#i think my issue w/ drawing is that i struggle to break down the shapes into their base form

[faunabel]

anyone have any drawing tutorials who ppl who kinda suck at everything?? like idk, anything for drawing basic anatomy such as the face and the ways it can vary? also poses. these two r what i struggle with most. i can copy from reference but have no damn clue how to freestyle and i always give up quickly when my sketch looks like ASS.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 24)

Notes: Chapter 24 - can you guys believe it?! I have brought you a lot of angst in the last few chapters, but there is a lil fluffy moment in this chapter which I hope you enjoy. Plus protective Cassian (one of my personal favourites).

As ACOSF draws nearer, I wanted to ask you guys a question. I initially was hoping to finish this fic before it came out, but I just don't think it's going to happen. So if you would still read E&L after ACOSF comes out, could you let me know? It will help me to make a decision on whether I need to start wrapping this all up sharpish, or whether I can continue to move along at my current pace.

Enjoy :) And I hope you all are having a lovely festive period.

p.s I’ve been having issues with tagging blogs lately. Let me know if you get a notification?

Chapter 24 Nesta

Nesta was drowning.

Drowning in the dark; in the unfathomable cold that bit at her ankles and dragged her down by invisible, insistent hands and sharp, pointed claws. Down, down, down Nesta went, into the inky blackness that sung of ancient horror, fighting for a breath that she could not take.  

Inside her head, Nesta was screaming; the sound an echo, as if she were detached from her body and she were listening to someone else. It was a scream of rage and unmeasurable pain as her body was torn apart and rearranged: her bones cracking and reforming into solid steel; her ears stretching into points; her limbs elongating. And with that fire a burning cold that was deeper than the gap between stars. Nesta screamed from the agony of it, but cold water rushed into her lungs and stifled the sound. Pain licked at her skin like the flames of a fire, until her blood was bubbling with rage and a thirst for revenge that ran so deep it became woven into the very fabric of who she was — of who she was being moulded into.  

Nesta should have passed out from the pain but instead she fought to remain conscious; wholly awake and wholly a witness as she tore at the edges of the blasted Cauldron. The sides were made of nothing but canvas, Nesta’s nails ripping through it as the Cauldron bucked and shrieked, like an animal caught beneath her paw.  

Bright light poured through the gaping holes, blinding her new born eyes that had not yet seen.  

She felt the power of it, the piece she carved out for herself in fury and with revenge singing in her blood. She made it hers, let that power sink into her bones, her skin, as they snapped and cracked and reshaped themselves…

The Cauldron continued to thrash and struggle. The water took on a thicker quality like tar, but Nesta did not relent. She ravaged that power until it was a part of her; stolen and consumed. Impossible to take back.  

And then Nesta was no longer drowning but falling.

The pocket of air hit her with such force that Nesta found herself with the irony that she could not breathe, even though it was what she needed more than anything in the world. But then her lungs were spluttering, her stomach lurching, and inky blackness — ancient death — was regurgitated onto crystalline rock. Nesta heaved until her stomach had no more and she was gasping for breath — cold, bracing fresh air that tasted like freedom — before she rolled onto her back, her hair plastered to her face.

She shivered from the cold and the unquenchable fury that would not see her yield.

Above her was midnight black, the stillness of what Nesta wanted to believe was sky but she knew was only an illusion. It brought her comfort even though she wanted to hate it; wanted to sob and scream until she was so exhausted that she couldn’t muster any more strength.  

And she should have been terrified but she also felt deathly calm, even as a voice spoke out of the darkness. It was a voice that was ancient; old and superlunary with a strength that whispered of unimaginable power for better or worse.   “I have been waiting for you, Nesta Archeron.”

Words like ice fire. Of steel and reserve. Of power beyond Nesta’s wildest reckoning.

It hurt to move but Nesta scrambled to her feet, slipping on loose rock and craggy stone. The sound that beat in her ears was an insistent, terrified rhythm, and it took Nesta a moment to piece together that it was her heart, throwing itself with a repetitive boom against strips of bone — a flimsy cage for something so fierce.  

Whirling around, Nesta tried to source the voice but found only that endless stretch of deep velvet, and in the near distance, a towering shadow that rose up, up, up into the darkness until it blended into the canvas, like something disappearing into the clouds.

Nesta made herself take stock. Made herself stand still. To dampen the terror and focus on that spiky, deep-set anger that still consumed her. Her back stiffened, her chin rose, and when she spoke for the first time with her new lungs, Nesta did not let her voice shake.

She clenched her fists until her new nails bit into the meat of her palms.    “Where am I?”

A sensual laugh as smooth as marble echoed around her — perfectly rendered. “Do you hear the wind? It moans your name, Nesta Archeron. Your twin can hear it. They’ve always been able to hear it. Your history written into the night sky where you only need join the dots. So easy to ignore until now.” A pause and Nesta felt that being move. Her head snapped around as the voice mused from behind her, “And your destiny: a sacrifice and a gift in the same moment.”

Nesta tightened her fists in an effort to ground herself and willed herself to lean back into   that odd sense of being rather than the fear that was making her heart race. She felt her nails break through her skin with a pop. She scented blood; metallic and salt. She was so cold she wanted to shake until her teeth chattered, but Nesta would not show weakness. She would not break down.

So Nesta rose up tall and made her voice ice cold; strong rather than brittle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another long, sensual laugh. A caress akin to a brush stroking the softest of bristles over her skin. “No, you don’t,” the voice agreed. “Not yet. But you will.”

A moment in time stretched out, the pause pregnant and awesome. Then a soft light in the darkness above, growing in size: a fleck, a star, a luminescent ball of light…

“What do you want, Nesta Archeron?”

“I want revenge,” Nesta replied, her voice full of a sudden vigour as vengeance lashed out on a forked tongue.

Again, more soft laughter that licked over Nesta’s body in a shiver. “You have already got that, have you not? Do you not feel that deathly power in your veins? That hum of primitive power that you have stolen, that has been woven into who you now are.”

“I will end him. I will end everyone who has caused my sister harm.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But what will that take from you?”

Hysterical laughter wanted to burst forth from Nesta’s lungs, as if she could only feel the sharpest of emotion and everything else were muted.

“Everything has already been taken from me,” Nesta spat, balling her hands into harder fists, her nails digging into her crescent shaped wounds.

Pain flared, fresh and sharp but Nesta paid it no heed. She was no stranger to pain and she would rally. Every. Damn. Time.

The light above Nesta continued to grow until it became distinct; a fiery palm emerging out of the dark. Nesta did not flinch. Did not scream or back away. Did not bow or yield or grovel. She only let pearlescent fingers close around Nesta’s own, the touch like a near-scalding bath that settled only when your blood thrummed beneath raw, pink skin. 

“So much sacrifice,” the voice pondered, turning Nesta’s hand. Nesta’s fingers unfurled from her palm without her willing it, until her palm lay open, the half-crescent moons bloody tears in her otherwise new skin. “But what about a gift?” the voice asked. “A gift for the girl who lives with such anger and guilt. The girl who sees the world in all its terrible glory and feels too much. What do you say to that?”

“I only want revenge,” Nesta repeated, her mind assaulting her with images of Elain as she was pushed under the inky water, as she emerged drowning and wholly new — wrong.  

No laughter this time. Only that hand rising, fingers coming together until they were pointed and pinching something out of the dark.  

A pearl of pure light hovered millimetres from those shining fingers, as if it were attached by an invisible string. It sung with such radiant brilliance that Nesta wanted to look away: it was the pure, unfathomable brightness of a midnight star. A melody that sung of promise and hope.

“What is revenge worth if it does not emerge from the desire to protect?” the voice asked, letting go of that drop of light. It did not fall like water; it floated down slowly, until it nestled in the crook of Nesta’s palm like a pearl that shimmered as it caught the light.  

Nesta remained deathly still, staring at the drop of possibility in her palm.  

“Revenge is choice, Nesta Archeron. It can be a wish for death and pain or to protect and defend.”

“Both,” Nesta said fiercely. “It can be both.”

“Multi-faceted and complex, as all decisions are,” the voice agreed. “And there are so many strands in you, aren’t there? Already you have felt one of them, although I do not think you have truly placed the puzzle pieces together. But here is another choice; something to cherish and use wisely on those who are worthy. Everything is cyclical. Day and night, birth and death, love and sacrifice…”  

The luminescent hand closed Nesta’s palm, but rather than the drop of light bring dampened by shadow, it sank into Nesta’s skin, until it too became a part of her.

“I don’t want a gift.”

But even as Nesta spoke she knew she did not truly mean it.  

She also knew it was too late. She felt her blood spike and thrum as that light channeled into her, twining around that deathly power that she had already stolen and forced into her remaking.  

A low hum vibrated the ground beneath Nesta’s feet. “Don’t want it or do not deserve it?”

And then Nesta was drowning again with such startling speed that she hadn’t the time to take a deep breath. Terror gripped her, and with it power sung in her blood, the sensation like boiling water, as if her very skin were bubbling with it even though that dark water bit with a cold akin to the fiercest frostbite.

As if fear had summoned it, silver fire began to glow at Nesta’s palms. Water rushed into Nesta’s lungs and with it, that power surged.

Up, up, up Nesta went, like an arrow unsheathed from a bow until the inky black was no longer concrete and colour swam on the surface.

Everything tilted as the Cauldron tipped, jerking the water and Nesta out onto the cold flagstones of reality.  

Nesta took a desperate, ragged breath through the gag that was suddenly back around her mouth, and cast a look around the room: to Cassian who was sprawled unconscious on the ground, his arm outstretched and his wings in tatters; to Feyre who was kneeling in her own vomit tucked into Rhysand’s side...

And on her sister’s face, Nesta could see what she was: ravaging, deadly, awesome. A face and figure to stop males and females in their tracks. A face and figure that would make humans and fae alike think twice.

But that was nothing of the forged steel in Nesta’s bones, in her blood, as she scrabbled across the floor to Elain on her long, unnatural limbs and tore the gag from her mouth.  

It was a steel that no-one could see but that they could all sense as Nesta locked eyes with the King of Hybern, that promise of death still swimming in those mercury eyes that moved.

She would have her revenge. Of that, she was sure.

***

Nesta gasped.

Her hands flailed, her body screamed with agony, her lungs were hoarse and raw, her abdomen set with a pain that went so deep she knew something was gravely wrong.

And through her veins… no whisper of her magic. Not a drop.

It was that which made her thrash, her lungs suddenly unable to breathe from the agony that wrangled through her body.

She heard her name. Again and again; the high-pitched desperation of a female. Feyre. But then something much lower. A caress. A rumble that quelled her fear and kicked the breath back into her with a force that had her gasping.

Nesta’s hand found a rough, calloused palm across the mattress. Fingers curled unbelievably gently around hers. She heard the rustle of wings. Smelt pine and musk and the bracing fresh air of the Illyrian skies.

“Nesta. You need to take your medicine. The morphine has worn off.”

Cassian.

Even with her eyes submerged in the dark, Nesta knew that Cassian had turned his head to murmur something in low tones to her sister — her senses heightened in the wake of the fear that was still bitter on her tongue.

Then light retreating footsteps. The click of a closed door.  A large hand on her temple. A wet rag against her lips. Nesta opened her mouth despite the foul tasting tincture which burned her throat and flooded her tastebuds; swallowing it down, begging it to soothe over the pain which she could not describe for its wrongness, even though she had been told that she would heal.

Frawley had come to visit her the last time Nesta had resurfaced. Had explained why she was there and what had happened. That Nesta had the gift of healing. That she had over-healed Mas's traumatic injuries and moved on to older ones. That she had sacrificed her wellness for someone else’s. That she would have died had Cassian not got her to stop.

Another power Nesta needed to train. As if she didn’t have enough to wrangle under control.

Nesta did not remember much after dropping to her knees at the widows camp. She remembered the click of a lock inside of her; the way her power had flipped from silver to startling, brilliant white. That she had known what to do as she lifted her hands over Mas and started to use her magic for something wholly good.

“What did you feel for your power came to the surface?” Frawley had asked before she took leave.

Nesta had bitten back a whimper of agony as she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. She had been swamped in heavy blankets and consumed in Cassian’s scent.  His bed not hers. But the scent of him… it comforted her. She was too tired to rally against it. Had woken knowing that she was immeasurably safe even though memory tried to persuade her that she was not.

Eventually, when she realised that Frawley’s second eye had come to rest on her along with ice blue, Nesta had supplied, “I felt grief.”

“And what else?” Frawley had urged, her ice blue eye glowing with intensity.

Nesta had been too tired to answer. Her eyelids heavy from the sedative she had been given, despite the energising tea Frawley had administered to attempt to speed up the act of replenishing her magic. To fight the fatigue one felt when they had been drained of power.

And now she was waking again and Frawley was gone.

Braving the light, Nesta cracked open an eye. Her head throbbed, as if her brain were growing in her skull and it was pressing against bone.

Cassian was hovering over her, a crumpled frown twisting his brow as he dripped the medicine past her lips. He caught her eyes opening a fraction too late and she catalogued worry slide into relief before it was pushed back and a light was forced into those dark irises. When he smiled at her, it was too tight and anguished to ring true. She must have been in a bad way — very bad — for him to lose sight of his tendency to arrange his expression into that casual playfulness. For her sister to still be here, hovering by her bedside unsure how to act or how to behave. For her mate to be in the room next door, his star-blessed magic permeating Cassian’s bedroom even through stone and plaster and wood. She could even sense Azriel’s shadows moving like an agitated fog.

No Amren. No Mor.

Something to be thankful for.

“Mas?” she asked. Her throat was dry despite the tincture and the word came out scratchy and raw.

Cassian pressed a glass of water to her lips.

She drank.

“Mas has left to help relocate the widows and orphans,” Cassian told her. “I had her checked over by Madja and Frawley. She is perfectly fine. Roksana too,” he added when Nesta frowned. “Mas hasn’t flown yet,” he continued. “She wanted you to witness it.”

Something tightened around Nesta’s throat. It was not panic but… deep twisting affection for the housekeeper. It must be agony for Mas not to launch straight into the skies. Yet… Nesta was touched beyond imagining that she would wait for Nesta to witness something so precious. A moment in history that was not tainted in blood and death but joy.

Cassian had paused as if he were checking himself. He had moved away from her, to the dark dresser to the left of the bed. There was a clink of glass which Nesta supposed was him stoppering the medicine. “I know you do not like it here and I understand that. You were given no choice and Illyria is…” he trailed off, as if he were searching for the right word. “It’s brutal, in both harsh reality and its beauty. But the widows and orphans… they will not forget what you have done for them — how you fought for them. Mas has been shackled in so many ways throughout her life, but her wings… You have given her freedom, Nesta. She will never forget that ,and neither will those females who witnessed you healing her.”

When Cassian turned back to look at Nesta, his eyes were glowing with such intensity she did not know what to say. He seemed to understand that, breaking their gaze to stare out of the window.

It was snowing again. The scent of it was in the air and on Cassian’s clothes, from where Nesta imagined he’d been in the throng of it all, establishing order where there was chaos. She imagined that was why his family was here.

“Azriel has some information about the kerits,” Cassian said. He remained staring out of the window, his gaze fixed on the snow falling from the thin sheets of grey cloud strung in the sky. “About where we think they came from. We would like you to be a part of the discussion.” A pause. “If you would like to be, that is.”

Nesta held back a snort partly because she knew it would hurt too much. “I don’t think your High Lord wants me to be a part of any discussion.”

“Rhys specifically asked me to fetch you before we began,” Cassian replied, not flinching at her ice-sharp words. Nesta supposed he had become immune. “You are integral to the conversation.”

Noise caught in the back of Nesta’s throat. “I thought I was just a stain you all wished you could rid yourself of.”

No, not immune. Cassian flinched as if he had been burned, his wings spreading instinctively before he could catch them. He retracted them back in with a slow huff of anger. It was not a disparaging or exasperated sigh, more… defeated, as if it were a remark that brought him pain.

Still he did not turn to her. If anything, his focus became more intent on the scenery outside. At the bustle of Illyrians as they fought against the flurry of snow that promised to kiss everything white at the worst possible time.

Cassian’s jaw feathered. “If I remember correctly, it was always you trying to rid yourself of me.”

Nesta blinked at the coarse words that held no lightness, no mockery, no teasing. That were honest and unhappy. Twisted with a rejection which hit her to the bone.

You rejected me first, Nesta wanted to say, as she watched the taut muscles in Cassian’s back. They were vibrating with an energy that usually told Nesta that he needed to fight with his fists until his body was sated.

“We believe the attacks might be orchestrated,” Cassian continued. “Azriel went to scout the perimeter to see if there was any evidence. He has only just arrived back.” Finally, those amber eyes rested back on her. They were burning with a rage that had been purposefully dialled back, but Nesta knew how much Cassian cared about his people. “Will you come?” he asked.

Shock wound through Nesta at the confession. At the brutality of what Cassian was suggesting. Anger spiked through the exhaustion with such ferocity her magic should have been roaring, but it only remained quiet. Yet… a determination solidified in her mind. She did want to be a part of the conversation. Not just to be useful, but because Nesta cared about the widows and orphans. She longed to hold Roksana close and see Mas fly. To lay the dead to rest, to check in on the injured. To see if she could use her healing magic to mend their wounds. To show that she was not an observer but a fighter - a protector. That she would lay her life on the line to protect the females who had nothing and were helpless against every threat, just as she had once been.

She did not say all that. Instead, she just said, “Fine.”

A short nod as if Cassian understood. “We can do it in here or out there.” Cassian jerked his chin to the living room. “Frawley said you are not to move if it can be helped, but something tells me you’d sooner have died than be crowded on your sick bed.”

There. A small lace of lightness that had not been there before. Forced, maybe, but there all the same.

Nesta scowled. “You thought rightly.”

