#its only symbolically satisfying and fitting i hope you understand

[tapestryundone]

when the god was made in the image of a man who infiltrated the mind of said god and in doing so made himself intertwined with the form that god took while also being the cause of that form creating a infinite feedback loop of what caused the god and his creator to evoke the very image of the death the creator feared through the form of an animal representing that concept, and the god has faint, undeniably human characteristics given to him by his creator while his creator retained none of it. fuck

[drhu0806]

20 – “This better be good.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Tav/custom player character Rating: G Warnings: questionable understanding of geology and chemistry, none

The druid lays the bar of metal on the anvil. Holding a hammer over, the chant of a Heat Metal spell falls from her lips, and the bar grows scorching white hot. The first blow comes down with a thundering twang, then another, and another. A subtle aura of magic permeates the immediate area; the smith’s lips never stop moving, a steady, quiet litany of Druidic that shapes the metal just as much as the hammer.

Kainé stands to the side, enraptured at the sight. As the blade takes shape, the smith puts her tool aside, a hovering hand replacing it. She closes her eyes, and the magic swells. Her hand glides slowly over the molten alloy as it cools, and it shimmers and wriggles as it sharpens and its core hardens. A dagger takes shape, silvery and sleek, its razor edges lined an inky black.

After the blade is finished, the hilt is fashioned next, and at the end of it all, the smith finishes the piece etching a symbol into it, her personal signature. She regards her work, satisfied, before giving a smile towards Kainé.

“You’re free to take a closer look and ask questions if you like.”

Eyes brightening with childlike fascination, she practically scampers over. “I’ve just never seen anyone like us work with metal. They usually…”

“Dismiss it? Lump it in with the blasphemous machinations of man and the perversion of nature?” the druidic smith laughs knowingly.

“Yes! And I understand where they’re coming from but… We can shape stone and move earth but not this kind of stone? Sure, we can make poultices and medicine from various plants and herbs and those would also never naturally occur in nature, but we can’t do the same for ore? It just never made sense to me.”

The smith’s smile only grows at her words. She reaches down and hands over a small yet fairly heavy sack. Upon opening it, Kainé sees that it contains rough, unrefined rocks of various colors and shapes.

“I have to admit, it’s quite nice to meet another of our order that actually appreciates my work. Most other circles barely tolerate me. Do you travel a lot?”

“No, I just… I know what it’s like to not fit in all the time. Besides, I find the more ‘unusual’ topics quite interesting.”

The smith laughs. “A kindred spirit. For that, I hope you’ll forgive me if I try to impart a lesson that you might enjoy. Reach in there and take the black one. Uh, no, not that one, there’s another—yes, that one. Take a look. What can you glean from it?”

Kainé peers at the small, dark slab, threading her druidic energy through it. She’s surprised to discover an organized structure, possessing a latticed and stacked framework. There’s something internally pure about the rock, and she can’t help but feel something strangely familiar about it.

“Now… Take a look at this blade.”

When she places her hand on the newly forged dagger, she expects the granules of iron throughout, but interwoven and strengthening them is the same material she senses in the dark rock.

“You feel that lattice network? It’s called carbon, in its purest form. It tempers iron to form the steel within blades, and if you pay attention, you’ll notice it’s present in so much of nature and life, even the air itself. If you strive to understand anything about the natural world, make it this.”

Kainé regards her with skepticism. “This… You can find this in plants? The air?”

“It is what connects so much of life on this particular plane, you’d be surprised. This particular form is found in volcanic rock.”

The tiefling’s eyes practically sparkle at the thought. She can’t help but imagine the burning deluge of lava trailing slowly the side of a mountain, the giant plumes of ash that engulfs the immediate sky above, capable of drawing up the most intense lightning storms. Her fingers inadvertently tighten around the stone; what other wonders could be found in a place like that?

The smith winks, placing something small on the hilt of the dagger. It’s a diamond, polished and cut so that its facets gleam under the light of the forge’s fires. With another magical chant, it’s embedded within the weapon. She offers it out to Kainé with both hands.

