#its just a proper resolution for Wolf

[werspinna]

One of Wolfs most precious posessions- or more accurate her most precious posession since she is pretty much propertyless- is a small leatherpuch she wears on a leather- cord around her neck. Normally a legitime way to carry money, Wolf had been carrying that small pouch since she had been fourteen years old. Around May of 1212 when Nikolaus Crusade reached the alp the crusade was suppose to cross to reach Genua. Obviously crossing the alps without any food supplies or let alone proper attire ended up in a catastrophe and many of the children either left or died. At this time Wolf had already been traveling with a certaine group of young teengers with whom she had become friends and for which she had started months ago to steal from and rob people for food for them. The children, very much by now confronted with their own mortality ended up all making such a small pouch with strain of hair of each so in the case they would not survive crossing the alps, a part of them would travel along with their friends.

It was also this group of children who brought Wolf into the italian cloister when Wolf fell ill with the pox. Wolf has no idea what had happned with her friends as she was at that time too sick or not able to register what was happening around herself. In her mind she had fallen asleep very sick in the cloister with her friends aorund her  and woke up one year later on a slavemarket in Pisa with poxscars on her whole body, but healthy yet with all her friends nolonger there.

Years later (1228, Wolf is 30) when Wolf joins Friedrich II  as a Medicus ( more accurately a inofficial Memeber of the Lazarus Order, due to her beeing touched by the pox and having great expierence working with leprosy. Nolens volens, she still wore a black and green tabbard.) on his peaceful crusade to Jerusalem were he and al-Kamil came together to set the peace of Jaffa, she leaves the small pouch in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Finally making sure her friends reached Jerusalem, Wolf eventually left Jerusalem to return to italy on her own. 

[minty-mumbles]

Foundlings

Summary: What if the Links weren't born? What if they just... appeared one day?

Author's Note: This was inspired by some asks on @tortilla-of-courage's blog

(Read it on Ao3 Here)

~~~

Everyone on Skyloft had a profound bond with their loftwing. Everyone. They would trust their birds with their life, and more significantly, the lives of their children, if they had any. It wasn’t a rare sight to see your neighbor’s loftwing watching after their child, or to see a loftwing carrying a wayward child back home.

And, although Skyloft is a small island, not everyone knows each other.

So they can’t be blamed, really, that they didn't notice right away that all the loftwings on the island were playing hot potato with a small child.

They only really started to notice when the headmaster of the Knight’s academy found his loftwing looking after not just his own daughter, but a young boy as well.

Before he could question it, or pick up the boy, another loftwing swooped in, snatching the boy up by the back of his tunic. The toddler didn’t seem to mind, squealing in excitement as the bird took him up to the roof.

Gaepora still might not have thought anything about it, except that he knew for a fact that that loftwing’s rider had died a year ago. That’s why the bird was here. It was still mourning its partner, and it was better for it to be around other loftwings. The communal nests for the loftwings at the academy were perfect for that.

And, as far as he knew, the loftwing hadn’t picked a new rider. So whose child was that?

~

After a good two or three weeks of searching for the child’s parents and simultaneously trying to get the boy away from the loftwings, they were still empty-handed.

The search for the parents was futile. Nearly everyone on the island knew about the boy now, and most had even seen their own loftwings carrying the boy around. No parent had stepped forward.

On the other hand, no one could actually manage to get the kid away from the loftwings. It was rare for the birds to completely disobey their riders, but in this, they seemed resolute. The boy would be staying with the loftwings, at least for now.

Gaepora pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at his daughter, who was currently giggling with the yet unmanned boy on his own loftwings back. This boy was going to be nothing but trouble, he could already feel it.

~~~

The master smith of Castle town wasn’t a slouch at hand-to-hand combat. He had never been formally trained in the subject. But he was a smith. Being a smithy was very physically taxing. He may be getting on a bit in years, but he could still swing a hammer and withstand the blazing heat of the forge.

So when he entered his shop in the morning and heard rustling behind the counter he kept his lockbox behind, he did not run to call the town guards. They wouldn’t even get here in time, and Smith could deal with the thief by himself.

When he rounded the corner of the counter with a shout, what he found was not what he expected. Instead, he found a little kid. Really, he couldn't be more than two or three. Instead of the lock box, he had been rooting around in a jar of cookies that Smith kept in the shop for the rather common occasion he got the munchies in the middle of the day.

The child was watching him with wide eyes, his gaze not wavering. He had far too much of an intelligent gaze for a two year old who had literally gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Smith looked around, foolishly hoping that the child’s mother would pop out from behind one of the shelves to claim the him.

No such luck, of course. Cursing his bleeding heart, Smith picked up the child and, hanging a sign on the door to tell his customers he was closed for the day, made his way home.

~~~

The Great Deku Tree was very old. He liked to take naps, which sometimes ended up lasting months. And he forgot things sometimes.

But he was pretty sure he wasn't actually asleep for more than a few hours this time. And he was sure he would have remembered this.

There was a child laying between his roots. An infant, wrapped in swaddling clothes, nestled in a bed of fallen leaves.

The Tree didn’t recognize him.

He would know if this was a Kokiri child. It was not. This child was as Hylian as they came. And yet, somehow, he had ended up here. Deep in the lost woods, where no adult could reach. At the very least, the fairies or the Kokiris would have woken him if there had been an intruder.

The Tree took his time examining the child, looking for any clues to his origins. He found none.

After a while, the baby started to fuss. The Deku Tree hummed, calling for a fairy to go fetch Saria. She was a responsible young lass. She would make sure the boy was well looked after.

He stayed contemplating the child long after he had been taken away by the Kokiri. That child would be one to make note of.

~~~

They were calling him the Hero of the Wind, now. She had smiled when she heard that, but to her, he would always be Link. She gave him that name, after all. She had named him after the previous hero when she found him. There had been no mother in sight to give her a different name, after all.

She hadn’t known where the baby had come from. When she had gone on an early morning walk one day, it had led to her finding a woven basket with a wailing infant inside it, washed up on the shore.

No one on Outset Island had a child this young, or was even pregnant. But Hylia would be damned if she left the babe there. Besides, she was lonely. Her husband had died a few years back, and her daughter had left Outset, rarely visiting. She wouldn’t mind someone to share her house with.

There were rumors. Of course there were. Outset island was a calm and peaceful place, but that didn’t mean all the people there were kind. Suddenly acquiring a child out of nowhere was suspicious. People called her a witch behind her back, not so subtly accusing her of stealing the child.

She had claimed that her daughter had come back from sailing to give Link to his grandmother, but no one had actually seen the young woman do so, so there were always skeptics.

And there was indeed a good reason that no one had seen her come back. It was because the woman hadn’t. No one but Granny would ever know the truth of it, she had vowed to herself.

But, eventually, the excitement died down. Link was a sweet boy. And, well, he had his Granny’s nose, after all, and his mother’s bright golden hair.

(And a few years after that, when she found Aryll on her front porch, surrounded by seagulls, people said much the same about the little girl.)

~~~

The Hero of Legend had humble beginnings, just like most of his brethren. Before he had started his journeys, he had grown up on a farm, looked after by his uncle. In truth, though, said uncle had no relation to him at all.

The nearby village thought he was just an orphan.

It wasn’t unusual. Families were torn apart often these days, sometimes literally, meeting brutal ends at the hands of monsters. Many times, this left children to wander, with no one to care for them. Sometimes, families would take them in and care for them like they were their own.

It was a bit odd that Link's Uncle would do so, as he had no wife to help him in raising a child. But after all, he had no wife, and never showed any signs of looking for one. Perhaps he wanted someone to look after him as he grew older, or just someone to share his house with. It must get lonely, all by himself in that huge farm, so far from town.

In truth, he couldn’t have done anything else, except take the kid in. He had been sucked in by the big eyes set into the sweet face the first time he set eyes on the boy.

The boy never made any mention of his previous family. But, thought his uncle, that was probably normal. Whatever happened to him before he found his way here couldn’t have been pleasant.

It was probably normal not to want to speak of it. And besides, there were apples that needed to be picked, animals to be fed, grain to be cut. There would be time for talking later. For now, he would focus on teaching Link the proper way to hold a cucco without being mauled.

~~~

Legend had it that the Hero of Hyrule started his adventure in a cave. What the Legends don’t tell is that he also started his life in that cave.

In his era, monsters roamed nearly everywhere. There were a few exceptions. One of these was a small cave. It was hidden deep in a forest, and generally ignored by all who passed it. Most who saw it assumed it was too small to be a proper shelter for anyone.

It was this assumption that made it the perfect spot for its inhabitants to hide. A group of fairies had stumbled across the cave, and claimed it for their own. It was undisturbed by the bigger creatures of the world, and it was the perfect size for them.

It was deep in this cave, soaked in fae magic, that this group of fairies found a tiny child. Or more accurately, he found them. When he wiggled through the crack of the cave opening and saw them, he giggled, clapping his hands.

They were uncertain at first. What was a young hylian doing out here? It shouldn't be possible. Where had he even come from? He couldn’t have made it all the way out here by himself.

Being naturally helpful creatures, they tried to search for the small one’s parents, but came up empty-handed. All the while, the child played with the strands of magic they conjured to entertain him.

Fairies have a poor sense of time. They just kept searching for the child’s parents. They fed him when he was hungry, and sang him to sleep when he was tired. They didn’t even notice that the child was growing up.

~~~

Wolves are not a common animal to see in Ordon. Generally, they preferred to stay away from the village.

There were exceptions. If there was a harsh winter, wolf packs might approach the village, looking for the easy meals the goats presented. If a wolf was sick, they might wander closer in confusion as well.

So when Uli looked out the window, and saw a large golden wolf in the middle of the goat pen, she was understandably shocked. The wolf looked healthy. Its fur coat was glossy, and even from this distance, Uli could see muscles rippled under its coat when it moved. There was no sickness in this creature. It was the height of summer. The game in the forest should be plentiful. There was no real reason for it to go after her goats.

Looking closer, she could see that the wolf was standing over something, likely one of her goats. She cursed, gripping the bow from the mantle that they kept for situations just like this, and exited the house.

When the wolf saw that he was being approached, he calmly turned away. Moving at a quick pace, he left behind the prize he was guarding, and returned to the edge of the forest. When he reached the forest, he turned to look back at her. With what looked disturbingly like a nod, he disappeared into the woods.

After watching for a few moments to make sure the wolf wouldn’t return, Uli turned to inspect the damage to the herd.

Instead of finding a dead goat, she found a small bundle of blankets. Filled with curiosity, she knelt, moving the blankets aside cautiously. What she found was the last thing she thought she would.

A toddler, curled up and sleeping peacefully, as if they hadn’t just been two feet away from a wolf.

Well. What was she to do with this, then?

~~~

There is no record of the Hero of Warriors from before the War. Most people from his era assume that it’s because he came from a little town in the middle of nowhere. A farm boy, a nobody who crawled up the ranks to become a war hero, a captain.

In reality, the Hero of Warriors was a rather special case. He was made for war. He was a savior of his people, just like his brethren, but a child does not a warrior make. And a warrior is what was needed.

He strode into Hyrule castle, among the swarm of other young men who were reporting to the recruiters in the front hall. In the chaos, the one who greeted him neglected to ask where the young man was from, and Link did not offer the information.

From that point on, he was only called Link, with no surname on his record. Eventually, that became Commander Link, and then Captain Link.

