“just come here you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing and tugging on his hand.

in spite of all his complaining, your boyfriend leans in with a smile, tracing his thumb over the shape of your lips. 

“i knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and the tip of his nose brushing yours. “i’m pretty irresistible.”

you turn your head with another laugh, but your cheeks are warm and you don’t resist when he guides you to lay across the couch, trapping your body beneath his. “satoru, the more you compliment yourself the less attractive you get.”

he compensates with a kiss to your jawline, smiling against your skin. “shut me up then.” 

so you do, your banter lost amidst the haze beginning to settle over your mind at his insistent kissing. he kisses you slowly and carefully, a contrast to his usual playful demeanor.

then his lips trail down your neck, pressing against your sternum as his hands begin to wander—

“that is a terrible idea,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently to get his attention.

his fingertips dig into your hips, keeping you in place as he glances up at you. “i prefer to think of it as a great idea disguised as a terrible idea.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you say, but your hands are already pulling at the back of his shirt—

“uh, i can just walk to my friend’s house…”

you and satoru spring apart, cursing under your breaths. you try your best to straighten your clothing and he grabs a throw pillow to hold over his crotch. 

“megumi,” you breathe, pushing the hair out of your face. “you don’t need to walk. i’ll drop you off.”

the twelve year old nods, sending satoru a weird look before heading to the front door to put his shoes on. 

“sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, pressing a quick kiss to your boyfriend’s temple.

“can you at least get me some ice before you take that cockblock to see his new girlfriend?” he asks dejectedly. 

“too soon?” you ask, gaze flicking to his lap.

“i really hate it when you’re right…”

[local-lamppost]

Wicked Part 2 Theory

The biggest problem with splitting the movies between the two acts is that act 2 really is the Wizard of Oz's background political shenanigans. So how do you make another film that isn't just the Wizard of Oz or thirty minutes long? You make the Wizard of Oz thirty minutes longer.

Really dumb point, but hear me out.

Have Dorothy get involved with the story; show her bonding with Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Lion, with Glinda, and have her learn about the Witch through others. It not only would be a great way to reenforce just how effective Oz's propaganda is, but you could also have a plot of kind, empathetic, and honest Dorothy learn the truth and be outraged by being used by the bullies instead of standing against them.

The Tin Man and Lion are vehemently against Elphaba, so you can have the three arguing over the bucket and Dorothy accidentally splashes the water to still have her 'kill' the Witch. An infuriated and distraught Dorothy confronts and demands the Wizard grant her and her friends' wishes, because otherwise it would have all been for naught. Maybe she learned from Elphaba that the Wizard is a fraud in some way, so she send Toto to find the real Oz behind all the fanfare to confirm that-once again-Elphaba was the only one truthful to Dorothy.

This would also help with the "I'll miss you the most" line she gives to Scarecrow, because if he was giving her hints throughout and trying to stop the Tin Man's wrath towards the Witch with Dorothy. I don't think Dorothy would be in on the faking Elphaba's death plan, but I could imagine the Scarecrow talking about the 'girl' he loves and hint at weather or not Dorothy figures out that Scarecrow's 'girl' and the Witch are the same.

Finally, you could include Dorothy in Glinda's dressing down of the Wizard and in a bit of development for Glinda. Dorothy tells Oz that he has to do something good in his life, that he has to help Dorothy after making her a part of his mess and having her kill the only person actually trying to do good.

With Glinda, Dorothy would act as a bit of a mirror and memory. Dorothy has Glinda's dreams and Elphaba's heart, Dorothy wants that somewhere over the rainbow but is not willing to sacrifice her family or the well being of others. You could have a scene before 'For Good' of Dorothy telling Glinda her values and Glinda remarking on how much Good-er of a Witch Dorothy would be, of how Dorothy is just like Elphaba in her morals and stubbornness. Glinda could even talk about her friend Elphaba without Dorothy realizing she means the Wicked Witch. Glinda would say how much she wishes she could be like her friend and Dorothy would tell her that she just needs to be the person her amazing friend saw her as. Then you have 'For Good' a scene or two later.

[lanitalay]

In the cover of night, star-crossed lovers meet.

a/n: I'm back from the dead!!! this time with Covid. Enjoy this lil Cassian x autumn court princess drabble.

Pairing: Cassian x y/n (autumn court princess)

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions of scars and implied violence

“I’m not worth fighting a war over.” Your eyes cloud as the plea falls on deaf ears. 

“Yes you are.”

You brush the rogue strands that frame his face behind his ears, placing both your hands firmly on his cheeks. “No, Cassian, I’m not.” His thumbs are drawing circles on your hips, feeling the heat rise. 

“You’d do the same for me.” 

“I’d think twice about it.” Your hands were on his chest now, firm. 

“What alternative do I have?” 

Here you were, back to the same place you always ended up. Your hand was promised to a lord from the Continent. Your father found it advantageous to match his only daughter with a wealthy male across the sea. Prythian was becoming too tumultuous for his liking, the tides were turning in favor of Night and he would rather have you shipped away. Securing funding for the battles that were sure to be waged soon. He did not account for your resistance and utter refusal to marry. 

The gods gave you a kindness, the male refused to take you without consent. 

But the betrothal still stood. 

Mikaiel would visit once every few months. Beron was furious at the delay. His torments have become more violent, intent on making you succumb. 

“I-” there was no alternative. If you joined him in Velaris on your own accord or if he knocked you unconscious and dragged you there it would all end the same. “You could always find some-”

His grip on you tightened, a warning to not finish the sentiment. “There is no one for me but you.” It was supposed to come out rougher than it did. But the general was tired of making his case for your love. “We’ve been through this a million times-”

“And my point stands, Cassian. If only one person gets hurt because of this… it would be too much. The Night Court is strong, and loyal and I’d argue bloodthirsty-” Cassian opens his mouth to object but you go on “-but Autumn is not. My father, yes. Our people, no and they would be the ones who take the brunt of battle.” 

He lowers his forehead to yours. “I can’t keep meeting in secret like this, y/n.” 

“The alternative is not worth it.” His grip changes to your wrist and he lifts the long sleeve of your gown up to your elbow. “This is not worth it either, you are not saving anyone by letting him burn you piece by piece.” 

You step back and yank the sleeve back down. “It’s only until I wed and it isn’t anything I haven’t handled before.” He’s ridiculous if he thinks that you’d send your people, most of whom are farmers, to war over a few burn marks. 

“If your people saw your skin they’d riot too, you know. They’d fight for you if given the chance.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop them. “My people will never fight for me, they will follow the commands of the High Lord and general, even if it leads to no good end.” 

“And marrying a lord in the continent will save them from what exactly? You father isn’t trying to secure funds for Court Peace you know.” 

He closes the gap between you again, breath ragged. “Y/n, my love, war will come no matter what. I’d rather you be by my side when it does. Not in some palace where I’d never see you again. We have wards, powerful wards that will keep you safe-”

“It’s like you’re not listening to me!” You swat his hands away. “It matters naught to me if I am safe! It's my people, my brothers, my mother who will suffer while I lay behind wards.”

“Do you want me to kill Beron?”

“Watch what you say.”