“A gift, for indulging me. And a wish as well, for you to never stop learning about the wonders of this world, regardless of the opinions of others.” She gestures at the diamond, a mysterious smile playing at her lips. “Make sure to take a look at that when you can. I’m sure you’ll be very intrigued at what you learn.”

Below the surface of the earth, Kainé brushes her hands over the stony walls of an underground chamber, not so deep where sunlight can’t filter in from openings above, but enough where climbing out is out of the question. On the far side of it is an outline for an exit etched in the wall, yet no discernible way to open it. All they have is a raised dais with a small slot carved in the middle of it, and a cryptic riddle carved into a slab nearby.

“Bask in the Morninglord’s splendor, and let its seven paths guide you…” she mutters to herself.

The chamber leads into other smaller enclaves that the rest of her party has gone to explore, leaving her the only one remaining. The short riddle continuously turns within her mind: the Morninglord’s splendor is obviously a reference to sunlight, but she can’t think of what the seven paths could be referring to.

Shaking her head, she approaches the dais again. Her initial inspection of it yielded little, but it’s not like she can think of anything else to try. Pulling out her chosen dagger, the one she received weeks ago from the druid smith in the grove, she begins to prod the stone dais, desperate to find something new.

Up above, slim beams of sunshine fall into the cavern. As Kainé pokes and prods, the gemstone seated within the hilt catches the light, forcing her to blink and cover her eyes for a moment. But when she looks again, she sees something: flashes of rainbow reflected off the diamond’s facets, and suddenly something clicks.

Seven paths..!

She holds the dagger out, trying to hold the gem against the sunbeam in just the right way, but the light doesn’t refract the way she needs. She spots the slot within the dais and realizes the gem in her weapon won’t do.

“Where am I going to get another diamond…?”

Her hand brushes over it, recalling the words of the smith who gifted it to her. It felt like a lifetime ago even though it hadn’t really been that long; with so much happening, she never found the time to take another look like she suggested. Seeing little else to do, she sinks her magic into it.

Cubic, repeated structure. And something very, very familiar.

In the next cave chamber over, Shadowheart hears an echoing call.

“Hey! I’ve figured it out!”

They’ve been in these caverns for what felt like ages, and after all that time in the Underdark, she’s had more than her fill of underground caves.

“Oh, this better be good…”

When she re-enters the main chamber, she can sense the whirl of divine magic in the air. Kainé has her hands flat against the stony walls again, brow furrowed in concentration.

“What are you…?”

“It’s carbon, it’s all carbon,” the druid mutters. “The mountain nearby is a dormant volcano. All this rock it formed and left behind… Okay. I got it. I just have to…”

The stone beneath her fingers shifts. Kainé weaves her magic through those lattices, slowly drawing them out. Within seconds, a black, ridged slab forms within her hand. She turns to Shadowheart, turning it in her hands.

“We know diamonds are made from a lot of heat and pressure which is why they’re found so often near volcanoes,” she continues to muse to herself. “We just never figured out what they were made from, until…”

Heat balls up within her palms, and she closes her hands over the rock. She conjures images of molten, flowing rock, of the unfathomable, crushing weight of all that churning earth. Her hands squeeze together, closer and closer as pressure and heat build.

With a final crack that resonates throughout the cavern, the magic dissipates. Slowly opening her palms, a small, translucent diamond sits within. Rough and not fully cut like the one in her dagger, but it would do.

Kainé nods at the cleric. “Get the others. I think I can open this.”

As Shadowheart leaves, she walks over to the dais and examines the slot in the middle. There’s a trail of sunlight that falls exactly into it; Kainé slides the gemstone in, and she sees the white light coming from one side fall out from the other side in seven different colors. A rainbow beams out from the gem and lands in the middle of the outline within the wall. It shifts, and then it gradually slides open, revealing another passageway.

Sighing, she gazes at her dagger, wondering where that druid is now, praying that she’s safe from the armies of the Absolute.

“Thank you.”