No one ever questioned where he had come from. It was usually best not to think about those things too hard.

~~~

There was no one alive who remembered the Hero of the Wild’s origins. That was to be expected. It had been well over a century since he was born, after all.

The hero himself could not remember, and all those who had known him from before barely knew about his family.

The story of his birth was lost, or so it seemed.

The truth was that there was no story to be told. The hero’s family had been a small one. A knight who served in Hyrule’s military, his wife, and a little daughter. When the daughter had been born, the wife had nearly died. The doctor had warned them that another child would likely kill her.

So, though they dearly wanted a son to carry on their family’s name, and for his father to train him the way of the sword, they were content with their little girl.

Fate had other plans for them, though. One morning when the daughter was about a year old, they had just sat down for breakfast when there was a knock on the door.

The knight stood to answer the door. When he opened it, he did not find one of their neighbors, or a messenger from the castle, as he had expected, but a young boy, maybe five or six years old.

When asked what he needed, he simply said that he was their son.

He waltzed right in and plopped himself down at the table, pleased as punch with himself.

The knight and his wife looked at each other in amusement. This might as well happen. They could afford to feed an extra mouth for a meal or two. They could go look for the little one’s parents after they ate.

[jaskiersvalley]

Control

What happens when you ask a very special Discord server whether you should write Geralt/Eskel or Lambert/Eskel? You end up writing Geralt/Lambert/Eskel of the emotionally horny variety.

Under the cut for explicit content including sex toys (double ended dildo and butt plug), threesome, oral sex.

Control

There was a definite before and after in Eskel when he got the scars on his face. The before was something Geralt remembered with great fondness, memories of their time spent together in bed, in the stables, even in the forest when the forktails hadn’t deigned to turn up. He had to admit he missed those times. Sure, Lambert was just as willing and fun a partner but there was something about having someone as broad as Eskel holding him that made it special. After the scars everything stopped. Eskel withdrew, turned down offers, hid away in his room and kept very much to himself. It seemed even a goat’s company was better than Geralt and Lambert’s. Though none of his actions stopped the bitter stench of sadness and frustration that seemed to follow Eskel wherever he went.

Several winters passed, the scars became less angry, Eskel more resigned to his fate. It was only during a drunken conversation that he admitted that nobody had wanted to touch him since the accident, no brothel would take his coin. Which meant that he hadn’t had the tender caress of a lover, even a make believe one with a prostitute in years. Guilt ate away at Geralt and he pulled Lambert into his room that night, holding him close, wishing they could have Eskel between them. But Eskel resolutely refused, shying away from touch. It was only another drunken night that he finally blurted out, “It’s been so long, I fear it would be so gentle it would hurt.”

That just wouldn’t do. At night, Eskel bid them goodnight and returned to his room, lonely, sad and wistful. Drunkenly offering him a place in their bed didn’t help, even with reassurances that it would be nothing beyond a snuggle, warm bodies to chase the chill away with. Resolute in his repulsiveness and undesirableness, Eskel was unmoved.

“We’ll show him what he’s missing,” Lambert suggested. “Pull out all the stops. He doesn’t have to join but he should see what’s on offer.”

His time with Eskel of before was much more limited. A few precious years, it had been about as long without Eskel as it had been with. But he could still feel the phantom touch of large hands on his back, the warm breath that tickled the nape of his neck. Not to mention the warm chest that was just perfect to lie on. Sure, Geralt’s was almost as good but, somehow, Eskel’s was unparalleled.

So a plan was hatched. They waited until Vesemir had retired for the night and Eskel was a couple of tankards in. Being a lightweight turned out to have its uses. Without a word, Lambert slipped off the couch and knelt on the rug by Geralt’s feet, staring up at him with hopeful adoration. A hand stroked over his hair and Lambert sighed happily at the touch. He was on his best behaviour, wanting to show Eskel everything he could have.

“I think that’s my cue to head upstairs,” Eskel announced unsteadily. His eyes were glued to Lambert though, taking in his posture, the happy way he nuzzled into the palm against his cheek.

“Stay.” That was definitely an order from Geralt and he stared Eskel down. “No need to do anything, just watch.”

After a few seconds of silent staring, Eskel slumped back into his armchair, cheeks flushed. Geralt refused to call it a victory or a defeat but, to reward the agreement, he unlaced his trousers and pulled out his cock. Without hesitation Lambert took it in his mouth, trying to hold back on the soft moans and sounds as he greedily sucked.

“Don’t hold back, Baby Wolf,” Geralt purred. “Let him hear how much you enjoy it. How good you can be.”

The groan Lambert let loose was downright indecent and Geralt watched as Eskel shifted in his seat. Clearly he wasn’t as unaffected as he would wish to claim. Placing a hand on the back of Lambert’s head to keep him in place, Geralt moved things swiftly along.

“Why don’t you show him?” he asked Lambert who, with shaking hands, pushed his trousers down, revealing a plug keeping him open and ready. Geralt watched the way Eskel’s eyes flicked between plug and Lambert’s mouth and he grinned. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he? But tell me this, are you wishing you were me?” He paused for a moment. “Or him?”

“Excuse me.” Eskel pushed up from his chair and hurried out.

That didn’t stop Geralt from grinning, knowing all too well that walk and how that stance meant Eskel was trying to pretend he wasn’t hard as fuck. Looking down at Lambert, he stroked his cheek. “You did beautifully. So how about a reward?”

The next morning Eskel didn’t look either of them in the eye and, if his smell was anything to by, he had denied himself release the night before. Either that or it was a rather disappointing climax, not at all what he had been craving. Which only made the next step of Eskel’s seduction easier.

“I have a toy,” Lambert murmured low and secretive as they soaked after training. “Thought you might want to borrow it. It’s got two ends. EIther to share or to get a proper, deep fuck.” He tried to hold back on a grin as Eskel’s nostrils flared and his breath caught. “I’ll leave it in your room.”

That night, if Geralt just so happened to walk past Eskel’s room on his way to Lambert’s, that was pure coincidence. Especially when he gleefully whispered in Lambert’s ear about the needy, desperate little gasps he’d overheard and the smell of arousal that wafter from under Eskel’s door. It had Lambert shuddering in his arms, body clenching around Geralt at the very thought.

They held off on hounding Eskel after that, letting him come to them. Sure enough, a couple of days later Eskel cornered them in the prep room where they were in the process of curing the meat they’d hunted that morning.

“I have some rules.”

Said rules were simple enough. Eskel didn’t want to be touched. Not yet. He needed it to be on his terms. The other two could watch though as he opened himself up on the toy Lambert loaned him. Then he wanted to share the toy with Lambert while Geralt watched. Of course Geralt could touch Lambert as much as he wanted to but not Eskel. They were terms that the two could easily agree to. And so, they found themselves in Eskel’s room, the fire piled high. Lambert was naked and kneeling by Geralt, a collar around his throat, leash attached to it and in Geralt’s hand.

“You’ve got all the time you need,” he promised Eskel. “I’ve got our Baby Wolf under control.”

To prove his point, he pulled the leash tight and Lambert keened, cock bobbing. On the bed Eskel nodded. He had stripped and was kneeling, vial of slick in hand. Watching the other two, his cock had started to fill out but he couldn’t cope with the way the other two watched him so hungrily. Before the scars, he could accept they found him appealing but after? That was a whole different matter. There was a solution though and Eskel turned to brace one hand on the headboard, head dipped. Slick fingers reached behind himself, a cursory touch to get things going. His hole didn’t hold much resistance, he had been using the toy nightly since Lambert left it on his bed. It now meant that once everything was slick and slippery, he could grasp the toy, keep it firm while he sank back on it.

A soft whimper of need from behind him had Eskel turning to look over his shoulder, hair hiding his face, scars facing the wall. It seemed that Lambert had been pulled into Geralt’s lap at some point, legs spread wide. The plug Geralt had pulled from him clattered to the stone floor. A hand under each thigh, Lambert was lifted up and settled over Geralt’s cock. The bliss on Lambert’s face was breathtaking. Eyes half closed and staring at Eskel, his cock dark at the tip with the need for release already. However, what caught Eskel off guard was how Lambert wasn’t watching his hand and hole but rather his face.

“Beautiful.” The word buckled in Lambert’s throat as Geralt lifted then roughly pulled him down again.

Suddenly, the toy wasn’t quite enough. Eskel wanted more. The plan had been to be on his hands and knees, mirrored by Lambert but that wasn’t what he needed now.

“I’m ready,” he whispered. It took a bit of shuffling but he managed to lie on his back, legs spread. “Please. Like this.”

Geralt stood up, Lambert still held open on his cock. Walking to the bed, he let Lambert down who knelt patiently between Eskel’s spread legs.

“You sure?” Geralt asked.

Biting his lip, Eskel nodded, staring up at him. It was all the encouragement Lambert needed and he moved to lie down, legs over Eskel’s thighs as Geralt helped guide the toy into him. There wasn’t much room to move, grinding down on the toy was nice but not enough. Reaching down, Geralt gestured at the sliver of toy visible between them. “May I?”

“Please,” Eskel replied. He closed his eyes and gasped when Geralt’s hand closed around the toy and began to move it between them.

Lambert had no shame in moaning and arching, legs pressing down against Eskel’s. His open display of pleasure helped spur Eskel on. All too soon he was panting too, a hand wrapped around his cock.

“Trust me?” Geralt asked and two sets of golden yellow eyes stared at him as the other two nodded. Letting go of the toy to mutual groans of disappointment, he took a step back. “Lambert, shuffle down a bit more. I don’t want to see any of the toy.”

A soft “oh fuck” left Eskel as he heartily agreed to the idea. As Lambert moved, the toy shifted too until they were pressed flush together.

“Beautiful,” Geralt praised, echoing Lambert from earlier. “Touch yourselves. I’m going to come on Lambert.” He stepped towards the bottom of the bed, aiming for Lambert’s chest. “You’re both taking the toy, sharing it. Can you feel each other’s heartbeats knocking against the toy? Making it press just a little more into you both.”

Lambert’s head tipped back as he arched, climax finally taking him over. HIs shuddering jostled the toy until Eskel couldn’t hold back anymore. Much more quietly, Eskel gasped, hand working over himself to wring every bit of pleasure out. He was as gorgeous as ever in Geralt’s eyes. Finally, he tipped over the edge too, adding his spend to what already covered Lambert.

The three of them rested on the bed until Eskel squirmed, a little uncomfortable. A tap to Lambert’s thigh had him pushing away a bit and Geralt helped pull the toy free of them both before dropping it to the ground to be dealt with later. As per their agreement, he moved away, pulling Lambert into his arms.

“Ummm.” Eskel watched them with dark, sleepy eyes. Obviously something was on his mind and Geralt hoped he knew what it was but he didn’t say anything, allowing Eskel to work at his own pace. “I know we said you two would go back to your room after.”

“Yes.” Lambert had nuzzled into the crook of Geralt’s neck, content to be held and for the other two to sort out whatever they were not quite discussing.

“What if I changed my mind?”

“You want to cuddle with us?”

Eskel quickly shook his head but he did move to the edge of the bed, leaving an open space for the other two. “Maybe you two could cuddle nearby?”

A glance down at Lambert and Geralt decided that he could make this call. He was pretty certain he knew what Lambert would want anyway. Gently, he knelt on the bed, settled Lambert before lying down next to him. It was nice, having his Baby Wolf in his arms while Eskel was nearby. Not perfect by any means, that would only happen when the three of them were in a comfortable, sated heap. But this was a very good start and a solid foundation they could build their way to perfection on.

[virlath]

Analysing Solas' new mural

One of the first things I noticed about Solas’ new mural is that it echoes a mural he did in DAI. 

A mural that seemingly depicts how to gain access to the Black City....🤔

The composition alone looks like his DAI mural flipped upside down. (this is found in the Shattered Library in Trespasser)

The Black City is now at the bottom, breached by the dread wolf himself. The spheres above the eluvians now corresponds to two elven figures that are flipped upside down, with their hands crossed as if they are in uthenera. 

Cole: He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. Cole: You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't. Cole: They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them... (Gasps.) Where did it go? Solas: I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.

🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 

If anything this is further evidence to me that Solas’ plan actually does include breaching the Black City himself once the veil is destroyed. 

Why / what is he planning with the black city?

I think Solas wants to restore the world of his time because removing the veil is the only way he can access the black city to destroy it. I’m guessing the main motivation for his current actions is personal responsibility.

He saved the physical world by creating the veil and quarantining the blight, but the blight managed to spread from the fade to Thedas anyway despite his best efforts.

Theoretically, if no physical being ever managed to cross into the fade, Thedas wouldn’t have to contend with the blight. Entering the fade physically was thought impossible...and yet...

The old gods managed to persuade Corypheus to break into the city to claim ‘godhood’, and as a result they brought the blight to the world. There were mortal beings after all, and we know now that red lyrium only affects organic matter. It was also Solas’ act of giving the orb to the Venatori that caused the breach in the first place, enabling the growth of red lyrium in the physical world. 

Solas simply underestimated the tenacity and will of mere mortals, because he didn’t have a true understanding of them before DAI.

So after all this, I can understand why Solas is so resolute in his dinan’shiral. I just wonder what his plans are for dealing with the evanuris. From the concept art it seems like they have plans to escape.

As to what he intends to do within the Black City, I am guessing he wants to destroy the city by means of a “sun”, or titan heart, the thing at the center of many of his murals that emanates light. His orb was likely one such thing he could have used to enter the city, as shown in his mural with the orb/eluvian, but with that gone he likely has to resort to a more brute force approach.

"Pulling back the curtain. Let the light in. Let it burn."

The two elven figures

The elements in the new artwork I am most interested in are the two elven figures on either side of the artwork.

These two figures look super important when accessing the Black City, because they seem to be imprisoned within their own eluvian and not within the Black City itself, almost as if they are gatekeepers. It also makes me wonder if the monster Tamlen saw behind the blighted eluvian in DAO was in fact one of the imprisoned evanuris.

There also definitely seems to be something evil about them. The left figure in particular is depicted in another concept art captioned with ‘...the evil gods...’ in the new concept art book.

But their actual end goals and alignment remains to be seen. Are they really just evil villains hellbent on power and control, or did they actually have a good reason for wanting to disable Mythal and her source of power? 

Personally I would love to hear an opposing viewpoint to Solas and Mythal because I don’t want to believe they are all straight cut-and-dry evil. 

Light vs darkness

At the center of the black city seems to be a “sun”, symbolised by a circle with sunrays. This element is echoed in the newest trailer, behind the logos.

It is an interesting detail because not only does it echo the chantry logo and chant of light, the theme of light vs. darkness looks like it will culminate in DA4.

It is said Elgar’nan threw down his father, the sun, into the abyss. Lusacan, the dragon of night, has yet to rise. And Drakon’s prophecy foretells the return of the Maker where light overcomes darkness.

And those who slept, the ancient ones, awoke, For their dreams had been devoured By a demon that prowled the Fade As a wolf hunts a herd of deer. Taking first the weakest and frailest of hopes, And when there was nothing left, Destroying the bright and bold By subtlety and ambush and cruel arts.

I feel like this describes a lot of Solas’ own modus operandi and it’s kinda creepy how this aligns with the evanuris’ propaganda on him in Trespasser.

Beware the forms of Fen'Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison.

This is why I wonder a lot about the treachery of the wolf, and how it could be so accurate in describing the events of the Inquisition. Like, has he pulled his Solas act on the evanuris in the past???? And in what manner?

Drakon’s prophecy also describes the return of the ‘Maker’. I seriously doubt Bioware will go anywhere near defining who or what the Maker actually is, but revealing the light trapped within the Black City seems to be important in overcoming the darkness.

In dread I looked up once more And saw the darkness warp and crumble, For it was thin as samite, A fragile shroud over the Light Which turned it to ash.

Remember in DAI, the creepy chantry lady following us around in the Hissing Wastes?

In the absence of light, shadows thrive.

I’ve long thought Arlathan was built around the heart of a titan. Perhaps by using Arlathan as a quarantine zone for the blight, Solas inadvertently allowed red lyrium to thrive by sundering the titan into two, trapping light in darkness. 

By releasing the light and restoring equilibrium of both light and darkness within the titan, perhaps the titan (and its children, the dwarves) will be free to repair some of the damage the blight did to the world. 

The Stone has a will that surrounds and directs; she guides even when we are willfully blind to her influence. But she is not pure. The Stone bears a corruption as old as balance.

Anyway these are just some thoughts I’ve had about the artwork now I’ve had a proper chance to look at it. I have a lot more things I could write about but I’ll save all that drabble for separate posts.

I mean, I just have so many questions. Who are those elven figures? Is Minrathous built on top of Arlathan? Is the archon up to something dodgy? What are those wavy lines? Are the executors associated with Ghilan’nain? Ahh I have so many ideas. 😂

[abizarreyodelingincident]

LU: The Sacred Beast (for a farmer)

The Sacred Beast (for a farmer)

His skin was burning.

Black particles floated up from the ground, toward a sky an unnatural shade of dusk. Spots danced before his eyes. He couldn’t… 

Illia. The kids. He… he had to stand. 

His bones shifted. 

Link blinked away tears. 

His groans of pain echoed through the air and in his head. Where was the monster? He… he had to get away from the monster before he passed out. 