“It will hurt,” Cassian warned her. “For me to lift you.”

“Then do it gently.”

A soft snicker as he moved off the many, many blankets, and then strong, corded arms slid beneath her body.

Cassian’s voice was rough in her ear. “You’re the most stubborn female I’ve ever met.”

Gritting her teeth, Nesta tried to overcome the sharp, deep-set pain that made her want to cry out.

The way Cassian gathered her to him was pain-achingly careful but it was still too much, her wounds too fresh and Nesta gasped a high-pitched cry, digging her fingers so hard into his tunic that she knew they must have bitten into the skin of his shoulders. Cassian did not indicate that she had hurt him, he only cradled her closer to the hard planes of his body, his huge wing curving around her as if he could partition off the pain and keep her safe.

The glow of the membrane was not unlike that of rusty, glowing embers. Beautiful.

Cassian remained stock still, waiting for the pain to ebb and then, slowly, as if he were hesitant to do it, his forehead came to rest on the top of her head; a bowing gesture that was almost like a confession, folding her into a protective cocoon that smelt of pine resin and warmth.

If Nesta could move without crying out, she would have traced a finger down his wing, following the spider webs of his capillaries. She had never had the opportunity to study them this close up. They were as mesmerising as fire flames as they danced their way up into the sky; as captivating as woodsmoke as it were tossed about on a breeze.

“I thought you were going to die.”

Cassian’s voice was a low, deep rumble that she felt in the pit of her stomach. In her bones. In her heart.

“Not yet,” she replied drily, but the hoarse words were muffled by the embrace.

She knew what he was trying to say. Had felt it before. The way in which history had tied the two of them together. Had made them terrified not just of dying, but without the other. An immeasurable panic that clawed at her throat and tore at her lungs.

To end up on death’s door without her lying over him was unimaginable. They had vowed to go together and even now, when they were separate rather than entwined, she would still lay her body over his broken one and refuse to live.

“Don’t say that,” Cassian clipped, his voice suddenly sharp. Broken.

Even though it hurt to move, Nesta rolled her head to press against his chest, shifting his forehead so it was lower, his lips almost brushing her skin. Nesta could not bring it in herself to care. Cassian smelt just as his sheets had — pine, musk and untamed air. Comforting.

Hesitantly, as if she had surprised him, Cassian’s large hand came to cup her head.

For a moment, they stayed like that, until the burning question that had hung in the back of her mind became too much. “Why am I in your room?” she asked.

“I had to put Mas in your bed,” Cassian confessed. She felt him smile small against her — a promise of mischief. “It’s not the way I imagined I’d first have you beneath my sheets, but I guess I should just be thankful you’re alive.”

A quiet snarl from Nesta had Cassian lifting his head to laugh. The sound was a low rasp which did not hold its usual vigour.

He was still worried. She could feel it. The sensation was relentless as a crashing tide.

“Reign in your worry,” Nesta snapped weakly. “I can feel it and it’s making me nauseous.”

Another laugh, stronger this time, and then Cassian’s emotion vanished, as if it had been carried away on a sea-kissed breeze.

“I’m going to move now,” he informed her. “Best brace yourself for the pain, sweetheart.”

It was agony. The pain so awfully deep that Nesta could hardly breathe, even as Cassian moved as smoothly as possible. She wanted to cry out, to whimper, but she would not show weakness in front of her sister’s mate.

By the time she was settled on the couch, Nesta had broken that vow; distressed sounds escaping through gritted teeth as she panted desperately for breath. With a click of Rhys's fingers, the nest of blankets that Nesta had been swaddled in appeared on the couch, just in time for Cassian to lower her onto the cushions.

Nesta did not have it in herself to be angered that Rhys had helped.

At the sound of her sister's stifled shouts, Feyre rushed out of the kitchen. She was holding a steaming mug in her hands, which Cassian plucked from his High Lady and planted straight into Nesta’s palms.

Feyre allowed him to do it without a word of protest, anxiously wringing her hands as she studied what Nesta imagined to be her too pale face, the sweat that had broken out on her forehead…

They had not spoken properly since the attack, but Feyre had been there, hovering on the periphery; anxious and sick with worry that she did not know assaulted Nesta until she too became nauseous with it. Nesta’s icy guard had been down since she had dropped to her knees beside Mas, and she hadn’t the power to stack it back up. Not when she was as exhausted as she was, her power utterly diminished and her body focussing on healing.

Finally casting a glance around the room, Nesta saw that the flames in the log burner were raging mute. She wondered who had magicked them to become silent. She hoped it was Frawley rather than Rhysand.

Rhys was positioned to the right of the fireplace, and when Nesta’s gaze purposefully passed over him as if he were little more than part of the furniture, she felt his violet eyes flick to her, his expression no doubt hard and unyielding. But Nesta was too tired to battle today.

Cassian was watching her too, glaring with such intensity at her hands that Nesta was surprised they hadn’t moved involuntarily to raise the mug to her lips. Wanting him to stop, Nesta took a slow sip of tea even though it hurt to swallow. It didn’t work; those hazel eyes remaining unwaveringly fixated. He was standing right by her head, scrutinising everything she did, his wings spread as if he were contemplating launching into flight.

Nesta wanted to hiss at him, but then Feyre sat close beside her, and that made her want to hiss more.

At his place to the left of the hearth, Azriel’s lips twitched. He had been standing as still as a statue, like marble carved out of the finest stone, his shadows stolid, but now he shifted to face her.

Nesta guessed the shadowsinger could sense her emotions with her guard down completely.

She supposed there had to be a first.

When Nesta took the last sip of her drink, Cassian’s hands were immediately there, taking it from her, his siphons winking in the firelight. Nesta barely noticed. She only felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the first whisper of silver and brilliant white that twisted through her veins like two coiled serpents; intertwined yet separate.

Easing backwards with the intention of settling into the cushions, Nesta tried to ignore the pain that suddenly stabbed through her as her stomach muscles tensed. A sharp gasp escaped her, her breath knocked out of her lungs, but then cool, shadowed hands gripped Nesta’s shoulders. They took the weight off of her abdomen, slowly lowering her backwards until she was resting comfortably.

Behind her, Nesta heard Cassian’s wings snap in and out, clearly agitated at her pain.

When Nesta turned her head to Azriel, he dipped his head to her in acknowledgement. Black tendrils of shadow whispered back to him, curling around his arms and face, waiting patiently to be bent again to their master's will.

Then  the shadowsinger turned to Rhys, as if seeking the order to begin.

“Thank you for joining us, Nesta,” Rhys said tightly. “Especially given the circumstances.”

Nesta did not reply, could not find it in herself to do it, but she finally stared at their High Lord with unflinching determination.

As always, Rhys was irritatingly immaculate, leaning against the hearth as if he owned it. Already Nesta felt like he was tainting her space — her sanctuary — and although she wanted to spit at him to leave and not come back, she only gave a stiff nod.

It would appear both of them were going to be forced today. Circumstances that were greater than their feud were at work, and neither of them was going to be petty enough to undermine that.

“Feyre allowed me to view her memory of the kerits attack,” Rhys said. “Three males flew over the mountain minutes before it happened. They can’t have been a part of the usual patrol as they weren’t doing the scheduled circuit. Instead, they flew straight over the mountain pass. Do you remember that?”

Nesta frowned, reaching back into the far depths of her memory… The three dots that coursed across the sky, the winking flash of silver from steel.

Sharply, Nesta craned her head to look at Cassian, not thinking of her injuries. She gasped. The movement had twisted her abdomen in a way she was not ready for.

Cassian’s large hands fell briefly to her shoulders before he moved to perch on the left of the U-shaped couch, close to the corner where he had lain her down.

“Ragar—” she started.

But Cassian only shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his broad thighs. His wings were held in high and tight to his spine. “Accounted for,” he told her. “And his friends. They were in the sparring rings with Devlon and countless other witnesses.”

His smile was grim. “It’s one of the first thing I checked,” he confessed. “But it made us start to wonder if perhaps the attacks have been orchestrated. One attack can be passed off as a freak accident, but three attacks across three different camps is suspicious, especially given that kerits do not venture into populated areas.”

Nesta’s expression sharpened. “You think somebody purposefully led those beasts to the widows camp?”

Rhys’s nodded. “We think it’s a possibility.” He pinned his brother with those violet eyes. “What did you find scouring the perimeter, Az?”

The shadowsinger’s expression did not physically change, but Nesta felt his shadows chill. “Carrion,” he said coldly. “A trail of it leading to the mountain pass. Morsels of it. Not enough to feed a starving pack, but deliberate enough to tempt them out of the depths of the mountains.”

“This winter has been especially punishing,” Cassian interjected. “I bet food supply has been scarce. They struggle to survive as it is. The sounds they made as they hunted probably alerted other packs who joined the hunt.”

Feyre sat forward so she was hovering on the edge of the couch. “That would be why they were so vicious. They knew they were competing with other packs for food.”

Nesta’s stomach turned as she thought of how the widows and orphans had been seen as as a meal. How they had huddled to the Eastern point of the camp with nowhere to go and no means of defending themselves.

“The carrion was well hidden,” Azriel continued with a nod, his voice as smooth as cold marble. “Frawley examined the remains. They weren’t killed with siphon magic and there were no visible wounds to the bodies. We also found boot prints in the mud; different prints ranging in size in two separate locations within a miles range of the camp. They were fresh.”

Everyone’s expression tightened.

Nesta didn’t ask if the carrion was human or animal. She didn’t want to know.

“Frawley has taken samples to analyse them,” Azriel added. “She said she will show her sisters, as well. To see if they can sense an insignia.”

“So that means the attack was orchestrated,” Feyre said. “Someone deliberately led those beasts to the camp?”

Rhys nodded. “The attack was certainly pre-meditated,” he replied, pinning Cassian with a look. “The real question is who would arrange an attack on three separate camps.”

Cassian snorted. “You know what the lords are going to say. What all of the Illyrian’s at Windhaven are going to say.”

“That it’s an attack from another war camp,” Azriel supplied, his voice chilled midnight.

“War lords usually have no issue in taking responsibility if they played a part in an attack,” Rhys countered.

“I know that,” Cassian interjected, impatience lining his voice. “So will the lords when they stop to see sense, but the moment we tell them that we suspect wrong doing, all hell will break loose. We can’t afford to lose any more lives to petty feuds. We’re still reeling from the loss of males since the war and the Rite is already looming over the camp.”

Rhys nodded to show he had heard. Nesta wondered if he mourned the loss of lives like Cassian did. The High Lord looked tired, as if he had been torn away from his mate for too long. Yet nobody looked as ravaged as Cassian did. Nesta did not know if his brothers knew of his recurring nightmares, but she hoped they learnt of them. Sometimes Cassian looked so exhausted that Nesta vibrated with a concern she could not shake. In the past, she had bitten her lip one too many times to prevent herself from ordering him to go to bed.

Nesta knew how awful it was to force someone to do something they desperately wanted but were too fearful to surrender themselves to.

“We will manage the lords,” Rhys assured Cassian. “We can decide how we are going to play that consul, but for now, we need to get to the bottom of how the kerits managed to get past Windhaven’s patrols. You and I both know how meticulous Devlon is when it comes to security around the camp. Those males shouldn't have been able to pass over the camp without being stopped by the warriors on patrol.”

“Whoever they were, they must have known that Cassian wasn't going to be in the camp today,” Azriel offered, the spymaster in him coming to the forefront. “The only good news is that they clearly had no idea that  both Feyre and Nesta would be at the top of the mountain and able to fight. And," he added after a beat of consideration, "they certainly underestimated Nesta’s ability to slay the pack if she had been alone today.”

If Nesta hadn’t been white from pain, she would have had to freeze the blush that dared to grace her cheeks at the shadowsinger’s compliment.

An abrupt snort came from Cassian. When he spoke, his voice was brimming with anger, “Of course they underestimated Nesta. Even though they have witnessed her fire daily and sensed the enormity of her magic, they still can't fathom that a female could be more powerful than them. It has to be Illyrian’s at the root of it. Only they would be chauvinistic enough to fail to see what is right in front of them.”

“Which,” Rhys interjected, “has worked unwittingly in our favour. Rather than fuel hatred towards the Night Court and cement the growing opinion that we do not protect the Illyrian community, we had two High Fae slaughtering the pack well before any warriors arrived on the scene. And then Nesta brought Masak back to life — someone who the Illyrian males in this camp do not see as worthy to live amongst them.”

Through the exhaustion, anger heated Nesta’s blood. She felt her magic whisper. If Nesta looked inward, she could see the two strands. Could now sense the promise of healing magic in her veins amongst her silver fire. As if she had been granted the key in the face of Mas’s death and she had turned it over in the lock, setting that power free.

Yet, even as Nesta grazed that healing power, it was her silver fire that promised to roar.

“I didn’t do it to stop a Civil War. I did it to protect the females who cannot protect themselves,” Nesta snapped weakly. She was too tired to muster enough vigour into her words, but she was annoyed at the false implication behind her actions. That she had not done it out of love for the housekeeper, but because of politics.

“That may be,” Rhys said, his voice forcibly light, “and what you did was honourable, but we cannot ignore how the Illyrian’s might interpret the action.”

“What Rhys is trying to say,” Azriel interjected smoothly as Nesta’s nostrils flared, “is that the females already respect you. The way you defended them today will not strengthen the dissent, only highlight that there are fae outside of the Illyrian communities who have their best interests at heart. You, for example.”

“You know they like you,” Cassian said quietly. He did not look at Nesta. Instead, he remained fixated at the hands that were clasped tightly in front of him, his elbows resting on his broad knees. “You know they have accepted you since you defended them against the males.”

“I protect them because nobody else seems to bother,” Nesta said coldly. “How many innocent females died because of the cruel intentions of males today? How many were injured?”

“Thirteen dead, thirty plus injured,” Cassian told Nesta quietly. “It would have been many more if you and Feyre not been there. You moved so quickly you managed to slay the majority of the packs before they reached the females.”

Nesta’s expression hardened as she thought of the trailing guts that had glistened in the grey light of day; the way Roksana’s hands had slipped in Mas’s wet, sticky blood, and how she had croaked for help. Her first word aloud since Nesta had met her.

“That is still too many,” Nesta insisted, her voice betraying her — shaking with the anger and horror of it all. “Why would they target the widows first? Why not lead the kerits down the other side of the mountain pass where they would could reach the main camp and weaken Windhaven’s forces?”

“Perhaps the kerits were never intended to weaken Windhaven’s ranks at all,” Rhys mused. “Perhaps they were intended to prove a point.”

A shocked, prolonged pause.

“Are you saying,” Nesta said, her voice shaking, “that you think the rebellion could have orchestrated the attacks. That they might have specifically targeted the defenceless females because widows are seen as disposable, but their deaths would be enough to fuel dissent amongst the camps?”

Rhys stared at Nesta for a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side, in the same way that Cassian’s did when he was trying to puzzle her out. But Nesta barely saw it. All she saw was the twisted body of the kind cook who had fed Nesta every morning… Of lovely Durkhanai, with her beautiful curly hair and bright green eyes. A female who had been dealt the harshest of fates. She had not deserved her end. None of the females had. 

Feyre’s hand crept over the blankets to Nesta’s. Her sister’s slim fingers wrapped around her own. “Surely they wouldn’t kill their own race?” Feyre said, her voice shaking. Nesta wondered if she, too, was thinking of the discarded limbs and pools of blood. “There were children in that camp. The females didn’t even have weapons…”

But her sister did not understand just how harsh the camps were. Unlike Nesta, Feyre had not lived amongst the widows for months. She did not know just how willing the Illyrian’s might be to offer the widows camp as a sacrifice for the sake of politics.

“I would not put it past Illyrian’s to see widows as a necessary sacrifice,” Rhys admitted eventually after a long, pregnant pause. His violet eyes had softened with grief. “If this is orchestrated by the rebellion, I suspect that by targeting the widows camps Kallon was hoping to fuel the anger amongst the Illyrian’s that they are not protected. That the Night Court does not care for Illyrian’s and offers them no protection. The widows would have been seen as a necessary sacrifice. They are outcasts in Illyrian society with no families to mourn their deaths.”

A ringing sounded in Nesta’s ears. The noise tuned out the room around her. It took her a while to realise that it was fury. It burned. It was not hot, but cold - enough to give her frostbite - as if her magic was not replenished enough to fly but was trying its best to rally itself. Inside of her chest, something cracked. It sounded like bone. With it, came creeping fingers of light, reaching towards her...

With all her strength, Nesta clamped down... until shadows ate away the approaching light and the room righted itself.

When she came to, Cassian was growling low in warning, his wings stretching as far as they could without hitting her square in the face. At who, Nesta did not know. Did not care for his territorial display when there were bigger matters to discuss.

“And why isn’t there protection?” she asked.

Nesta’s words were as cold as the chill in her veins. Rhys stilled, and with it, his magic trembled. The growl was still rumbling from low in Cassian’s chest — deeper even — and he sat forward, bracing his weight onto his thighs as if he were getting ready to launch himself at… someone. Nesta wasn’t sure who.

Feyre was still gripping Nesta’s hand tight, her grip firm enough to hurt. If Nesta had cast a look to her sister’s face, she would have seen that tell-tale glaze over Feyre’s eyes. It was the kind of far off look which told Nesta that her sister was speaking to her mate mind-to-mind. Or trying to, at least.

“Why was there no protection around each of the Illyrian camps given that there had already been two kerit attacks?” Nesta continued, ignoring the rumbling sound that had her heart wanting to beat that little bit faster. “I have seen the protective shields the fae used in war — around your City of Starlight. Why is that courtesy not extended to the Illyrian communities?”

A long, drawn out silence of star-kissed eternal and a whisper of ancient silver.