[everemore]

Ah that face..... She was all too familiar with that smile from her previous life. To think she would return to see it directed at another person instead of herself. "I wouldn't compare these men to birds your grace. They're more akin to flies, buzzing around in hopes of stirring up trouble." Before one of the nobles could lift their head in protest, Guinevere grabs the top of his scalp and forces him back down, nearly forcing him to slam his face into the cobblestone. "I do not believe his grace gave you permission to move, did he?" She hums before she lets go.

"Truly, I am disappointed in you two. My lords are not both fathers with daughters of your own? Do you not understand the weight of the words you carry? With how brazenly you speak I can only imagine how you behave in your own homes. If I were your daughters I would be ashamed to call you a father." The more talkative of the two speaks up, stammering as he protests, 'how could you say we do not love our daughters!? You know nothing—'

"And yet you put words and expectations on me as if you know my situation." That stunned them into silence. She had called out their hypocrisy directly. They were silent for a moment before the quieter of the two spoke.

'Forgive us, princess..... We are just worried about the security of the kingdom. With his grace having decided to end the engagement, the nobles have grown restless and worried.' Finally some honest words, it really would be better for the rest of the nobles to be more honest like this instead of festering on gossip.

"I understand," she spoke as she stood up and patted down her dress. "This was something that had been decided when I was still within my mothers womb. Of course, there would be expectations of the betrothed to one day be united and serve as a symbol for the unification Britain." It was annoyingly a hot topic in her childhood. Every nurse and maid she had gushed about it thinking it was so romantic. It drove her mad back then. "For you, gentlemen, I will explain why I asked to the annulment. I simply do not believe I would make a good queen. After all, like you said, I am selfish and possibly mad. Would you want a queen like that? Who cares only for her wishes and desires and not that of the people's?" They remained silent at this point.

"I apologize to trouble you over something so meaningless, but may I borrow two guards your grace?" She asks, finally turning to face her king with a satisfied smile. "I believe they've been educated on the matter now its time for their punishment."

"You two are to remain in that position until I summon your wives to retrieve you." A fitting punishment, and was sure to give their wives a good laugh and something else to talk about.

"I am sorry you two had to bear witness to such an unpleasant scene. I didn't think this type of gossip would breach your walls."

Because she had mentioned it before when they had dinner, the fact that their promised marriage was called off didn't surprise Arthur in the least. Though he had been disappointed, part of him hoping that maybe she would have changed her mind. In the bit of time they spent together so far Arthur couldn't help but notice that they got along well. So well that he didn't understand why she was against it but... It was fine, or it would be. Patience wasn't particularly a virtue of his but... He was a very good hunter, and his quarry was very bad at running away.

However there was something that he was annoyed him in particular with the situation as it was, and that was the explosion of gossip that he was hearing about from Lucan. Was it not enough for him to give the appearance of gracefully stepping back, and saying there were no hard feelings? It wasn't even an oath he had received personally, but one that Leodegrance had made to his father Uther who was conveniently dead and unable to enforce any such thing. Besides, there was something that was... Unsettling about the idea of forcing his way through with a marriage to Guinevere. It was a weird unpleasant feeling that he couldn't explain, so even though it was a thought that Arthur had he held back. Still... He worried that these chirping birds would possibly send his quarry running further than he could chase. A different type of hunt might have to happen soon...

"I recommend taking a walk for a change of pace, Arthur." The calm voice of his butler had impeccable timing as always, making Arthur groan quietly. Lucan leaned forward so that he was visible from his spot just behind the King as he smiled, "Do I need to point out that sulking in your office won't help anything? You've never like having to sit and think." "Fine fine!" The reply was given with a shuckle before he stood up. "But you're coming with." "Of course, who else will keep you our of trouble today?" Lucan passed him with that cheeky comment, and opened the door for the both of them to leave. There was, admittedly, no particular destination and perhaps that was why the two wandering men didn't take long to stumble across the very thing that was annoying Arthur so much right now.

Gold eyes narrowed as they listened to the gossiping words of the two nobles for only a moment before Arthur stepped out, interestingly enough just a beat after Guinevere herself. Though while it was the woman who spoke words of reproach, he was the first to be fully acknowledged by the two gossipers. Annoying...