The back of his hand flared, and set the rest of him on fire. Pain took over his mind, blinding him to everything but itself. He knew that something had changed in him, but as his suffering receded, so did his strength. 

Darkness claimed him, leaving him only with the knowledge of his body changed by the magic of the monsters. The last sensation he registered was that of his nails -- hard, split -- hitting a mount of dirt in the path. 

***

“Get that beast out of here!”

It took six guards pushing with all their mights, but they managed to throw Link off his hooves. The poor adventurer headbutted the stone rails leading to the South gates. He shook his head, more annoyed than hurt by the impact. On the other hand, the stone rail had crumbled. When he narrowed his eyes back at the guards, they clearly gulped.

Now, if only they'd just let him through already.

Not for the first time, Link really wished he would have been cursed into a more intimidating form. Maybe a big dog or a wolf would have been better. He certainly wouldn't have been dragged out of town by the horns, at least. Link entertained the image of those damned guards cowering before a mighty wolf before shaking his head. Daydreams wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

***

Link tilted his head as he pushed an ear against the singing stone. Some animal instinct of his couldn't help notice the otherworldly cold around it, nor the faint voices whispering through its ritualistic structure. Notes, howled to a moonless day. And fainter still, an invitation. Suddenly, he knew what he was meant to do. That didn’t help much. 

How in Farore's name was he meant to play those melodies in this form?!

Oh boy...

Link glanced around for a bit, partly out of heroism, partly out of embarrassment. He couldn't let anyone lose their hearing from what would happen next. Maybe that skull kid would, and he guessed that'd be punishment enough for the puppetry attacks. Seemed a fair trade in retrospect.

“Well?” Midna asked, scratching her vibrant flame-red hair. “Any clues, farm boy?”

He shot her a grim look, then cleared his throat. It came out shaky, and off-key.

Her shadowed form went still. “Oh no, farm boy. You are not braying that. I can't block my ears in this form. I'm not even corporal!”

Link resolutely ignored the ghostly jab in his ribs. Alright. Alright, the notes. He had to hit the right notes, correct?

Seconds later, the skull kid fled the Lost Woods, dozens of horrified critters running past him with their ears covered in whatever way they could manage.

***

The realm of the dead shifted to accommodate two beasts, sacred, a chasm away and yet less than a stride apart. Below, Hyrule Castle was witness to the impossible meeting between ancestor and descendant, proud chosen of the Goddesses and legends of grand tales.

The last notes faded away, a sense of serenity cloaking the world as both lowered their heads.

The Golden Wolf did a double take.

“... Why are you... Shouldn't you be a wolf?”

Link pawed at the ground and aimed his horns.

The Golden Wolf cringed. “Huh, right, right, sorry. I suppose I expected my descendant to be a wolf too… not that it's wrong to be something else! At all! It's just that the goddesses spoke of the Sacred Beast, and then my spirit took this form and… you know what? Let's just get to sword training, son.”

***

“A Sacred Beast to counter a Dark Beast. Giddy up, Link. We're in need of your horns again,” Midna said from his shadow.

Link didn't groan.

He had long since learned to channel his rage into rearing hindlegs and a skullbash strong enough to decapitate a bulblin. He let the shadows engulf him, took in the comforting weight of Midna on his back, then pawed in challenge before the glowing glyphs.

Beast Ganon was very surprised, a moment later, when his mad rampaging got cut short when he slammed himself face first into a snarling goat that didn't move an inch.

His tusk broke though. 

***

Link jumped at the sound of skittering pebbles. Ever since the old king had told him he was destined to save Hyrule from the Calamity, he'd been fearing failing a second time. It felt like the second he would relax, the whole world would collapse on top of him. Anything and everything that could threaten his mission would.

He'd startled himself awake every night since the revelation. Berated himself for resting, for letting himself be vulnerable in the open where any random monster, or even ill-intentioned traveler could kill him without a fight.

He couldn't fail.

He stumbled as his foot hit a root on the path, his body suddenly heavy and his sight blurry. He straightened up against the rocky side of the cliff. No. He had to stay alert. He couldn't let down his guard. Even if his eyelids weighed more than a talus.

The noise came from above him.

Link scrambled out of the way.

The creature that trotted down the slopes of the cliffside stood about as tall as a horse, and the pair of long, linked horns only added to the height. It also had hooves, but... broken or something. Link wasn't intimidated – he'd dealt with scarier – but he kept his arrow notched just in case it turned out territorial. The last horned animal he'd gone too close to had chased him up a tree. Stupid horned thing!

This one though... it brayed softly, almost comfortingly. Link blinked. Did wild beasts do that? Without thinking, he put his bow away and reached very slowly.

It did not snap teeth at him.

Did not startle away, fleeing like they could see all his failures.

His hand met warm coarse fur, and his breath hitched.

The animal nipped his sleeves, not hard enough to even dent the fabric, and knelt. Then tilted its head.

“You… want… climb?” he pushed out, struggling to find the proper words. “Me... on you?”

It nodded. Could it understand the hylian language? Maybe his hand gestures? Every other animal so far had fled from him the second they heard him coming. The only ones that didn't were the little four legged ones that barked when he got close to a stable. Tame. Right, that was the word.

He stared some more at the animal. It reminded him of... Gasping, he pulled out his Sheikah slate and swiped through the compendium. Goat! That was it. This animal looked a bit like a goat. Bulkier, and its horns weren't right, but the fur and the body was way too similar for it not to be a goat too.

Link grinned at the animal. “Goatie. You're a Goatie.”

It did the face some Hylians made when he was proud of remembering something they said was obvious. Wild almost cringed, but a burst of noise stole his attention, and he whirled around, rusty sword in hand.

“Haha, die, Hero!” some Yiga assassin crooned as it appeared in a blast of red magic and paper talismans. “Ganon's takeover will not be sto-GAH!”

The goat had rammed straight into the assassin's chest and sent them flying. As circumstances or Hylia had willed it, it just so happened that the Yiga had laid their ambush between a cliff and a hill. Whilst the goat hadn't hit them past the cliff's edge, it had indeed thrown the assassin down the hill, where they started to roll. Cursing. Hitting trees, bushes and unfortunate foxes all the way down to a small stream. Where a handful of lizalfos nested. Yikes. That looked painful.

The goat snorted, then turned up its nose at the poor Yiga.

With vivid blue eyes the same shade as his, the goat gestured for Link to get on its back. This time, he did not hesitate.

Horses were fun, Wild decided right there and then, but Goatie was so much better.

***

“Whoa! What's that thing?” Sky jumped to his feet, nervously eying the horned beast that had calmly trotted out of the bushes.

Amongst those that had drawn their swords, only Wind and Hyrule didn't sheath them back immediately upon recognition.

“Sky,” Legend deadpanned, “that's a goat. A farm animal. Not a bloodthirsty predator.”

Blushing faintly, Sky apologized, putting his sword away. “Right. I... I never saw one of these before.”

Time quickly pat him on the back, never letting the goat out of his sight. “Better be more cautious than not. Especially since farm animals can be quite dangerous in their own right. A well-placed kick from a cow or a horse will send you to the healer just as quickly as a bite from a wolfos. That goat's horns are... larger than I'm used to.”

“Yeah, I admit, I've never met that breed before. Anyone?” Legend swept the camp with his gaze.

Most shook their heads, but Warriors put a hand to his chin. “I swear I've seen one like this before.”

Even the goat looked nonplussed at that.

“Really?” Wind asked, glancing between the animal and his big brother. “You know how to tame one.”

The goat pawed the ground.

“No, no, it was during the War of Eras, and I had to jump through timelines a lot during that time period. It's not native to my Hyrule, but it's from one of yours.”

Hyrule piped up. “Maybe it's from Twilight's world? Too bad he's gone scouting.”

Wild finally blinked himself out of his daze. “That's… that's my friend. Helped me save Hyrule and everything.”

Four stared. “A goat helped you defeat Ganon?”

Wild scratched his cheek, willing himself not to remember the loneliness, the void opening up inside him as he realized his friend couldn't accompany him to the very end. The solemn look, that last nuzzle before he had to face his destiny inside the ruins of Hyrule's old heart. The tearing sound of black particles as they shot toward the sky, and nothing was left behind him...

Wild gulped. “Okay, not specifically Ganon, but I'm not sure I would have survived on my own without his help.” With a shaking smile, he knelt by Goatie and ran a hand behind his ears. His old friend gently nipped his fringe. “I can't tell you how many Yiga imposters this big fella headbutted straight off a cliff.”

Hyrule's hands stopped just inches away from the goat's fur. His legs tensed up, as if he was getting ready to dodge when he was a threat. The goat only turned placid blue eyes at him, as if to tell him 'you see a cliff somewhere?'

Hyrule's own gaze replied with 'I see your horns' which was fair enough, really.

***

Four froze on top of the stump. Wow. He thought he was observant, but that one had blindsided him. No wonder Wild and Twilight were so close. That explained a whole lot, including many things he now realized were quite humorous.

“... Alright, Twi, this'll be our little secret, but... can I just say that your eyes still freak me out? Especially from this far below?”

“Why do you think I stare at the Pretty Boy so often?”

“... Think you can teach me this power?”

***

“I swear, if this animal tries to munch on my clothes, I won't be held responsible for what happens next.”

The passive, square pupils would haunt Warriors' next nightmare.

They also involved cliffs.

***

“No wonder he doesn’t want to tell the others. Can you imagine the Captain’s reaction?”

“It’s not just that.”

“It’s a factor though,” Wild said. 

Time gave them both flat looks. “More importantly, he’s worried about their reaction to the magic he’s using.”

Four raised an eyebrow. “Why? What magic is he using?”

Time’s reply was suspiciously fast. “No clue, but that’s his secret to tell. Remember that.”

He was quick to leave, a bit too quick. Four might need to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime though, he showed Wild a smirk. 

“... I still think he’s a bit shy about his beast form.”

Wild snorted. 

***

“So, you've noticed how the old man is always calling Twilight 'kid', right?”

Wild raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Yeah, and? Time's an old man. We're all green boys to him, that's all.”

“-except,” Legend jumped in, sharp, “he only calls Twilight 'kid'. Not you, or the little pirate or our resident smithy or, heaven forbids, me. Only our farmhand, who is coincidentally the second oldest with Warriors here.”

Wild discreetly looked for an exit, and to his despair, found none.

Warriors placed a hand over Wild's shoulder. “Look, it's obvious those two have a close bond. He's taking Twilight under his wing, showing him the ropes, having secret meetings. Not to mention the way Malon always had a soft look for him at the ranch.”

Okay, he didn't know what was going on there, but he also had a feeling he was going to hate everything that would come out of Legend's and Warriors' mouths. Tension was locking his muscles into places even as he tried to figure out an escape plan before he was subjected to an interrogation that would end up with Twilight's secret being revealed. He really didn't want to see Twilight's reaction to being betrayed so.

“Here's what we figured out. Time is Twilight's father. They just don't want to admit it so that our teamwork is not affected.”

Wild screamed on the inside.

“And you might be thinking that Twilight's too old to be his son, but consider this: time travel. Twilight is Time's kid from his future and they're both aware of it, so it's why Twilight looks up to him so much, even if they were a bit hesitant at first.”

Mental-Wild screamed louder.

“You... ”

“Don't even try. Twilight grew up on a ranch. He told us his dad taught him swordplay, and you can't ignore how similar their technique with a blade is.”

… Alright, that last one was a pretty good question. If Twilight was separated from Time by a good few generations, how in the world did they have this kind of technique? “He told me he's adopted.”

Warriors rolled his eyes and became instantly more punchable. “A weak deflection, Wild. The evidence doesn't lie.”

Legend stared a few seconds longer, then smirked. “No, no, Warriors, it's okay. I get it. Twilight and him are pretty close too. I'm sure they share a few secrets too. It's only natural. Wild can't deny or confirm anything, right?”

“No, I'm telling you he's not-”

Legend patted him on the shoulder, and was lucky Wild didn't smack him. “We understand.” Legend smugly ruffled his hair.

Seriously, Twilight better appreciate how much effort it was to keep this secret from the others!

***

Warriors threw his hands in the air. “Okay, there's no way Goatie following us is a coincidence. We're in the middle of the desert! There's no food to graze here!”

“I'm telling you,” Wild groaned. “He's the Sacred Beast, sent by the goddesses in Hyrule's time of need.”

Hyrule looked away from the ruins' carving he was trying to decipher. “Huh?”

“The Kingdom!”

“Wild, your pet goat is great and all... ” Legend carefully slid behind Time and away from the large farm animal, eyes wary. “But you don't have to pretend it's a goddesses-given gift just to keep him around. Nayru knows I've had my share of non-divine, regular animal companions too. And they talked.”

Hyrule and Wind perked up. “Oh, really?” the little pirate asked.

Legend launched himself into a succinct if entertaining description of the time he snuggled inside a kangaroo's pouch in order to jump over ravines and hidden caves. Goatie watched from the other side of the campfire, poking Warriors whenever the soldier seemed to doze off.

***

“Twilight!” Wild shouted, scrambling through his slate to summon up a bow and arrow.

Stupid world hopping. Stupid sunny day. They'd landed in one of Akkala's grassy fields, and it had seemed safe. He'd catalogued the location of the worst of Ganon's minions all over the slate, and there really shouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary here of all places. He'd told the others as much. They hadn't completely relaxed, but they hadn't been prepared either for a lynel straight up rampaging into their camp.

Nor for the small horde of lesser creatures flanking it.

At some point, the lynel had managed to corner his big brother alone by the edge of a cliff, the remaining creatures forming a wall between them. Then a club swing had ripped the Ordon Sword out of Twilight's grip, and Wild's heart had sunken lower than his stomach.

He had to save him!

Wild weaved between a pair of lizalfos that Sky and Warriors ran through the next second, ducked under a moblin's foot that was burned to a crisp right after and slid with his bow at the ready. The lynel had picked up Twilight in one of its enormous paws and lifted him off the ground as if he didn't weigh thrice as much as Four.

Heat and light flared at the back of the lynel's throat.

He wouldn't make it.

“No!”

Twilight grabbed the sides of the lynel's head with both hands.

Even the monster paused, too surprised to react.

Wild winced preemptively.

Twilight slammed his forehead against the lynel's skull.

The impact rang like a bell. 

The lynel collapsed.

Twilight landed with a dull thud on top of the beast's massive arms, and they could only rush forward in an attempt to help him away before it stood back up. Other monsters scampered, horrified at their leader being downed in one blow. Yet, as the Links were but a few body lengths away, the lynel's eyes flickered open, fangs glimmering with the flames licking the back of its throat.

With a barely human howl, Twilight grabbed the sides of the lynel's head again. It whimpered. 

The Links all stopped right in their tracks to cringe preemptively. Someone, likely Wind, muttered “Oh shit.”

The resounding crack of bones sent a shiver down their spines.

The lynel's chin dug three inches into solid ground. Its eyes rolled back into its skull, and its tongue lolled out onto its beard. It wasn't getting up again.

Twilight staggered away, glaring a storm at the retreating monsters. “And fracking stay the goshesses away from my herd!” he slurred at them with a shaky fist.

“So,” Legend began, as shell shocked as a pale Warriors, “remember when you described Twi as having a head as hard as a goron's teeth?”

Warriors mutely nodded.

“Turns out that was an understatement.”

***

Legend subtly put his magic mirror to the side, pretending he hadn't seen a pretty interesting reflection moments earlier. With faux nonchalance, he picked up Twilight's hawk mask. The effect on his sight was worth experimenting, but it was the appearance it gave that Legend sought.

“You know, this kind of reminds me,” he started, watching his fellow hero for his reactions. “In a faraway kingdom, it is traditional to don masks in the likeness of beasts to honor the survival of those that became one in the dark world.”

Twilight, to his credit, appeared entirely guileless. “Huh, and here I heard you became a phantom, unable to interact with anyone else, never to realize you've become lost.”

Well, he had the 'helpless' part right. But Legend wouldn't let that little game distract him. So, Twilight didn't want to come out and say it outright?

“What kind of beast would you want to be?”

Twilight didn't even hesitate. “A wolf, obviously.”

Four choked on his saliva.

Awkward silence fell on top of the clearing as three out of the four heroes exchanged baffled looks, before two of that same number decided that Twilight, apparently, couldn't lie to save his life.

“OBVIOUSLY!” Wild screeched.

Beads of nervous sweat rolled on the sides of Four's face as he nodded. “Y-yeah, I mean, it's kind of the logical choice for Twilight. I can't believe you don't see it.”

Wild frantically rushed to Twilight's side and gestured to his pelt and hood. “He's so wolf-like! With his... goat pelt... and goat head hood.”

“Preys!” Four jumped to his feet, struck by frankly divine inspiration. “Preys he took down like a wolf!”

Cool as a cucumber, Twilight grabbed his little brother by the shoulder and pulled him closer. There was something in his expression, something sharper, and perhaps even a bit feral. It glinted in the flash of teeth he showed, before the grin softened. “See? They agree with me.”

Legend stared, his neutral expression hiding the surge of disgust that had flowed through him at the idea that they considered this a convincing argument. The sheer insult that they thought he bought that. At least, their reactions pretty much gave away that they knew about Twilight's caprine form.

His smile intact, Twilight extricated himself from the other two's grip, ruffling their hair as he went. “Well, that was a fun thought, but I think I ought to scout for a bit, lest we get ambushed by monsters in our downtime.”

And with that, he left, shameless. Legend felt a vein pulse on his forehead as he noticed the goat emblem painted on Twilight's shield. His mind became torn between a massive groan of exasperation and crippling shame that he hadn't made the connection before. Had anyone else ever met a goat just like Goatie?

Four and Wild eyed him nervously. But the second Legend tried to hold their gaze, they decided that they really, really needed to get back to brainstorming the forging of a weapon for Wild. Good luck with that, he thought, idiots.