“I have offered protection numerous times to each of the war lords,” Rhys replied eventually, his voice too measured to be casual. “Each of them have turned it down. They see it as a criticism on their duty as warriors to protect and defend.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh but the hard quality to her eyes did not change. “They are stubborn Illyrian bats. Get them to change their minds. Or are you not their High Lord?”

A flicker of amusement passed across Azriel’s face, his shadows lightening the sharp, beautiful angles of his face. “Nesta is right,” he said, causing everyone to turn. “The war lords don’t have the luxury of turning down our help when it looks as if there will be more kerit attacks. There shouldn’t have been a gap in today’s patrol. Windhaven has always prided itself on its security — all the camps do. Have we found the soldiers who should have been patrolling the perimeter? I think it wise to consider that they may have been compromised by whoever tempted the kerits to the camps. Recruited, even. They could well be the males that flew over the mountain pass.”

“Nobody can find them,” Cassian growled. “We have males out looking for them as we speak. As soon as they are found we will interrogate them.”

“Cassian and I will interrogate,” Rhys told Azriel as a rare flicker of surprise fell across the shadowsinger's expression. “I need you to visit your most trusted contacts in the camps and tell them that we believe the attacks might not be random. We need all eyes and ears to the ground to find out as much as we can, not least to anticipate where the next attack might be.”

A tense nod, but Azriel folded into shadow and disappeared.

Cassian’s fists curled into fists on the tops of his thighs. “We need evidence. We cannot assume this is the rebellion without it.”

“Of course not,” Rhys admitted smoothly. “Which is why we need you to try and snuff out as much information as you can when you and Nesta go to the Solstice luncheon next week. Accept the offer to stay overnight.”

Nesta hadn’t thought Cassian’s expression could turn any stonier, but it did. “No.”

“The more time you spend at Ironcrest, the longer Nesta has to pick up any untoward emotion, especially surrounding conversation about the camps. It gives Frawley time to look and identify the origin of the sword, and it gives you and Lorrian time to pry out any information. Insist on you and Lorrian overseeing the aerial and ground units that next morning, it will ease away any suspicion. A trip there is long overdue but it is time to act on this rather than gathering information, which we have been doing up until now.”

Cassian blew out a long, steadying breath. Then he conceded,  “With the Rite meeting been moved forward to that afternoon, it shouldn’t be hard to extend our stay."

Rhys nodded. “Good.” Then his violet eyes rested on Nesta. “You are willing to go with Cassian?”

A raised chin. Defiant. Strong. Despite the pain and exhaustion that wanted to pull her down, down, down. “Yes.”

“Then we have a plan,” Rhys said with another nod. “Azriel will continue to train you. If he is not available,  I will travel to the camps and train you myself .”

At the edge of her periphery, Nesta saw Feyre’s eyes widen. In her stomach, Nesta felt Cassian’s surprise, a sensation which grew as Rhys said,  “Welcome to the Court of Dreams, Nesta Archeron.”

*** 

By the time the meeting was over, Nesta was drained; her eyelids unbelievably heavy, her limbs aching. She desperately wanted to sleep, so she took the tincture Feyre brought her without comment and didn’t protest when Cassian carried her back to his bed rather than hers; agony fogged the rational part of her brain.

She was practically asleep as Cassian lay her onto his mattress. She felt his fingers coax hers away from where they were clutching his leathers. Blankets were pulled over her, the weight a comfort. A sedative was dripped into her mouth.

And then she slipped under.

When Nesta next woke, the taste was still bitter in her mouth but the room was dark; the light having receded even from the gap between the curtains.

In the armchair beside her bed was Feyre, her feet curled up beneath her and her freckled nose buried in Love in Velaris. A bobbing faelight hung overhead, willed by her sister’s magic. It illuminated the pages.

From the dent Feyre had made in the book, Nesta guessed she had been asleep for hours. Beyond the room, the bungalow sat still — the way it did when Cassian was not home — as if it too were sleeping, waiting for its owner to come back and breathe life into the rooms with his presence.

A few seconds passed until Feyre noticed that Nesta was awake. It gave Nesta enough time to catalogue the concern etched on her sister’s pale face; the tight expression which made Feyre’s sharp cheekbones even more prominent.

Nesta did not usually see the similarities between them, but now, as Feyre’s serious steel-blue eyes snapped up at the rustle of blankets, Nesta knew why others had said they looked alike.

“You’re awake.” Feyre spoke slowly — unsure — as she unfurled her long, lithe legs. When Nesta winced as she tried to get into a more comfortable position, Feyre jumped up and moved to the dresser. “Here,” she said, pouring some tincture onto a silver spoon.

Nesta hated the way she needed assistance to lift her head, but she allowed Feyre to do it in a rush of pear and lilac. Nesta was not proud enough to deny that she needed the tincture to smooth away the pain. And whilst the pain wasn’t as agonising as hours prior, it was deep-set enough for Nesta to consider whether she could persuade Feyre to allow her to swallow down the whole damn bottle.

After some water to chase down the foul taste, Feyre stepped back. “How are you feeling? Frawley seemed to think she could speed up the healing Madja did, but you were so sick…” Her sister trailed off, setting back to examine Nesta’s face. “You look a little less pale...”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said hoarsely.

Feyre opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she were contemplating what best to say. The action annoyed Nesta. She wanted to be alone and quiet. To fall back asleep and wake when the pain was gone and she no longer felt helpless.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Nesta asked tiredly, turning her face to bury it into one of the pillows. It was a few seconds reprieve to calm the irritation that had started to hum through her.

Slowly, Nesta breathed in the scent of pine, musk and air that was so fierce Nesta felt as if she were almost a part of it. She had no doubt this was the pillow Cassian rested his head on. The scent soothed her, smoothing over that spiky, dangerous anger of hers to leave bone-lead weariness in its place.

“I wanted to be here,” Feyre told her. There was a subtle stubborn lift to her chin that Nesta knew Feyre had copied from her at a young age so many times that it had now become a part of who she was. “I wanted to look after you. To make sure that you were healing.”

“Well, I don’t need you to take care of me. You heard it yourself, I should be out of bed tomorrow. I just need to sleep.”

Nesta had intended to say it icily, but she was not well enough to muster the strength.

Feyre’s expression tightened, and for a moment, Nesta thought she might snap. But then she just straightened with determination; her tall, lean body rising to a height that called for attention. “Then let me say what I want to say and I will leave you alone.”

A long, stony silence and a blank, impenetrable mask that Nesta hoped with desperation conveyed the message she wanted to snap: Go away.

Instead, Feyre seated herself on the armchair and reached for Nesta’s ice-cold hand. “Nesta,” she started, the word practically a plea. “I know you and I - I know that our relationship has always been rocky. And you are right, there are many things that I hadn’t considered, not least when I sent you here. But… you almost died today and it’s made me realise what is important: I love you. I don’t think I’ve told you that before, but I always have. Even when we were younger and we were both so angry and bitter at our lot in life and we spent our days fighting. And I know you love me, too. Hiring someone to take you to the wall to find me told me that…”

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath and when she next spoke, her voice turned softer, dropping into a confession, “I forgave you and Elain a long time ago for when we were starving, Nesta. I want you to know that. I don’t — we were children. It was father that failed us, not you. I never saw it as your job to care for me and… I’m sorry that you were there when mother asked me to take care of you…. That must have been a horrible thing to overhear and… well, I would have felt resentment towards me, too, if I were you.”

More silence. Nesta would not allow herself to speak for the barbed words she knew would spill forth. About her sister’s mate and how whilst Nesta had tried to make amends, Rhysand’s obvious dislike of her had not disappeared with Feyre’s supposed forgiveness.

“I also want you to know that what you did in the war — you saved hundreds of lives. I know you witnessed unimaginable death and horror, but fae and humans are walking on Prythian because you struck down the male that promised to wreak havoc on our world. You did all of that and I never thought to thank you. And then I was so swept away by my duties as High Lady and recovering from Rhys’s near death that I did not give you the time I should have-”

Such careful tiptoeing around their father’s death. How Nesta had watched the life bleed out of his eyes, until they were nothing but glassy and wholly unconscious.

It was that which made Nesta cut her sister off. Even now, she had no desire to discuss his death. “I am not a burden you need to add to your list of priorities. I didn’t want your help. I explicitly told you to go away and instead you continued to force me to socialise when all I wanted was to be alone.”

Feyre let go of Nesta’s hand. Something akin to loss flashed through Nesta, piercing through the exhaustion and the pain in her abdomen.

“I think communication has always been an issue for us,” Feyre admitted, not backing down from the conversation. “I have spent time thinking over what you have said and you are right, I have not truly listened to you. But I was so scared for your safety I adopted drastic measures—”

“It is not your place to decide what is best for me,” Nesta said coldly. “I am not yours to command. And,” she continued with as much iciness as she could muster, “I do not think that an Illyrian camp is a place of safety.”

A deliberate pause to highlight how she were in bed suffering from major injuries.

“I thought if you were with Cassian that you would be protected,” Feyre said, her expression anguished. “I thought if anyone were to hold their own in an Illyrian camp it would be you. You are so strong, Nesta—”

“You thought a fae male could protect me when the protection I was promised by males has failed over and over again?” Nesta countered. “He is not even here all of the time. Sometimes he is away for days on end and I am left alone. You banished me to this awful place in front of an audience with no care for my feelings.”

But as Nesta spoke, something scrabbled in the back of her mind. Because it wasn’t fair to criticise Cassian for both leaving her and crowding her. Because Cassian had given her space and yet he had also been there, on the periphery if not right in front of her. Taunting her and encouraging her, but with so much space to grow. He had not made her train with him, dragging her spitting and screaming into the sparring ring. He had not thrown her out into the camp each morning and forced her to work or make friends. He had given her choices that she had more often than not denied over and over. And when she had done that, he had bought her more books or figured out the foods she liked to make the days a little less boring.

Cassian had not just protected her but allowed her to grow stronger. Had given her the space to decide for once in her life what she wanted to do and what she wanted to be. True, she might have been stuck in Windhaven, but she had never felt truly trapped. The skies made her feel unencumbered. The mud beneath her feet rendered her a part of nature rather than apart from it. The craggy mountains were a physical depiction of how Nesta was starting to see herself; sharp and angry but resilient and strong.

Outside the bungalow, Nesta heard the unmistakable crunch of boots in the snow. The low murmur of male voices floated through the bedroom window, which had been cracked open to circulate the stale air.

Feyre’s face crumpled in sudden irritation, and Nesta guessed that her mate had tried to speak mind-to-mind with her mid-conversation. From the way Feyre’s expression quickly cleared, Nesta got the impression she had banished Rhys completely or told him to go away.

The click of the magical lock from the front door rang through the bungalow, but Feyre’s attention was only on her. “Adjusting to the role of High Lady has been… a struggle,” her sister admitted. “Cassian, Rhys, Amren and Mor are my friends as well as my trusted advisors. But you are right, I spoke to you as a High Lady not as a sister when I told you to come here. I thought that using my new status would make you listen because my role as a sister had failed. It was a last resort and I knew… I knew that Cassian would look after you.”

Feyre stared up at the ceiling, as if the memory caused her pain. “As soon as you left I knew the way I had summoned you was wrong.” Feyre looked back to Nesta and sincerity swam in her eyes. “I did not consider that I had imprisoned you. I was selfishly only thinking of forcing you to be well.”

More silence.

Feyre got to her feet, her expression pained.

She waved a hand to the window, gesturing to the scenery outside. To the craggy mountains that stretched for miles and the sea beyond it. To the world that existed beyond Illyria. Beyond Prythian. “When you are healed, if you wish to leave Illyria you can. I don’t want you to feel imprisoned any longer.”

There was a finality to the words that rang true. Her sister meant them, even if it was obvious they caused her pain.  Yet… Nesta did not want to leave. Not now, not when she had promised to attend the Solstice luncheon to see what they could discover about the sword and the kerit attacks. Not when the females here were so vulnerable. Now when they needed help rebuilding their community — to mourn for the losses that Nesta had vowed would not go unnoticed.

“I said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Feyre halted at the door.

“And your help is invaluable,” Feyre said slowly, “but you are not obligated to do it. So if you wish to leave, you can. Just… please tell someone before you do and let us know where you are going.”

Feyre looked weary and Nesta wondered if she had even bathed since everything that had happened. Her body was clean like Nesta’s… but her leathers were crumpled and her hair dishevelled. Nesta’s own body felt like it was covered in a film of oil and invisible dirt. Her skin itched at the thought and she longed for a bath, even though she knew she would not be able to manage it without more rest.

When Nesta closed her eyes, Feyre’s blood-streaked face swam into view. She remembered how Feyre had gripped her hand in the midst of battle and told Nesta to lead the way to the Eastern side of the camp, even though they were in the thick of danger. Her sister had not hesitated or balked. She had only been fierce and unwaveringly brave, ready to put her life on the line for those who needed protection.

For all of their problems, when the two of them had been fighting side by side, it was the first time that Nesta felt as if she truly belonged with her sister. For a brief moment in time, their issues and past mistakes had bled away, as if they were inconsequential.

“I’d love for us to start afresh,” Feyre continued quietly from her place at the door. “We have both made errors, but I do not care about yours. I hope that with time you might be able to forgive me, and if you do, I’d like to start over, you and I, with a blank slate.”

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[mongooseblues]

Hi! What inspired you to create your OCs?

Ooooh nice and open-ended I love it!

Back in like… February? March? I was like yo it’s time to make some characters I’m getting sick of niche fanfiction and I don’t watch anything anyone watches. Started just with vague themes and the plan of an ethically murky relationship between a professor and a grad student. Teachers have been super important to me throughout my life and frankly I have lack-of-daddy issues so male teachers have been guiding forces for me (and sometimes sexual confusion and too-ardent admiration exclusively on my part gets involved lol) Got kinda derailed from my education during pandemic stuff and I was missin’ school so professor OC! Cal is consciously inspired by a mix of people I’ve loved, and subconsciously undoubtedly more.

I'm gonna ramble again so here's a text break.

Specifically, two particular teachers were the biggest forces that shaped Cal’s character, one of whom, Mr. W, I’ve mentioned on here a couple of times as I was in class with him pre-pandemic and he happens to be my teacher again now. It is constant inspiration I adore him and he was such a influence for Cal originally that he’ll do or say something every couple days where I’m like 🥺 That Was Very Cal of Him (which is like, not a surprise considering, but it gets me every time).

The other professor was one who effortlessly commanded a lecture hall like nobody’s business and was hot and magnetic and charming and also somehow got me so excited about an obscure subject I was only taking to fulfill a GE requirement, and I got the sense that other people felt that way too because the engagement within the class as a whole was very palpable. Also one time he came to class with, in his words, a “heavy, heavy cold” and proceeded to lecture through substantial stuffiness and it almost killed me dead and I learned exactly nothing during that particular lecture and I still think about it. He was super upfront about not feeling well and told us immediately and apologized in advance and it was somehow done with confidence and grace and he was just darling is all.

My beloved Special Agent Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks is in there but honestly half of what I loved about Cooper was, I realized, my own personal headcanons for him in terms of illness. But his kindness and politeness and enduring sense of responsibility are things I loved drawing on and intersecting with when I wrote fanfic for him so many of those traits and those intersections have been carried into Cal.

There’s another couple friends I adore in there, and Cal's Indian identity draws extremely heavily on an ex-roommate and what he’s told me about the pressures of arranged relationships as it affected him personally. Also Jackie O. (who most of y’all haven't really met yet) is actually the name of that ex-roomie’s dog (who I never actually met but I heard so much about her that she made an impression). I told him I used her name for a fictional canine character and he was beyond pleased to hear it. (“You call her the whole thing right? Because the O. is important.” (Of course I do, the O. is crucial)).

My partner is also heavily featured in Cal. That one’s not purposeful. But I have to keep acknowledging to myself that many of Cal’s flaws are his, and I’m realizing as I write that part of what I’m doing is probably trying to better understand my partner, I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I reach some revelation. My partner is similarly difficult to pin down psychologically, I think maybe that’s part of what’s possessing me to examine Cal so thoroughly and why there are things about him that keep eluding me that other people I talk to about Cal actually sometimes seem better equipped to point out than I can. I dunno, sometimes I do something with Cal and I don’t consciously know what I’m getting at exactly I just know I’m getting at something.

Cal and Rafael’s struggles are unintentionally reflective of my partner’s and my own, in an arrangement where in some ways we’re each simultaneously both characters. Some of the Rafie stuff I just haven’t been able to write yet because it’s emotionally hard and hits very very close to home. I didn’t write myself into their story on purpose either. I didn’t even realize I did it until later, maybe because I just usually don’t look at my life from a top-down perspective that way so I’m kinda slow about it and I don’t think I realized how dire some stuff was until I wrote it in an obscured fictional context.

(Partner is currently out of town and after typing this out I sent him a text that said “Sometimes I think I write about you by accident” and proceeded to cry about that for a minute. We’re okay, I think, don’t worry 💕) Wow I got kind of off track there. Suffice to say Cal is profoundly loved and very important to me.

I really wanted a divorced character and neglected to fully realize if I got deep in exploring that relationship it’d be sad. It wasn’t the original plan to explore Cal/Rafie pre-divorce at all, actually. Hell, it wasn’t the original plan to follow any of these characters anywhere besides Cal’s main storyline but here I am a couple hundred pages later doing so. Rafael’s not really consciously drawing on any influences, but probably some unspecific amalgamation of Junot Diaz characters have made an impression.

Josephine is new to you guys, but the Cal/Josephine relationship is, in some ways purposely and in others not, drawn from an ex-friend I sorta fell in love with once a long time ago and still adore lots about in retrospect. A situation I could have handled better had I been older/more mature and now I’m kinda exploring that and I can tell another something whose thesis statement I don’t yet fully know is being uncovered here because every time I write their relationship it instantly becomes much longer than I’d intended and it gets ridiculously intimate from Cal’s perspective.