There was a subtle nudge to his side as Guinevere addressed him, beinging the blond out of his quickly spiraling thoughts. "There's no need for you to apologize Princess. I heard the chirping of birds has been particularly loud in my castle, and wanted to confirm it for myself." Arthur smiled vaguely at the woman for a moment, before turning a cool gaze to the nervous looking courtiers that were tentatively rising from their low bow for him. What a pity they had noticed him, Arthur was somewhat looking forward to seeing what she had been about to do to them. "How unfortunate that it was correct... I'm disappointed." Those words were directed unmistakably to the nobles.

Turning his attention from the panicking courtiers to Guinevere Arthur smiled, "Please don't mind me at all and say whatever you would like to them My Lady. I believe it's only fair."

[davidmann95]

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

potent but not real, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: You kill people. Kim Taehyung doesn’t. He assisted you with one particular kill and then he kissed you. And, like a needle of methadone, the two of you chase the high again and again, knowing there is no hope for you. But there is for him. All Taehyung has to do is to walk away from your eyes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of murder (non-graphic); sociopathic reader; unprotected sex (fem reader, sex in an office after hours, f-receiving oral, fucking against a desk, (symbolic) lipstick-covered motel sex, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); implied angst; non-idol!AU - office worker!Taehyung x assassin!reader (John Wick-esque)

Inspired by Methadone by Rise Against. The italicized bits are parts of the lyrics sprinkled throughout the story. If you like rock, check ‘em out!

--

The last time was a five-star hotel, but this time was a dingy motel, and you dressed appropriately. Thin-strapped flimsy black dress, kitschy animal print fur coat, strappy heels, and torn stockings, stumbling along the halls, ignored by others because you were mumbling under your breath, empty bottle in your hand, hair astray and makeup smeared.

No one wants a dirty-looking prostitute, and especially not a crazy one.

If anyone bothered to look at your face, they would have noticed how beautiful you were, caked under layers of makeup. They would have noticed that despite your erratic steps and nonsensical words, your eyes were shockingly clear, observing everything, hawk-like and hyper-focused. They would have seen that you took care not to move your left side too much, the thick fur hiding a barely-there lump.

You tipped into a door and tripped into the motel room.

The door instantly snapped closed behind your fallen body.

Locked.

love like a needle full of methadone

You rolled onto your back, looking up. Kim Taehyung stared down at you.

How did it come to this?

potent but not real, left you wanting more lipstick track-marks bleeding wet

It had only been a job, a woman this time. The higher-ups usually had you take the women. It was easy, but you needed an in, and Kim Taehyung had been that in. He was aware of what was happening and he was getting paid to keep his mouth shut. The first time you met him had been calm, neutral smiles as you greeted the tall, dark-haired man. You had worn appropriate office attire, slightly ill-fitted pants, starchy white dress shirt, big glasses, prim bun. Taehyung had greeted you at the door of the company he worked at. Your role was an outsourced advisor to help the company heads improve productivity and workflow. Taehyung led you around the floors, showing you various things, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the information Taehyung would provide you after hours. Names, schedules, addresses.

The woman had also worked at this company.

Had.

You did not ask for the reasoning. Embezzlement? Public shame? Had blackmail on someone? Had sex with the wrong rich man or woman? It didn’t matter. People die in senseless ways every day and one more meant nothing to you. That was your great skill, a skill unmatched by any other.

No remorse.

Perfect for the murder business.

And, like one truly born from the Eastern cultural mindset, instead of trying to get help or cure yourself of your apathy, you monetized your skill by becoming an assassin.

for us child, the stars refuse to shine why for us child, do the stars refuse to shine?

You followed the woman for weeks. The timing was important. Patience was key. Blending in, a different guise every week, a different method planned every day. The thing about killing for hire was that if you didn’t want to be caught, you couldn’t have a pattern. If you didn’t settle on a method, it couldn’t be connected back to you. That was the way you liked to do things.

The perfect weapon, a dangerous method.