“I’m serious, I’ll rip his throat out if that’s what it takes, I’ll raise my army against him right now if it means you’ll be happy and safe and mine.” 

“Cassian… he’s High Lord-”

“Say the word and he’s dead, y/n. I’m your sword and your shield. I’m yours entirely-” 

“Stop talking.” You run your hands through your hair… not a war but an assassination. Eris is ready, you’re sure of it. Mother would be free. The Court would be free. You’d be free. 

“I have- I’d have to talk to Eris.”

Cassian’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “You can’t tell anyone about this conversation, y/n.”

“He’s heir, if you want me to agree he must vow to not wage war against Night.”

“My love-”

You hold your hand up “that’s my condition.”

“Don’t you think he’d be warning Beron before we get the chance to-”

You cross your arms on your chest. “If you think my arms are bad you should see his back, Cassian. He won’t warn him, but he deserves the heads up.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes. Mentally arranging the pieces so this plan might work. He needs you home, desperate to see you free from the confines of the Forest House and the cold chambers of the Hewn City. 

“Fine.” 

“Fine what?” 

He cups your face “How you escape your current situation is up to you. I’ll do as you wish.” 

You soften under him. “I love you, you know that?” Half his mouth quirks to a lazy smile. 

“You make me crazy, and if it were up to me I’d demolish Prythian entirely just to kiss these lips.” 

“And?” 

He chuckles. “I love you.” 

[nullen-void]

What Use Are Explorers In An Empty World? - Part 2

First Part

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

Kabbu joined the Watchers for a number of reasons. They were a prestigious organization, after all, and he was honored to be allowed among their ranks, especially given that he was an outsider. First among all his reasons was a desire to help other bugs, of course, but he also enjoyed the view from the Spire, appreciated the stately uniform, and... well. Kabbu was not a shy bug, by any means, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he kind of, sort of... disliked the stares he got when he walked around the City. Most bugs in Hallownest had carapaces that ran from navy to gray, all in muted shades.

Kabbu's bright green shell drew a lot of stares, and not all of them were friendly. Up in the Spire, he was away from suspicious looks. It wasn't why he joined! But it had turned out to be a pleasant bonus.

Without his Watcher robes, he felt terribly out of place on the streets. He didn't even have a mask, for Root's sake.

No matter. Kabbu pushed the worries from his mind and focused on his mission.

Kabbu joined his 'fellow' civilians waiting in front of the Soul Sanctum's public entrance, ignoring the glances being snuck his way. He didn't have to fake his amazement when their tour guide appeared in a flash of soullight, hovering over the ground.

"Behold, citizens!" the mage announced. "The magic of the SOUL!" He raised two of his arms, and white light appeared above each. They began orbiting the bug's head. "You are here because you wish to see the Soul Sanctum, and all of our incredible spectacle! As you should." He grinned. "I am Arkin, friends. And I am your guide today. Please, stay nearby and let me show you what we do. Prepare to be amazed; I'm sure some of you will never want to leave." He allowed his orbs to rise up, their orbit tightening until they collided in a shower of sparks.

Kabbu's eyes narrowed, even as the rest of the group expressed their awe. He wasn't so dazzled as to forget his mission. He sincerely hoped that Master Lurien's suspicions were for naught, but that last line was... worrying with the context he had.

The bug next to him scoffed loudly. "What a load..."

Kabbu glanced at them. Their voice sounded young enough that he instinctively began seeking out their parent, but they seemed to be alone. They were a shorter bug, only coming up to Kabbu's shoulder, and any other attributes were obscured by the nondescript mask and concealing robe they wore.

"Are you not impressed?" he found himself asking.

"What's it to you," the masked bug asked crossly. "It was just some flashy lights."

The tour started moving forward. "But it was magic flashing lights," Kabbu pointed out. "Done with nothing but will and Soul."

"So he says," the young bug countered. "My old roomate could do that with some wires and a bucket of glitter. I'm not impressed."

Kabbu stared at her--he was fairly certain it was a 'her'--in disbelief. "You surely can't be insinuating that you don't believe in magic?"

The bug turned, clearly looking him up and down through her mask, and scoffed again. "I can believe or not believe anything I want. It's up to the Sanctum to prove me wrong."

And that was that, Kabbu supposed. He couldn't really argue with that. At any rate the tour group was picking up speed, so Kabbu focused on Arkin as he began to speak.

The Soul Sanctum was a fascinating institution, truly. Every spare wall was dedicated to tomes and scrolls, jars of swirling Soul sat on every surface, and then they entered an open space and Kabbu could scarcely help himself from gaping as he took in the atrium. The group ooh'd and aww'd as Soul mages flew overhead, tossing magic around.

"This is the main thoroughfare of the Sanctum," Arkin explained. "It connects to four different levels and is built primarily for flighted bugs to navigate. You'll notice," he said with a smirk, "that most of our bugs are not winged species. We find that it encourages neophytes to study if flying is the only way to get to their classes on time. But, ah, none of you need to worry about that today. We'll be taking a grounded route through the Sanctum. If you'll follow me, our first stop is the ground floor library."

"Boring," the masked bug droned. Kabbu ignored her, keeping his eyes peeled. Some of the mages around were watching the group with expressions Kabbu had seen directed at himself many a time before.

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

"As you can see, the Sanctum's library is the largest in the City of Tears. For those of you interested in a career in magic, the ground-floor collection is open to the public four days a week." Arkin gestured to the upper levels of the library and pointed out the bars across the stairwells. "Floors two and three are restricted to students, and only staff and special permissions are allowed on the floors above that. A warning to flyers, trying to fly to the second floor will activate a number of automatic defenses."

The masked bug immediately dropped a few inches, and their robe now trailed on the carpet behind them.

Kabbu squinted. "Are you certain you're old enough to be here alone?" he whispered to her.

"I'm not a kid!" she snapped, loud enough to draw some looks.

"Of course, of course."

Arkin continued, heedless of any murmuring in the group. "Taken as a whole, and factoring in several research libraries throught the building and offices of the Soul Sanctum, we are proud to boast that we rival Monomon's Archive in terms of volume. Even the White Palace's library, aha, Pales in comparison to ours."

He soaked up a smattering of nervous laughter.

"Next, we'll be looking at a Soul lab, where real magic happens."

"Finally," the young bug muttered.

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

The Soul Lab was awe-inspiring, Kabbu felt. He had no magical inclination himself, but even he could feel the power thrumming through the air.

Arkin paused in front of a glass window and pointed out a mage in the room beyond. "Here, we're working on new and exciting ways to work with Soul. Many of our projects come from the Pale King himself, who is also a powerful mage as you know. Most of the time, when His Majesty comes up with a new idea, he lacks the time to fully explore it before affairs of state pull him away. So once he has a concept, he sends it to us to be refined into a usable state on his behalf."

The masked bug scoffed, but Kabbu ignored her.

"Here, you can see Soul Adept Kelfe, attempting to create a Soul Totem," Arkin explained.

Kabbu stood up straighter to look over the crowd of horns and antennae. A polished-white statue of the Pale King with black lines running across its form stood in the center of the room, with Kelfe manipulating a hovering ring of Soul around it.