Mere moments later, Legend found Twilight leaning against a tree, shaking all over from silent laughter. He was clutching his ribs, whimpering as he bit down on his knuckles not to explode.

Oh.

Teary eyed, with a massive grin on his face, Twilight breathed out a long sigh of relief. “Did you see their faces?”

Legend blinked. Apparently, Twilight couldn't lie to save his life, but he could play others around him like cheap grass whistles.

Despite himself, Legend said: “I'm impressed.”

“I really shouldn't... ” Twilight admitted with a sly grin. “But you don't know joy until you've forced Wild to try and cover up for you. Even though he constantly needs someone to do it for him, he's just so bad at it.”

Legend smirked. “And here I thought you were a stick in the mud. Turns out under that exterior of a solemn, serious young man hides a troublemaker with a good poker face. What would our dear leader say?”

For a second, Twilight eyed him as if he had sprouted a second head and started dancing. Then, he snorted and patted his shoulder. “Veteran, you should see what the Old Man's capable of.”

Mildly disturbed, Legend found himself grateful when one of Wind's bokoblin jumped out of the foliage and attempted to assassinate them. It was a welcome distraction from a much scarier prospect. The short-lived attack also led him to discover the source of Twilight's shapeshifting.

The cursed stone lit up with orange lines, inches away from Twilight's eyes. “Yep, that's how I do it. During my adventures, I needed a bit of help, but now I can control it myself. Still pretty dangerous for someone else though.”

“So, you use dark magic... to turn into a goat.”

“Pretty much. What about it?”

“Nothing. I just needed to say it out loud.”

Twilight pondered, then shrugged. “I suppose that's fair. Now, I really do need to scout our surroundings if there are bokoblins lying in wait like this. You're coming?”

With a nod, Legend followed in his footsteps. He hadn't thought he shared too many points in common with Twilight, but apparently, his companion was full of surprises. It made him wonder what else there might be under that plain, good country boy façade... Eh, he supposed he would find out eventually.

“By the way, dark magic turns me into a pink bunny.”

“No way.”

BONUS

Ordon saw the serenity of its pre-harvest morning suddenly destroyed by high-pitched screaming.

“I told you he's not Time's time-traveling son from the future! See? This looks nothing like Lon Lon Ranch! It's not even in the right spot on the map!”

Legend shrugged, leaning against the goats' enclosure. One of said animals trotted a bit closer, and Legend briefly pondered if Twilight would use cursed artefacts for the sole purpose of getting the jump on one of them. In the end, it was seeing said farmer, in all his inglorious bumpkin garments that actually convinced him that the goat sniffing at his sleeves was just a goat.

“There were a lot of correlating details. Twilight being Time's son would have explained a lot.”

Twilight's subsequent pause and shrug were entirely too innocent. “Well, I am adopted and no one knows who my blood parents are, so I guess it's possible...”

“OH COME ON!”

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 31) Favorite pet

.-.-.

Things changed again in Castle de Haar; this time in the crippled slave’s favor. For this morning, it was not the Giant stomping into the shed, no, it was Duna the Brunette who was holding up Ivar’s keys. 

Ivar’s duties held more of a feminine touch, as yesterday he was brought up one hundred and twenty-four steps into the linen room, where a large collection of tangled bowls of wool awaited him. 

His large, calloused hands were not made for the finer arts. That, and being subjected to the gaze of three young women, was a form of torture Ivar had not lived through before. 

This mischievous sisterhood of three giggling, eyelash batting women made Ivar nearly wish the Giant would throw him out of the nearest tower. Was it possible to catch a fever from blushing alone? Because his face was on fire from the moment he crawled back onto the pile of blankets. 

Being their timid, awkward lapdog did have its perks, however. The food was undoubtedly the best he’d received since his arrival in castle de Haar. Although he did his best to contain himself, he wolfed down the entire content of his plate and finished before either of the three women started. His face must have looked like a stuffed chicken, cheeks still full, while trying to swallow.

The two linen maiden cackled at the way Ivar had to punch himself on the chest to prevent himself from choking on a chunk of bread. The fair-maiden, Mabelia, threw a well-meaning glare at the pair and held out a silver cup of wine for Ivar. 

Gulping down the content, Ivar could not help but to feel completely out of place. He was this dirty, vile shadow of filth in the midst of proper, serene creatures, that for reasons unknown wanted him around. 

There was something brewing between the three young women, that was evident. Ivar had a sixth sense when it came to others talking about him. After lunch the blonde, Badelog, disappeared and returned with a bowl of hot water and a small, sharp knife. 

As Badelog strode up to Ivar, turning the smooth handle in her hands, his face fell and he wondered if she was going to stab it into his back literally, as the three had already done so figuratively.

Luckily for Ivar, his mind still held some control over his body. Instead of slitting his throat, the blonde dabbed his chin and jawline with a cloth drenched with hot water. 

Ivar lost all forms of masculinity and embraced the warm touch of Badelog’s hands. Tilting his head upwards like a good little lap dog he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly as the cold touch of her blade pressed against the skin of his cheek. Receiving the first proper shave within a year, Ivar’s shoulders slumped back against the wall and he submitted to the tender care of Badelog.  

The three young women narrowly inspected every inch of Ivar’s chin, jawline and lips before fully approving Badelog’s work. With arms crossed, they nodded in agreement and spoke in delighted, fluttery cheers. 

Ivar still contemplated jumping from the castle, and he blessed the Gods for the fact that his older brothers were far, far away from de Haar. 

The clean shave did feel incredible though; it gave him a feeling of clarity he hadn’t felt for a very long time. 

The pampering wasn’t over yet. Duna took hold of a lock of his greasy hair and held it up between her thumb and index finger. She muttered something and both of the other woman nodded in agreement. 

A pair of scissors appeared in view and Ivar was just in time to pull his hair from Duna’s fingers. 

“No!” He spoke resolutely, “no”, and he tugged his long hair behind his ears. 

For some reason, the three young women thought his action was both funny and endearing. Their high pitched gasps made Ivar’s face sear so vibrantly it could warm up the sun. 

Focusing on the tips of his toes, Ivar wished the young women would continue their work so he would no longer be the centre of their focus. This small favour was granted, and Ivar managed to breath again. Cautious, he rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin of his jawline. He knew it brought out his boyish features, sending him back a few steps into boyhood. 

Ivar never considered himself handsome, nor beautiful. The heads he did manage to turn in Kattegat had always been because of his disability. He was a cripple and he did not expect anyone to look past that hideous default. 

So, maybe if he’d taken the trouble to learn a little bit of basic Dietsch, and would have been brave enough to peek up, Ivar would have noticed how the three young women were slightly enchanted by the presence of the cripple of de Haar. 

The extraordinary stranger, who’d stood up for the black skinned slave against Ludolf and taken a horrendous flogging for it. No, those three young women hadn’t forgotten his bravery, for all three of them were subjected to the twisted cravings of the young ruler. 

It was hard not to be drawn to this hero; with long, tousled, dark brown hair. His eyes, a mesmerizing deep blue like the ocean. With strong hands, rough from working, and with skin kissed by the spring sun. 

A handsome hero, a survivor of a death sentence; it would be hard for any woman to ignore those facts or features.  

.-.-.

Piglet did not speak a word about Ivar’s refreshed appearance. She did not speak a word at all, but her disapproval was evident. Utstott sided with her, quite literally. The slave and the puffy white raven were united in their disdain  toward Ivar siding with the Christians, forming a bond. 

Utstott sat on top of Piglet’s bandana, cawing raucously at Ivar when he tried to pet the bird. Utstott hopped from Piglet’s head to her shoulder, receiving a few pieces of veiny beef from the young woman. It was the only meat of that evening’s meal and Piglet gave it to the bird instead of sharing it with Ivar. As she fed the bird her eyes were scorching and smoldering, daring him to say something about it. 

Ivar cut his losses and ignored the flaring dark eyes and the beady blue one. He’d eaten like a King in the midst of Duna, Badelog and Mabelia. Surely he’d survive the night with this meager meal. 

“They call me teer kind, tar child”, Piglet announced as she picked up their plates, “your two new well-wishers”, she continued when Ivar raised his chin in her direction, “pulled my headscarf off and ran off laughing”, she gave half a shrug and straightened her back, “I’d rather crawl over hot coals then show any man my hair”, she paused and picked up the last plate, “and the wife of Ludolf, she’ll break soon. She won’t last long.” 

Ivar couldn’t decide if Piglet’s last words were meant as a threat or a promise. He didn’t respond to her spiteful words. His lack of reaction only flared up Piglet’s resentment and the young woman spat in his direction, positioning herself in the furthest corner of his box to spend the night. Her attitude over Ivar’s improved way of work did strike him below the belt. In her eyes he betrayed her, but in all honesty, he had no control over the orders he received. Sure, today’s labour was hardly enough to call work, but it wasn’t like he wanted to spend an whole day with the three young women. At least, that was what he was whole-heartedly telling himself. That he did not have a choice, that of course, he hated slaving for the Christians. It was easier believing that lie, instead of facing the fact that he deeply wished that tomorrow, he’d have to crawl up those endless stairs again. 

.-.-. 

Ivar’s place as favorite pet was short term. The next morning Duna did come to unshackle his chains, but instead of climbing a hundred and twenty four steps, he was sent into the kitchen. Duna’s expression had been blank as she pressed a knife and bowl into his hands. 

Anxious, Ivar started his task of peeling potatoes, occasionally glancing at the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair-maiden. 

In the evening Piglet’s resentful mood lessened for a bit, they played their game and to keep the atmosphere bearable for the rest of the night Ivar did not ask anything about the fair-maiden or the linen maidens. Utstott still bore an attitude towards Ivar, but allowed him to pet it’s growing feathers as a token of peace. The raven had found itself a place during the night on top of Ivar’s box and kept it’s one functioning eye open. For some reason it was quite reassuring to have the bird keeping watch at night, it allowed Ivar to relax and actually catch a good night sleep. 

A few days passed and Ivar dreaded the familiar boredom of mindless tasks inside the kitchen. He met the linen maidens occasionally, tried to respectfully smile at them, but didn’t dare to approach them. He wasn’t sure if that might be a sign of crossing boundaries and under the watchful eyes of Big Cunt and Little Cunt, every move was registered. He knew the linen maidens were also one of the lower residences of De Haar, yet he still remained at the bottom, last in rank. 

Both the young women seemed hesitant to even acknowledge his presence and ignored him, without the fair maiden’s protection as future ruler, they chose to linger on the safe side. Which meant far away from Ivar; the scapegoat of the Giant. 

The absence of the fair maiden made the brute crawl out of his hole, which of course meant Ivar was quickly pulled from the kitchen and placed back aside the well. Cleaning chamber pots.

“Rumor has it,” Piglet spat coldly, sitting on the stone wall of the well she’d brought Ivar a chunk of bread, “that she’s with child.” 

She did not need to be specific in her revelation, and both remained silent for a while. 

Once more, conflict began to swell inside Ivar’s ribcage. It was a fight between Viking and Slave. His pride and heritage forbid it to feel any sliver of sympathy for the young woman bound to bear a child of a monstrous husband. 

Yet the crippled slave still savoured the memory of her lips pressed against his, it didn’t matter that it had only lasted for a mere moment. Her kindness confused him, yet intrigued him immensely. She wanted something of him, hope, above anything. And although the guilt ripped him to pieces, he wanted to be near her. Even if it was as a humiliated lapdog. Because in a way, Mabelia made him feel less damaged. On the contrary, there was an odd sense of worship in her gaze, every time their eyes met. She truly believed that he was de Martelaar, favoured by her God. 

Maybe that was another thing that tore him up inside; her high expectation. She must have known why Ivar was being punished with forty lashes. He’d drawn her husband’s blood to protect Piglet and he knew she longed for him to save her virtue too. 

And he failed her, dreadfully. 

“She won’t last long,” Piglet whispered thoughtlessly, picking at the moss covered wall of the well, “she won’t last long.” 

.-.-.

A/N: So what I liked about tv Ivar is that he can be 100% ruthless, barbaric, a tyrant, the worst of the worst. Yet at the same time, place a woman in the same room and he turns into this awkward teenage boy. Humbled by the mere sight of a woman of his interest. Remember the first moment with Freydis? He just victored over York, poured boiling gold into the mouth of a priest. Worst of the worst, evil, demonic. And then watch how he sort of melts for simply being kissed. Sorta -am I worthy?- So yes, that’s a part I kind of wanted to explore a little further in Changing Course. His reaction to kindness, women of his peers, the confliction of liking them versus being a Viking. Versus being Piglet’s companion. I’d love to hear your thoughts about my A/N and about the chapter of course. 

Xoxoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys ​ @shannygoatgruff​ @pieces-by-me​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa​ @readsalot73​ @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[afaimsarrowverse]

Arrowverse Update 2021:

I am doing one more of those before the new Seasons are rolling in, because we got major news about one project and some more bits about everything else, so… let’s start with the bad news and then continue with the rest:

 Green Arrow and the Canaries

 Is officially dead. It is currently unknown if and how we are going to get a resolution of the cliffhangar from the Backdoor-Pilot and its other open plot-threads. Yes, we were promised that all of this would get resolved somwhere else, if the show would not get picked up, however that was one year ago. Since then a lot has changed.

The main problem is that the project was just buried a couple of days ago, meaning that there is no chance for anything of this to be resolved in this TV-Season, which is already completly planned through for all the Arrowverse-Shows (and even half filmed already in some cases). The other problem is that a good portion of the people responsible for „Green Arrow and the Canaries“ is not a part of the current Arrwoverse anylonger. Yes, Marc Guggenheim could come back just to do a Crossover that resolves all that is still open, but why would The CW want its next Crossover Event to revolve around a never picked up show? There would have to be something else in that Crossover Event, provided one of those could even happen any time soon. As for doing just a singular episode the problem is where. The shows with ties to „Green Arrow and the Canaries“ might not be around any more or be in their final season by the time such an episode could be made, and all of the shows might again get shortened seasons, so the producers are going to have other priorties for their own shows in the next year.

So we might not get a resolution to „Green Arrow and the Canaries“ at all. On Televison that is. There is the alternate route though: A Comic Continuation.

As of now however it’s way to early to know anything for sure though. They are looking into it, but as I said, things are a lot more complicated right now, then they were a year ago.

Batwoman

 Season two is rolling around in a few days, therefor they released a new accurate synopsis and The CW has been and is still putting out a lot of promo material. You can watch most of it on Youtube.

A couple of days after I wrote my last one of these, it was reported that Christina Wolfe will be part of the main cast this season. In other news, we also were told that we will get yet another version of Victor Zsasz. The Arrowverse-Version will be played by Alex Morf.

Also David Ramsey will guest star as John Diggle and also direct an episode (but probably not the same one). And yes, this might be the Crossover Episode. However is has to be said that is has become awfully quite around that illusive „Batwoman“/“Superman&Lois“-Crossover. Given the news about David Ramsey being in all shows, it might have been replaced by a Diggle-Storyline that goes through all the shows including „Batwoman“. We will have to wait and see.

The Season opener will go into Kate Kane’s fate (without her being in it though) and Gotham will have to confront the False Face Society and new drug called Snakebite in the opening episodes. The tone of the new Season might be drastically different from before, there are hints for that, and I am not speaking about BLM instead of LGBT-issues. The words „goofy“ and „fun“ are kind of present, if you know what I mean, however this could just be promotion.

 As for the episodes:

 2.01 „Whatever happend to Kate Kane?“ (Directed by: Holly Dale, Written by: Caroline Dries, Airdate: January 17 2021)

 2.02 „Prior Criminal History“ (Written by: James Stoteraux & Chad Fiveash)

 2.03 „Bat Girl Magic“

 2.04 „Fair Skin, Blue Eyes“ (Directed by: Menhaj Huda, Written by: Ebony Gilbert)

 2.05 „Gore on Canvas“

Black Lightning

 Everyone is still very tighlipped about the final Season of „Black Lightning“. So I have nothing new, apart from titles (which are in line with the previous seasons and therefore not telling us anything, if we are honest):

 4.01 „The Book of Reconstruction: Chapter One“ (Airdate: February 8 2021)

 4.02 „The Book of Reconstruction: Chapter Two“

 4.03. „The Book of Reconstruction: Chapter Three“

 4.04 „The Book of Reconstrucion: Chapter Four“

 4.05 „The Book of Ruin: Chapter One“

 4.06.

 4.07 „Painkiller“-Backdoorpilot

The Flash

 So, yes, someone on the Production Team was tested posivite, and they had to shut down the production for a short period of time because of this, but it remained a pretty isolated case (or so it seems) and the production did resume. To make up for the lost time the Christmas Break was shortend, and they are back to filming already, so no need to worry, everthing is on schedule.

This season will see the return of John Diggle to Central City. David Ramsey will also direct an episode (but probably not the same one). We will also see the return of the Meta-Human Task Force, which will clash with Frost. This storyline will also involve Joe. Eric Wallace has hinted before that there will be a storyline involving the police and abuse of power with Joe in it, and I did assume it would be BLM-storyline, however this is „The Flash“, so this storyline might be what he talked about instead, and we might get a Meta-Human are being hunted and abused-Storyline as a substiute.

 As for the first couple of episodes:

 7.01 „All’s Wells that Ends Wells“ (Airdate: Feburary 23 2021)

 7.02. „The Speed of Thought“ (Airdate: March 2 2021)

 7.03 „Mother“ (Airdate: March 9 2021)

 7.04 „Central City Strong“( Airdate: March 16 2021)

 7.05 „Fear Me“ (Airdate: March 23 2021)

Superman & Lois