The higher-ups were impatient, but you didn’t care. You knew what must be done and, when you’re the one doing the dirty work, you didn’t let them question you. If they wanted this to end a different way, they would have used a different assassin. But they chose you for a reason. You always had the cleanest kill, completely untraceable.

No one would ever know the Circle was involved.

It was a spotless erasure.

The reward was hefty, and, throughout the years, you earned far more than any human needed in their lifetime. Money was never your drive, but you took it all. You knew your own worth. Your work was too good to be underappreciated.

Taehyung was in on it. He knew it was going to happen. He gave you the name, the address, her usual timetable. He presented it all to you, without question, on a shadowy, starless night. You stared into his dark brown eyes, wondering why he could do such a thing. He held your gaze, dark hair pushed back, sculpted brows, serious expression. You wondered if he was broken like you, but that sort of thing was impossible.

There is no one as unhinged as you.

“Why are you this business?” he asked quietly in his deep, baritone voice.

It wasn’t accusing or beseeching. It was simply a question, no flaff attached to it.

“Because I’m well-suited for it.” You tapped the side of your head. Unsmiling. “Some screws fell loose when I was molded from the clay.”

Taehyung kept his gaze on you, blinking slowly. You expected him to recoil in disdain, be confused, or simply retreat from your unsmiling, vacant demeanor. Instead, he took a step closer.

“You shouldn’t need screws when molding from clay.”

One step closer, looking down, casting shadows all over his face.

“You only need screws when you’re making a machine.”

Taehyung leaned in and kissed you.

we wound up back here again

Fucking.

It was always a means to an end, something you did to fulfill that carnal need, a need that you did not understand very well, but it was there, and, like a starving beast, it demanded to be satisfied. Taehyung kissing you in a random office twelve stories up in a random skyscraper didn’t mean much.

But there was no consequence either.

You grabbed his head and crashed your lips to his again.

The risks were low. You knew everything about Kim Taehyung. The higher-ups of the Circle briefed you on him. You had his education history, knew every apartment he had lived in and every girlfriend he had ever dated. Had access to his credit card history, his medical records, everything.

He knew nothing about you.

Taehyung didn’t know you had no traceable past, didn’t know you had no home, didn’t know you belonged to the most powerful group of assassins the world has ever had the misfortune to create, didn’t know how many nights you spent in and out of consciousness, body traumatized and stitched back together, for you, a tool of the Circle, to be used once more.

This was your choice. Anyone could get out.

You just have to ask to die.

You sucked on his tongue and he groaned in your mouth, hands sliding between your arms to grasp your buttons and undo them one by one, thrusting his tongue in your mouth as he did so. Your breathing deepened, surrounding yourself with his warm herbal scent, fingers sinking into his cheeks, your shirt coming apart and his hands diving in, kneading your breasts with his strong hands.

Saying nothing.

There was nothing to say, because it was senseless, foolish, the worst idea imaginable. Yet, despite your demure and borderline unflattering appearance, Taehyung could see your hawk-like and hyper-focused gaze. You caught him watching you, not just your body, but your eyes, taking every opportunity to observe them. You could see his mind memorizing the shape, the iris color, the position of every lash.

Against your lips, he whispered, locking you with his stare.

“Your eyes are art to me.”

Taehyung knew. He must know that you were a highly trained assassin, which was only a pretty word for paid serial killer. It made you the lowest of the low, the worst kind of human being, the kind that does not deserve compliments or sweet nothings.

He pushed your head back and licked your neck, up your trachea, collarbone to chin, leaving a long, wet stripe of saliva.

The unnatural action made your shiver in his hands.

He kissed down, scooping your breasts out, nicking your skin with his teeth, not asking, but aware that you could break his neck at any second. The Circle could call you right now and tell you Kim Taehyung needed to die and you would kill him without hesitation or remorse.

His lips closed around your nipple and his dark eyes were on yours once more.

There were no stars tonight.

The world that you and Taehyung had created in this spare office was only lit from below by the unsuspecting city through the window.