"These Totems can be found all throughout Hallownest, as some of the more well-traveled among you might already know. Through methods we don't eyt fully understand, they gather Soul from the earth beneath them and store it, allowing any passersby with the right knowledge to make use of it themselves. While the Sanctum has developed means of containing Soul in glass, it's a tricky thing getting it back out again without shattering the container. If we can create our own Totems, such clumsy containers will become a thing of the past." Arkin flew higher, excitement leaking into his tone. "And imagine; Adept Brill believes that the next generation of Kingsmoulds could incorporate one of our Totems into its design, allowing them to be self-sustaining. Without us needing to recharge them for the Pale King, it would free up so much more Soul for other projects!"

Kabbu glowered at the Totem. The idea of improving the Kingsmoulds even more upset him, though of course he'd never say so out loud--

"Man, what waste of power," the young bug grumped. "It seems like a lot of effort for something an engineer could make without any so-called magic at all."

"I beg your pardon?" Kabbu asked.

"Yeah I bet you do."

"Moving on," Arkin said, hovering down the hall. "I've got a real treat for you. Is anyone familiar with the Ancient Roaches?"

Both Kabbu and the young bug perked up, though Kabbu wasn't sure why...

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

"The Roaches are a fascinating civilization. Loing extinct, they left behind multiple hidden tunnels and chambers that Hallownest's tunnelers frequently unearth, sealed off from the greater network." Arkin looked disgruntled. "The Colony has a monopoly of sorts on Roach research, owing to most known Roach hideaways being within the Ants' territory. However, we got to this one first."

The room they were led into now was barely large enough to fit them all comfortably. Every wall was decorated with some piece of strange-looking artifact and every table was piled higher with metallic objects. Some of them glowed blue.

"Take care not to touch anything," Arkin warned, slapping a stickbug's grasping fingers away from a device. "We are still studying these artifacts, and some of them have proved dangerous even to us Soul Adepts. The Roaches had a strange preoccupation with trapping their technology, and until we can figure out how to identify the magic they used to power it--"

"What is that?!" the young bug yelled, silencing their guide and making Kabbu cringe.

"Excuse me?" Arkin said sternly.

He followed the bug's pointing finger, and both Kabbu and much of the crowd ooh'd at the enormous glowing crystal tucked between two crates. He wasn't sure how any of them missed it.

"Ah, that." Arkin smoothed his robes, trying to hide his irritation at being interrupted. "That crystal is a potent source of magic, and we believe a larger example of the power source to much of the Roach's technology. The crystal in its current form seems to serve a function as it is, though we haven't been able to determine what yet. Moving on..."

Arkin continued to speak about the Roaches and what was known about them, but Kabbu found himself lacking focus. He kept looking at the crystal. Something about it seemed... familiar.

And he wasn't the only one interested. The young bug drifted to the back of the group as it moved on, keeping her eyes on glowing stone. Kabbu ended up following her to the back. When they were behind everyone else, he leaned down to speak with her quietly.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

The young bug jumped, and a faint buzzing kept her floating in the air afterwards. "What? No. What's it to you?" she demanded quickly.

"I just... feel like I've seen it before, myself," he admitted.

The young bug tilted her head, but whatever she was going to say was spoken over by Arkin raising his voice. "Next, we're going to sit in on a lecture by the Sanctum's own leader, the Soul Master!"

Kabbu shook the confused thoughts away. He gave the crystal one last look and rejoined the group.

It was some ways down the next hall that Kabbu realized the the young bug hadn't followed him.

After a moment of deliberation, he turned to go find her.

[burnthatbridge]

illicit affairs

buddie | E | chapter 6 of 10 | 8k (of 43k and counting) | just a boy helping his boy bestie figure out gay sex, with a side of infidelity In the end, Buck almost renders all Eddie's preparation for naught.

Chapter 6: you showed me colors you know i can't see with anyone else

He and Buck plan for– it to take place that week, in advance of Buck’s fourth date with Marcus. They schedule it for a day off, a weekday where they’ve been off shift for at least twelve hours, have managed a full night’s sleep in their own beds, well-rested. Theoretically, at least. Eddie takes a long time to drift off after getting home from the station and spending some time with Chris. He’d been relaxed on the couch watching cartoons with his son at his side, but as soon as he’s in bed alone all he can think of is being in Buck’s bed, and very much not alone.

In the morning, he takes Christopher to school and then drives over to Buck’s. He’d wanted Buck to come to his, to be at home with him while they did this, but he had no reason for the bizarre preference, so he hadn’t argued when they’d discussed it and Buck had said he should come to the loft.

He parks up outside and sits in his truck for an extra minute or two, obstinately debating taking in the backpack he brought, the one he shoved the tube of lube and box of condoms into. But Buck will no doubt have supplies of his own so, really, he’s taking a moment to breathe. Once he and Buck start, getting enough air is going to be as difficult as it is in a room full of smoke.

Leaving the bag behind, Eddie exits the car and heads up to Buck’s apartment. He hesitates outside the door. He’s got a key; has had one for years. Buck knows he’s coming and, even if he didn’t, Eddie doesn’t normally knock. This feels like it might call for knocking. But that would mean something is different here, when it’s not. This is just Eddie helping Buck out, no different from coming over to make sure he’s bothering to ice a black eye or to assist in setting up the Ikea couch he finally caved and ordered after the last one got blood and amniotic fluid all over it.

Eddie slides his key into the lock, turns it, and pushes the door open, steps through.

“Eddie?” Buck appears at the top of the stairs, practically trips down them, two at a time.

Hey, Eddie means to say, to greet him, but the word gets stuck. Buck looks– He’s clearly freshly showered, face flushed pink from the steamy heat and hair damp-darkened, starting to curl as it dries, loose and product-free. He’s wearing grey cut-off shorts, the little frayed strings at the end of each leg brushing against his kneecaps, and an old, threadbare white t-shirt, so worn thin it’s practically translucent. Eddie’s seen him like this before, has perhaps seen him in exactly this outfit, in this precise same state, so it shouldn’t leave him speechless, shouldn’t steal his words. But Buck looks– Buck looks like Eddie could reach out and touch, take. Eddie is going to do that.

read chapter 6 on ao3 or start at chapter 1

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

This might not be normal but I’m dying to know your opinion on the ship wars. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with your opinion on the matter but I am very interested in your thoughts on it. 🙂

hi anon!!!