 The new Morgan Edge is in and it will be Adam Rayner, who will inherit the role from Adrian Pasdar. We also learned that Joselyn Picard will play the other Cushing-Lang-Daughter Sophie. Reporters we will get to meet on the show not only include Ron Troupe but also Chrissy Beppp played by Sofia Hasmik, while Leslie Larr played by Stacey Farber will be a cold former idealist, probably tied to Morgan Edge, and presumable an antagonist.

David Ramsey will guest star as John Diggle somewhen this season and will direct an episode as well. He will make his way through most of the shows (as Diggle) and might be the Crossover-Factor of this season. Even though the „Batwoman“/“Superman & Lois“-Crossover is not officially of the table, we haven’t heard anything about it in a while, so maybe this actually is it.

We got a proper look at the new suit and also the first real trailer, which is … unusal. More artsy then revealing, but is around one and a half months until the season starts, so there will be another trailer coming out soon.

 The first couple of episodes:

 1.01  Pilot (Directed by: Lee Toland Krieger, Written by: Greg Berlanti, Todd Helbing, Airdate: February 23 2021)

 1.02  „Heritage“ (Airdate: March 2 2021)

 1.03  „The Perks of Not Being a Wallflower“ (Airdate: March 9 2021)

 1.04. „Haywire“ (Directed by: James Bamford, Airdate: March 16 2021)

 1.05 „The Beacon“ (Airdate: March 23 2021)

Legends of Tomorrow

 Aliyah O’Brien will guest star as Kayla a fearsome deadly alien warrior in this season, who won’t be to happy about the Legends, because she is a pro, and they are …. well … the Legends. David Ramsey will also guest star this season, however he won’t be playing John Diggle, but another role instead. Who or what this other role will be remains a mystery. He could play Diggles ancenstor or descendant, if time travel is still an element in Season 6, or a shape shifting alien or an illusion, however they could also go full prosthetics and have him playing a character with no connection to Diggle at all.

David Ramsey will also direct an episode this season. Caity Lotz did already direct an episode, Episode 5, and given that she tweeted about the strain of directing and acting at the same time, we will see more of Sara in this episode than in last year‘s „Mortal Khanbat“. However still expect less Sara in Episode 4 and 5 than usual.

There was an early air-date floating around for „Legends“, which proofed to be a mix-up. Don‘t expect Season 6 (or any mid-season replacement for that matter) before the end of May, and even that would be early.

 As for the episodes:

 6.01 „ Ground Control to Sara Lance“ (Directed by: Kevin Mock, Written by: James Eagan & Mark Bruner)

 6.02 „Meat: The Legends“ (Directed by: Rachel Talalay, Written by: Matthew Maala & Morgan Faust)

 6.03 „The Ex-Factor“ (Directed by: David Geddes, Written by: Grainne Godfree  & Tyron Carter)

 6.04 „Bay of Squids“ (Directed by: Sudz Sutherland, Written by: Phil Klemmer)

 6.05 „The Satanist’s Apprentice“ (Directed by. Caity Lotz, Written by: Keto Shimizu, & Ray Utarnachitt)

 6.06 „Bishop’s Gambit“ (Directed by: Kevin Mock, Written by: James Eagan & Emily Cheever)

Supergirl

 Here we are again, with crumbs only. I still can’t tell you anything with value that happens this season. A couple of casting tapes leaked, one involving a prison break plot, however there is no telling if this isn’t just a single scene that leads to something totally different or the beginning of an actual sub-plot. We do know however that Young Alex and Young Kara will make their return this season.

We also know, that „Supergirl“ is about the only show on this list that does not have a finished Episode 1 as of now. They might have one or two finished episodes around Episode 5 or 6, but that’s it.

The reason we know this is that even though they are up to Episode 6 with filming, just like the other Vancouver-based shows, they did start a lot later, meaning they did not film whole episodes. The other reason we know that is that Melissa is just returning to the show this months. And there is no way she won’t be in Episode 1. She might sit out a couple of episodes that star Young Kara and Young Alex instead, but there is no way she won’t be in the first six episodes at all.

We will also get less Alex this year, or tob e more accurate less Chyler. She is having her directorial debute this season. Episode 6 is her episode, and this is the one with Young Alex und Young Kara in it. However present day Brainy und Nia are also in it, so it won’t be a total Flashback Episode. However, expect Chyler Light Episodes 5-6. Episode 7 will be directed by David Harewood. David Ramsey will also direct an episode this season and will guest star as John Diggle, however probably not in the same episode.

Also Odette Annable is back for the final season in some capacity. Wether as Sam or as Reign or both and for how much is unknown at this point.

And yes, „Supergirl“ is also the only show on this, where I can’t give you an episode list, because this is all we know.

Yes, it is the final season and they are extra-tight-lipped because of that, and also as I said they don’t really have finished episodes at this stage, but still it would be nice, if someone up there in Vancouver or someone from the Writer’s Room would give us anything. But it seems like they are holding back with any kind of promotion at least until Melissa starts filming if not longer.

[insertsexualitypun]

Some things I want from Legacies S3

This is going to be all over the place and pretty long. This’ll start with the general storyline things, then get down into smaller character arcs and whatnot. I’ll try to keep it somewhat organized and grouped by character but I make no promises. Also if you wanna talk about any of these feel free to dm! I’m incredibly bored in quarantine and would love to chat

- An introduction of a greater storyline past Malivore and moving away from the monster of the week thing. I know Legacies is supposed to be something different from TVD and TO, and the monster of the week concept is an interesting way to explore the universe past what we already knew, but with the premise as it exists and has been carried out now, it’s hard to develop the characters and relationships. If the characters are fighting new things every week, that makes it hard to give characters like MG and Kaleb their own stories. With a villain to anchor the season as the Big Bad, we can get characters that haven’t been given much of their own storyline a way to get more screentime as they go try and find someone or something with answers.

- GIVE HOPE HER OWN STORYLINE PAST BEING THE HERO/MARTYR AND BEING IN LOVE WITH LANDON. Hope is supposed to be the main character but this doesn’t feel like her story. As awesome as it is seeing Hope be a badass and fight monsters, I want more development from her as a person.

- Kind of ties back into the last one, but let Hope have more Dark moments like the Death Spell incident. Moments that show that while she isn’t just another Klaus, she still shares some of his tendencies towards violence and lashing out. This could work really well if they decide to keep Landon out of the picture for a few episodes.

- Let Hope and Landon break up amicably (assuming Landon isn’t really dead which let’s be real he probably isn’t) so that, again, they can grow as people. Then, if you want, they can get back together. Or just stay broken up and be friends

-  A resolution to the Necromancer - he’s a fun character and while I think he’d be fun to have around for a bit, I don’t think he’s an anchoring villain for a season. Plus to me I kinda figured that they were gonna wrap up his storyline in the last 3 episodes that they didn’t get to film before the production shutdown so chances are we’re getting this anyway.

- Either bring back Ethan, Maya and Mac more prominently, or don’t bring them back at all. Don’t get me wrong, I like the town normies storyline when it comes up, but it doesn’t come up much. Apparently, they were supposed to be in the last 3 episodes more but who knows. With the show already feeling kinda crowded (because again, the format of the show now doesn’t really allow for a ton of characters since they aren’t significantly developing, especially when these characters are in a setting completely removed from the main action of the show’s narrative), either have the normies for more than just getting caught in a magical crossfire, or put them to the side and focus on who you have at the school.

- The TVDU has progressed past the need for Alaric. That’s all I’ll say.

- The show being a little more self aware at the ridiculousness of it all. Like yeah, it’s not completely without that, but the last thing we need is the show devolving into a Riverdale, where the first season was aware of the ridiculous nature of itself, and then it started to take itself way too seriously.

- MORE LGBTQ+ REP. The show has done fairly well thus far compared to other CW shows but there’s still so much than can be done. The show doesn’t need to have show-stopping coming out storylines or anything - it’s actually the opposite. We get the casual drop of Josie having dated Penelope in the first episode of the show which was great. So let’s have more simple stuff like that. More mentions at crushes and other past romances - for all characters - that just allow for other sexualities to be normalized and not some earth shattering thing. 

- This ties into the last one but I felt like it deserved its own bullet, but also what is V NEEDED is rep of trans, genderfluid and non-binary characters. Again, it doesn’t have to be a huge storyline, but it’d be nice to have some recurring characters who are not cis. The show is meant to be set in a near future, so I think it’d be nice to show a normalized view on differing gender expression and sexuality as sort of a hope that such a future will exist.

- Hope loving beignets, eating/wanting to eat them all the time, and getting powdered sugar all over her dark clothes from them. Chances are, if you’re from/have been to NOLA, you’ve tried beignets and loved them because they’re amazing. SO LET HOPE HAVE HER BEIGNETS DAMN IT.

- More Wolf Hope moments. Let her turn more and just run because it let’s her feel more connected to Hayley :’( also the Crescent birth mark if that was ever a thing for Hope... I can’t remember, I’ve seen different things about it, lmk (politely) if that was ever a thing that Hope had

- Hope painting and sketching. It’s one of the few connections she still has with Klaus, SO LET HER EXPRESS HERSELF DAMN IT. (Yes, any time I say SO in all caps I need to end the sentence with DAMN IT, it’s a Thing now)

- MIKAELSON FAMILY MENTIONS AND APPEARANCES. Granted this one is different because there are real life schedules and whatnot that need to align, but even just more mentions of Mikaelson family members and others like Vincent would be nice. Yeah we’ve had some in the past, but it would still be nice to get some more. Also at least a mention of Rebekah and Kol checking in on Hope (assuming the writers aren’t going to pull something dumb like ‘oh the memory spell doesn’t work long distance like that so they still don’t remember her’)

- Hope also talking more about Hayley, Elijah, and Klaus. Again, feeling connected to her mom every time she’s a wolf. Always and forever, like Elijah always said. Telling stories about her father that put him in a better light than just being “The Great Evil” of storybooks.

- Hope being open with her friends about her past and how TERRIBLE it was a lot of the time like, y’know, people trying to kill her before she was even BORN.

- I’ve said this before in a separate post (which I’ll link at some point so expect an edit to this post) but I’d love for something to happen and for Hope to leave the school and go to NOLA and stay with Freya, Keelin and Nik because she’s tired of having to be the savior and still not saving everyone. (Also in that post it says Alaric comes and gets her and brings her back to the Salvatore School but we’ve progressed past the need for him in the TVDU so instead it’ll be the twins)

- Hizzie moments because whether you like them as romantically or just as friends, they are a DUO and we deserve more iconic sarcasm as well as genuine moments of friendship and caring

- Lizzie being the absolute Queen of Comedy

- But more importantly, Lizzie being more open about her issues and taking steps to have better mental health.

- Lizzie and MG having more open conversations and letting a relationship develop naturally - yes there has been a lot of development since season 1 but I feel like they both have a bit of growth to go before they should enter a relationship, if that’s something that happens

- Lizzie being happily single for a bit and not going for a guy that’s going to try and turn her into a vamp and keep her in a prison world 

- MG and Kaleb getting proper storylines or at least more play than just being the Local Vampires who help depending on the situation. They deserve WAY more than that

- ALSO MG and Kaleb backstories. How did they die and how did they get vampire blood in their system to keep them from dying permanently?

- Josie dealing with what happened pre and post Dark Josie and facing that she has always had some darkness in her. Yeah the dark magic definitely didn’t help, but she was willing to perform a spell that she didn’t know on a human over a football game and ended up breaking his arm. Not to mention, she was setting Penelope on fire as early as the first episode. It seems like we’re getting this since Josie locked away her magic in the last episode, but still, I don’t want this to just be a one episode reflection and then move on like she didn’t cause a lot of harm.

- More Hosie crumbs

- More Jade. OK admittedly this is probably really due to the fact that Giorgia Whigham is a Big Crush for me, but also the show really did start integrating her in a bit more with the black and white episode, which makes me think they’re keeping her around at least for a little bit. And I think she and Josie dating at least for a little while would be good for both of them. Jade was a ripper for 10 years in the prison world, and Josie was just consumed by dark magic and is now coming back from that. I think they’re a good (probably short-term) pairing that will help each other grow, but eventually break up because they just aren’t it for each other. And I saw this elsewhere on here, but someone pointed out that Jade could do what Penelope tried to do, but in a healthier way. Yes, Penelope was trying to put Josie first and show her her power and importance, but there’s a way to do that without gaslighting her sister and being manipulative. Sorry, I did not mean for this one to be so long.

- More Specialty episodes. The black and white episode was really fun in my opinion, and the show doesn’t have to be like that all the time, but stuff like that keeps the show interesting, as long as it makes sense within the context of the episode and storyline.

- Josie wearing the necklace Hope gave her

- I haven’t mentioned Rafael much and that’s because, despite being a main character, he hasn’t really done much besides run away with Landon, and feel guilty about having a crush on Hope. He’s personally not a favorite character of mine, but I think if he got more of a storyline - likely revolving around the fact that he was dead and being used as a pawn, as well as the fact that he possibly (but probably didn’t) kill Landon - it’d help give more to like about him.

- Caroline having a better reason for being away from the school than just researching the Merge. Like, her daughters have been fighting monsters, Josie almost died at the end of season 1, they were trapped in a prison world, Josie succumbed to Dark Magic, THEY LITERALLY HAD A MERGE EVENT and she’s still gone??? That’s not the Caroline we know. If she’s going to be gone (because like I said before, it all depends on Candice’s availability and willingness to come back), at least come up with something different than researching something her daughters have already done by this point.

- Since Landon’s not dead, let him unlock his full Phoenix powers. It’d be cool.

- Let’s have one season where Landon doesn’t run away like we don’t all know that he’s gonna be back within like 2 episodes if that

- More Dorian. I actually really like his character, he’s kind of a breath of fresh air sometimes so I’d like more scenes with him when possible

- A conclusion to Malivore and intro of a new villain. I kinda covered this earlier, but at this point, unless Malivore is going to become a tangible entity to fight instead of some black goo, it’s not a very interesting story thread to keep around for the next however many seasons Legacies goes on for.

Whew.

Ok, that’s all I can think of, but feel free to reblog and add more if there’s other stuff you’d like to see!

[a-deadly-serenade]

overall this season was pretty decent. i have some thots whats new so im gonna share them below the cut if anyone’s interested :)

so!! first off i’ll say that there were a lot of things i did really enjoy from season 4!

the action was super fun as always!! i loved all the crazy enemies and callbacks! the skeleton fight and all those little goblins they kept killing throughout were a nice touch ;) sypha’s use of her powers is INSANE her ice-chainsaw?? her WALL of fire?? electric balls?? come on. and the animation was NICE. i really wanna know who did most of the fight scenes bcuz the style is so different and it just POPS but in a really good way? 

my favorite fight has to be ofc when everyone is REUNITED yes im basic. but the THEME song going off and well, im a whore for sotn references and i CAME when i saw the leap stone ref w the winged cape or when alucard turned into a hoard of batss AND THEN HIS WOLF FORM OOOOHH BABY!!! actually episode 9 is just a straight banger.

STRIGAAA. STRIGA. oh mama i was sweating during that fight. mad kudos to her va for them growlsss

carmilla vs isaac was a lot of fun and i loved the visuals but my hype was instantly ruined when i saw her kill herself 😭but thats smth i’ll complain about later.

not all the lines were bangers, some of sypha’s swearing seemed even a bit too much at times, and it was especially jarring to be having a face-to-face death-math with literal Death and hes acting like a naughty little 5 year old thats just learnt to swear. maybe cut back on the fuck-isms? just a bit? BUT when they hit they did GOOD. “the fuck what now?” yes

ISAAC. you weren’t in this season as much but man do u still shine through. i loved his introduction back in the town where he has his night creatures digging graves and rebuilding the city 😭 and then the conversation he shares w his flyman?? obsessed.

Hector chopping his finger off and giving lenore and carmilla a good ol FUCK YOU!! as he helps isaac. we love to see it

Trevor and Sypha’s “I love you!” “I know.” <3

DEATHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

oh! alucard actually having a story & purpose in the plot? :) luv it love to see it. that being said... the Plot. 

its... ok? it’s kind of split up into 3/4 parts, as the story progresses, one eventually merges with several of the others kind of? cohesively? while leaving the other to sort itself out.

now, i didnt have too many qualms with it, it was pretty straight forward. dracula is going to be resurrected and we have sypha and trevor looking in on it, while alucard helps the nearby village and hector and isaac go on about bringing on their inevitable showdown. however, the way the story was paced and some of the decisions they made... werent so great.

st. germain for example, brought the ENTIRE momentum from the last few episodes to a halt. you have sypha and trevor fighting through heaps and heaps of monsters only to find themselves back in Targoviste where they meet the mysterious Zamfir!! and Alucard!! he’s been asked to help save this village!! all jam-packed with crazy action and animation that leaves you fired up!! and then episode 5 comes to a screeching halt and we spend nearly the entire thing on st. germain’s backstory and explaining his motives for the rest of the season

like. imma be real with you chief: he didnt need to be here lol. you could have just left varney as the main vamp in charge of bringing back big daddy drac and he could reveal to his.. idk henchmen or something that he’s death. but u gotta fill them ten 20 minute slots somehow!! he just fell so flat and unfortunately, a lot of the side-characters suffer from this this season.