I’m breaking my own heart six ways to Sunday over here lmao.

On a lighter note.

Scotty is most consciously drawn from bits of my sister (the sex & love addiction aspect especially, I read her self-help books and use her as a bounce board for stuff with Scotty’s character development sometimes) and my irl best friend—who is impossibly cool—was a big influence on their non-binary identity and their radicalism and some of their speech mannerisms, but those are really the only direct connections I can tie because I feel like my experience with Scotty in my own life was a rotating cast of that extremely cool, slightly dangerous, alluring but A Lot person I always wished I knew better but was a little afraid of what would happen if I did.

and I gotta finish this damn story so y’all can properly meet Scotty. I have a ton of content I’ve written that I have to hide behind a sort of spoiler wall of two unfinished fics so I need to get on that.

[darkhymns-fic]

Blossoms in Flight

Estelle is having trouble working on her next book, so a visit from Rita was more than welcome - and possibly give her a solution to her writer's block.

Fandom: Tales of Vesperia Characters/Pairing: Estelle/Rita Mordio Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: So here’s a 3 month late bday gift for @taco-night-frenzy​ ! Please forgive. :) Enjoy some lesbians trying to fly together and it (mostly) turns out okay!

--

Inspiration just wasn’t striking.

Estelle put her pen down, heaving a sigh that traveled from the very pit of her lungs until it left her mouth. She had been at this for a solid twenty minutes, having cleared her schedule to give her some well-needed writing time. And yet, as the blank piece of parchment before her told her…the words wouldn’t come.

She just couldn’t understand it! She had all the essentials down for a productive writing session; a recently cleaned-up desk where a simmering teacup was set next to her right, flowers placed on the windowsill to give her room a pleasant fragrance, a locked door so that no well-meaning knight (Flynn) could come in and ask if she needed anything, and she had even put up some nice pictures on her wall, a few paintings depicting landscapes and wildlife. Many of them were so pretty that she found herself staring at them for quite a while… or was she just finding an excuse to not do the task at hand?

Estelle shook her head, even tapping her temples with her fingers. “Focus now! You can do this!” She had the habit now of talking to herself when she tried to get into a creative mood, though always making sure her door was locked before she did. “You’ve written one book, now it’s time to write another! So…let’s get started!”

Another breath, taking back the quill pen in her hand. She could hear the children from town playing outside, but she had made sure to lock the window to minimize outside distractions. It was the best way for her to concentrate! Although even just thinking about the outside got her curious to maybe leave her room for a break… Wait, no! This was the problem!

“Focus…” Estelle whispered, taking another deep breath, staring daggers at the page as if to will her words into existence. “Focus…”

The children outside were being quite loud though – sounding as if they were just at her room, knocking their hands against the wall! But she was on the second floor, so that was clearly impossible. It must have been just wishful thinking anyway… She liked to ta her walks outside and read her latest book to the group of children. In some ways, that had been her own source of inspiration as well-

“ -elle! Estelle!”

Oh, sometimes they’d shout her name like that too, especially when she was lost in thought, looking over the great tree of Halure, with its pink petals that floated over them all. She had only moved to this town a few months earlier, along with a few trusted knights, including Flynn, for protection. But she had never felt safer. Never, except when with-

“Estelle!! Open the window already!!”

A sharp gasp left her throat, prompting her to stand up. Her chair was knocked on its side from the motion. “What? Who’s- who’s there?” Was it that ghost that the children sometimes spoke of again…?

“I’m right here!!! Hello?!”

Oh, wait, someone was actually at her window. And going by that voice…

A smile lifted her face as she turned. “Rita? Is that you?”

Her home in Halure wasn’t too tall, but with her room on the second floor, only birds and the like would make it to her window. Often she would open it to the see the town outside, along with the pink petals that floated on the warm breeze, sometimes catching onto her hair. (And with her hair the same pink shade, she would rarely notice the petals until someone such as Flynn helpfully pointed them out). But instead of the town, she saw a sight that was even more heartwarming and exciting.  

Rushing to the window that she nearly stumbled, her hands pressed against the glass to push it open – and nearly Rita along with it.

“Agh! Careful!” Rita flailed a bit but latched her fingers onto the windowsill, her brown hair a bit frazzled. She struggled with the action, especially as she seemed to be carrying a sort of mechanical contraption on her back.

Estelle stared for a moment before she realized to grab onto Rita’s hands to keep her steady. “I had no idea you were here! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t have to worry that much.” Rita sighed, gripping back Estelle’s hands. But she didn’t move to go through the window, at least not completely. The window was tall, enough to take in Rita’s entire height, so she deftly placed her feet on the windowsill, looking down at Estelle. “I was just out here knocking on your window for the past ten minutes…”

Estelle gasped. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I was just so busy trying to… well, focus for a while.” She shook her head, pushing away such worries. “But, I didn’t know you’d visit me!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rita frowned at that. “I told you I’d see ya again, just after I finished my latest project.” With that announcement, she jutted a thumb to the machine strapped to her back. “In fact, I used this to go and visit you!”

Estelle’s eyes widened with awe. “Wow… is that a new backpack?”

“It- It’s more than just a backpack! See the fan blades here?” She gestured to the things, currently very still, numbering about four blades altogether, seeming to stick out from Rita’s back like metal wings. “It’s my new flying machine. I told you that I’d show it to you.”

A memory jogged within Estelle. “Ah, that’s right! You did tell me that. I apologize. It seemed to have slipped my mind…” Still, she looked at the flying machine, how compact it was, fashioned from metal. “And all without any blastia?” Always she was impressed by the girl’s genius.

“Of course! It’s utilizing the law of physics anyway. Aerodynamics and such, so you just need to determine the lift, the weight, the drag and the thrust. Though mine works a little differently because of the shape of this, but I still have to calculate how the force of gravity affects it, and if enough thrust from the propellers can lift me up…”

Estelle nodded very slowly. She was impressed! Even with all the information making little sense to her.

Rita noticed. She blinked, cleared her throat, then crossed her arms. “Anyway… I was just in town… wondering if we could get tea together, you know…”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I know how busy you are with research.” Estelle clasped her hands. “And I have plenty of honey this time!”

“Well, good! Tea is only good with honey, so you should always have plenty!” Rita was really quite adamant about this, which Estelle well-remembered. And if honey made Rita came by for tea more often, she would always make sure to have enough on hand.

The girl remained standing up on the windowsill though, occasionally adjusting the straps wrapped around her torso (perhaps trying to get it off?). Sometimes a rotor blade hit the sides, but Estelle didn’t mind the noise of it. In fact, she found herself a little in awe of the sight, Rita’s silhouette against the backdrop of the sky, where the stray petals of cherry blossoms floated in the breeze. They fluttered all around Rita, who didn’t seem to notice them in the slightest, too preoccupied with her machine.

Estelle must have been staring for far, far too long. “Uh, what is it?” Rita asked with a raised eyebrow. “I-I almost have this done so just get the tea ready!”

Estelle flushed just then. “Oh, Rita it’s not that! It’s just, um…” Recently, the words always seemed to escape her, not just from her pen, but just through speaking. It was as if anything significant thoughts she had just seemed to flitter away from her mind, like frightened birds. But Rita was right in front of her, so at the very least, she could keep track of what she wanted to say… “It’s just, you look really heroic standing up there right now!”

It was clear right away that Rita had no idea what she meant. “Huh?” Although her face also seemed a bit red. Flying must have taken a lot of energy and exertion, which made sense as to why she wanted tea so much. “I don’t…well… I mean if you think so…”

But the longer Estelle looked at Rita, the more she believed the image before her to be true. “Yes! Especially with the cherry blossoms falling around you. Like something out of a novel…” At that, she paused, blinked, then clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s it! The new protagonist should be someone like you!”

Rita seemed to get even redder, and Estelle wondered if maybe the heat of the day was getting to her. “W-what? Estelle, can you make sense please?”

Ah, that’s right. She hadn’t explained it at all to Rita. That was rude of her.

“Sorry. Actually… you caught me at a weird time.” She finally decided to move, going over to a side table in her room where a teapot and some cups were placed. Luckily, the water inside was still hot, and she carefully arranged a chosen tea bag for Rita’s own cup. “You see, I’ve been trying to start my new book for the past hour, but nothing’s coming to mind. It feels like I’ve hit a roadblock, so to speak.” She sighed, pouring the water into the cup. Oh, and of course added in some honey from a small dispenser nearby. “My first one came to me so easily, I just don’t understand what the problem is…”

“…Huh. Can’t say I relate much to that.” But once she turned to Rita with filled teacup in hand, she saw the girl scratch her head, looking at the floor. “Sorry. That was thoughtless to say.”

“Oh no! That’s alright.” Estelle shrugged, once again looking up at Rita against the window. She still looked so heroic, and also just so very cool. She wondered if it was possible to have a painting like this… It was just too bad Estelle couldn’t draw very well. “Maybe I just need to do something a bit differently… I’ve already tried so many different tea brews already.”

“…You really think the kind of tea you’ve been drinking is the issue here?”

“Well, this one time I accidentally switched out my chamomile tea with the ginger one, and it had me up all night!”

“Hmm…”

For a while, Rita seemed to have not heard her, preoccupied with thinking, which happened sometimes. Estelle would usually just let her go through it before interrupting her with anything else. But whatever her musing was, it didn’t last long.

Rita turned her head just over her right shoulder, looking out into the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, casting hues of orange light against Rita’s hair. The petals continued to float around, doing so in such intricate patterns, it seemed that they danced about her. Even the wind picked up, gently rustling Rita’s clothes, including the yellow ribbon wrapped around her arm.

Once again, Estelle could do nothing but stare.

“Well, if you need more inspiration for your book…” Rita said, before fully turning back to her with a smile, one that was full of confidence. “I think I know a way to help with just that.”

Estelle still held onto her teacup, blinking occasionally. “Really?”

“Yeah! The thing is, you’re going about this all wrong.” Rita then finally jumped from the windowsill onto the hardwood floors of Estelle’s room. She did so without any thought to what she still wore on her back, which must have been lighter than it looked. “Just sitting around waiting for inspiration isn’t gonna cut it. You have to go out and look for it! If I waited for inspiration to go and continue my research, I’d just get nothing done. And if something still isn’t working out, I move onto something else. It’s as simple as that.”

Estelle nodded along, fascinated as Rita paced about her room, spilling out advice that was truly so inspiring. “But then… where can I find my inspiration?” she asked with a bit of reservation. “I’ve tried taking walks around Halure, speaking with the children… but I keep having trouble just writing down a few words at most.”

“That’s routine, Estelle. And while routine is nice, it gets boring and expected.” Rita stopped her pacing, facing Estelle with crossed arms. “I only write for academic research instead of any creative writing, but it sounds like you need a new perspective.”

Maybe here was where Estelle got a little confused. She tilted her head. “A new perspective?” How could she do that?

Rita apparently read her mind then. She asked her question so matter-of-factly. “Ever saw Halure from above?”

--

This was the only time Estelle ever felt just a bit unsure around the genius researcher that was so dear to her.

“Are you sure this is the best way?”

“I told you that it’s fine! You don’t think I’m strong enough, is that it?”

“Oh no! I just worry I’ll hurt you if we’re not careful…”

But as Estelle looked up at Rita from above, she saw the determination in her eyes, the way she pouted cutely like so when she was being, perhaps, just a little bit stubborn.

The reason she was above was because Rita had instructed her to lay down, so that way it would be ‘easier.’ Estelle didn’t question it, and so she complied, using the bed in her room as the best place for her to lay down straight. Rita stood by her bedside, eyes hard, arms crossed.

“…Am I laying down wrong?” Estelle questioned. Sometimes she didn’t always understand directions very well…

“No no, it’s alright! Just… thinking how to do this right.” Rita took a deep breath, then uncrossed her arms to stretch them out. Her face was still a bit red, and Estelle wished she had served her the tea a bit earlier. But Rita had declined, determined to help her find her inspiration, as she had said.

With the flying machine still strapped onto her back, Rita stretched out her arms, then nodded. “Okay! Just be sure to hang onto me once I got you up.”

Estelle, slightly nervous, nodded. “Got it!” Still, she worried. Rita was a bit shorter than she was…

Could she really carry her that easily?

Rita had sounded excited at the idea she herself proposed, and Estelle couldn’t help but be caught up in that same excitement. But, now that the prospect was happening, a few doubts popped in her head – mostly concerning herself. For one thing, her dress was probably not the easiest thing to deal with for the person who would carry her…

But before she could voice any more concerns, Rita brought down the goggles she always wore on her head, placing them over her eyes, effectively hiding them away. Then she was bending down, arms slipping underneath the other girl’s back and legs. “And… okay, just, gotta use my knees…” Rita paused, her face a bit near Estelle’s, the heat from her cheeks a bit apparent. “Uh…”

“Are you alright?” Estelle asked, feeling ashamed. “We don’t have to do this if you changed your mind-”

“I didn’t! Don’t assume that!” And with a pout, Rita slipped her hands further so that she got a better grip on Estelle. “I’m just preparing! Okay… one, two…three!”

She lifted Estelle up so quickly that she almost tripped.

“AAAH I-I mean! I have this, don’t worry!” Rita re-balanced herself, holding up Estelle much more securely. She stood up straight, legs trembling slightly, taking deep breaths every so often. “Hurry and…hold onto me…”

“Oh, right!” Estelle wrapped her arms around Rita’s neck, head leaning into her shoulder. “This good?”

“Y-yeah…” Rita turned to look at her, mouth half-open as if to say something. It was hard to see her expression with those goggles on… But then she turned away again. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

Estelle nodded. “Okay!” Still, she hoped she wasn’t too heavy for her…

But she knew better now to make any mention of it. So, she stayed cradled in Rita’s arms as the girl marched over to the open window, careful to keep her back straight, all while muttering, “All in the knees… Just like Karol said, all in the knees…”

Estelle’s lower half of the dress practically engulfed Rita’s arms, at least from what she could tell from her angle. Maybe I should say something… But the thing was, she liked being carried this way.

Rita then hopped back onto the windowsill. The suddenness of the motion made Estelle squeak. Rita’s arms shook, but only for a bit. And then it seemed as if she ran straight off the edge out into the sky. “Keep your eyes open!”

Because Rita told her so, that was exactly what she did.

It wasn’t the first time she had been up in the sky – far from it in fact. Back when she traveled with everyone, they would ride on Ba’ul and the ship he carried, over towns and cities, over the sprawling grasslands, the oceans that seemed to lead forever into the horizon. She’d feel the wind in her hair, raise her head up to the stars, drawn to the brightest one.

But it was different now.

Held close to Rita’s chest, and hearing the whirr of the rotor blades of her flying machine above them both, Estelle felt something much more different now. Her legs dangled in the air, the petals flying close to her face, bringing with her the scent of the cherry blossoms… and she couldn’t help but keep her gaze on Rita’s face, the goggles covering her eyes to protect her from the wind.

Rita seemed to notice, and though she couldn’t see her eyes, she had a feeling the girl had been caught off-guard. “I-I didn’t mean keep your eyes open on me!”

“Oh?” Estelle half-shouted, the wind carrying away both of their voices.

“At Halure! Look at Halure! Y-you can look at me later!”

Estelle did worry excessively that she had done something wrong then, but with Rita’s insistence, she finally did so, following the petals that drifted around them, to the houses that lined the pathways of the roads, to the trees themselves that extended so high above the town and into the sky. Rita flew around the branches, moved along with the wind currents, all as children shouted excitedly from below.

“Told you I could carry you easy,” Rita announced, eyes straight ahead, the rotor blades continually whirring behind her. “Now you got a new view! Is it helping?”

And though Estelle did look all around her, in awe at the height they were at, at how even with Rita’s arms, there was always that faint sense of precariousness, one that sparked something wonderful in her heart. It was exciting and wonderful, and with the setting sun, the town had never looked so beautiful just now.

But even with all of that, her eyes kept going back to Rita, who had always been so, so inspiring to her.

She had to let her know. “Rita!”

A little shake, Rita turning to Estelle in surprise. “Huh?! Don’t just scream in my ear!”

Estelle was too happy, wrapping her arms around Rita’s neck even tighter, hugging her close. “You just look so very cool right now!”

“Estelle, wait! I’m gonna lose control of my flying-!”

Too late. A brief tilt in the air, messing up the already uneasy momentum that they had, and soon enough, were flying right for that same tree, pink petals flooding both of their sights.

When the great tree had been dying, its leaves wilted and its branches drooping low to the ground, so many had lost hope for it. Estelle had felt a desperate wish in her then, one that she could barely bury down, and didn’t want to. Even as monstrous blood infused with the roots, she had begged, she had pleaded, and that alone had been enough to bring it back.

If only she could do such a thing for her very own self so easily, with just a wish. I want to feel like I can do something again. But sometimes, she realized, one had to look outside of one’s own self to find that inspiration.

As Rita and Estelle flew haphazardly, they landed against one of the branches, with a blanket of blossoms cushioning their fall. Rita flailed, Estelle now effectively on top of it. “Agh! I got cherry blossoms in my throat!”

Still, Estelle couldn’t let go of her. She nuzzled her head against the others, feeling so giddy. “You’re just… so great, Rita…”

“You could have hugged me at any other time!”

Her smile hadn’t left, even as the rotor blades now whirred a little less effectively, their mechanisms a bit clogged from all the petals that went into its crevices. If this solved her creator’s block, she wasn’t sure just yet – but she wouldn’t trade this experience for anything else.

[burdensword]

He's heard of her struggles, he knows the self destructive path the King of Knights walks. While he views her beliefs as foolish, at least the way she goes about it, he knows of the good intention behind it all. No words are said but he does pull Saber in for a rather tight hug & every time she tries to pull away his grip only tightens as his hand gently rubs her back. His heartbeat is calm as the King of Conquerors can only hope this somewhat helps what causes immense pain in her heart.