(pls note these are my opinions)

i don't have extreme opinions on the ship themselves. like lucien, elain, gwyn, azriel, and morrigan are all very boring characters to me. i feel like all of these pairings would be like watching paint dry. like let's think about it - elain's pov would literally just have to rework and rehash so many events in the story to make her likable (to the general audience). we've already discussed their vague human life and its clear sjm didn't really event that much lore about their lives before the story. elain has no conflicts with any members save for the whole weird and awkward mate / azriel situation. there's no established villain. azriel has no personality. lucien is in limbo and has no personality. the whole thing about lucien being helion son is ultimately useless and doesn't really change anything (the story is also arguing that i should root for helion despite the fact he just is okay with loa being abused). beron is a caricature villain who made his life harder by just reviving his age old enemy whom he dislikes and has since he was born. so how serious am i supposed to take him as a villain?

koschei is just there and is also another villain with no personality. morrigan also has no personality. gwyn is also just there and I mean I wouldn't say there's a lot of build-up for her either. but at the very least she has some inner conflicts to resolve. rhys is obviously not going to be a real barrier. there's literally no appeal to any of these characters IMO.

if the story would handle an illyrian plotline with emerie and azriel at the wing, i'd probably be interested but unfortunately sjm is the writer so it wouldn't be good. but yeah weirdly enough I would enjoy an emerie x az story (not romantic - but I wouldn't mind; I would love an emerie x female illyrian but alas there are no named illyrian females in this entire series besides her). i think the story unironically sets up an interesting dynamic between the illyrians and the night court but the story genuinely doesn't seem them as victims in any capacity - but I've got to admit its an interesting setup. think about it:

illyrians mothers raise these sons who grow up to hate them. women are isolated in these communities and robbed of their ability to fly; but these women are also semi-indoctrinated to sone extent to exalt this system of brutality and violence. mother's send their sons off to the blood rite to die so that they can serve and protect an utopia (velaris) that they have no access to. their high lord passes law - but is naught to enforce them because he recognizes who integral this oppression is to his political and militaristic aspirations. their high lord leaves their burgeoning communities without leadership for almost half a century to join forces with amarantha but then comes back after his tenure and SLAUGHTERS and tortures hordes of people for doing the same thing despite the fact he removed any court protection from them.

its interesting to me! id read that. it also kind of reminds me of the dynamic between paul atreides / jessica and their use of the fremen in dune (please read if you haven't! very fun and surprisingly easy read!)

[thewardenisonthecase]

Change your mind

Solas/F!Adaar

Read on AO3

Summary: Asala Adaar has a few words with Solas about how he talks to Bull about the Qun.

A/N: just a little something between my inquisitor and solas before they're in a relationship. I had been tossing the idea around in my head and decided to write it down.

word count: 661

Asala  didn’t know how the argument started. She had only wanted to ask some questions about the Fade, and the next thing she knew, she and Solas were arguing about the Qun. 

“I am not saying you have to agree with him, but I’m only saying that maybe you don’t have to argue with Bull about the Qun every time we go out.” She pleaded. “Just…keep an open mind.”

Solas frowned “It is him who you should tell to open his mind, not me. I only wish for him to understand that the Qun-”

Asala cut him off, frustrated, as they kept talking in circles. “Look, I get what you’re doing, but who is that going to help? He grew up under the Qun, and he understands it better than either you or I ever could. You questioning him about it won’t change that fact.” 

“Just because you believe things cannot change, does not mean I do.” He said, harshly. “If you do not wish to question the status quo, you are free to do so, but do not ask me of the same.” 

“That is not what I am saying.”

“Then what is it?” 

Asala took a deep breath, calming her nerves. “I don’t know what I am asking, but I know this. Living in this world when you look like me or Bull is hard enough as it is. Everyone thinks we’re all savage beasts.”

She sighed. “And I don’t know how he feels, if he is even bothered by these comments. But we already get enough shit as it is and maybe, not being incessantly questioned about his beliefs and how they are definitely wrong, in your opinion, is not going to make him have an easier time.”

The frown left Solas face, as he tilted his head. “I am surprised that you would offer such understanding to him, seeing as the Qun does not look fondly to those outside of it.”

Asala crossed her arms. “Maybe it’s misguided, especially when this…understanding, as you put it, is not given to me or other vashoth.” She looked away, thinking out loud. “Because I really shouldn’t, right? I mean, the first time I talked to Bull here, he made a point of telling me we were not the same, when I was just trying to find a connection. Because me, my parents and my brother, and my friends, we’ll always be hunted down because we chose not to follow the Qun. We’ll never belong to the only other group of people who look like us.” 

She looked at Solas, and he remained silent, his expression neutral as he listened. Asala continued rambling. “Understanding is all I can offer, even to those who don’t deserve it, because then, I will be just like them. Close minded and my efforts will be for nothing. I can’t change Bull’s mind, or every Ben-Hassrath’s mind by debating them, but I can hope that by listening, and by acting against what they believe of me, they could maybe…” 

Asala shook her head, uncrossing her arms. “But perhaps it doesn’t matter, right? Because no matter how many people I help, I’ll still get called oxman behind my back, and people will never change their minds about the qunari.” She rubbed her face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Keep doing what you want, I guess. I’ll go see if Cassandra needs anything.” 

She turned around, marching to where the Seeker usually was, when a hand touched her wrist. “You’re wrong.” 

Asala sighed as she looked at him, not ready for another debate. “Solas-”

“You have changed minds. At the very least, one. Don’t think your actions are for naught.” He told her. “Our conversation was…enlightening. I will take what you said into consideration.”

“I…thank you, Solas.” He gave her a tight nod before walking away. She gave herself a small smile before shaking her head and going to find Cassandra. 

[failboy]

hello! may i please request a sparkle id pack? from hsr? requesting this as someone who is poc if thats okay since i know some people don't like her. but it would mean a lot. 🙇🏽‍♂️

Names - Amaryllis (F), Tindra (F), Sindri/Sindre (M*), Lāsma (F), Argus (M), Aurelius (M), Elio (M), Elín (F), Eleonara (F), Eleanor (F), Cassandre (F, says the site, though site also says it means “Shining or excellent man” so), Cherry (GN), Blaze (GN)

Pronouns - Spark/Sparkle, Mask/Masked, Fool/Fools, Amuse/Amusement, Elate/Elation, Firework/Fireworks, Spark/Sparks

Titles - The One with a Thousand Faces, The Masked Fool, Maestro of Theatrics, The one Adorned with Innumerable Masks, The Hero with A Thousand Faces, The Masked Genius,

Genders - Honkaistarrailic

*Sindri/Sindre is a norse name, meaning sparkle, not the place!

My scrolling through tags found naught but one gender 😭 I'm sorry :( to try and make up for it I did some titles ^^; if anyone has like... a gender based on Sparkle let me know so I can add it :3

Also I don’t particularly mind ppl who enjoy her as a overall character, I just hate ppl who try to excuse what she said/hoyo put in as ok :3

Anyway, Hope you like this !!! Is it obvious I’ve kinda stopped playing the game and don’t know very much about her ^^

[distortionmewtwo]

*sigh*, this is all, not very fun, maybe Giratina or Dialga will listen though if we explain that well Palkia has had all this extra time to choose a champion and that gives them an edge and let's not forget while I mean no offense Dialga is the ruler of time and could've, ya know peaked into the future? Easy to get an edge when you can see what happens if that's within their power range, no disrespect meant of course I'm sure Dialga is more honorable than that but if one had the power the temptation to use it and peak and see must be there.

It'd make more sense for them to just have to pick a starter route pokemon of the same species each just on the spot no preplanning no premeditating you all get a Ratatta and then the Ratatta can play fight it out but of course much like how this situation isn't fair on Uv it wouldnt be fair on the Ratatta to have to fight because some Gods asked them too. Plus with like random stats one will have an advantage and one will win and they could start arguing over that since I can't really see anyone save the one with the winning champion being satisfied by the end of this.