i enjoyed great and zamfir, i love their desgins esp, but they really could have been fleshed out more. zamfir is shown as nothing but a spoiled brat the majority of the time she’s on screen but they wait till she’s about to die to try and turn her character around? huh? greta is given a bit more screentime but this sudden confession of feelings in the last episode felt so... huh?? why couldnt she just be dedicated to her people and show that u can love someone w/out necessarily being their partnr? i thot that was her whole thing; taking care of her people. it’s like. where did this come from. they cant have known each other more than a week at most dog 😭

it sucks they dedicated to much time to scenes that didnt really need to be there where we could have gotten this proper development, like maybe have a scene zamfir and sypha connect over struggles they’ve dealt with in the past and that has her open up about how traumatizing dracula’s attack on her city was. u could have expanded upon her role in the court and WHY she worshipped the monarchy so much instead of making it a throwaway gag about her being “crazy”. but why have that when we could instead spend the first 5 minutes of said episode watching a monotonous back-and-forth b/w varney and that big burly russian vampire who’s name im sure mor than 98% of the audience cant even remember? 

just a lot of fat that needed to be trimmed so that the actual MEAT of the story could be slow cooked to perfection. people really arent kidding when they say less is more. 

another big problem i had was there... i dont even know what to call it, re-humanization? redemption? of Lenore. like lmk if im wrong but she manipulated hector, yeah? coerced sex to slip on that ring that binds him to her?? orr whatever weird shit warren’s into. but the way they interacted, ESPECIALLY in their first major scene together was sooo uncomfortable to watch lol at first i thought perhaps hector was only playing along because well. hes enslaved to do her and carmilla’s bidding. but no, he actually LIKES her. he spares her when isaac comes around, he says that he wants to keep her as his own. and in the meantime, lenore finds time to complain to a man that’s been beaten and enslaved how upset it makes her that carmilla got angry at her 😭 or says thats she tired of isaac keeping tabs on her and wants to escape this ‘cage’. to  aman thats literally been imprisoned since youve known him 😭her death is seen as peaceful, calm, they even try and tug at ur heartstrings by swelling this sad, dramatic music as the sun rises. really? LENORE?

and carmilla’s death happened WAYY too early imo. she was the villain for practically 3 seasons and this is how she goes? isaac couldnt get more than a stab at her? his night creatures couldnt take a nibble? HECTOR couldnt even be given a chance to do somethng like come on

the resolution was... strange? it was cute!! and happy!! but i dunno if they really needed to have lisa and vlad coming back, but, like i said; it was cute! definitely not the ending i was expecting. 

i’m glad that they put their focus back on what made the show so much fun and that was the FIGHTS. they definitely helped add some much needed spice to things when scenes started to drag, but im a gal that really luvs a good story and even though reviews were raving that this season helped closed the lid on all the themes theyd been exploring, i just didnt really see that. which isnt necessarily a BAD thing, i knew i wasnt gonna find some deep introspective themes in this hack n slash horror-fantasy, its just what can turn somethng like this from an ok show to a GREAT one. 

in the end, im glad they stopped at this one and im curious to see if they really DO go ahead on making spin-offs. bcuz unfortunately, i will always be down for som new castlevania content

[littlesparklight]

Do you want Paris flirting with Menelaos in public? Of course you do. This contains misuse of the Epic of Gilgamesh~ *

Troy

The hall was lush and warmly lit, the earlier dishes of food now replaced by sweet fruit and richer wine. Music was drifting up towards the ceiling tiles and rafters, accompanied by the liquid silver of the lyrist's voice. It was much easier now to appreciate it all when Menelaos was waiting for word of hopeful success to his propitiatory sacrifices, though there was still tension lingering. Worries. He had done as bid, but was it enough? He wouldn't even be able to tell when it came to the second half of the affliction that had led to the need for these sacrifices, but that made a positive message of resolution for the epidemic all the more important as a sign that the sacrifices had been received and made correctly.

Reaching for one of a small pile of strawberry tree fruits, Menelaos shifted in place. His scalp prickled with the weight of a stare on him, but the worst was the voice, dropping slightly in tone, earnest emotion all too clear, near wailing, as Gilgamesh mourned Enkidu. Out on the floor, in full view from where Menelaos sat, Alexander was on his own chair, legs loosely stretched out in front of him, hooked at the ankles, his fingers practically caressing the lyre's strings.

He wasn't going to look.

He looked up anyway, straight into bright, blue-green eyes which he'd known would be fastened on him.

Menelaos looked away, taking another sweet, refreshing fruit, and almost choked on it in his hurry to bite down on it. Alexander had been doing this for the past three days, while he ran through the songs attached to this personage, translated for his guest's benefit. At first, he hadn't thought much of it, merely appreciating the skillfull singing and the story being spun out by dancing fingers and lilting voice. Had thought it nothing more than chance when Alexander had met his eyes during the first song, a little smile lurking in the corners of his mouth as Gilgamesh went to his mother to ask for interpretation of his dream.

It could well have been an accident, for Alexander let his gaze wander around the hall as he sang; smiling at younger siblings; raising his eyes up to the rafters; down to the floor and then around the great hall once more, or staring with distracted focus at the gilded animal heads of the lyre. The last Menelaos was fond of, for in that distraction was revealed Alexander's perfect skill and control, the lovely stretch of his graceful neck.

Menelaos pushed that last thought away, but he could still feel Alexander's eyes on him as he intently sang with such breathless emotion, and he shifted in his seat again, plush with thick, good cushions.

Alexander only looked straight at him whenever Gilgamesh and Enkidu talked, or someone talked to one of them about the other. It shouldn't be alluring in the least, it shouldn't mean anything, except he had kissed that remorseless mouth in the privacy of Alexander's bedroom, and Alexander didn't need to be singing about love for every word so lovingly uttered, about such a bond as he was singing of, to make his point clear. It was ridiculous that it should affect him beyond a fondness and exasperation for Alexander's daring, but the way his voice dipped down just slightly, enrichening the silver of his soaring singing voice, the way those eyes lingered so heavily on him...

Menelaos was embarrassingly, frustratingly, hard.

And he could do nothing about that, for if he should stand up, it'd be all too obvious, and he couldn't drag the cruel young man off in full sight of all and sundry anyway. So he was left to suffer until Alexander would put the lyre aside, until the bronzed sound of his laughter stopped heating his blood, at least for long enough so he might be allowed to regain control of himself. If he said anything to hopefully make him to stop, that would only reveal how deeply he was getting to him, but letting Alexander getting away with this would only encourage him.

He was far too full of both energy and dangerous ideas, as well as the skills to enact them. It had been a bit of a shock to realize that while he was the elder between them, the wide-eyed puppy eagerly and earnestly wishing for his attention was also a wolf, skilled in hunting. Menelaos' only recourse was to attempt to correct his wayward prince in the sweet-smelling privacy of Alexander's rooms.

Which was certainly something he was looking forward to, if, at the moment, with an edge of furious embarrassment to the need. He would still have to wait, for now.

*** Sparta

The sun was inching towards the horizon when they turned back towards Sparta, Mount Taygetos towering up behind them. Three deer had been the final tally for the hunt, and Paris was still full of the energy of the day as well as the success of the hunt itself, having downed one of the deer himself, at a distance only made possible by the bow.

Looking around the train spread out behind his and Menelaos' horses, Paris smiled, pleased once again by the sight of the dead deer. A fine hunt, all in all. Even finer by the break they'd taken in the hot early afternoon, to ride out those hours with a meal under the shadows of sheltering trees. More than that, the pool Menelaos had found for them. Smile widening into a full-body warmth at the reminder, Paris glanced sideways, to where Menelaos sat on the back of his own horse. Tall and broad-shouldered, the sinking sun threw Menelaos' shadow over the horse's neck and head, caught gold and and glowing coal-red in his hair. It brought to mind the gilded shimmer about temple statue, ephemeral flames. Paris had missed that. Not that he hadn't seen others with blond hair - there were some in Troy itself, as few as they were, but none of them had Menelaos' particularly reddish shade, which had made Paris want to touch it from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on him as he stepped into Troy's megaron.

The absolute best part of Menelaos, aside from his amber-brown eyes, summer-warm and soft even when he wasn't smiling, was his thighs, however. Gaze drifting down, Paris bit his lip. They were very nice indeed, and the victorious curl of bright energy settled lower.

He pulled his horse that half step back he'd had on Menelaos and slipped in so close their knees pressed together.

"Menelaos," Paris said, couldn't help the deepening warmth of his voice, the brightening heat of his smile, and burst out laughing as Menelaos looked to him, incredulity plain on his face.

"A full day as this, and you still have energy? Please, leave it for the feast when we come back to Sparta."

"Oh, I'm not going to be using any energy," he promised as he leaned in towards Menelaos with only a bare glance thrown over his shoulder to note the distance between them and the next closest horses of their hunting party. Good enough. "Looking at you gives me energy, no matter what I might have spent in all the hours of the day up until now. The way the light catches in your eyes, already reminding me of sunlight through amb---"

"Alexander." Menelaos was frowning, so fierce one could think him nothing but displeased, but there was a reddening glow stealing over his cheeks to match the shadows in his hair, and he had shivered at the first brush of lips so very close to the shell of his ear, but more importantly; he hadn't pulled away.

"I'm serious, Menelaos," Paris murmured, shifting his weight and tightening his knees about his horse to compensate, stroking its neck while he watched shifting tension in Menelaos' jaw. "I thought I was going to die the first time I laid eyes on you, and the few extra years between then and now hasn't changed that at all. I have seen the finest of prize bulls with less impressive thighs than you, and if I could have but one single more chance to touch them, I would count myself the most blessed man currently alive. To say nothing of your smile, when I can draw it out of you; spring couldn't be sweeter for the gentle warmth of it."

Pure delight was by now buoying Paris, for Menelaos had neither rebuked him nor sped up his horse, both of them easy ways to make this stop. Of course, Paris was very well aware of Menelaos' terribly strict adherence to the proper way to be a host, and that was fine - and he might be using it just a little right then to trap him where he was - but it didn't mean Menelaos didn't have recourse. He could urge his horse just a step or two in front of Paris, and that wouldn't look strange or be an insult in the lead, and they both should know that. Heat warmed his belly, his voice, just barely the tips of his ears, but Menelaos was by now sweetly rose under his tan, and Paris wouldn't give him a chance to rally.

Shifting his knee against Menelaos', as much for the feel of soft skin over hard bone as the pulse that jumped in Menelaos' jaw, Paris pressed it in against Menelaos, right behind the kneecap, and smiled. There were strands of blond hair, gold like the finest, thinnest chains of necklaces that adorned girls' throats, brushing his lips, and Paris refused to pull away for the tickle. It was only adding to the warmth spreading down his thighs.

"I know I already noted you grew your beard out," Paris continued, laughing softly when Menelaos huffed, his blush now reaching his ears. There was a different tension making its way between his brows, and Paris didn't like that, and so shook his head. "I didn't get the chance to say I like it, and I want it all over my body."

Menelaos choked, swallowing nothing but air, and Paris smiled with breezy sunniness. Menelaos hadn't even grown in out much; two years ago it'd been a fine five o'clock shadow, just barely there to scrape his fingertips; it was now a heavy stubble, enough to soften the cut of Menelaos' jaw with its bristle, but still close-cropped.

"I want to kiss your thighs and dig my fingers into your shoulders, and I think the war god himself would be pleased at the width of th---"

"Alexander," Menelaos snapped, truly red in the face now and a hand locked around one of Paris' wrists. His nails dug into the soft inner skin of the wrist, but the thumb, burning hot it felt like, was almost caressing in its tiny movement. "Let a man catch his breath - we're not all young any longer. Have you not already had enough success hunting today?"

"One success leads to the desire for more," Paris said brightly, completely shameless, but he did pull himself straight, though mourning the lack of Menelaos' body heat, mingling with his as it'd been, trapped between them.

Menelaos sighed, a deep heave of a breath. Squeezed his wrist and let go, but he didn't pull his horse forward again, and Paris, buzzing with flushed success, behaved for the rest of the ride back to Sparta.

[osakaso5]

Resolution Mystery Rabbit TV Part 3: Resolution Mystery

Part 1 | Part 2

Iori Izumi: ...Luckily, the filming of our drama has gone well. Though it won't air yet, it stars IDOLiSH7's center.

Iori Izumi: We need high ratings... Since we sang its theme song, the ratings of the show proper should correlate to our popularity.

Iori Izumi: Even without our director, cast, and script, it's very likely that it’ll  will do well. People have been anticipating  a drama starring Nanase-san.

Iori Izumi: ...It's been going unbelievably well, considering how weak his nerves and stress tolerance are. I wonder what's kept him so relaxed.

Iori Izumi: I should ask him later. Whatever it may be, it will surely come in useful the next time we run into some kind of trouble.

Iori Izumi: ...That attack that made him unable to sing our encore song, and lead to me taking over his duties as the center...

Iori Izumi: I don't want something like that to happen ever again... He was in no shape to sing because of the attack, no matter how badly really wanted to.

Iori Izumi: But there was nothing I could do. I want to ensure that he can sing to his heart's content in a safe manner.

Knock knock

Iori Izumi: Yes?

Riku Nanase: Mind if I come in?

Iori Izumi: Yes, I do.

Riku Nanase: Why!?

Iori Izumi: Make a 180 degree turn, walk back to your room, and go to bed. You need to take better care of yourself.

Riku Nanase: ........ Okay. But...

Iori Izumi: But, what?

Riku Nanase: If I have to go back to bed right now, I'll probably be too worked up to sleep all night.

Iori Izumi: Is that a threat!?

Riku Nanase: No! I just wish you'd be a little nicer to me!

Iori Izumi: Aah, whatever! Come in!

Door opens

Riku Nanase: Ehehe. Look, I brought snacks. Hmm? What are you doing with your phone?

Iori Izumi: I'm setting an alarm. It'll ring in 15 minutes, which is when you'll return to your room.

Riku Nanase: You're giving me a time limit!?

Iori Izumi: You've already wasted 30 seconds. What business do you have?

Riku Nanase: I wanted to have a chat with you.

Iori Izumi: You could've waited until tomorrow. We'll have plenty of time to talk between filming. 

Riuk Nanase: You said you'd tell me later, so I came now.

Iori Izumi: Tell you about what..?

Riku Nanase: I asked you about the superstar thing earlier today, remember!? You refused to talk about it at the studio.

Iori Izumi: Ah...

Riku Nanase: Tell me. Or are you going to make me figure that out on my own, like Ichiro?

Iori Izumi: That's not a conversation we can have in the 15... no, 13 minutes you have.

Riku Nanase: Then give me an extension. I'll put a coin into your ear or whatever.

Iori Izumi: ...Hyaagh! Don't touch me..!

Riku Nanase: Ahaha. You're so ticklish. ...Aah, we wasted another minute!

Iori Izumi: That's entirely on you. ...I didn't have a special reason for it.

Iori Izumi: I wanted IDOLiSH7 to reach the top of Japan's idol industry. I still do.

Iori Izumi: In order to accomplish that, you, our center, will have to become a superstar. That's why I said I'd make you into one.

Riku Nanase: Oh, so that's why.

Iori Izumi: Yes. Are you happy now?

Riku Nanase: Yeah... Ahaha. That's kinda exactly what I expected. Your reason's not mysterious or hard to understand at all.

Iori Izumi: ...Would you have preferred it if it was?

Riku Nanase: Not really... I just felt this big burst of emotion when you said that to me.

Riku Nanase: So I thought your reason would be something just as impactful. Not that what you just said wasn't enough for me, though!

Iori Izumi: .........

Iori Izumi: I wanted to help Nii-san become an idol...

Iori Izumi: But because my meddling made him angry... I thought I wasn't capable of supporting anyone like that...

Iori Izumi: That's when I met Nanase-san, and realized that I could fulfill my dream by fulfilling his dream...

Iori Izumi: It made me happy to finally be of use to someone else...

Iori Izumi: How could I put this into words that are simple and easy to understand..?

Riku Nanase: ...Iori? Are you mad? I'm telling you, what you just said was fine.

Iori Izumi: Ah, no. I'm not mad.

Riku Nanase: Thanks for telling me, anyhow! I'll go to bed early, so I can become a superstar. Sleep tight.

Iori Izumi: Wait, Nanase-san!

Riku Nanase: .........

Iori Izumi: .......... I... also...

Riku Nanase: You also?

Iori Izumi: I... That is...

Iori Izumi: I felt a burst of emotion back then, as well...

Riku Nanase: ...Ahaha! Okay!

Riku Nanase: That's great! Ehehe. I don't know why, but I feel a little embarrassed now.

Iori Izumi: I knew talking about this would only lead to embarrassment...

Riku Nanase: You're such a smart guy, Iori! Now that that mystery's solved, I'll be able to sleep just fine!

Iori Izumi: You seem awfully happy, all of a sudden... Ah, just one more thing.

Riku Nanase: Hmm? You want a snack?

Iori Izumi: No. Wasn't there a time when you refused to star in a drama, because you were too scared to do it?

Iori Izumi: This should be your first starring role, but you don't seem too anxious about it. Why is that?

Riku Nanase: That's because you're with me!

Iori Izumi: Don't give me a joke answer. I revelead my mystery to you, didn't I?

Riku Nanase: That wasn't a joke. I really mean it.

Riku Nanase: You're the one who said you'd take complete control over me!

Iori Izumi: I didn't put it like that...

Riku Nanase: I was pretty shocked by it back then, but...

Riku Nanase: Weren't you basically saying that you'd guide me so I'll never make mistakes or feel down?

Iori Izumi: .........

Riku Nanase: That's what's been keeping me calm. But it's not that I'm mindlessly depending on you! It's more like a protective charm you gave me!

Iori Izumi: Ah... I see...

Riku Nanase: What's with the gloomy reply? Are your questions answered now, too?

Iori Izumi: Sigh... Yes... I suppose...

Riku Nanase: Are you getting sleepy? Our 15 minutes are just about up, so I'll go back to my room now.

Riku Nanase: I bet the others will be really surprised by our drama! Especially since a calm prince like you will be playing a cool, wild wolf guy.