                        【♛】——   A TREMOR TRANSPIRES THROUGHOUT THE KING’S HAND from laying emerald irises before it. Each digit ceases movement until the King of Knights forces a tightened grip. She handled this dread without issues, dealt with it alone as a proper King should. Those burdens weren’t for anyone else to bear witness nor can she expect them to take them away. The King refuses to let go, refuses to suppress those sentiments no matter how ‘  free  ’ she has finally become. Saber nearly quivered underneath her mouth but restrained those eyes from squinting a single tear. The weakness laying through the King’s face is unbearable …   understanding how she can’t afford to show signs of weakness. Footsteps halt their next step, laying against the wall within these empty hallways of Chaldea to sense a cool sensation around her cheek. Her tears finally began streaming down after keeping an effort to hold them back. The memory played back to that lonely hilltop, the corpses of her army surrounding the King, only waiting for a voice to call forth the King of Britain into war once more.

                        THE CYCLE NEVER ENDED AS THE KING SOON ABANDONED HOPE, abandoned any miracle to reach out but her desperation was strong. Her determination to set foot into this self-destructive cycle was addictive like a drug. Saber wouldn’t abandon her ideals, no matter how many voices wished to mock her. Tossing away any victory among the past life the King endured, emerald irises were quick to gaze at the armored hand. Excalibur’s image burns within her palms as a norm, for the warrior is destined to repeat it. Yet she’s forgetting what the King truly fought for whenever thinking about the pain. Those scars won’t ever abandon the King of Knight’s memory …   neither will she forget the people who shaped them. Before turning away to head back into her dorm, familiar steps draw near and stands in front of the small King. Saber tilts her head up to notice the red cap of ALEXANDER the Great ———— how humiliating, she ponders.

                        ARMS ARE QUICK TO WIPE A KING’S TEARS FROM THOSE EYES but they resume their flow. She attempts to offer an explanation through their trading silence, letting emerald irises continue to cry. The King of Knights delivers a shaking tone though is met with a surprising embrace. Muscular arms wrap around Saber’s form, pulling the King into his body without hesitation. Eyes widened intently from this gesture and quick to react with hands pushing against the other King’s chest. Yet arms refused to break apart from the King’s shaking body, only to tighten more. She hadn’t grown used to affections that soften someone as Arturia into a melting state …   a state where she’ll calm herself. Tears began to stain through the attire he was wearing, making it obvious the King was crying. She didn’t understand why he resorted to doing this though her body is starting to calm down underneath those rubs applied against the King’s back.   ❝   W—Why do you embrace me like this, Alexander? I believed you have called me foolish for how I stood for my ideals. These are …   ❞   The soothing sounds of the King of Conqueror’s heartbeat calmed her own body, surrendering to him.

                                                               I cannot weep, I ————                                                         I cannot permit myself to be this way.

♛  // @conqucst .

[spockandawe]

For the fandom/ships meme: B, D, I, J, K, Q, T, U, V, W, X, Y. (I mean, I like everything you say on fandoms, so you knew this would be fairly comprehensive.)

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

Oh man, there are lots for sure!! I’m a sucker for a well-written crackship, and I know I have fun writing them too :P From the last ask, starscream/optimus and jazz/soundwave were both things I’d never considered until I read a really amazing fic, and now I adore them both. Or ratchet/skywarp. That fic didn’t even GO there, but now I have a wip of my own and have already been experimenting with drift/ratchet/skywarp because why make any sense at all when i could so easily make LESS sense :P

I do it to myself too, I tossed off the idea of cyclonus/starscream as a joke, my “friends” encouraged me, and oh god suddenly I’m two fics deep in a series with at least four separate fics planned for the future. Oooh, or in a different fandom for a change, @veliseraptor threw me RIGHT down the steve/loki pit, and I’m never leaving, this is where I live now. 

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

HMMM. I think... I don’t dislike many ships in the franchises like homestuck or transformers, where there’s a giant cast to mush up against each other. I guess I wish I had a bit more natural enthusiasm for brainstorm/perceptor. It’s really cute and I definitely do like it, I just can’t muster up much enthusiasm for perceptor in general, which puts some damper on it. I do like it a decent amount, I just wish I liked it more.

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

It’s made me... wary of some fandoms. Or fandom in general, in some ways. Steven Universe, if I get involved with that again, it’s going to be art and no words, because the moral policing atmosphere is just getting to be Too Much. If I wasn’t rolling around in a universe populated by nigh-immortal space robots, I’m sure there would be other stuff too, but I’ve been pretty sheltered.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

Boku no hero academia is the most recent one, I think. I don’t know if I’ll ever participate in things, but I finally read the manga and loved it a lot! I caught the edges of the buzz about the Imperial Radch books, and I don’t know if I would have ever read them if I hadn’t had prior awareness when my friend brought them up, and these are some of my favorite books EVER, so I’m glad tumblr clued me in XD

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Oh no, this is HARD :c The trouble with casts of thousands is that nobody can dominate the focus too hard. But when a story is super-focused on a character and how they Develop, I tend to drift away. Umm. Cyclonus and Whirl both hold a special, special, special place in my heart. Megatron probably has one of the more dramatic development arcs, even though Cyclonus and Whirl both own my heart.

Or. I know it’s not the real question. But I love characters where the story WRECKS them, even if it doesn’t quite follow through on putting them back together again. Whirl is a long ways from where he used to be, but still definitely has issues. But oh man. Prowl. STARSCREAM. The transformers comics took two proud, cold, capable assholes and broke them DOWN. And it was GLORIOUS. It’s not really the same as a development arc, because they’re both still... not in good shape. But I wouldn’t care so much if I hadn’t seen where they started and what happened to do this to them. It’s negative development, but it’s so tragic and tasty and gives me such interesting material to think about!!

Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why.

Ahh...  Avatar, probably. Of all the fandoms I’ve participated in on here, that’s the one I’m least likely to return to. I think the problem is that after I did Avatar, I rolled around in Homestuck. I moved from there to Transformers. I dabbled in Marvel. The Avatar universe is very interesting, but the cast is much more limited, the universe is more constrained, and there’s One Canon.

Canon doesn’t necessarily mean that much to me, I’ll cheerfully multiship no matter what. But it’s different thinking ‘well this is canon, but what if... Other Thing’ versus ‘lmao does anyone even know how many separate continuities there are at this point’. It breaks my brain wide open. I don’t start from canon and branch out. I think that ‘well, optimus and megatron have classically had characters and shippy dynamics shaped like X, Y, and Z, so I can pick and choose bits and pieces of settings, scenarios, backstory, supporting cast, the possibilities are ENDLESS--’ Homestuck plays a lot with the idea of continuity and comics universes are one of the closest parallels I can think of to the mess that is transformers. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to playing in smaller sandboxes at this point XD

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? 

Autistic Cyclonus. Fite me.

Or, Starscream with his history and current mental health reflected in disordered eating and sleeping, with a persistent food-hoarding habit. I would say fite me, but actually, read my stories where I stick it right in the text and see how nicely it works.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Different fandoms? DIFFERENT fandoms?????? D:

1. Transformers: Starscream - he’s just... the complete disaster package. He’s vain and egotistical, competent and dangerous, but never manages to succeed and make it LAST. In IDW, he beat out massive odds to get where he is, and survived by the skin of his teeth, and has struggled and STRUGGLED and is prone to being his own worst enemy, and has sabotaged himself enough that he’s barely staying afloat despite sincerely wanting to try his best. I’m weak against all of these things.

2. oh god how am I supposed to pick a favorite homestuck character this is CYBERBULLYING. Okay. Um. I’m going to say Equius. There’s something about the Zahhaks being so stiff and cold and rigid and distant, but also somehow way too close, and swinging between antagonistic and desperate to please. I’ve done better words about Zahhaks in the past, and I’m starting to get sleepy right now, but I am ALWAYS a sucker for the characters who are a mess of contradictions and prone to sabotaging themselves :P

3. Steven Universe: Jasper - Ahahaha, one last self-sabotaging love of my life. She’s different from those others, because she’s been pretty much at the top of her game until very recently. But her issues!!! Everything to do with being the Perfect quartz (from a failed colony, belonging to a dead diamond). The pride and self-doubt are a delicious combination, especially once she gets a taste of fusion and the sense of belonging that comes with it. If I ever did write steven universe, it would have to be about here. Those contradictions and the way they pull you apart, that’s the same thing that draws me hardest to starscream, but it’s hard to do justice to the emotions when you’re writing about them, it’s got so much more impact when you show them directly instead.

V - Which character do you relate to most?

Ooooooh. This. Is tough. Ironfist is the melancholy answer, Nautica is the upbeat one. They’re both spergy engineer types with interests all over the place, who get so ENTHUSIASTIC and excited, and I’m not nearly as outgoing as either of them, but god do they ring familiar to me XD Or, Cyclonus is also a very valid candidate. Internet spock is an uncommunicative recluse, but that’s still a lot more outgoing than irl spock, and Cyclonus is many emotions turned RIGHT inward, even when it would be really, really useful to express them just a LITTLE. And all the plot that goes down between 47-55 with Cyclonus, god, it’s not like I’ve ever done anything like that, but it hits me right in the weak spot.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Book of Shadows 07/24

Lebeaux Desrosiers gestured for the others to follow him further along, passing over the office and the clinic to settle himself on his usual perch. He patted the cloth-and-rosary-wrapped book that was already waiting on the ledge.

“Um...if...if I m-may ask, what is the nature of the beaded cord you use t-to bind the book? Is it enchanted? Rinha'li Dhavha: It looks like...“ Rinha’li Dhavha trailed off, looking for a specific word.   

"You may. It's a Halonic Rosary. It's blessed, which I suppose is rather like enchanting it. It seemed a solid precaution." Lebeaux explained as he began unwrapping said protection.

“Oh, yes, um -- Rosary. That was the term.” Rinha'li leans forward, obviously wanting to touch the book but thinking better of it. For now.  

Geofferaut Derosiers followed Lebeaux, but came up short, eyes darting. There seemed to be some confusion about which location was best to stand, better view of the book or better view of the various exits.

Lebeaux didn’t seem particularly concerned about Geoff’s minor conflict of interests. He tucked the rosary into his pocket then slid the cloth-wrapped item towards Rinha’li. He instead picked up a cup and saucer, busying himself with tea without offering it to the others. Assuming Geoff wasn’t thirsty and Rin had other concerns.

Geofferaut's twitchy fingers found rest against the cover of his own book and settled on the appropriate vantage point.

Rinha'li unwraps the cloth delicately, and as fast as he can without risking damage to a potentially delicate object.

Geofferaut watched the book emerge like a lioness watches a gazelle limp to a watering hole.

The grimoire is old, but not ancient. Perhaps 10-15 years, mistreated for many of them. The leather is weathered and cracked, but not nearly as much so as an item that spent the last year or so at the bottom of a mud puddle should be. It seemed the muck hadn’t touched it at all. The lock latch no longer works. Standard issue for those in service to the Tribunal though someone had taken care to sand or dissolve away those distinguishing embellishments and embossing. There is definitely something -off- about it. The moment the enchanted cloth is unwrapped there’s a brief rippling. Or possibly a bit of dust floating across the eye, hard to tell as it was gone in a blink either way.

Rinha'li carefully opens it up to the first page to see what it contains -- if the previous owner had perhaps left an index, or introduction -- wincing slightly as the leather creaks in his grasp. But, books are sturdier things than many realize, and nothing breaks. "You s-say this was...lying at the bottom of a brackish pond or puddle?" he asks.

There is indeed an index of the standard issue geometries that came with the grimoire. Filling in the first quarter of the book with the same sort of spells one would find in any acanists’ text. The next quarter is home-made theories and accompanying geometries scattered with notes and observations in no discernable order. 

“That’s being generous as to the water content, to call it a puddle or pond. It was mud. A sinkhole, essentially.” Lebeaux glanced over, noting that Geoff had been staring at the tome for longer than he usually stared at anything. “Feel free to have a look as well, I’m sure Rin won’t mind. While you two are doing that, did you bring the contracts I told you to draw up?”

"No." Geofferaut addressed the book.

"Did you draw them up at all?"

"Yes." Geofferaut continued to address the book.

"... Lot of good they're doing sitting in your basement."

“O-oh, I mean, I have a copy of...of a standard client confidentiality agreement on hand at all times... “ Rinha'li offered, obviously distracted wtih the book. He scans the arcanima glyphs for interesting variants, but eagerly ends up flipping to the more experimental sections. Here, he traces his finger over some of the ink, feeling where the quill has dented the paper, leaning closer to see if he can discern the composition of the pigments.  

Geofferaut only breathed because it's an involuntary function of his body. Blinking seemed to have stopped.

“I asked him to draw up a non-disclosure agreement regarding our research. Essentially that no information will be shared with outside parties without the consent of all three of us.” Lebeaux noted. “Technically it should be my decision as I am the one who is organizing this project.” He took a moment to preen the cuffs of his sleeves and let that sink in. “Yet I thought it polite to share the credit since the two of you are doing most of the heavy lifting.”

The spells start in your standard inks, mixtures of heavy metals and a liquid but as they progress they begin to rely solely on blood mixtures from varying sources. Sometimes the same glyph written in several different variations. There was a heavy emphasis on the slow draining of health or vitality from the target in various forms. Restoratives or protective magicks abandoned within the last few chapters. The end of the book was upside down. The original owner had reversed the book to begin taking notes from back to front. It was a lot of nonsense to Lebeaux, punctuated with sketches of towers and walls and terrible attempts at poetry.

Rinha'li's hand rests on the sketches of a long, tall tower with haphazardly placed windows and thin catwalks issuing from it. The artist -- Lebeaux's mentor, presumably -- has attempted to indicate its immense height by surrounding it with dark charcoal scribblings, punctuated by a few hazy cloud shapes. No moon, no stars, and certainly no sun. "...did your mentor, um...c-complain of trouble sleeping? S...strange dreams?" he asks cautiously, not knowing what question will offend.

Lebeaux sniffed and took a sip of his tea. “We weren’t particularly close, you may just call him Ciceroix as I don’t suspect I learned enough from him to actually call him a mentor.” It was just easier than calling him the overzealous inquisitor he used to clean up after. “He seemed distracted, towards the end of our association. Possibly signs of exhaustion, could have been due to trouble sleeping.” Certainly not due to a guilty conscience.

“I know this tower.” Rinha'li says simply. “Have you ever seen it, Mister Lebeaux? Mister Geofferaut?”

"No." Geofferaut replied.

Lebeaux lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I haven’t entered the City. I was outside of the gates but I didn’t go in, nor did I notice any towers. Assuming that it is, actually, Amdapori?”

Rinha'li nods. "W-well...it's...it's quite...it's in the center of the city. It...c-cannot be seen from the outside, even though it's so tall it nearly reaches the sky...I...I d-don't know why, exactly. The white tower. The Sanctum of Dreams."

Lebeaux wrinkled his nose slightly. He reached over, gloved fingers flipping through some of the earlier portions of the grimoire, before the Inquisitor had the clever idea of hiding the crazy in the last pages. Around the same time the arcanima started to get extremely experimental and were mostly marked as failures, there were images embedded in the geometries mirroring the general shapes of the tower. “Sanctum of Dreams. What a pretentious name.” He sniffed. “So you believe he began to dream of this place and that is what finally pushed him over the edge?”

Geofferaut leaned forward when the experimental arcanima began to feature once more.

Rinha'li turns the next page very slowly, to reveal several lines of metrically complex but imaginatively bankrupt attempts at religious poetry framing rough drawings of a series of doors, each marked with an arcanima glyph. Rinha'li closes his eyes, worrying his bottom lip with his fangs at this sight. "I am near convinced," he says. Rinha'li has taken on a hushed, excited tone. He's happy to see this mad scrawling.  

“Didn’t excuse him from running off, but I suspect there’s some merit to what you’re saying.” Lebeaux didn’t particularly care either way. Looking at the book and its images too long was giving him something of a headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding glasses up and closing his eyes. “He thought he was hearing the ghosts of Amdapor and went trotting off to the Shroud to find some secrets to divine power.”

The scribbled line of marked doors might have passed for some kind of allegory, but as Rin leafs through the next few pages of experimental calculations, it's clear that doors of some kind were on the man's mind. They appear in the margins, as though it was something his mind returned to when idle and flowed out of his pen as unthinking scribbles. "Divine power, yes. Hm. D-divine indeed. I...did he ever t-try any experiments with his arcanima in your presence? Rinha'li's tail sweeps back and forth in wide, quick arcs.

Lebeaux shook his head, still rubbing at his nose. He finally gave up on the glasses, folding them up and tucking them away into his coat. No point to them around these two anyways. “I generally waited outside.” His hands settled on the teacup once again as he smiled primly at the miqo’te. “I offered you a look at the book previously yet I’m no longer feeling particularly inclined to give you further information. Seeing as you seem unable to grasp the concept of keeping your mouth shut.”

Geofferaut speaks under apparent duress, teeth gritted shut, lips barely parted, voice strained. "An. swer..."

Rinha'li's ears tilt towards Geofferaut. "...I-- I b-beg your pardon?"

Lebeaux looked quickly over at Geofferaut, somewhat startled by the reaction. He blinked blankly, the smile stuck in place.

Geofferaut does not rip his eyes off the grimoire. There is still an apparent struggle to form and force out words. "answer. the question."

Lebeaux still looked as though he’d been struck, more than a little surprised and perhaps unsettled. “I…” He started before he straightened up. “You’re no better than him, acting as though you’d throw over our research if Idristan asked for it. If I’m going to speak plainly and truthfully to you two I expect assurances that my words will never be repeated to anyone else.” He set the teacup down and folded his arms across his chest, fingers brushing against the rosary he had tucked away into his jacket.