Sorry about being a downer and all it's not my intent I'm just rambling trying to think of a solution while also trying to judge and consider their reactions in it all. I'd suggest maybe they could talk it out since they're all so important they're all needed and everything would fall apart without them doing their respective part and surely they can agree on that and just go we're all needed without one we all fall that must mean we're equal. But I get talking it out probably won't work and there's the whole "all animals are equal except some animals are more equal than others," eventually one of them will want to be more equal and this whole hullaboo starts all over. Unfortunately we can't all shake hands and be done with it.

Urghh respectfully, Fuck, this sucks, sorry for the bad language and I'm sorry Uv for my rambles I know this probably isn't fun to listen to I'm just trying to spitball anything that could work.

-U

"Soon, I will... tomorrow, perhaps, right now, I just.... I need to.... I... I don't know...."

Getting away from all this sounded very nice right now. Ultraviolet glanced back at Katharsis to see her reaction to JJ's invitation. While she looked very curious about the portal, she shook her head.

"I don't think it's my place to accompany you now. We can go our separate ways here for now... it was good to meet you, Ultraviolet, even with the circumstances... or maybe, because of the circumstances..."

He nodded in agreement. "W-Without you, I might.... never have found out about all this... and while I don't like a-any of it in the least... I must still thank you for that... and for being kind to me in the middle of this."

Katharsis nodded back, expression sympathetic. "Sorry for jumping at you earlier."

"Haha, I'll try."

With that, Katharsis turned and bounded back into the forest she'd first appeared from. Ultraviolet stood still for a moment, steeling himself, before he turned with a nod to JJ to go through the portal

...He'd never actually been to space before.... and the sight beyond the portal was so staggeringly beautiful that for just a moment, all that had happened was chased from his mind.

But that could only last so long. He felt small here.... naught but a pawn of the gods.

Ultraviolet still seems very upset. What do you do?

(Asks are officially open again!)

@justice-the-pandisaster

[furymint]

FFXIV Write 2024 | header | wc: 1,045

Elliot: Game time: Tell me who your favorite Bell is.

Nolanel: That guy.

Elliot: That was swift. Arym? Truly?

Nolanel: Weird name. Yeah. Had breakfast more than once with him, real early. I think he only knows about eighteen words in Eorzean.

Elliot: Please! Truthfully now?

Nolanel: Brave.

Elliot: Our bellwether? Not Norhi?

Nolanel: Not Norhi. Brave takes care of you folk. She's ready and straight so you can keep your finger paint straight, and ain't afraid to cut manners out of business with crows.

Elliot: Not to doubt your munificence, but I never suspected that you would forgive her for making you leave.

Nolanel: I never blamed her. She's fair. The only one of you that's fair.

Elliot: I'm pretty.

Nolanel: You're besides the point. And what answer's in your pretty head?

Elliot: I'll pretend to think about this. Norhi.

Nolanel: She babies you.

Elliot: Not more than she indulges you.

Nolanel: One day she'll need to tell you no.

Elliot: She has—but never when it matters. What's more, she despises everyone I despise with the exact amount of candor to prove it's real. Norhi never argues, either. The way she avoids confrontation could almost make one believe that bickering is unenjoyable.

Nolanel: Imagine that.

Elliot: But I like Brave too. She always lets me make a fool of myself while watching with that smile you have.

Nolanel: It's easy to wind you up and set you marching like a toy.

Elliot: Joy is always running—although often away.

Nolanel: Wyda I mostly like. Got some wrong ideas.

Elliot: About Xanadu.

Nolanel: And her bedmates.

Elliot: Oof. But she's the most intelligent person I know--even if she applies her gifts hazardously—and she's my most favorite to talk too.

Nolanel: Aye, I know you're in love with her.

Elliot: I think she'd hate that more than I, if it's possible. But if you were to fall in love with any of them, who would it be?

Nolanel: No. That's propaganda.

Elliot: I don't know what you mean. It's foolishness.

Nolanel: It's what you said about the Faithful. For naught but making oneself furious, especially when it don't make sense. Now you see—

Elliot: I think it's humorous!

Nolanel: Answer me yours, then.

Elliot: You'll loathe me.

Nolanel: Try.

Elliot: August.

Nolanel: You're the stupidest man in the world! Heavens! Fury!

Elliot: Haha!

Nolanel: Gods, lightning could strike you twice and you'd beg a third. 

Elliot: I can't help it!

Nolanel: Your no-good taste needs to be studied. Self-destruction. Self-denial. All those things you say—and you doe-eye some imperial who looks at you like he hopes your pansy tongue rots in your mouth.

Elliot: Well, if only I spoke poison!

Nolanel: What'll it take for you to love an artist? 

Elliot: I couldn't possibly love a mirror.

Nolanel: Ah—Only soldiers who want naught with knowing your happy little theories about war.

Elliot: His eyes are gorgeous.

Nolanel: Ugh! The only man with the right priority in this damned country. Let him be.

Elliot: But I have! I don't court the thought of dying here by angering him like you have.

Nolanel: It'd be one nice thought in my brain to think you'd have the sense to darling something decent when I'm killed.

Elliot: No no, there's no betterment or forgetting where I'm involved. Aren't we supposed to sigh and look wan for the rest of our lives, and pray in the monastery that love was taken too soon and shall not come again?

Nolanel: No.

Elliot: You mean if my heart gave in this moment, you'd grow past me while I spent eternity in my glowing youth? I'd be the perfect thing to worship since I wouldn't talk back—and you'd open your affection to a distraction? Who?

Nolanel: That's propaganda.

Elliot: Stop thinking and just gossip with me!

Nolanel: No!

Elliot: 'Tis August, too! Haha!

Nolanel: Oh, fuck no—I'm not so ridiculous.

Elliot: I'll go down the roster until you blush.

Nolanel: Do what you want.

Elliot: That's what life is for. Now. Hm. Not Laelia—she has that miasma about her. Max is evil. Vicky is...

Nolanel: The only among them with a decent mind. She's sturdy and patient. She listens. But get out of the Garleans.

Elliot: Wyda, then.

Nolanel: Just to sicken her more? No, she's too argumentative. Always thinks she's in mandate of the only truth.

Elliot: Norhi doesn't argue, then.

Nolanel: Norhi is married. I'm no salesman. Besides, she has ears.

Elliot: You also have ears.

Nolanel: Hm.

Elliot: What if you married Xanadu instead?

Nolanel: You'd pawn off your wife like that?

Elliot: I make a terrible husband; I'm destined for bachelorhood soon. You would be a much more admirable spouse.

Nolanel: 'Tis true I can make bread.

Elliot: Oh! Ser Basile then!

Nolanel: Don't let him hear that pun; he'll probably enjoy it and I'll never hear his name right again. He's the man people need, but not me.

Elliot: Cass?

Nolanel: You want an answer, not a conversation anymore.

Elliot: So? Cass? 

Nolanel: Closer.

Elliot: Ha!

Nolanel: But there's a dragon where anything else ought to be. A stupid dragon in looks and manner, but still one.

Elliot: I should've expected so. It treats well with the chocobos, somehow, at home in the Bell house. I also appreciate that her hair changes more often than the seasons.

Nolanel: Is it supper time yet?