Riku Nanase: It's going to be popular for sure! The director was showering you with compliments, too! You're so young, but you're also reliable, elegant, and sensual!

Riku Nanase: Let's both do our best to make it succeed! It'll be  just as great as MEZZO"'s show! ...Hmm? Iori?

Riku Nanase: Why are you blushing?

Iori Izumi: I'm not...

End of Part 3.

Translator’s notes..? 

thank you izuiori on twitter for the rabbit tvs! 

next up, tamaki’s king pudding rabbit chats! 

[tomhiddleslove]

The screen and stage star is making his Broadway debut as the bottled-up husband wearing a “mask of control” in Harold Pinter’s romantic triangle.

[ By Laura Collins-Hughes

Aug. 21, 2019, 5:00 a.m. ET ]

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

That had been his idea, to slip for a few moments into the character he’s playing on Broadway, in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal”: Robert, the cheated-on husband and backstabbed best friend whose coolly proper facade is the carapace containing a crumbling man. And when Mr. Hiddleston became him, the change was instantaneous: the guarded stillness of his body, the chill reserve in his gray-blue eyes.

“It’s interesting,” Mr. Hiddleston said after a while, analyzing Robert’s expression from the inside. “It gives less away.” A pause, and then his own smile flickered back, its pleasure undisguised. “O.K.,” Mr. Hiddleston announced, himself again, “it’s not Robert anymore.”

It was late on a muggy August morning, one day before the show’s first preview at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, and Mr. Hiddleston — the classically trained British actor best known for playing the winsomely chaotic villain Loki, god of mischief and brother of Thor, in the Marvel film franchise — had been in New York for less than a week.

He’ll be here all autumn for the limited run of the production, a hit in London earlier this year, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he’d settled in. “I literally have never sat in this room before,” he’d said at the top of the photo shoot, in his cramped auxiliary dressing room, next door to the similarly tiny one he had been occupying.

He’d had nothing to do with the space’s camera-ready décor. So there was no use making a metaphor of the handsome clock with its hands stopped at 12 (“Betrayal” is famous for its reverse chronology; far more apt if the clock had run backward), or of the compact stack of pristine books that looked like journals, with pretty covers and presumably empty pages: a bit off-brand for Mr. Hiddleston, who at 38 has a model-perfect exterior with quite a lot inscribed inside.

Take the matter-of-fact way he said, in explaining that he’d first encountered Pinter’s work when he studied for his A-levels in English literature, theater, Latin and Greek: “It was a real tossup between French and Spanish or Latin and Greek. I thought, I can always speak French and Spanish, I can’t always read Latin and Greek, so I’ll study that and I’ll speak the other two.”

Though, to be fair, he only said that because I’d teased him slightly about the Latin and Greek, and I’d teased him — not a recommended journalistic technique — because he was so disarmingly good-humored and resolutely down to earth, chatting away as he waited for the photographer to set up a shot. It didn’t seem like it would ruffle him. He laughed, actually.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

In this country, Mr. Hiddleston is mainly a screen star, known also for playing Jonathan Pine in the John le Carré series “The Night Manager” on AMC. There are plans, too, for him to bring Loki to Disney’s streaming service in a stand-alone series.

But at home in London, he has amassed some impressive Shakespearean credits, including the title roles in Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” and Josie Rourke’s “Coriolanus,” and a turn as Cassio in Michael Grandage’s “Othello” — a production that Pinter, saw some months before he died in 2008. That was the year Mr. Hiddleston won a best newcomer Olivier Award for Cheek by Jowl’s “Cymbeline.”

Jamie Lloyd’s “Betrayal,” which has a staging to match the spareness of Pinter’s language and a roiling well of squelched emotion to feed its comedy, is Mr. Hiddleston’s Broadway debut. Likewise for his co-stars, Zawe Ashton (of Netflix’s “Velvet Buzzsaw”), who plays Emma, Robert’s wife; and Charlie Cox (of Netflix’s “Daredevil”), who plays Emma’s lover, Jerry, Robert’s oldest friend.

Beginning at what appears to be the end of Robert and Emma’s marriage, after her yearslong affair with Jerry has sputtered to a stop, it’s a drama of cascading double-crosses. First staged by Peter Hall in London in 1978 — and in 1980 on Broadway, where it starred Roy Scheider, Blythe Danner and Raul Julia — it rewinds through time to the sozzled evening when Emma and Jerry overstep the line.

The most recent Broadway revival was just six years ago, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig as Robert, Rachel Weisz as Emma and Rafe Spall as Jerry. It might seem too soon for another, let alone one with sexiness to spare — except that Mr. Lloyd’s production is also marked by a palpable hauntedness and a profound sense of loss.

Reviewing the London staging in The New York Times, Matt Wolf called it “a benchmark achievement for everyone involved,” showing the play “in a revealing, even radical, new light.” Michael Billington, in The Guardian, called Mr. Hiddleston’s performance “superb.”

What’s curious is that Mr. Hiddleston, so good at bad boys, isn’t playing Jerry, the more glamorous role: the cad, the pursuer, the best man who goes after the bride. But Mr. Lloyd said that casting him that way was never part of their discussions.

Last fall, when Mr. Lloyd persuaded Mr. Hiddleston to read a scene with Ms. Ashton for a one-night gala celebration of Pinter in London, part of the season-long Pinter at the Pinter series, there was no grand plan. Having asked Mr. Hiddleston about a possible collaboration for years, since “just before he became ridiculously famous,” Mr. Lloyd said, this was the first time he got a yes.

“I just really admired his craft of acting, the precision of his acting, as well as his real emotional depth and his real wit,” Mr. Lloyd said. “And he’s turned into what I think is the epitome of a great Pinter actor. Because if you’re in a Pinter play, you have to dig really deep and connect to terrible loss or excruciating pain, often massive volcanic emotion, and then you have to bottle it all up. You have to suppress it all.”

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

The scene Mr. Hiddleston and Ms. Ashton read at the gala appears at the midpoint of “Betrayal”: Robert and Emma on vacation in Venice, at a moment that leaves their marriage with permanent damage. Within days, Mr. Hiddleston told Mr. Lloyd that he was on board for a full production.

‘What remains private’

Photos taken, back in the faintly more lived-in of his Broadway dressing rooms, Mr. Hiddleston opened the window to let in some Midtown air — and when you’re as tall as he is, 6 feet 2 inches, opening it from the top of the window frame is easy enough to do. Then, making himself an espresso with his countertop machine, he sat down to talk at length.

“I’m always curious about the presentation of a character’s external persona versus the interior,“ he said. “What remains private, hidden, concealed, protected, and what does the character allow to be seen? We all have a very complex internal world, and not all of that is on display in our external reality.”

He can tick off the ways that various characters of his conceal what’s inside: Loki, with all that rage and vulnerability “tucked away”; the ultra-proper spy Jonathan Pine, in “The Night Manager,” “hiding behind his politeness”; Robert, a lonely man wearing “a mask of control” that renders him “confident, powerful, polished,” at least as far as any onlookers can tell.

In “Betrayal,” each of the three principals has an enormous amount to hide from the people who are meant to be their closest intimates. It’s a play about power and manipulation, duplicity and misplaced trust, and what’s so threatening about it is the very ordinariness of its privileged milieu. This snug little world that once seemed so safe and ideal — the happiest of families, the oldest of friends — has long since fallen apart.

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

“The sadness in the play — it’s not only sadness; because it’s Pinter, there’s wit and levity as well — but if there is sadness in the play,” he said, “I think it comes from the fact that these betrayals render Robert, Emma and Jerry more alone than they were before.”

Trust and self-protection

One-on-one, Mr. Hiddleston was more cautious than he’d been during the photo shoot, surrounded then by a gaggle of people affiliated with the show. Still, when I asked him about betrayal, lowercase, he went straight to the condition it violates.

“To trust is a profound commitment, and to trust is to make oneself vulnerable,” he said, fidgeting with a red rubber band and choosing his words with care. “It’s such an optimistic act, because you’re putting your faith in the hands of someone or something which you expect to remain constant, even if the circumstances change.”

“I’m disappearing down a rabbit hole here,” he said, “but I think about it a lot. I think about certainty and uncertainty. Trust is a way of managing uncertainty. It’s a way of finding security in saying, ‘Perhaps all of this is uncertain, but I trust you.’ Or, ‘I trust this.’ And there’s a lot of uncertainty in the world at the moment, so it becomes harder to trust, I suppose.”

An interview itself is an act of trust, albeit often a wary one. And there was one stipulated no-go zone in this encounter, a condition mentioned by a publicist only after I’d arrived: No talk of Taylor Swift, with whom Mr. Hiddleston had a brief, intense, headline-generating romance that, post-breakup, she evidently spun into song lyrics.

That was three years ago, and I hadn’t been planning to bring her up; given the context of the play, though, make of that prohibition what you will. Mr. Hiddleston, who once had a tendency to pour his heart out to reporters, knows that he can’t stop you.

“It’s not possible, and nor should it be possible, to control what anyone thinks about you,” he said. “Especially if it’s not based in any, um —” he gave a soft, joyless laugh — “if it’s not based in any reality.”

That’s something he’s learned about navigating fame — about being put on a pedestal that’s then kicked out from under him. He knows now “to let go of the energy that comes toward me, be it good or bad,” he said. “Because naturally in the early days I took responsibility for it.”

“And yes, I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” he added, his tone as restrained as his words. He took a beat, and so much went unsaid in what he said next: “That’s because I didn’t realize it needed protecting before.”

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

And the way he treated the people around him at work — with a fundamental respect, regardless of rank, and no whiff of flattery — made him seem sincere about what he called “staying true to the part of myself that’s quite simple, that’s quite ordinary.”

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

[lookninjas]

There is supposed to be something intrinsically satisfying about writing the last chapter of a book, even if it is written before the end.  There should be something doubly so about writing of half-forgotten luxuries and half-remembered delicate impossible dishes at the end of a book of resolutely practical recipes for foxing the wolf and keeping him either at his proper distance, or well-jointed in a stewpan.  It should be like waking from a dream of your loved one, and finding perfume on your lips.

Such impossible delights are necessary, now and then, to your soul, and your body, too.  You can cope with economy for only so long.  (”So long” is one of those ambiguous phrases.  It means “so long as you do not feel sick a the sight of a pocketbook.”)

When you think you can stand no more of the wolf’s snuffing under the door and keening softly on cold nights, throw discretion into the laundry bag, put candles on the table, and for your own good if not the pleasure of an admiring audience make one or another in the recipes in this chapter.  And buy yourself a bottle of wine, or make a few cocktails, or have a long open-hearted discussion of cheese with the man on the corner who is an alien but still loyal if bewildered.

-- MFK Fisher, “How to Cook a Wolf.”

This is not the last chapter of Fuckit.  Not by a long shot.  However:  Covid is not at its last chapter either.  We have a long cold winter ahead of us, and things will get worse before they get better.

So this quarterly call to submissions is asking for any kind of tribute you have to MFK Fisher in specific, or finding small happiness in dark times in general.  Recipes, essays, poetry, art, complicated tumblr pastiches that will make me curse my formatting freeware (I’m kidding scribus please love me and be good), whatever you got.  Just e-mail it to me by January 1st!

Swear to God I will try to update the sticker assortment in the between times.  Swear to God.

[your-iron-lung]

La Chasse au Loup - 3

available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: All things considered, there’s a lot of strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, rural as it may be. Some of it he could be aware of and do his best to work around, but a lot of it went so far under the radar it almost wasn’t worth thinking about. Mostly it was animals- a goat or a sheep that hadn’t been bedded down proper wandered out overnight and didn't wander back come morning. Turned up the next day in the bush in a strange, disemboweled sort of way.

It's coyotes that do it, Wayne reasoned. Wolves, maybe, but whatever it was it certainly wasn't anything living under his very nose.

Chapter Word Count: 2970

Pairings: (background, minimal) Wayne/Daryl

Genre: Dark/black comedy with a lil bit of drama

Next Chapter: Unavailable

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

-------

THE BUSH

All things considered, there were a lot of strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, rural as it may be. Some of it he could be aware of and do his best to work around, but a lot of it went so far under the radar it almost wasn’t worth thinking about. (The incident with finding the cannabis plants first came to mind whenever Wayne had the hindsight to think back on it).

Mostly it was animals- a goat or a sheep that hadn’t been bedded down proper wandered out overnight and didn't wander back come morning. Turned up the next day in the back-bush in a strange, disemboweled sort of way, with its limbs all askew and guts just hanging out in the brush like they were only meant to take in the sun for a quick minute before coming back to the barn.

It's coyotes that did it, Wayne reasoned. Wolves, maybe, taking advantage of Dary’s own incompetence for forgetting to lock the livestock in at night. Forgetful as Dary was (or wasn’t; he was always quick to insist that he  did  bed them down and locked them in proper whenever they found one out there, but if that were true, how’d they wind up dead out in the bush then, eh, big shoots?), that’s why it eventually became so important to grab a chair, a rifle, a best bud and go out there to thin down the local population a bit to discourage that kind of gore from turning up. It was nice to be outdoors, and nicer still to earn $65 a coyote tail, but even so, sometimes things turned up in the back-bush in that strange, disemboweled sort of way that didn’t always look like it  could  be the work of a coyote or wolf.

Like that one time they found a human hand out there, lying casually in the shade of a wild blackberry bush like whoever it’d been attached to had simply been caught berry-picking and left it behind in a hurry. Uncleanly severed at the wrist, its pale fingertips were stained purple from blood loss and berry residue and unfortunately had to be wrested from Stormy’s strong jaw before she could run off with it. 

They hadn’t found the rest of whoever the hand had belonged to, but the hand alone was enough to leave a bad taste in Wayne’s mouth, though it was one he didn’t have to swallow if he didn’t pay too much attention to it. And anyway, if the authorities they’d called in to deal with it weren’t worried about it, then Wayne didn’t see much of a reason to fret over it either.

“We’ll get to the bottom if it,” they’d assured him, but they never got back to him on whether or not they ever did.

So, all things considered, Wayne knew firsthand about the strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, but it still took him by surprise when he and Dary stumbled upon the latest oddity his land had to offer.

A moose- specifically, a big old bull, lying dead on its side in the snow with one antler broken roughly in half and its guts torn viciously away from its stomach like something hadn’t just been trying to find a meal, but had been trying to dig its way  in  . They both stared at the carnage in repressed awe, because the only thing dumb enough to try and take down a  full grown bull moose  was likely a Canada goose, and even though those beautiful fowl were tougher than nails with teeth on their tongues, there was no way in hell a Canada goose was capable of taking down anything bigger than a Gus-sized dog when it came right down to it.

The corpse alone was intimidating. The sheer, archaic  size of it. The fact that one of its antlers lied half-buried in the snow, fractured in half and splintered, indicated that whatever killed it had power. Strength to not just kill it, but to maim it viciously in the process. As he came to understand this, Wayne subconsciously gripped the butt of his rifle just a little bit tighter.

Beside him, Dary turned his head to spit, but he didn’t take his eyes off the ruination of that great big moose.

“What’ya reckon’s done that, Wayne?” he asked, and he was either nervous or tired or an uneasy combination of both, because there was a tightness to Dary’s voice that cut into his nonchalance and managed to get Wayne to spare him a quick look of contemplation.

He wanted to say coyote, maybe, or a wolf, more than likely, but he knew well enough that it couldn’t have been either of those things, and knew that Dary knew that, too. Creatures like that were too small, and who’d ever heard of a  coyote getting after a moose? Not savage enough, even on the off chance they’d gone rabid and the moose was sick or something. They didn’t have claws nearly big enough to shred open the side of a moose like that anyway, because whatever tore into it had hollowed it out almost completely.

A bear then  , he reasoned to himself, although given that it was the dead of winter and any bear capable of disemboweling a moose was probably tucked away in its den, sleeping the cold away, hardly bothered enough to decimate a moose.  A moose.

Coyote, wolf, or bear, though- all three would’ve eaten more than just its guts, which were left in long, wet tendrils strewn across the snow like big pink worms.

“Dunno, Dar,” he eventually said slowly. He stood there looking puzzled, because there weren’t any tracks in the thick snow for him to make a fair assessment of what could’ve happened, but he tried not to let it show too much. “But if it starts comin’ round near the house, it’ll be trouble.”

Dary grunted in affirmation and hocked another spit, pulling the phlegm into his throat with a gross wet sound. He licked his lips afterwards. He couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse.

“Better find it before it gets there, then,” he said after a long moment.

“That’s the biggest Texas sized 10-4 I ever heard, good buddy.”

Even so, they stood there silently, contemplating the dead moose for a long minute before hoisting up their rifles to bravely spend the day prowling about in the bush searching, tracking, dreading running into whatever butchered the moose. In the end, though, they couldn’t find even a small trace of it, whatever it was.

No prints to follow, no blood-trail towards a den; nothing. The snow around the moose had been too disturbed by whatever it’d been fighting to retain any helpful information, and they were left with nothing but the knowledge of a threat.

After the sun began to set, they crept slowly back to the farmhouse, unnerved, retreating from the darkness before they started taking potshots at shadows that started to look a little too wrong the longer they stayed out there.