He sucked hard. He used teeth. He licked and pulled and streams of saliva dripped down your chest, your body shuddering in his hands, hands falling back onto the desk and leaning back, Taehyung over you, your shirt falling down your upper arms, the euphoric rush almost unbearable, too much feeling for your empty heart.

No talking, no words, nothing but sound. Gasps, slurping, kissing down your stomach, skin being scraped with teeth and hands, Taehyung’s dark eyes on your face, always on your face, and you looked down at him, watching him undo your slacks, never losing control, not even as he pushed your panties down and snaked his tongue in between your folds. Your jaw clenched as his warmth invaded yours, your hand fitting on the back of his head, curling your fingers in his hair, a solid grip that could not be broken unless he finished his job. His tongue slid in and flicked your clit, stroking its ego, your hips grinding into his face, nearly suffocating him, but Taehyung said nothing, his stare never leaving, almost unnerving, but you didn’t care.

Slicker, stronger, rougher, his lips closing in, sucking and licking, teeth nicking your clit, his hands on your ass and nails digging in, pushing you to him and lengthening the stroke of your hips to his face, flooding his mouth with sweet honey and his ears with savage snarls, his eyebrow cocking, the only indication that he was asking for you to cum, fingers splayed over your ass cheeks.

You sucked in a breath and bucked into his face, hissing, clit almost painfully throbbing, and Taehyung finally shut his eyes, groaning as he drank it all like he was trapped in the desert and your leaking core was his oasis.

He didn’t bother murmuring your name.

It wasn’t your real name anyway.

like unstable chemicals combining only to explode

Assassins don’t need to procreate.

You were given options.

You chose complete removal.

Your uterus was probably in some biohazardous landfill, rotting away.

The only visible scar was mixed with the thousands all over your skin. It didn’t mean much to you.

Taehyung removed his face from between your legs, strings of your cum all over his chin. They snapped and hung downwards, so viscous that they just suspended there. He wiped it up his skin and licked it off, breathing hard.

Maybe that was all he wanted, but that was not all you wanted.

You yanked him up by his tie, nearly making him choke, and then his orgasm-stained breath was in your face. You pushed his face to the side, fitting your chin to his broad shoulder and inhaled that comforting herbal scent, the scent of Taehyung, and you unbuckled his pants, pushing them down, sliding your hand under the waistband of his underwear and pulling his already hard cock out. He gasped into your neck, grabbing your arm, but you growled, pumping his length roughly, making it swell to its full girth in your hand.

You knew how big he was. It was recorded in his medical record.

what would it take for you to notice

You pulled one of your legs out of your pants, fitted it around his waist, and shoved him inside you, grimacing, your ass against the desk. Taehyung pulled his head back, dark brown eyes wide, shocked that you took him so fast but, to you, pain was life, and this was nothing. In fact, it was welcome pain, being stretched out, sinking down on him, maintaining eye contact.

“What if–”

“It’s not possible for me to get pregnant anymore.”

He searched your eyes, looking for the lie. He mouthed the word, anymore, and there were questions, but you cared not for them, slapping your hips to his and he gasped, grabbing your leg and fucking you hard, right into the desk, sloppy, wet, but so much force, lifting you a little to sit you partially on the wood and then pound you harder, practically impaling you with his large cock. Even then, your back didn’t arch. Even then, your head didn’t tilt back. You were panting, primal noises at your throat, and his eyes were on yours, and then your moans and his moans matched, both of you committing arson, setting your worlds ablaze with lust, your nails scraping against the desk and his nails piercing your thigh, leaving bruises and marks.

Taehyung leaned in, a heavy sigh and wanton hiss, your hot breath mixing with his, loud slaps of skin on skin, his cock brutally slamming into you, your pussy tightening all around him. In an instant, one particularly jarring thrust and you felt the rush igniting all your nerves at once, a wordless gasp between your bodies as it all crashed down on him. He grunted, jaw set, closing one eye at the force of your orgasm milking his out, cramming your tightness full of his release, hot strings painting your insides, wasted in the name of senseless desire.

i am a heart on fire and all the world's a fuse so don't get close

And now, in this dingy motel, dressed like a cheap whore, you looked up at Kim Taehyung, clad in a plain green sweater vest and t-shirt, light wash jeans ripped up and showing off his muscular legs. He stood out more than you, his strong and handsome features far too difficult to disguise, but he was no one of note, a simple company man who would never be investigated for anything because he was insignificant on paper. There was nothing for Kim Taehyung to hide.