Elliot: We have to consider more names! Eliane? Brave? I know Yumi and Haru are no choices for you; nor dear Sasamu. 

Nolanel: I don't know anyone else. I doubt Lady Dufresne would enjoy knowing that an industry-despising dandy and former employee was flirting with the idea of setting his dragoon paramour away to disrupt her marriage.

Elliot: That's why gossip is only shared with trusted companions who would never speak a word to anyone. Except the daily press, perhaps. However! This is for amusement! Not—

Nolanel: 'Ey! What's love in this place worth? Who should I love among the residents of Alvarium?

<< SALUTATIONS. CITIZEN (Elliot Cadieux) AND GUEST (User Unknown), I AM PREPARED TO ASSIST WITH REQUESTS. THE CITIZENS OF (Alvarium) ARE MANY AND MAY OFFER UNIQUE RESPONSES TO YOUR QUESTIONS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONDUCT A PUBLIC SURVEY? >>

[broodwoof]

Happy Friday! How about "confessing a time they caused harm" from your heavy content prompts for Varric/Solas 👀

mmmm this was a good one. i almost always write angst for these two but like akfljkfj i promise they have happy days too!!! ...just not this one @dadrunkwriting 424 words cws: death mention; war mention

“You're awful far away.” Varric's voice startled him, flinching before he sighed and rubbed at his face.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. Varric huffed.

“Less mad and more worried, Chuckles. What's eating you?”

“What isn't?” He said bitterly, then sighed. “I… apologies. Again.”

The silence grew. And grew.

“I've done so much wrong,” he said at last. Varric sat beside him on the couch, their arms just brushing. “So much.” He blinked quickly as he felt the sting of tears, a rush of humiliation and anger coursing through him. “And now look at me!” He hissed. “Always the one who makes it out, and selfish enough to feel bad for myself!”

“Hey,” Varric began, putting a hand on his back, “that's just how it is. The ones who make it out… they feel it. They suffer.”

“I deserve to suffer,” he bit out, his fury building—how utterly, wretchedly pathetic he was. He'd hurt so many people and he felt like he'd break under the weight of that guilt and grief.

And if he did, if he gave it all up, if he let himself be coerced into inaction like Varric wanted, every drop of blood on his hands would be for naught. How could he render so much suffering immaterial, just to live a life of personal comfort? 

“I took the Anchor and Feydis' arm failed without it,” he said sharply. “I let Corypheus access my orb, and with it he tore open the skies and killed countless people. The Conclave might have stopped the war—instead, the Breach rushed it. I started a war in Arlathan. I have led so many people to their deaths or to a life of suffering. How can I possibly allow myself to stay here, happy and comfortable with you? I should be out there now, fixing what I destroyed, making their willing and unwilling sacrifices mean something.”

“They're dead, Solas,” Varric said, voice even and strong. “Destroying yourself won't bring them back. And continuing the fight won't, either.”

“So, what, I should give it all up?” He laughed, sharp and without mirth. “Live in comfort with so much blood on my hands?” Varric’s sigh brought him back to the moment and he leaned heavily against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. “Fenhedis. I am sorry. This is not your burden to carry.”

“Is it still yours?”

“It will always be mine, Varric,” he said softly and the dwarf sighed once more, but did not argue. For what was there to say?

The burden would always be his. 

[khizumet-e]

At the very edge of the world, reality hums a dazed lullaby. The treacherous low crooning of the earthbones of crevasses reverberates through the heavy snow boots up the numb soles of his feet in impossibly slow rumbles– hungering to lure him into their depths so they can grind down his bones with glacial patience. 

He desperately does not want them to talk about bones, yet finds himself mute to berate them.

Far below, the cantankerous back and forth of ice and waves rings out, bickering and dancing, rocking back and forth like a storm-swept ship or cradle. Even the wind sings, clear and cutting in his ears and lungs, wondering of far distant lands long lost. The only thing he does not hear is the voice he strains so hard for. 

It might be easier if he could remember what to listen for, the elusive cadence that still colours his own speech, but the sound never haunts his nightmares the way the blood does. No red on this glacial outcrop on the edge of the world, his hands have turned blue from the cold– cold he barely feels anymore. What’s it to a Tongue anyway, after that mountain, when the world tries to gently shush him.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

He tries to tell himself it’s a spectre there to haunt him, a figment he summoned by letting himself wander to the mountain, but the very world hums in fond greeting just as the snow crunches awfully real underfoot. Not the figment of his imagination he has come for. “Leave me be,” he croaks, lips chapped from the icy gale. 

He has never been so lucky. “Some might construe your recent actions as a challenge.” The voice is carefully balanced, a bland lack of accusation that veers too close to pity for his tastes. 

“Not now,” he tries again, but it’s for naught as his body decides to slowly awaken again, to protest at its recent treatment. 

No argument, but he can hear her approaching, heavy steps through fresh snow that has half turned him into a drift. It’s too close, too real. “Please,” he embarasses himself, desperate and venomous, and the snow at the very least accedes with a low murmur, holding back on that awful squelching. 

The world is quiet for a long moment, as much as it ever can be with the bones yearning to sing, and so are they, both frozen mute in a silence that is not exactly companionable. 

It’s her who breaks it first, from somewhere behind him. Too close, and even in murmurs her voice carries. “Does it help?”

No point asking what she means. It’s tempting to play dumb, to storm off angrily, but his frozen body refuses to rise to the occasion. “……not really,” he admits eventually. 

He didn’t mean it as an invitation, but there’s no showing weakness without attracting the vultures. She steps up, closing the last bit of space over the muzzled ground, to lie a hand on his shoulder. Even through the thick layers of fur, she must be able to feel his tension. “I wouldn’t have stopped you from coming here.”

It’s all too much to bear, and despite the icy cold, he finds himself irritatingly hot, skin crawling. The movement is hazardous, almost sending him toppling, but he shrugs off her hand. “I don’t need your pity.” 

The tears frozen in tracks down his face and on his eyelashes belie the point, shimmering crystals in the dim sunlight. Endless merciless twilight. It’s a shame when she does not rise to it, does not argue with him. She never was the quarrelous kind, and yet the silence is unnerving, like she can dissect him by the beat of his sorry heart and the shortness of his breath. 

“Maybe you should have stopped me,” he gives in when he cannot take it anymore, a guilty whisper carried away by the wind. 

She hums thoughtfully. “My fisherfolk would have preferred I did.”

He barks out a sound that is almost a laugh. Oh he will not apologise for that, for this little bit of self assurance that Jurgen forced upon him. He’s a Tongue, what do the woes of fishermen concern him, when he’s there to revel in his power. And yet– “I thought it would feel like something.”

“It’s not your home.” He doesn’t need to look at her to hear the pity in her voice, the disgust that must be written all over her face. 

Home.

He’s never had that, he tells himself, curling his fingers tight inside his mittens to dig nails into bloodless flesh until it hurts nonetheless. The lush green under bright sunlight, the smiling faces in his arms, he buries it all under the cold misery of knowing it was a trick all along. “They’re right to hate me,” he points out, and he tells himself he is talking only about these poor sorry souls of frozen Skyrim. “What good have I ever done her? Anyone?”