"speak. child. or move." Seemed to be Geofferaut’s final warning.

Rinha'li opens his mouth to say something -- anything that will get him more information here, most likely -- but is cut off by Geoff's strange outburst. He too looks unsettled. "W--what--" He looks at the book again. He hadn't thought Geoff THAT ravenous to get at it...

“Perhaps just show him the book.” Lebeaux suggested as he shifted slightly along his perch a little closer to Rinha’li and the book. He cleared his throat, assuming that was as good as agreement that this remained between them. “Once or twice, when it got a little messy I was called in while he was still working.” He explained, speaking a little more quickly now as fingers curled around the beads as though they would do much of anything in this situation.

Rinha'li's ears flatten against his head, nearly disappearing into his hair. He seems reluctant to have the book leave his immediate vicinity, but he picks it up with the cloth and holds it out to Geoff with his fingers trembling on the spine. "T...tell me more," he mutters to Lebeaux.

Lebeaux remains well away from the book as its held out in offering, clutching his pear- rosary beads lightly under his coat. The smile had long since disappeared as his gaze darted between the grimoire and the other elezen. “Ciceroix was testing his theories on the accused. He was supposed to be interrogating them but it often turned in to experiments. One of the times I was called in he’d… ah, managed to turn someone inside out. There was nothing to be done for them.”

Geofferaut began the motion toward the book with a few rapid, interrupted jerks that smoothed out by the time the tome was in his hands.  Once possessed, the move to the platform is rapid. His own book fluttered open to a blank page beside it - it happened quickly, possibly without much help from his hands - and a pencil, definitely held with fingers, began scratching copies and copies and copies. Geofferaut seemed unconcerned by the proximity or lack thereof to Lebeaux's seat.

“You are C-CERTAIN he accomplished this with arcanima? D-did you see the formulae he--ah--um!” Rinha’li asked hurriedly.

“I’m not sure. There was no one else in there and I didn’t see any tools he could have used for such a thorough-“ Lebeaux trailed off as the book exchanged hands a bit abruptly, with Geofferaut immediately beginning to copy down the books contents, page by page. “Wait, that may be poorly advised. If this drivel drove him to madness what’s to stop it from doing the same to you.” He noted as he reached for the grimoire.

“The--the g-glyphs within ought n-not t-to be aetherically active unless t-transcribed with--with--active inks--um--”  Rinha'li, notably, has not attempted to transcribe anything into HIS notebook, however.  

Geofferaut 's face smoothed as he transcribed. His eyes remained fixed on Ciceroix's book, drawings left to form unobserved - though few would be surprised to learn that they seemed to form just fine without supervision.

Lebeaux slid the book away from Geofferaut, intending to snap it shut again. “It’s the book itself I’m rather wary of. The Hearer I took it from seemed convinced it’s capable of doing some harm on its own.”

Geofferaut dropped his pencil and flicked the now-vacant hand up to intercept Lebeaux's hand's path. But by golly it wasn't so empty. A gleam of metal stopped just shy of touching the sleeve at Lebeaux's wrist. "I do not require the book. I require the geometries."

Rinha'li has also started forward, intending to take a closer look at the book's binding, but also stops short at the wrist flick. For a moment he just stands there stock still, almost afraid to move. “I...I say, is that really necessary?” Rinha'li says, after a moment.

"Yes." Direct questions should be answered.

Lebeaux froze, fingers splayed but not quite touching the book when he saw the flash of metal. Right, the sleeve steel. “Hm.” Fair enough. Slowly he brought his hands back to himself, settling them in his lap to adjust the cuffs and ruffles. “As you like, then.” Perhaps he’d just let them copy it then. “Feel free to make your own copies.” He suggested to Rin. Lebeaux managed to sound only slightly sulky about the entirely situation rather than outright pouting.

 As quickly as it was there, the metal was gone and the pencil was back in motion.

@black-omen-born  @cellardoor-ffxiv

[iguana012]

2017 Japanese Nationals: Post competition analysis

Hello and happy new year to everyone! We have all survived yet another intense bloodbath, we have safely arrived to 2018 and we can talk about it now and forever after to our children and grandchildren. Yes, it’s the Japanese Nationals, also known as The Nightmare Before Christmas. As you know, once you get invested in figure skating, specifically Japanese figure skating, you can never enjoy Christmas as you once did when you were blissfully unaware of the existence of this event they call Japanese Nats. This season’s Nats has been feared for a good while as it was shaping up to be the event where people’s hearts would inevitably be broken. The event where the 2018 Olympic team was decided was possibly the fiercest competition in the ladies’ event in Nats history as no less than 7 ladies were battling for only 2 spots at the Olympics and Worlds. Japan ending up with 2 slots for their ladies was one of the biggest sins of 2017 if you ask me. Until the very last moment you couldn’t really guess who’d go and who’d stay home. But make no mistake, the girls who unfortunately had to stay home are much better than some of the other ladies in the world who will go to the Olympics. It’s not hating, it’s just the reality. Meanwhile the men’s event was gonna be a much less exciting and intense event from the moment Yuzuru Hanyu had to withdraw due to the injury he sustained in practice back at the NHK Trophy. However, even if the depth was nowhere near the spectacular last group of 6 from the 2013 Nationals, it still turned out to be a good competition. That said, here’s my personal analysis of the 2017 Japanese Nationals!

THE LADIES

At the beginning of this season, I bet nobody would have thought the Olympic team would be Satoko Miyahara and Kaori Sakamoto. In fact most people, including myself, thought Mai Mihara would be a lock and Wakaba Higuchi would eventually join her. Satoko was recovering from a serious hip stress fracture and couldn’t jump at all as of October, while Kaori had just turned senior and didn’t skate very well in the beginning (4th at US Classic where Marin Honda won, 5th at Rostelecom where Wakaba Higuchi was 3rd). But by Skate America, both ladies were able to put two clean back to back programs and they were 1st and 2nd in the event. Meanwhile Wakaba Higuchi, who started the season with a bang (217 total score at the Lombardia Trophy, two medals in the Grand Prix) started piling up small mistakes towards Nationals and Mai Mihara’s programs weren’t appreciated by the judges as she consistently got some of the lowest PCS among Japanese ladies. Marin Honda wasn’t much of a factor from the very beginning as she wasn’t quite ready for the intense fight for spots. A member of the World team in 2015, 2016 and 2017, Rika Hongo didn’t have much of a chance in front of the new seniors. But in the midst of the Olympic chase, junior Rika Kihira landed three triple axels at Nationals, the first lady to do so since Mao Asada. If she repeats the feat at Junior Worlds, she will officially repeat Mao’s record. 

7. Marin HONDA (SP, FS)

Marin was originally going to do a tango in her SP but changed her mind when she heard a song in the car and thought it was the perfect music for her. So she ended up skating to The Giving by Michael W. Smith and many people loved it. It’s really obvious when a skater loves the music they’re skating to. The emotional connection, as well as projection to the audience is deeper and more natural. 

The program was very sweet and warm but her performance at Nationals was a bit subdued as she kind of skated through the motions and didn’t really connect to the music. All I could think of after the program was, well, that was cute and sweet but it’s not something I’d look at and say wow that’s a complex, multi layered program that would be a hit at the Olympics. She actually maintained focus and got her spin levels this time (something she always struggles with) but a bad landing on the 3Lo (which I think is one of her best jumps) and a step-out / touch-down was costly in a deep field. 

Her FS this season is Turandot, a choice inspired by Olympic Champion Shizuka Arakawa. Marin made no secret out of her wish to compete at the 2018 Olympics and the media fell in love with her, she got a lot more sponsors than the other ladies (Japan Airlines, Ghana and KOSE to name a few); big companies that you usually see attached to names such as Mao Asada and Yuzuru Hanyu. People were more than ready to send her to the Olympics. But that dream couldn’t come true when she skated her long program at Japanese Nationals and popped a couple of jumps. Every time I saw this program I was a bit puzzled at her expression in the opening pose. I’m struggling to find any reason for her to flash a playful, idol like smile to the judges when her music is Turandot. She actually smiles a lot during the program and I found that distracting. Turandot is supposed to be a beautiful but cold princess and any prince who wishes to marry her should answer three riddles or else he dies. The red dress she wore for this program was absolutely gorgeous and as many people noticed, very similar to Yuna Kim’s Turandot dress. 

PROS: Marin has a lot of natural talent. Her skating skills are sublime and she looks like she’s skating on clouds. She has a beautiful face and a beautiful smile that everyone loves and a playful personality that can easily attract cameras. She loves and feeds off the attention she gets. A very charismatic performer with solid basics that could become a real star if she put a little more effort. 

CONS: Marin’s main problem is perhaps the lack of focus. Most of the time, she has trouble concentrating on the things that count and has lost important points just for not hitting her spin levels. She doesn’t have the greatest jumps and her toe picking technique is weird at best, but she gets decent height and beautiful flow. While she is a very skilled performer, she doesn’t have a wide interpretative range and is basically skating with a playful smile even when the music doesn’t require her to do so. She is still very young, is obviously enjoying a lot of love and adoration and will hopefully become more focused as she gets older. 

6. Rika HONGO (SP, FS)

Rika skated the best SP in a while here and got awarded with a 70 score and 3rd place after the short. Her SP is O Fortuna and it’s the same program as last season but I think her performance at Nationals was the best she ever did. She was wearing a beautiful red dress and skated with passion, power and conviction. She opened with a huge, fully rotated 3F-3T combination and you just knew she was in for a fight as she has a habit of underrotating the backend 3T when she’s injured or nervous. Spins aren’t her forte; she doesn’t hit the most aesthetically pleasing positions and doesn’t get a lot of speed. But she was 100% connected to her music (you could even see her lip sync when they showed close-ups) and she communicated very well with the audience. I loved the landing of the 2A right in time with the musical note. The step sequence was amazing; not the best posture and the movements seemed unfinished at times, but it was very expressive and could easily draw you in. She had people cheering and clapping for her from the moment she performed her last spin. Well deserved standing ovation and it was so good to see her so happy. 

Her FS set to the soundtrack of Frida is another gem of this season. Rika hasn’t enjoyed a good long program since Riverdance a couple of seasons ago and while this isn’t as popular as Riverdance, it still fits her like a glove. The 3F-3T was perhaps not as confident here as it was in the SP but she went on to land a beautiful tano 3S. The axis of the 3Lz was completely off and she fell; since falls were so rare in the competition, this one unfortunately stood out. I thought the step sequence was lovely though not as free and convincing as the short. Another fall on the 3Lo and it was clear that she would end up being left behind in the rankings. I also thought her interpretation was absent in the second half of the program as mistakes started piling up. 

PROS: Most Japanese ladies are known for having beautiful movements, soft skating skills and gracefulness but Rika Hongo usually puts out different, dynamic performances that can be equally enjoyed by the audience. In fact she is widely appreciated for bringing a quirky side to skating. Her jumps are big but she doesn’t have a good lutz edge and can sometimes underrotate. Even if she’s not going to the Olympics, she was a constant presence on the podiums and in competitions in the post Sochi era. 

CONS: It’s become increasingly difficult for her to keep up with all the young skaters coming from juniors. She’s not very consistent and has struggled with injuries in the past. Her posture issues are well known and she hasn’t fixed much about her hunched shoulders. She also doesn’t have the best skating skills in the field. 

5. Mai MIHARA (SP, FS)

Can you believe someone many people bet on being on the Olympic team finished 5th at Nationals? It was mostly because of her SP, Libertango, which turned out to be a not-so-good choice for her this season. While the intentions for her to expand her performing range are appreciated, perhaps this wasn’t the right season to experiment. I thought she started the program fairly well here and although her movements were not nearly sharp enough for this type of music, her interpretation was in the right mood. I don’t know if it’s just me or if her jumps have become smaller lately. The 3Lz-3T was smooth as always. She was obviously happy to land the combination but skaters tend to break the mood when the relief of landing the jump shows on their face. Not the fastest spins. That thing she does rolling her hips isn’t the most natural movement for her. The fall on the 2A was really, really unfortunate. That was not the first time she had a problem in the SP (3Lz-3T-boards at the French GP comes to mind) and she instantly got disconnected from the music and skated with a blank face for the rest of the program. The 3F is a great jump for her, lovely transition out. By the time she finished the program, it became clear that she wanted it to end as quickly as possible. 

Her FS, Gabriel’s Oboe, is more in her comfort zone but it still didn’t leave the best impression on the judges. It’s a lovely program and a fan favorite but one has to wonder where things go wrong for the judges to not want to reward it in PCS. Of course it’s the obvious problem of the Japanese ladies getting underscored as a tradition but in Mai’s case that can’t be the only reason. It’s cute, it’s uplifting and heart warming but perhaps it’s a bit too one note? There aren’t any ups and downs, just safe skating from the beginning to the end. She landed all of her jumps but it still didn’t have the wow factor of a cleanly skated long program. It’s not rich in transitions and her upper body movements need work. Aside from the relief of landing her jumps, she doesn’t show much in her expression either. The girl has been through a lot, she deals with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis and this disease has kept her out of the second half of her last junior season. She enjoyed some success last season in the absence of Satoko Miyahara and has gained plenty of fans who appreciate the pure style of her skating. 

PROS: Her jump technique is usually very solid and she is known for her effortless take-offs and landings. She also maintains very good flow. She can usually get very high TES and she had an extra jump in the second half of the FS this season. Also known for her consistency. She can only become better and better from here on. 

CONS: She needs something to stand out. Every element of her skating has room for improvement and perhaps she is still searching for her personal style. 

4. Wakaba HIGUCHI (SP, FS)

Wakaba almost went to the Olympics. Almost. She worked very hard to be taken into consideration for the team and if Japan had 3 spots, Wakaba would have been on the team. This is a skater who enjoyed a boost in popularity this season, mostly due to the fan favorite long program Skyfall. No doubt Wakaba has improved in all aspects of her skating from the last time we saw her skate Scheherazade at the World Team Trophy. I would even say she’s the closest to “the complete package” with her powerful jumps and performing skills. She was at her best at Cup Of China where she arguably should have won over a less cleaner Alina Zagitova. But she was not up to her usual standards at the Grand Prix Final and the trend unfortunately continued at Japanese Nationals. 

While I’m not a big fan of her Gypsy Dance SP, she is able to take the choreography and make it her own. She’s very good at projecting to the audience. The shoulder shimmies were surely a hit among skating fans. The program is playful, fun and extroverted just like she is. She gets effortless speed and she is very powerful. The placement of the 2A is a great match for the musical structure but unfortunately she singled the jump here and it ended up becoming an invalid element. She was able to focus for the rest of the program and she landed a gorgeous 3Lz-3T combination - the best among Japanese ladies. She doesn’t get as much distance as she gets height but her jumps are no doubt a wow moment in the program. I still wonder why she insists risking a 3F seeing as she very often tends to take off from the outside edge, but she did it at Nationals and I love the transition out. The step sequence is amazing and not a single movement is left purposeless. That’s a very well choreographed sequence and I can’t help but love the beautiful and natural blend of music and movements.

The FS was a bit more “nervous” than the SP. The thing with Wakaba is that when she’s completely focused on her program and doesn’t let the jitters reach to her, she is a very skilled performer. But when the nerves kick in, her interpretation looks anxious and she disconnects from the music. That’s especially bad in the free because she has showed that she can bring the audience on its feet when she gives a good performance, but when she loses focus and starts worrying about her elements, the program inevitably suffers and becomes a shadow of its true potential. Wakaba skated a careful program at Nationals but when she’s on, she’s electrifying. She gets so intense that if I were judging her and she pointed a finger gun at me, I’d fear for my life. She can also become playful and confident, skating like she knows all your secrets and can always use them against you. The choreo sequence is so great. The split jump into the besti squat is so badass. The part where she walks on the tips of her blades and throws a knowing side eye at the judges; love it. The doubled salchow - not so much. At this point everyone let out a loud sigh as they knew what that meant. The 3Lz-3T in the second half of the program is always so risky; the 3T tends to get much less distance than the 3Lz and is in danger of being underrotated. The spiral after the step sequence is a bit eek - not the prettiest lines there. Love the haircutter at the end, she gets great speed and her free arm hits some nice positions on the notes. 

PROS: Great all-around skater. Dynamic jumps, nice skating skills, decent spin positions though not always the most aesthetically pleasing lines. Great performer; I think she’s been underrated for a while but I’m glad a program like Skyfall gave her the opportunity to shine. She has a distinct skating style, powerful and intense, which makes her stand out from the rest. 

CONS: Nerves. Not saying she totally bombs her programs, but it’s the small mistakes that take away points and performance quality. I think she wanted to go to the Olympics a bit too much and the impatience worked against her. Hopefully it’s a lesson learned and will overcome the small problems in the future. 

3. Rika KIHIRA (SP, FS)

Three triple axels in a single competition. One in the SP, two in the FS. That says it all about this young girl who had a monstrous TES in the free and is turning out to be a force to be reckoned with. As if this event wasn’t intense and high quality enough, Rika came in and threw some of the most effortless triple axels I’ve seen. She’s also improved from a presentation standpoint and is no longer the awkward junior from last season. She missed Junior Worlds last season but this season she will hopefully not only compete but also skate two clean programs and step on that podium.

Kung Fu Piano is an interesting choice for her SP. So is the color of the dress (costume designer Satomi Ito is the real MVP). She’s still slightly rough around the edges compared to other Hamada students but I have no doubt everything she lacks now will come in time. Love the fact that she opens with a layback spin; a bit of a break from the layout monotony. And then the triple axel; it’s like you don’t even know what hit you. She goes into the jump without the slightest hesitation and she lands equally confident, with a lovely running edge out. 13.46 points for that jump alone! And then it’s a 3F-3T combination way in the second half of the program, talk about technical brilliance! A shame about the doubled lutz, otherwise this would have been unreal. It just blows your mind. 