They buried the corpse the morning after Wayne reported it to wildlife. It required the use of tractors and other rented machinery to get it into the earth, but once it was gone, they all felt better for it.

Except Wayne. For a man who mostly lived inside the confines of his own mind, out of sight, out of mind never really did apply to him like it did others.

The incident with the moose left him troubled and wondering. The mere suggestion that  something  large and violent enough to kill a moose was running amok on  his  property was both equal parts infuriating and terrifying.

It could get one of the dogs, if they weren’t careful. It’d already been at the sheep; why would it stop there? He resolutely did not think of Dary, alone in his trailer on the outskirts of the property and what might happen if it started sniffing around there.

Though, that was  if  it continued to hang around, which, of course it did. In the months that followed, more unexplainable gore turned up around the property, but nothing as shocking as the moose. It was small things, mostly: bloodied strips of matted fur, dismembered pieces of animals (both farm-raised and wild). The corpses that began to litter the farm, coupled with the broken sections of fencing that turned up every so often were strong enough evidence to let them all know that it was still out there and still, clearly, a problem. As if to spite him, Gus and Stormy began bringing the remains of things they found out in the fields home to him, laying them out on the back porch and staining the wood dark with blood and rot and reminding him, constantly, that he couldn’t  find the damn thing.  

It worried him that there was something so unknown out there. He wasn’t used to having problems he couldn’t outright deal with, but no one who knew anything about what was going on at the farm could make heads or tails of it. If it was a degen he could fight them and get them to fuck off with his fists, but as it was, they couldn’t even figure out  what  it was they were dealing with.

Just something strange, out there in the bush.

We’ll get to the bottom of it, the authorities had assured him.

But had they? Had the authorities actually done anything at all?

With the rash of recent animal deaths around the farm, they started to keep the dogs inside at night, and some of Katy’s favourite barn cats, too.

As troubling as it all was, though, it wasn’t like they found something out there every day, or even every week (aside from what the dogs sniffed out and brought home); for the most part, the back-bush remained barren. Empty, except for the occasional degen or worm-picker they have to chase off the property for fear of finding their bodies out there one day.

There were long periods of days where livestock went untouched. Sometimes, even weeks passed where no wildlife turned up in that strange, disemboweled sort of way they’d all started to get used to, and life progressed at its usual, slow, small-town pace, until a month or so later when it all began happening again. Something strange. Something disemboweled. Something that, again, left no trace of ever having been there at all, except for the ruined corpse it often left behind that had them all scratching their heads in its wake.

We’ll get to the bottom of it.

Staring down at the bloodied remains of not one, not two, but  three  maimed coyotes, two of them dead, one still barely hanging on, breathing hard and whimpering for mercy, Wayne felt his frustrations reach a peak. All three of the coyotes have been practically torn to pieces, yes,  pieces , and the words of that first initial assurance begin to repeat themselves in his head:

Don’t trouble yourself over it, Wayne. We’ll get to the bottom of it.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and turned away to squint off into the horizon, squaring his jaw as he internalized his frustrations in order to pretend he couldn’t hear the agonized whines of that poor coyote.

“Wayne, buddy, I hate to say it, but I think you might have a real problem on your hands here.” Dary’s face was drawn tight and pinched with exhaustion. He’d grown jaded to it; they all had, but even so he looked miserably tired. Drained in a way that suggested he’d had a rough night out at the ‘rippers or something.

The rough, unshaven scruff of a wiry beard around his jaw had Wayne do a double take, wondering when Dary’s facial hair had taken to forming anything but sporadic, unformed pre-pubescent patches.

“Well, you don’t fuckin’ say,” Wayne responded tersely as he unstrapped the gun from his shoulder. He lined up the rifle to the head of the injured coyote and held it there unwaveringly until it died on its own with one long exhalation.

Dary didn’t make any further comments. He scratched the fuzz lining his face unaware and followed Wayne around for the rest of the day as they made arrangements to bury the coyotes, sectioning off yet another piece of land that was quickly growing full of animal corpses.

And then, normalcy. Farming. Spending the evenings at MoDeans, as though a few rounds of Puppers would save them from their problem. Rumors grew about the goings on at the farm; (‘Bad gas travels fast in a small town’, someone’s always saying), despite their efforts to quell them. They hadn’t been keeping the animal carnage that had been taking place a secret, not exactly, but once enough people started hearing about it, word began spreading that maybe one of the dogs he reared had gone full Cujo, causing the produce stand’s success to take a hard financial hit, and Wayne’s frustrations only ever grew.

After the failing return to normalcy, a body.

Except, it wasn’t an animal this time.

“Jesus Christ,” Dary said, in a panicked way that meant, ‘Oh fuck buddy, we’ve stumbled onto something really terrible here’. He turned around and immediately threw up, and the sound of Dary’s sickness paired with what he was looking at was enough to make Wayne’s stomach start to turn sour too.

It was a person- a  whole person; not just a hand this time. Unrecognizable, but dead and disemboweled all the same.

“Oh fuck, Wayne.” Dary choked out his name like a whimper as he wiped the spit off his chin, turning back to face the body, his eyes wide as he tried to identify it. “Is that- is that one of the  skids ?”

It was bound to happen , Wayne thought idly to himself amidst Dary’s panic. The only thing left to discover out there short of another fucked up moose was a fucked up man, but even so it was shocking.

There were whole chunks missing; huge bites torn out of this man’s body that were much too large to fit into the mouth of a wolf or coyote, or even a bear. Wayne stared down at the corpse and remembered the words of the police the last time they’d been around:  we’ll get to the bottom of it.

Well, they hadn’t. They hadn’t done fuck-all, from the looks of it.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Dary, there’s work to be done here,” he said icily, trying to channel a firmer constitution before turning away from the body with a concise, jerky movement. Anger, fear, and disgust bitterly powered through his veins, because when it came right down to it, the authorities  hadn’t gotten to the bottom of anything.

They  hadn’t, but  he  would.

With Daryl in tow, Wayne stalked back to the farmhouse with dark purpose, a plan of action already beginning to take form in his mind as they stepped into the wide opening of the barn.

“I won’t ask you to be my accomplice in this,” he said as he stood amidst the hay and a tractor, looking around briefly before taking hold of a shovel. He looked at Daryl, who was pale and clearly frightened, but seemed to already know what edict Wayne was about to lay out. “Now, I’m going to bury this man, and if you think I oughta do somethin’ different about it, well, then you’d better fuck off now. You can report me to the authorities if you like, but I think by now you and I know that nothing’s going to get accomplished that way.

“Whatever’s going on here requires more attention then they can spare, and if we don’t figure something out it’s only going to get worse.” Mental images of his dogs and friends and Katy lying out there dead and mauled rose to the forefront of his mind. “I don’t know what the fuck’s out there, but I’m willing to find out and could use the help, if you’d be so willing to lend it.”

Dary eyed the shovel in Wayne’s hand nervously, the implications of what he was saying mulling around in his mind uneasily until a stoic form of clarity stole over his face. His eyes hardened with resolve as he grabbed hold of a pickaxe lying up against the barn wall. “You know, I’d likely follow you into Hell if you asked me to,” Dary said with grim contemplation, feeling the weight of the pickaxe’s handle in his hands, his injury no longer plaguing him as it once did.

Wayne thought he did know, but felt it would’ve been too soft to say so.

Well, that’s why I asked.

“Some things are better left unsaid, good buddy,” he replied instead. He felt both relieved and full of divine purpose all at once as he gripped the wooden shovel’s handle tightly. “I’ll tell Katy after the fact so she won’t be held accountable to anything, if we get found out. Dan too, I think. Fuck, with all the bodies around here maybe we’ll let him start a garden; might take well with all the natural fertilizer and such.”

“Sounds like you’re gearing us up to be like Scooby-Doo and the Blues Clues gang here,” Dary said with a crooked, inappropriate grin.

“Those are two different things, Dar,” Wayne said sullenly before turning his steely gaze back out towards the bush, where something strange and disemboweled lay waiting to be put to rest. “But I’ll let it slide if I get to be Fred.”

“Ain’t no one else among us with a big enough neck to fill out that kerchief, super chief.”

[gamingrpg927]

Where to put a good gaming room

Wolfsgamingblog.com Web site. Wolf's Gaming Blog Xbox One particular & Pc Gaming, And Board Games.

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[insanityclause]

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

That had been his idea, to slip for a few moments into the character he’s playing on Broadway, in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal”: Robert, the cheated-on husband and backstabbed best friend whose coolly proper facade is the carapace containing a crumbling man. And when Mr. Hiddleston became him, the change was instantaneous: the guarded stillness of his body, the chill reserve in his gray-blue eyes.

“It’s interesting,” Mr. Hiddleston said after a while, analyzing Robert’s expression from the inside. “It gives less away.” A pause, and then his own smile flickered back, its pleasure undisguised. “O.K.,” Mr. Hiddleston announced, himself again, “it’s not Robert anymore.”

It was late on a muggy August morning, one day before the show’s first preview at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, and Mr. Hiddleston — the classically trained British actor best known for playing the winsomely chaotic villain Loki, god of mischief and brother of Thor, in the Marvel film franchise — had been in New York for less than a week.

He’ll be here all autumn for the limited run of the production, a hit in London earlier this year, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he’d settled in. “I literally have never sat in this room before,” he’d said at the top of the photo shoot, in his cramped auxiliary dressing room, next door to the similarly tiny one he had been occupying.

He’d had nothing to do with the space’s camera-ready décor. So there was no use making a metaphor of the handsome clock with its hands stopped at 12 (“Betrayal” is famous for its reverse chronology; far more apt if the clock had run backward), or of the compact stack of pristine books that looked like journals, with pretty covers and presumably empty pages: a bit off-brand for Mr. Hiddleston, who at 38 has a model-perfect exterior with quite a lot inscribed inside.

Take the matter-of-fact way he said, in explaining that he’d first encountered Pinter’s work when he studied for his A-levels in English literature, theater, Latin and Greek: “It was a real tossup between French and Spanish or Latin and Greek. I thought, I can always speak French and Spanish, I can’t always read Latin and Greek, so I’ll study that and I’ll speak the other two.”

Though, to be fair, he only said that because I’d teased him slightly about the Latin and Greek, and I’d teased him — not a recommended journalistic technique — because he was so disarmingly good-humored and resolutely down to earth, chatting away as he waited for the photographer to set up a shot. It didn’t seem like it would ruffle him. He laughed, actually.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

In this country, Mr. Hiddleston is mainly a screen star, known also for playing Jonathan Pine in the John le Carré series “The Night Manager” on AMC. There are plans, too, for him to bring Loki to Disney’s streaming service in a stand-alone series.

But at home in London, he has amassed some impressive Shakespearean credits, including the title roles in Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” and Josie Rourke’s “Coriolanus,” and a turn as Cassio in Michael Grandage’s “Othello” — a production that Pinter, saw some months before he died in 2008. That was the year Mr. Hiddleston won a best newcomer Olivier Award for Cheek by Jowl’s “Cymbeline.”

Jamie Lloyd’s “Betrayal,” which has a staging to match the spareness of Pinter’s language and a roiling well of squelched emotion to feed its comedy, is Mr. Hiddleston’s Broadway debut. Likewise for his co-stars, Zawe Ashton (of Netflix’s “Velvet Buzzsaw”), who plays Emma, Robert’s wife; and Charlie Cox (of Netflix’s “Daredevil”), who plays Emma’s lover, Jerry, Robert’s oldest friend.

Beginning at what appears to be the end of Robert and Emma’s marriage, after her yearslong affair with Jerry has sputtered to a stop, it’s a drama of cascading double-crosses. First staged by Peter Hall in London in 1978 — and in 1980 on Broadway, where it starred Roy Scheider, Blythe Danner and Raul Julia — it rewinds through time to the sozzled evening when Emma and Jerry overstep the line.

The most recent Broadway revival was just six years ago, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig as Robert, Rachel Weisz as Emma and Rafe Spall as Jerry. It might seem too soon for another, let alone one with sexiness to spare — except that Mr. Lloyd’s production is also marked by a palpable hauntedness and a profound sense of loss.

Reviewing the London staging in The New York Times, Matt Wolf called it “a benchmark achievement for everyone involved,” showing the play “in a revealing, even radical, new light.” Michael Billington, in The Guardian, called Mr. Hiddleston’s performance “superb.”

What’s curious is that Mr. Hiddleston, so good at bad boys, isn’t playing Jerry, the more glamorous role: the cad, the pursuer, the best man who goes after the bride. But Mr. Lloyd said that casting him that way was never part of their discussions.

Last fall, when Mr. Lloyd persuaded Mr. Hiddleston to read a scene with Ms. Ashton for a one-night gala celebration of Pinter in London, part of the season-long Pinter at the Pinter series, there was no grand plan. Having asked Mr. Hiddleston about a possible collaboration for years, since “just before he became ridiculously famous,” Mr. Lloyd said, this was the first time he got a yes.

“I just really admired his craft of acting, the precision of his acting, as well as his real emotional depth and his real wit,” Mr. Lloyd said. “And he’s turned into what I think is the epitome of a great Pinter actor. Because if you’re in a Pinter play, you have to dig really deep and connect to terrible loss or excruciating pain, often massive volcanic emotion, and then you have to bottle it all up. You have to suppress it all.”

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

The scene Mr. Hiddleston and Ms. Ashton read at the gala appears at the midpoint of “Betrayal”: Robert and Emma on vacation in Venice, at a moment that leaves their marriage with permanent damage. Within days, Mr. Hiddleston told Mr. Lloyd that he was on board for a full production.

‘What remains private’

Photos taken, back in the faintly more lived-in of his Broadway dressing rooms, Mr. Hiddleston opened the window to let in some Midtown air — and when you’re as tall as he is, 6 feet 2 inches, opening it from the top of the window frame is easy enough to do. Then, making himself an espresso with his countertop machine, he sat down to talk at length.

“I’m always curious about the presentation of a character’s external persona versus the interior,“ he said. “What remains private, hidden, concealed, protected, and what does the character allow to be seen? We all have a very complex internal world, and not all of that is on display in our external reality.”

He can tick off the ways that various characters of his conceal what’s inside: Loki, with all that rage and vulnerability “tucked away”; the ultra-proper spy Jonathan Pine, in “The Night Manager,” “hiding behind his politeness”; Robert, a lonely man wearing “a mask of control” that renders him “confident, powerful, polished,” at least as far as any onlookers can tell.

In “Betrayal,” each of the three principals has an enormous amount to hide from the people who are meant to be their closest intimates. It’s a play about power and manipulation, duplicity and misplaced trust, and what’s so threatening about it is the very ordinariness of its privileged milieu. This snug little world that once seemed so safe and ideal — the happiest of families, the oldest of friends — has long since fallen apart.

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

“The sadness in the play — it’s not only sadness; because it’s Pinter, there’s wit and levity as well — but if there is sadness in the play,” he said, “I think it comes from the fact that these betrayals render Robert, Emma and Jerry more alone than they were before.”

Trust and self-protection

One-on-one, Mr. Hiddleston was more cautious than he’d been during the photo shoot, surrounded then by a gaggle of people affiliated with the show. Still, when I asked him about betrayal, lowercase, he went straight to the condition it violates.

“To trust is a profound commitment, and to trust is to make oneself vulnerable,” he said, fidgeting with a red rubber band and choosing his words with care. “It’s such an optimistic act, because you’re putting your faith in the hands of someone or something which you expect to remain constant, even if the circumstances change.”

“I’m disappearing down a rabbit hole here,” he said, “but I think about it a lot. I think about certainty and uncertainty. Trust is a way of managing uncertainty. It’s a way of finding security in saying, ‘Perhaps all of this is uncertain, but I trust you.’ Or, ‘I trust this.’ And there’s a lot of uncertainty in the world at the moment, so it becomes harder to trust, I suppose.”

An interview itself is an act of trust, albeit often a wary one. And there was one stipulated no-go zone in this encounter, a condition mentioned by a publicist only after I’d arrived: No talk of Taylor Swift, with whom Mr. Hiddleston had a brief, intense, headline-generating romance that, post-breakup, she evidently spun into song lyrics.

That was three years ago, and I hadn’t been planning to bring her up; given the context of the play, though, make of that prohibition what you will. Mr. Hiddleston, who once had a tendency to pour his heart out to reporters, knows that he can’t stop you.

“It’s not possible, and nor should it be possible, to control what anyone thinks about you,” he said. “Especially if it’s not based in any, um —” he gave a soft, joyless laugh — “if it’s not based in any reality.”

That’s something he’s learned about navigating fame — about being put on a pedestal that’s then kicked out from under him. He knows now “to let go of the energy that comes toward me, be it good or bad,” he said. “Because naturally in the early days I took responsibility for it.”

“And yes, I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” he added, his tone as restrained as his words. He took a beat, and so much went unsaid in what he said next: “That’s because I didn’t realize it needed protecting before.”

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

And the way he treated the people around him at work — with a fundamental respect, regardless of rank, and no whiff of flattery — made him seem sincere about what he called “staying true to the part of myself that’s quite simple, that’s quite ordinary.”

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”