“No one blames you for what happened to her.”

It’s a lie, plain and simple. From his father’s bitterness to the room full of icy eyes burning with contempt, nothing has ever been further from the truth. Worst of all, he knows it himself, that it is his fault. “If she never left–”

“You’ve seen the lives these people lead. Honest folk, proud, but barely scraping by.”

Proud daughter of Skyrim that she is, it sounds like platitudes, uttered for his benefit only. Like he were a child. “They would not let me help.” It’s weak, but he tried, he truly tried to make up for it. What use in power if all it does is seep poison into the very earth.

“They would not accept their neighbours’ stolen goods, you mean?” 

She sounds more amused than offended, but he ducks his head, teeth grit as he swallows the scolding. “This is war.” Even to his own ears, it sounds pathetic. 

“No war for them. You’ve always done your worst for Hoag.”

He pauses, tastes the stale bitterness in his mouth. He breathes, deep, and it burns. “...she’d be disappointed in me, wouldn’t she?”

“I never met your mother.”

“I tried to talk to her but she wouldn’t– she wouldn’t answer.”

“Oh Chemua.”

“Don’t! Just don’t.” He doesn’t need her pity, doesn’t want it, and yet she seems intent on smothering him with it. More to himself and filled with all the hatred he can muster, he mutters, “Almalexia can do it, even she manages–”

There’s no reply, no soothing words, and it feels good to have his words obeyed, he tells himself. It feels like power, like control. The world is not as kind, overcast gloomy skies looming up overhead in thunderous jubilation as he stares at the sorry little shrine at the edge of the world. He wants to shout it into submission, tell the storm and snow to gather elsewhere, but he cannot look away for fear that it might be gone when he looks back. 

“You and your pet mages,” he probes eventually, “don’t you have some idea.”

“I’m not a necromancer.”

“Pah. Hoag plays doll with his corpses, but a mage, Nhema, a mage–”

His voice breaks, hoarse with desperation. She clasps his shoulders tight, the closest to a hug he received in far too long. “Your mother is in Shor’s halls,” she whispers, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her breath. “There is no magic that can harm her now, and some day you may get to speak with her.”

“I doubt she is.” Something in his bones knows, weary and heavy as they are, but he could not begin to explain how he knows without sounding like a damned elf. 

“You’re fighting a war to believe it.”

He cannot deny it, no matter how little he might care. They are right, the Alessians are evil, and Hoaga is fanatic about his gods. What does it matter to him; and yet he stays stubbornly silent, caught between the soulless grave and the angry sympathetic woman. 

“Why even get involved in Skyrim’s struggles and terrorise my people,” she asks, like it truly is a question. “There’s nothing for you here, you’ve always been of Morrowind.”

“Morrowind doesn’t want me either.”

“Yes, I’ve heard…” 

Oh and he knows exactly what she’s heard, and what she must think of it, him, the laughingstock of all Tongues, of all self-respecting Nords. “Who hasn’t,” he bites out, tersely. 

“Telmo, last we met, but that’s only a matter of time.”

The pang of guilt at that name is unfamiliar, but it echoes so sickly sweet the more familiar regret of destroying his own life, over and over again, because he trusts the people in it to care. They all leave, sooner or later, nothing but honeyed ghosts and bitter regrets. “How is he?”

“Roaming with a band of giants somewhere down south. He’s almost convinced them to fight a tournament against him and the rest of the Telmos.”

“Of course he would.” And even he himself is surprised by the strange fondness in the words, the warmth. 

“Mhm, as if you would never let yourself be tempted.” 

“Wrestling giants? I’ll pass.”

“Ah but the elves…”

Oh he has let himself be led into a trap with that. To go for his throat as they fondly reminisce, worthy of an elvish politician. He freezes taut, caught off guard, jaw set tight as he fails to draw a breath to answer the challenge.

“Really, Chemua, what were you thinking? You not only let an elf challenge you, you let her win?” The incredulity in it hurts the pride he did not think he still had left. 

“What should I have done,” he snaps bitterly, the words refusing to be held back. “You weren’t there, I was trying not to be a monster for once! Not to get someone else I loved killed! And what has it gotten me?” 

“A brief flirtation with being a better person then?” She squeezes his shoulders almost fondly, and he almost hates her for it. “I know someone who would be impressed by that. But it’s a bit late now, isn’t it?”

“Far too late,” he agrees. “A Jarl must show strength, not compassion, or he will cease being a Jarl.”

She hums, unimpressed, and around them reality snickers, the low light glinting playfully on the ice, wind and waves laughing a clear high tune. “Don’t think about challenging me,” she tells him in no uncertain terms, “not only would you hate Winterhold, I’d tear you into a thousand pieces beforehand.”

“I won’t come back here again,” he swears to them both, and to the silent bones resting before them. ��Not in life and not as a corpse.”

“Let your troubles lie buried here as well, will you?” 

And with that, she moves back to her feet, pulling him along. He balks, bloodless legs protesting his sudden weight, a hint of panic at the finality of the moment. She must catch it, for she does not draw him far, slow stumbling steps until they reach a snowed in log. He falls back down beside her, eyes on the unremarkable pile of stones he expected so much from. A nudge on his shoulder and he looks up, arm winding its way around him as they sit in silence, watching the sun drown in silent fire behind the glacier. 

[jefarawol]

I soon found out that Sanson and Guydelot were not the happiest of duos, in fact they spent more time arguing over tiny things.

It was refreshing, they were both full of passion, Sanson for his job and Guydelot for life.

When we rescued Slyviel, he was more than grateful to tell us of a Coherthan Legend, He told us of a Saint of Song that lived in the heavens, a master of poetry and verse, who was said to bring battle to an end with its song. While Sylviel went to look into it further, Guydelot proclaimed how fruitless he thought the current enquiry was. A 'dead-end' and on his recommendation they should return back to Gridania.

I think it far too early to draw conclusions. I, for one, mean to continue searching until I find a definite answer. If you wish to abandon our mission, I'll not stop you.

But know that you would be judged a deserter. You would lose your place in the Gods' Quiver...and that would be precisely what your superiors had intended.

Look, Guydelot. You of all people must know the true reason they chose you for this mission. They wanted you out of the way! Your skills had naught to do with it!

And it isn't so different for me! I was a thorn in their side, demanding cooperation when they were loath to give it! They were pleased to be rid of me as well, yet naught would please them more than for us to come back empty-handed!

That is why we must succeed! That is why we must find the Ballad of Oblivion!

If you want to find the song so badly, you can bloody well find it yourself. I've had a gutful.

You're no bard─I doubt you even understand what gives a song its power. Yet here you are gallivanting about searching for one.

To you, the Ballad of Oblivion is just a means to curry favor with the brass hats. Well, that's an insult to honest-to-gods bards like me and Jefara.

Oh, gods, what have I done? I did not mean to be antagonizing...

Though my pride won't let me tell him this, I know that Guydelot is a truly exceptional bard. With his skills married to my unit composition, I had hoped that we might prove our detractors wrong. Alas, my words failed to convey that intent.