She’s skating to La Strada in her long program, a piece most Japanese fans associate with Daisuke Takahashi’s Olympic bronze medal / World gold medal winning long program. She seems so relaxed, it’s like she’s not about to jump two triple axels in the next few seconds. And then she lands the jumps like it’s second nature and never once breaks the mood of the program. The spins could be a bit faster; she’s not the best spinner around. The axis of that 3Lo was actually a bit scary; I’m glad she was able to stay on her feet. The fact that she doesn’t show any anxiety at all is refreshing. Final TES 79.53. That will be hard to beat once she improves her components and the PCS catches up. 

PROS: Sound technique, triple axels and possibly quads in the future. No doubt a technical prodigy. Already gaining popularity as a junior, can only imagine the hype when she turns senior. 

CONS: Not the best spins, skating skills and lines but I do believe she’ll get there. She’s still only 15. 

2. Kaori SAKAMOTO (SP, FS)

Surprise, surprise! It’s the girl almost nobody considered for the Olympic team. Kaori is fresh off juniors and she’s been slightly inconsistent in the past. However she truly rode the wave towards the Olympics and was the only one to become better and better when it actually counted. It was only last season when she finished 7th in the same competition but went on to get a Junior Worlds bronze behind country mate Marin Honda, who got silver. While everyone else was busy stressing out over placements and scores, Kaori waltzed through this Nationals with the best #YOLO attitude and was even bewildered in the kiss & cry when she realized she didn’t win the competition. Skating last in the free skate was truly the most important test for her and she passed without any problems. Her selection over Wakaba Higuchi was received with little to no protests. 

The SP set to Moonlight Sonata is a good example of a good backloaded program. The jumps kick in as the music gets more intense. And she has the best jumps of all Japanese ladies, so why not show them off using the best method? She gets amplitude as well as distance and you’re left amazed every time she jumps one of those 3F-3T combinations. The best part about her combinations is the fact that the 3T gets virtually the same height and distance as the 3F, making the combo look truly spectacular. She is a decent spinner, but her skating skills are not among the best. She’s not the most graceful skater, and her lines could use some work. Very rough around the edges but she just came out of juniors after all. 

The FS is the kind of program you’ll either love or hate. Skating to the soundtrack of Amelie, Kaori changed the color of her dress to a much visually pleasing red. The program fits Kaori’s quirkiness overall but there are a lot of stops and breaks, two footed skating and not as many transitions. The pantomime is also not the most convincing. The 3F-3T was not the most confident here as the 3T seemed a little bit off axis - a problem she used to struggle with in the past. I wonder if it’s a wee bit awkward having to wave at someone in the audience in the middle of the program. There’s a huge break after the step sequence with a lot of miming and not as much actual skating. The part where she bends over is maybe a bit too much; I didn’t like it when I first saw it and I still don’t like it now. But she gets plenty of time to charge her batteries for what’s coming next. The flutz is often very obvious though she works very hard on her take-off edge. Great response from the audience, they were clapping for her even before she started preparing for her final spin. 

PROS: The best jumps in the business hands down. Great resistance to pressure and a bright attitude that helps her focus on the important things. 

CONS: Not the best skating skills and transitions, not the best lines and a still juniorish performance style. Aside from her jumps, everything else has plenty of room for improvement. 

1. Satoko MIYAHARA (SP, FS)

In a miraculous comeback from one of the most serious (and probably rarest) injuries a figure skater can suffer, a stress fracture of the hip joint, Satoko won her 4th National title and an automatic qualification to the Olympic Games. During her long comeback to competition, she also suffered 2 additional injuries, one in her ankle after she skated at Mao Asada’s ice show in July and another one in September, once again in her already affected hip. She was banned from jumping, especially toe jumps, up until October and for a while it seemed like it was impossible for her to recover so quickly. Mie Hamada suggested they start preparing for the next Olympics in 2022. But the unthinkable happened and she showed up at Skate America in a much improved state compared to NHK Trophy just two weeks prior. And while the technical panel there gave her the benefit of doubt on a few jumps, the general idea was that maybe she was ready to challenge for an Olympic spot after all. 

Many skating enthusiasts enjoyed Satoko’s long program last season, set to The Planets suite and a little bit of Princess Leia, and were hoping to see it again this season considering that her appearances last year were cut in the middle as a consequence of her hip injury. But she showed up with two brand new programs this year, both Japanese themed but in general different from one another. Her SP Memoirs Of A Geisha choreographed by Lori Nichol has quickly become one of the fan favorites this season. While the performance at Nationals lacked that extra spark she displayed at the Grand Prix Final, it is worth noticing how she never lets her jump issues affect the rest of the program and you’re sure to get one heck of a performance even if, knock on wood, she doubles or singles all of her jumps. And this is what happened here; this is the most nervous I’ve seen Satoko like, ever, and all of her jumps had tight landings (including the 2A!), the underrotation was there, it was called, but she more than made up for it in PCS. She knew she let the nerves affect the overall quality of the program and she was not pleased at all. Which is partly why we got the most amazing FS two days later. 

The FS Madama Butterfly is Tom Dickson’s work, and he has wanted Satoko to skate to this piece since forever. But they wisely waited for the right time for Satoko to perform it to its full potential and it happened right in this competition. I’m known to be a Satoko fan so I’ll spare the superlatives for this program - I’ll just say she has never displayed as much freedom, emotional depth and audience projection as she showed at Nationals. It was the most inspirational skate of her career. I feel like this program is less about the actual story of Madama Butterfly and more about her own story overcoming a potentially career ending injury. The scene of Cio-Cio-san’s suicide is included towards the end of the program, culminating with the arabesque spiral in the choreo sequence; but instead of the program ending there like the opera, there’s an abrupt change once she lands her final 2A and it’s almost like she wakes up from a dream or like she is able to change her destiny as “Un Bel Di Vedremo” - an aria that shows Cio-Cio-san imagining the return of Pinkerton - plays once again all the way to the end of the program. So she went through the toughest and most challenging times, but in the end, quoting the actual lyrics of the aria: “One fine day we'll see / A thread of smoke arising / On the far horizon of the sea, / And then the ship appears”. 

PROS: Some of the finest skating skills in Japanese skating, some of the most intricate steps, the best spins (fast, centered, hit the most aesthetically pleasing positions, the layback is to die for), the most refined lines, most purposeful use of arms and body movements in general, the ability to adapt to the changes in music and choreography and last but not least, consistency. 

CONS: The jumps. They’re small, they’re prerotated, sometimes underrotated, they have enough flaws for many people to cancel out everything I’ve listed in the “pros” paragraph. I’d say she needs to work on the technique but the truth is that it’s what she’s always been doing for the past years and there are some serious physical limitations that prevent her from “flying high”; I’ve talked about them in this post so it’s a bit pointless to mention them again here. 

THE MEN 

In Yuzuru Hanyu’s absence, the National title was 99,99 % sure to go to Shoma Uno and the only other question was who was going to step up and claim the 3rd Olympic spot - although even here, Keiji Tanaka came in having done some steady progress while Takahito Mura was losing some of his athletic ability. So Keiji claiming the only spot left actually came to no surprise for me. The competition was overall better than I expected it to be but obviously less exciting and less intense compared to the ladies’ event, which is why I won’t go into much detail with the men. 

Yuzuru and Shoma haven’t competed against each other since Worlds - or to a less official extent WTT - and will only face each other at the Olympics. This is as exciting as it is terrifying IMO. Shoma has never officially beaten Yuzuru in competition, but his chances of an Olympic gold medal are still very high. Although there’s not much of a national depth at the moment, it’s actually the first time two Japanese men have this many chances of taking two of the Olympic medals. Perhaps Tatsuki Machida had more than 50% chances of making the podium in Sochi but it’s way more than that for both Yuzuru and Shoma this time. 

That said, it’s about time Shoma Uno gets his stuff together and sticks to the jump layout he’s most comfortable with because he’s made numerous mistakes this season. I read that’s exactly what he’s planning on doing and I say good for you son. It was long overdue. I can’t say I’m emotionally invested in his programs this season (his long program Turandot is recycled from the 2015-2016 season - with some changes that I’m not necessarily fond of) but they do showcase his strengths: beautiful flow, deep edges, speed, intense looks, some nice gif material worthy slow motion replays and all that. His lack of transitions and richness in crossovers has been talked to exhaustion all over the internet but I’m one of those who think they don’t mean weak skating skills. His skating skills are still strong but as it is the case with many men nowadays, he has to spend a lot of time preparing for the big point getters - the quads. His jump technique isn’t the best; he has more prerotation than the other men, and if he doesn’t do the crossovers and whatever else he needs, he won’t land them / will pop them / will underrotate them / you name it. At the end of the day, all skaters have to adjust to the requirements of the current judging system and if that means sacrificing things for the benefit of other things that are sure to be rewarded, then that’s what they have to do. 

I do have to say though, what the hell was that 2A-4T attempt. Why. Delete it from existence. 

Keiji Tanaka is hot and cold, but he was close to hot at Nationals. He came and did his job, he dealt fairy well with the pressure and landed his quads - that 4T in the FS though damn he just came and threw that DOWN. His biggest issue, as with many other skaters, is consistency. But if he calms down at the Olympics, he can surprise everyone with a good placement. 

Kana Muramoto is such a star; ever since she took the place of Cathy Reed, the new Muramoto/Reed team has been overflowing with charisma. I will be hardcore rooting for them at the Olympics. 

Can’t say much about Miu Suzaki / Ryuichi Kihara except oh crap a Yuri On Ice program at the Olympics (you know they’re gonna get those views) and poor Narumi Takahashi. 

All in all the ladies’ event could have been a separate competition in its own right; those girls are really top level and I expect all of them to expand their medal collection in the next 4 years. Oh yeah and to bring 3 spots back. 

[lettersofsky]

A Touch of Kindness

Written for the Fic Exchange on AO3 for user frogslay.  Angeal realises that Sephiroth tends to avoid contact and sets out to change that.

He barely noticed it the first time. Nor did he notice the second, third or fourth time it happened. The only reason he noticed Sephiroth’s behaviour was because Genesis had pointed it out to him.

“Sephiroth doesn’t touch people, does he?” Genesis had asked him one day during lunch.

“What do you mean?” He had responded, staring at his friend in disbelief. Had the other forgotten the training session they had just finished with the First Class? Sephiroth had practically thrown them both around the room, he knew Genesis had bruises in the shape of the First Class’ handprints.

“Outside of training,” Genesis expanded on with a dramatic gesture. “I’ve never seen him so much as shake someone’s hand.”

Angeal started to say something to deny his friend’s words but stopped and gave what Genesis was saying some thought. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Sephiroth voluntarily touch anyone outside of training.

That was concerning.

“You’re right,” he admitted softly, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “He doesn’t touch people.”

Genesis propped his chin on his hand, gazing at him intently as he asked, “so what are you going to do about it?”

Angeal was stunned at his friend’s question, staring at him in shock. “W-what are you talking about?!” He asked in a flustered tone, a bright flush rising to his cheeks.

“You’re the one that wants to date him,” Genesis said in a nonchalant manner. “I just want to take his title, position and prestige.”

“Genesis!” He exclaimed in shock. “You can’t just say that!”

His friend rolled his eyes with a scoff, “that’s not the point Angeal. The point is what you’re going to do about Sephiroth’s touch issue.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his friend. “We’re not talking about that.” He told the other in a firm tone, “it’s none of our business anyway.”

“Of course it’s not our business,” Genesis agreed in a flippant tone. “It’s your business because you’re the one who wants to date him.”

Angeal sighed heavily, refusing to indulge his friend anymore today. Instead he changed the subject, “What are you planning on doing with your free time this afternoon?”

Genesis seemed annoyed at him but he allowed the change, talking about the training he was planning to do that afternoon.

Angeal listened to his friend with half-an-ear, mind considering what they had been talking about. While Genesis may have been right about his little rush, that didn’t mean that he was going to interfere with the other’s life.

Even if the thought that Sephiroth didn’t touch anyone outside of training worried him.

Angeal tried to forget the conversation but it kept coming back to him at random times; during meals, physicals, training and especially when he watched Sephiroth interact with others. It was all too easy to remember what Genesis had said when he watched how distant the younger teen could be when he interacted with people.

It was worse at times like this; when they were out on missions together and he got to observe how different Sephiroth was between one moment and the next. It was honestly quite jarring to see the warrior withdraw into himself after a fight.

He wanted to do something about it. Even though he had no idea how to go about doing it.

Watching Sephiroth as they prepared to rest after a long day of work, he decided that he was going to do something.

He didn’t let himself think as he rose to his feet from where he seated, knowing that if he did then he’d end up second-guessing himself. He moved over to Sephiroth, keeping himself relaxed as he approached the First.

Sephiroth noticed his approach, turning to watch him with a blank expression. No one else was paying attention to them so Angeal had no qualms about holding his hand out to the younger, palm open and waiting for him to react to it.

Sephiroth stared at his hands for several minutes, the slight cocking of his head the only visible sign of his confusion over the gesture. He waited patiently, posture open and relaxed as the other slowly reached out and grasped his hand.

Sephiroth’s grip was hesitant but Angeal ignored it, smiling brightly and shaking his hand within his own. “It’s nice working with you again,” he told the First, pulling his hand away after he finished speaking.

Bright, green eyes blinked at him for a few moments, several silence-filled moments passed before Sephiroth responded. “You as well,” he said in a soft voice.

Things could have stopped there, Angeal could have walked away from Sephiroth and returned to what he had been doing before he got the idea to come talk to the other. But he didn’t; he kept talking to younger teen, making small-talk easily. He even found himself casually touching the other the way he usually would when he spoke to someone like his; clasping his shoulder and nudging him with his shoulder.

It was an enjoyable conversation, if a bit awkward and stilted. Angeal thought that he might have even seen a hint of a smile on Sephiroth’s face while they were talking.

He counted it as a success.

He made an effort to keep interacting with Sephiroth when he could; making small talk when they were on missions together and greeting him when they passed each other in the halls.

Genesis noticed what he was doing immediately though he never brought attention to it. Even if his friend seemed far too pleased whenever he saw him speaking with the First.

He ignored his friend’s smug expressions and continue to talk with Sephiroth.

The younger teen was slowly becoming used to his attempts at conversation; he’d started responding quicker and even started to talk without Angeal having to start the conversation. Along with that, Sephiroth seemed to be more accepting of contact; he no longer flinched when Angeal clasped his shoulder and he had a proper handshake now.

He was glad to see Sephiroth being less distant with everyone, it was nice that he wasn’t as tense outside of training as he used to be.

It had nothing to do with how nice the younger teen looked when he was relaxed, absolutely nothing.

Genesis took things into his own hands a week later; coming into the cafeteria, where they were supposed to be meeting for lunch, practically dragging Sephiroth with him.

Angeal was stunned silence for several moments, unable to do anything as Genesis caught sight of him and made an immediate beeline for his table. Sephiroth followed calmly, eyes trained on the hand the mage was using to guide him.

“Hello, Angeal.” Genesis greeted brightly, completely ignoring his dumbfounded expression and the stares of everyone else in the cafeteria. “Seph’s going to be training with us this afternoon.” He announced brightly, gesturing at the younger.

Sephiroth’s gaze lifted from Genesis’ grip from a moment to meet his eyes, nodding a quiet greeting before dropping his eyes back to the slim hand holding his forearm.

“Seph?” Angeal managed to force out, confused over the nickname.

His friend simply rolled his eyes at him, releasing his hold on Sephiroth’s arm and sitting across from him. “Sephiroth’s a bit of a mouth full, Seph is much easier.” Genesis explained in a flippant tone, turning away from him to look up at the First. “Are you going to join us?” He asked when the other didn’t look like he was going to move.

Sephiroth blinked at Genesis before moving hesitantly to sit next to him. It was disconcerting to see the most important person in the SOLDIER program sitting in the cafeteria, everyone else in the room was staring at their table.

Genesis ignored the attention like he usually did and started speaking to Sephiroth, jumping back into a conversation that they must have paused before they arrived at the cafeteria. Angeal was still too stunned by the unexpected appearance of the younger teen to pay attention to what they were talking about, he spent several minutes just blinking at them from across the table.

“Angeal?” Genesis called, breaking him from his thoughts. “Any ideas?” He asked, gazing at him expectantly.

He blinked at his friend, staring at him with a confused expression. “What?” He asked, completely at a loss as to what Genesis was talking about.

Genesis rolled his eyes with a scoff, “I swear Angeal,” he started in a teasing tone. “You’re usually the one telling me to pay attention to important conversations.”

“Just ask me again,” he sighed. He saw Sephiroth’s eyes move between Genesis and himself, watching their interactions intently. It was cute, in a way, how interested the younger was in how they spoke with each other.

“What do you want to work on in training?” Genesis asked, speaking slowly and clearly enunciating his words.

“Wait,” he paused, fixing his friend with a sharp look. “Did you just ask Sephiroth for help with things you’re struggling with?”

“Why would I ask for help with something you’re struggling with?” Genesis asked, looking at him like he’d just suggested using fire against a Bomb.

He decided not to respond to that, far too used to his friend’s antics by now. Instead he turned to focus on Sephiroth, giving the other a kind smile. The First’s light lit up at his smile, the inhuman green eyes brightening noticeably. He swallowed heavily before speaking, “I just need to work on my footwork,” he informed the other. “Nothing too difficult.”

Sephiroth considered him for a few moments before cocking his head and replying in a soft voice, “I don’t mind providing some assistance.” The younger teen assured him.

The sound of Genesis’ text tone interrupted him before he could say anything else, drawing their attention to the mage’s PHS as he pulled it out of his pocket. He watched Genesis’ brow furrow at whatever was on his screen, his friend quickly opened the message and read through it.

Genesis scowled down at his PHS, eyes burning as he snapped it shut with a harsh movement. He was glad that their PHS’ were reinforced for SOLDIER enhancements, or else his friend would have needed to replace it.

“Something wrong?” He asked cautiously, wary of his friend’s quick-fire temper.

Genesis released a harsh breath, shoulders slumping from their tense posture as he answered. “A mission. They finally have a need for my expertise.” Genesis rolled his eyes as he spoke, his tone scathing. “Have fun without me,” He told them, standing from his seat and walking out of the cafeteria.

He watched Genesis exit the cafeteria before turning his gaze back to Sephiroth, a flush rising to his cheeks when he noticed the other gazing at him intently. “Guess we’ll have a lot of time to focus on my footwork,” he joked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Sephiroth blinked at him after a moment of silence, agreeing with a contemplative, “yes we will.”

They certainly did focus on his footwork. They also focused on his sword work and mixed combat skills. Sephiroth was pleased with his hand-to-hand combat abilities so they didn’t spend much time on that before moving onto his more lacking skills.

He was starting to understand why nobody trained with Sephiroth very often. One-on-one Sephiroth was terrifying.

He was very focused; ensuring Angeal knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing and exactly what he was doing wrong. He was sure his entire back was going to be bruised in the morning from the amount of times the other had dropped him to the ground.

But he was getting a lot of help from the other, he was dropping his guard less and the younger teen was giving him plenty to work on afterwards by himself. He hadn’t even realized that he opened himself up so much with his forward thrust.

Genesis was certainly missing out.

A slim hand appeared suddenly, resting in the air just in front of him. Sephiroth was offering to help pull him to his feet again. He had been surprised the first time the younger teen offered his hand but now, after about the twentieth time, he simply took the offered hand and accepted the other’s help.

“You’re getting better.” Sephiroth informed him in a neutral tone, “You still have a lot to work on but you’re improving.”

He took the words as the praise they were, smiling brightly at the other. “Thanks,” he responded, rolling his shoulders. “I appreciate your help.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” Sephiroth told him in an earnest voice.

Angeal’s next words were spoken quickly, before he had a chance to second-guess himself. “Maybe we can do this again?”

Sephiroth stared at him with a blank expression, considering him in silence for several minutes. Angeal was about to retract his question, fearing that he had overstepped, when Sephiroth broke him from his thoughts by answering. “I would not be opposed to doing this again.”

Angeal released a silent breath, relaxing at the other’s words. “Great!” He said smile returning to his face, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“How was it?” Was the first thing he heard when he returned to his apartment later that evening.

He turned in the direction of the question, seeing Genesis watching him from where he was sprawled across the couch.

“Good.” He informed him, stepping further into the apartment. “He’s a great help.”

Genesis fixed him with a sharp look, “what did you do exactly?” He asked, lifting himself to sit properly on the couch.

Angeal blinked at his friend, moving to sit across from him and responding slowly “we trained.”

Genesis heaved a harsh sigh, pressing his face into his hand. “Goddess Angeal.”

“What?” He asked, staring at his friend. “Was I supposed to do something else?”

Genesis’s words were muffled by his hands, “you were supposed to tell him about your little crush. Get it out in the open so you could deal with it like adults.”

“None of us are adults,” he told his friend, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“We’ve killed hundreds of men; we’re adults.” Genesis told him, slumping back against the couch. “You can’t use that excuse not to talk about all the things you want to do to Sephiroth.”

“I don’t want to do anything with Sephiroth!” He exclaimed, a bright flush rising to his cheeks.

“Of course you don’t.” Genesis agreed sarcastically, finally pulling his hands from his face. “You’re too honourable to want the things us lesser people do.”

He rolled his eyes at Genesis’ dramatics, “now you’re just being a dick.”

Genesis scoffed, lifting himself from the couch. “Well now I know better than to leave you alone with your crush,” he said, moving into his room. “Next time I’ll stay and get some pointers for myself.”

He watched Genesis disappear into his room, closing the door securely behind him.

He didn’t know it Genesis giving him time alone with Sephiroth was a nice thing or not, either way the last few hours had been enjoyable and Genesis had certainly missed out.

“I wish to ask you something,” Angeal turned to look at Sephiroth, staring at the uncertain expression the other had on his face.

They were training together again; they been doing so several times a week for the past few weeks, both with Genesis and without, and Angeal thought that they were slowly becoming friends.

Genesis made sure his opinion was well known. He was all too happy to help Angeal spend more time with Sephiroth but he was disappointed with the fact that he still hadn’t told the younger teen about his rush.

Angeal was determined to never bring that up with Sephiroth, certain that it would fade soon enough.

It hadn’t faded yet but he was sure it would only be a few more weeks before he lost his crush.

He focused back on Sephiroth, swallowing heavily and replying. “You can ask me whatever you want.”

Sephiroth refused to meet his eyes, focusing on everything but him. When he finally spoke, it was soft, barely a whisper, “I would like you to close your eyes.”

He blinked, confused as to why Sephiroth was so hesitant to have asked that. “Of course I can,” he told the other, doing as asked. “Anything else?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

Sephiroth sounded much closer to him when he answered, “please remain still.” The words were still quiet, the other’s earlier hesitance remained.in his tone.

Nothing happened for a few minutes but Angeal kept his eyes closed, trusting Sephiroth completely. Then he felt soft hands come to rest softly on his face, causing him to tense at the unexpected sensation.

He kept his eyes closed though, waiting for Sephiroth to tell him to open them. They remained that way for a few moments before he felt warm breath fan across his mouth, the sensation soon replaced by soft lips covering his own.

He froze, trying to come to terms with what was happening.

Sephiroth, felting the tension his action caused, pulled away quickly.

Angeal pulled him back though, cradling his face with his hands and pressing his own mouth against Sephiroth’s.

A soft noise left the other’s throat at his actions but Sephiroth didn’t attempt to pull away again, remaining within Angeal’s grip.

Angeal moved his lips gently over Sephiroth’s own, gently coaxing the other into action. It was awkward and the younger teen obviously had no idea what he was doing but it was the best kiss Angeal had ever experienced.

He pulled away after a few moments but remained close to the other, pressing their foreheads together. His kept his hands on Sephiroth’s face, eyes clenched shut as he caught his breath.

It took him a moment to realize that the other was shaking.

His eyes flew open and he took in the other’s face, gaze moving franticly over Sephiroth’s expression.

Green eyes were clenched shut, brows furrowed. Sephiroth’s form was wracked with tremors, his hands shook where they were clenched in his lap. Angeal felt his heart clench as he took in younger teen.

“Seph?” He asked, not realizing that he had used Genesis’ nickname for the other in his distress. “What’s wrong?”

Sephiroth didn’t give him a verbal answer, just shook his head violently as a sharp noise left his throat. He reached his hands up to clench Angeal’s upper arms, holding them firmly in place when he tried to remove his grip.

Angeal froze at Sephiroth’s grip, remaining in place for several moments.

The tremors gradually subsided from Sephiroth’s form and the other surprised him by turning into his palm. A heavy breath left the younger’s mouth then and his body relaxed completely in Angeal’s grasp.

He watched him for a few moments, eyes flicking over the other’s expression in concern. He remained silent though, waiting for Sephiroth to say something.

“I liked that,” Sephiroth muttered into his palm. “It was supposed to be good, yes?”

Angeal nodded, though Sephiroth’s eyes were still closed. “Yeah,” he answered, breathlessly. “Yeah it was.”

Sephiroth swallowed heavily, pressing further into Angeal’s palm. “I want to do that again,” he admitted softly, opening his eye to peer at Angeal.

His breath caught in his throat at Sephiroth’s expression. He swallowed heavily, “I do too.”

Sephiroth lifted his face from Angeal’s hand, moving to press their mouths together once again. This kiss was less awkward; Sephiroth was a quick learner and eager to figure out how kissing worked.

One of Angeal’s hand slid up into Sephiroth’s hair, causing the other to gasp heatedly and press back into his grip. Angeal took the opportunity to slip his tongue into the other’s open mouth, drawing a surprised noise from the younger.

Sephiroth was quick to copy his movements, eagerly twining his tongue with Angeal’s and exploring his mouth.

When he pulled away both their chests were heaving and he had one of his hand’s fisted in Sephiroth’s hair while both of Sephiroth’s were clenched on his shoulders. He continued to press softer kisses to the other’s mouth as they calmed their breathing,

They remained close together, foreheads pressed together as Angeal stared at the flushed face in front of him. Green eyes blinked open, they were glazed slightly, meeting his gaze.

Sephiroth ran his tongue over his lips, speaking softly “we can do this again, right?”

Angeal nodded with a soft, “yeah, yeah we can.”

A pleased smile spread across Sephiroth’s face and he pressed his cheek to Angeal’s own, nuzzling against the skin in a decisively cat-like gesture.

Angeal released his grip on Sephiroth’s hair, gently carding his hand through the silver strands. The younger sighed at the sensation, relaxing completely in his grip.

They had quite a bit of time before they had to vacate the room, they had time to enjoy this moment.

Genesis was going to be insufferable when he found out about this.

[lightsintheskye]

naomi this might be kind of random but could i ask you for some art advice? i used to love drawing and was considered to be really good at it, but at some point i got frustrated w what i made and just scrapped it all and never bothered with it again. but now like 5 years later i really want to get into drawing again, but i don't know where to start. do you know what i should do?

Sure!! Sorry I haven’t responded to this my inbox piles up pretty quickly surprisingly jflasdThe only thing I can say is that getting frustrated with your art is a normal and an almost every day (if not every other day) process for most artists. I think its just something all artists go through, most artist that I know closely hate their current pieces even just a little bit- and when they like the picture right off the bat eventually they’ll spot that little (or big) part of the work that they just want to go back and fix. The easiest thing to work through this issue is just practicing that part (or parts) of your work that you struggle with- draw it a hundred, a thousand times if you need to. And when you think its still not good enough, look at your original picture you hated and I can guarantee you’ll see improvement even if its not readily apparent. 

For me when I took an art break after college I studied anatomy extensively, and i still do. I filled a sketchbook with sketches of hands, profiles, and legs/torso feet. I’m not sure if you draw people but whatever you subject matter is break it down to its vital components and shapes, practice them, and then build from there.  I’m still not satisfied with the way I draw hands but I know im getting there, and

drawing is a never ending learning experience, I firmly you believe you can only get better.

My roommate that’s a scad grad told me the best advice I’ve tried to stick too ever since I met her

 “ It’s not perfect. It’ll never be. Just finish it.”

Even if you absolutely hate it finish it because at then end of the day you’re sitting with a finished piece. You’d never finish the hand if you cant get past the thumb. 

Have some links too to help you!! 

There’s also this fantastic Article for Artists who’ve left the drawing board for a while!

Creative Drawing Exercises

Human Proportion Break Down

How to Draw the Head From Any Angle

Foreshortening Do’s and Don’ts 

How to Draw Hands

How to Draw Feet

How to Draw Clothes

How to Draw Hair

How to Draw Torsos

8 Tips For Improving Your Drawing Skills 

List of Fashion/Clothing References

I hope you don’t mind If i publish this as well, I get asked this question in many forms a lot so it’s nice to answer it every now and again. And I hope that helps!

[kacydeneen]

Former Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens Dies

John Paul Stevens, the bow-tied, independent-thinking, Republican-nominated justice who unexpectedly emerged as the Supreme Court's leading liberal, died Tuesday in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, after suffering a stroke Monday. He was 99.

During nearly 35 years on the court, Stevens stood for the freedom and dignity of individuals, be they students or immigrants or prisoners. He acted to limit the death penalty, squelch official prayer in schools, establish gay rights, promote racial equality and preserve legal abortion. He protected the rights of crime suspects and illegal immigrants facing deportation.

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He influenced fellow justices to give foreign terrorism suspects held for years at the Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, naval base the right to plead for their release in U.S. courts.

Stevens served more than twice the average tenure for a justice, and was only the second to mark his 90th birthday on the high court. From his appointment by President Gerald Ford in 1975 through his retirement in June 2010, he shaped decisions that touched countless aspects of American life.

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"He brought to our bench an inimitable blend of kindness, humility, wisdom and independence. His unrelenting commitment to justice has left us a better nation," Chief Justice John Roberts said in a statement.

He remained an active writer and speaker into his late 90s, surprising some when he came out against Justice Brett Kavanaugh's confirmation following Kavanaugh's angry denial of sexual assault allegations. Stevens wrote an autobiography, "The Making of a Justice: My First 94 Years," that was released just after his 99th birthday in April 2019.

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At first considered a centrist, Stevens came to be seen as a lion of liberalism. But he rejected that characterization.

"I don't think of myself as a liberal at all," Stevens told The New York Times in 2007. "I think as part of my general politics, I'm pretty darn conservative."

The way Stevens saw it, he held to the same ground, but the court had shifted steadily to the right over the decades, creating the illusion that he was moving leftward.

He did change his views on some issues, however. He morphed from a critic of affirmative action to a supporter, and came to believe the death penalty was wrong.

His legal reasoning was often described as unpredictable or idiosyncratic, especially in his early years on the court. He was a prolific writer of separate opinions laying out his own thinking, whether he agreed or disagreed with the majority's ruling. Yet Stevens didn't consider his methods novel. He tended toward a case-by-case approach, avoided sweeping judicial philosophies, and stayed mindful of precedent.

The white-haired Stevens, eyes often twinkling behind owlish glasses, was the picture of old-fashioned geniality on the court and off. He took an unusually courteous tone with lawyers arguing their cases, but he was no pushover. After his fellow justices fired off questions, Stevens would politely weigh in. "May I ask a question?" he'd ask gently, then quickly slice to the weakest point of a lawyer's argument.

Stevens was especially concerned with the plight of ordinary citizens up against the government or other powerful interests — a type of struggle he witnessed as a boy.

When he was 14, his father, owner of a grand but failing Chicago hotel, was wrongly convicted of embezzlement. Ernest Stevens was vindicated on appeal, but decades later his son would say the family's ordeal taught him that justice can misfire.

More often, however, Stevens credited his sensitivity to abuses of power by police and prosecutors to what he learned while representing criminal defendants in pro bono cases as a young Chicago lawyer.

He voiced only one regret about his Supreme Court career: that he had supported reinstating the death penalty in 1976. More than three decades later, Stevens publicly declared his opposition to capital punishment, saying that years of bad court decisions had overlooked racial bias, favored prosecutors and otherwise undermined his expectation that death sentences could be handed down fairly.

One of his harshest dissents came when the court lifted restrictions on spending by corporations and unions to sway elections. He called the 2010 ruling "a rejection of the common sense of the American people" and a threat to democracy.

As he read parts of that opinion aloud, Stevens' voice wavered uncharacteristically and he repeatedly stumbled over words. For the 90-year-old who'd worried he wouldn't know when to bow out, it was a signal. "That was the day I decided to resign," Stevens said later. He also disclosed in his autobiography that he had suffered a mini-stroke.

The retirement of Stevens, known as a defender of strict separation of church and state, notably left the high court without a single Protestant member for the first time.

"I guess I'm the last WASP," he joked, saying the issue was irrelevant to the justices' work. Justice Neil Gorsuch, who joined the court in 2017, was raised Catholic, but attends a Protestant church.

A great-grandfather, Stevens eased into an active retirement of writing and speaking, still fit for swimming and tennis in Fort Lauderdale, where he and his second wife, Maryan, kept a home away from Washington.

He is survived by two daughters, Elizabeth and Susan, who were with him when he died. Other survivors include nine grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren. Stevens' first wife, Elizabeth, second wife, Maryan, and two children died before him. Funeral arrangements are pending, the Supreme Court said in a statement announcing his death. But he is expected to be buried in Arlington National Cemetery, next to Maryan.

Born in 1920, Stevens was a privileged child of a bygone era: He met Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh at the family hotel and was at the ballpark when Babe Ruth hit his famous "called-shot" home run in the 1932 World Series.

He joined the Navy the day before the attack on Pearl Harbor, and was awarded the Bronze Star for his service with a Japanese code-breaking team. The code breakers' work enabled the U.S. to shoot down a plane carrying the commander of the Japanese Navy, and that targeted wartime killing later contributed to his misgivings about the death penalty.

After World War II, Stevens graduated first in his class at Northwestern University's law school and clerked for Supreme Court Justice Wiley Rutledge. As a lawyer he became an antitrust expert, experience he brought to Supreme Court rulings such as one ending the NCAA's control over televised college football games.

President Richard Nixon appointed Stevens, a lifelong Republican, to the federal appeals court in Chicago. Judge Stevens was considered a moderate conservative when Ford — whose nominee would need the approval of a Democratic-controlled Senate — chose him for the Supreme Court.

Stevens won unanimous confirmation after uneventful hearings nothing like today's partisan shows. Stevens' liberal bent once on the high court was "different than I envisioned," Ford acknowledged decades later, but he still supported and praised him as "a very good legal scholar."

Stevens' influence reached its height after other liberals retired in the early 1990s, leaving him the senior associate justice and the court's leader on the left. For a dozen years after, he proved adept at drawing swing votes from Republican appointees Sandra Day O'Connor and Anthony Kennedy, often frustrating conservative Chief Justice William Rehnquist.

Stevens' clout diminished after Roberts arrived in 2005 and O'Connor was replaced by the more conservative Samuel Alito. But he didn't lose spirit. Throughout his career, Stevens unleashed some of his most memorable language in defeat.

He wrote a scathing dissent in Bush v. Gore, the 2000 case that ended Florida's presidential recount and anointed George W. Bush: "Although we may never know with complete certainty the identity of the winner of this year's presidential election, the identity of the loser is perfectly clear. It is the nation's confidence in the judge as an impartial guardian of the rule of law."

Photo Credit: AP Former Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens Dies published first on Miami News