With him gone I stayed with Sanson, he showed me his notes from their journey, from Celaine a Convictor Knight they had meet not the week before. She had shown them not oblivion but how she savoured the time she had with her comrades, sending them to heaven when their time came. She had encouraged them to savour their comradeship, a task Sanson felt he had already failed in.

In turn I shared some of my own experiences, of my loss and how I wish I could have embraced my companions more. I dont know when it happened but before long we were starting to write, to compose...

Our own song. A dangerous hope that we wished to share.

[eilinelsghost]

ive been reading through your atandil series this month and really like how you have them use thee and thou. i was wondering if theres a reason for where they do and dont? sometimes the same characters switch mid conversation but it seems intentional

Hi anon!

I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And extra glad the informal thou is landing, because it's definitely one of my nerdy indulgences in the series and I wasn't sure if people would like it or hate it 😂 Thank you so much for giving me a reason to ramble about it on here. This made my day. :)

So is it intentional when it changes mid-conversation? Yes, always excepting typos, that's deliberate. There are usually two reasons in Atandil that it would switch in a scene involving the same set of characters:

Language Change

The first reason is that the characters are hopping between Taliska and one of the Elven dialects. That's probably the most typical example of when it happens and it's pretty frequent in the conversations between Finrod and Balan, especially early on. I try to give cues in the text for when this occurs, but I've realized lately that I haven't been as good about that as I should be, so I'm trying to be better about that going forward so it's less confusing.

The reason for that difference between Taliska and the Elven dialects is because when I started the series and realized I was going to need to come up with some kind of stand-in for Taliska since we don't have anything but a few words and a general "was modeled on Germanic-Gothic." So I wasn't sure whether or not it should have the informal thou equivalent. I ended up opting away from that in my faux-Taliska, keeping the whole language a little more informal to match how the characters' culture was beginning to develop as I got to know them a bit.

Which means it also became a quick shorthand for when they're speaking which language. In a conversation between Finrod and Balan, for example, you can usually assume that if they're using "thou" to address each other, then they are speaking in Quenya or Sindarin; and if they use "you," then it's a safe bet it's Taliska.

Mood, Context, and Formality

The exception to this is if they are arguing or in a tense exchange. If Balan is particularly irritable or angry with Finrod, he will often switch into the formal address as the equivalent of (or in addition to) a cold vocal tone. It puts immediate distance between them, stresses the otherness of each, and pulls back on the conversational intimacy they typically inhabit.

A good example of this is from Vassal when Balan shows up to confront Finrod about why he decided to leave Estolad:

Balan hesitated. The momentary relief of their easy exchange had dulled his anxiety and he wondered again if it was not all of his own imagining. Then he recalled his son’s words and forced himself to meet the other’s eye. “Lord,” he said quietly, “have I offended you in some way?” Finrod’s face fell, stung by the formal address. “Offended me? Nay never, Balan. Not in word or in deed.” “I am eased to hear it." Balan traced the toe of his shoe through the loose soil in an echo of Baran’s earlier gesture. “Nevertheless, I cannot but fear something has gone amiss between us. You were my dearest friend, closer than any other I have known. You knew my heart ere I uttered it, understood it ere I laid it bare. You see me with a clarity I could scarce imagine and by such have drawn me out into the fullness of myself, whole beyond hope, joyful beyond measure.” The pointed formality failed him and he fell back into the intimate address. “Yet now thou hast fenced me out. We speak in trivialities, as acquaintances meeting in the day’s tasks, passing naught of consequence between us. I see thee shy away from our earlier points of friendship, I enter and thou soon wilt find cause to depart, I speak to thee and I feel the doors tighten. What wrong have I done thee, lord? Tell me—where is the hurt or what have I broken? Name it, I beg thee, so that in knowing I might see some road to mending it ere thou art gone from me.”

The other reason for a change mid-conversation is if the context or formality of the occasion shifts. Balan tries to remember to keep to the formal address when they're in situations where Finrod is operating as the king and not just as his friend (their arrival in Nargothrond, for example). Unfortunately (fortunately?) our guy is not great about remembering this and slips up on the regular. Which gives us that mid-conversational shift again.

There are probably other reasons as well, but those are the primary ones, or at least the ones where I'm doing it intentionally. I'm sure there are times it switches where it's just author error! Let me know if this didn't answer what you had in mind and I'm happy to unpack it differently if this didn't get at what you were wondering.

Thanks again so much for the ask and for reading the series! Like I said earlier, it really made my day (made my week, really) to get a question like this. I appreciate it!

[ladysternchen]

Melian and Thingol for 5, 12 & 17?

Thank you, you're making me very happy with that question! :D xD

5) Do they argue often? If so, what do they argue about? - No, they don't, as they both dislike conflicts in general and also are so close mentally that they know each other's motives generally too well to really argue. That does NOT mean that they don't disagree on matters and discuss things. Also most of the time, arguing just isn't worth it. They deal with so many problems and disagreements of others day in, day out that arguing in private would just be too much. The one exception was when Beren first came to Menegroth- there it was Melian who shouted at Elu for quite some time, and kept her grudges concerning the matter for quite some time (you brought that upon yourself, no deal with it). 12) Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent? - Definitely having a difficult time. Being separated from one another is like a physical wound to them, which is again in part just their characters and for another the nature of their union, which is closer than most unions among the Children or the Ainur. They can only truly be whole with the other. That makes their being parted through Elu's death so horrible for both of them. It's not that Melian grieves Elu more than Lúthien, but his death left her maimed as nothing ever could have done. Same for him. 17) How well do they communicate? Are they open with their feelings/thoughts or more reserved? Why? - Now, that is a bit more tricky to answer, because in a way, it's yes and no. Were they an elvish couple, they'd communicate just fine. Were they both Maiar, even more so. But they're not, and that's where the difficulties are- because they are so close and know each other so well that they sometimes outright forget that they still are entirely different beings. That tends to happen to Melian more often than to Elu, as she perceives things differently. She, after all, has heard the Music, she 'knows' things that Elu doesn't, while at the same time, she lives and feels as an elf, which means that while she knows things in her heart, she still can draw the wrong conclusions. (Melian always KNEW Beren and Lúthien had to be, and so didn't even think of the consequences. Elu saw naught but the downsides of that relationship and acted accordingly, which again completely took Melian by surprise. That was the total breakdown of communication already in advance- Melian told Galadriel of her foresight about Beren, but she did not tell Elu- because it totally slipped her mind that he needed to be told. So once they get to the confrontation, it's much too late already, and they're in a situation they can't get out of. Melian as a wife could have taken Elu aside and explained. Elu as a husband could have waited 'till he could think straight again. As King and Queen IN COURT they could not do that. So she tells him to stay his hand, which he does, he doesn't kill Beren, nor does he send him to his death. Beren is free to go, as long as he keeps well away from Lúthien. Elu never even considers Beren ever succeeding, whilst Melian KNOWS he will, and thus knows that Elu proclaimed his own death sentence with setting that bride-price.). As for the second part of this question, as for sharing their feelings: they do, in general, unless they think that sharing their feelings would burden the other. Elu doesn't talk about how badly he's actually doing after Lúthien's choosing mortality (I've already lost us our child, I will not burden you with worrying about me as well) and she in turn does not openly tell him how much she fears for him but just silently tries to protect him as best she can.