Nothing except his nights with you.

the trouble and the worth am i better off on my own?

You got off the floor and went to the bathroom to wipe off your face, frowning at the amount you had piled on to mask most of your features. Taehyung waited patiently, as he had all this time. He didn’t want to see you with all that on either. You washed your face and came out of the bathroom, shouldering out of your fur coat and draping it on a rickety chair, nearly collapsing it with the weight.

Revealing your gun holster.

It sat on your left side, within easy reach of your right hand. You had a limited number of bullets. You never wasted your shot. This wasn’t an action movie. You unclicked the buckle holding it against your body and set it on the table, the modern tool of murder looking ominously black against the cheap wood, machine-carved patterns trying to make it look fancy, but the poor staining gave away all the mechanical mistakes.

“Is that for me?”

You looked up to the deep voice.

Taehyung gazed back at you, expression unreadable, but clearly referring to the gun. His hair wasn’t styled, black-brown curls shading his forehead, parted in the middle. Hands in his pockets, ass against the end of the bed.

“No.”

A simple answer with no further explanation.

The Circle did not instruct you to kill Taehyung, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t at some point.

They were ruthless.

Taehyung was not looking at your skimpy clothes or your bare arms and legs. His eyes were on yours, as they always were, revealing his intent, hiding nothing. He had an intimidating stare and you had a pointed one, sharpened to drink in every observation until it was a part of your memory.

There was a bottle of red wine open on one of the nightstands, with one used wine glass.

Taehyung spread legs for you, as he did many times before.

You sometimes wondered why he continued with this. There was nothing he gained from it other than the actual sex itself. Did he feel sorry for you? Did he do it because fucking a murderer was an unattainable high in itself? Did he like you? Was he just killing time like how you killed other human beings? In some way you had contaminated him, and now Taehyung could not go back to his vaguely innocent life.

It didn’t matter what the reason was.

Better you not know.

He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, opening an object with one hand. It was a black and gold tube of red lipstick. Shockingly red, far too expensive for someone like you, with those iconic overlapping C’s. He twisted it up. His other hand appeared and beckoned you to him.

You stepped up. Taehyung handed you the tube of lipstick, looking up at you, unsmiling but strangely satisfied. He produced a cheap pocket mirror from his other pocket. Held it in front of you.

You applied the red lipstick from the bullet, right onto your full lips.

Smooth, swift strokes.

Recapped the tube and handed it back to him.

Taehyung tossed it and the mirror onto the bed behind him and cupped your cheeks, kissing you right away.

damaged goods they soon forget in choking dust where we got left

Smearing the lipstick everywhere, red track-marks all over your neck and cheeks, lips and teeth working you. The satin finish was slippery, leaving streaks on his chin as well, heavy gasps of breath mixing between your bodies as you took his face in your hands, kissing him all over too, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling it back, painting smears like bloodstains all over his golden tan skin, Taehyung moaning depravedly under you.

Your teeth scraped right against his Adam’s apple and his eyelids fluttered, quickly righting themselves to look at you through his long, dark lashes.

He reached back and felt around for the tube of lipstick, holding it out to you once more.

The mirror was face up on the bed, reflecting a small slice of this particular circle of hell you and Taehyung had created in this motel room.

You took the red lipstick.

for us all the stars refuse to shine

His vest and t-shirt disappeared, suddenly fading into the background, body pushed back onto the bed by your strong hands, toned chest exposed and you climbing over him, lips painted already, quite accurately despite the mess on your face already. The tube was once again recapped, rolling across the cheap duvet. The bedsprings shrieked, metal grating against metal, but that was a common sound in this sinful place, a place where all bad deeds come to be executed.

Adultery.

Drug use.

Death.

All of the above, sometimes.

You stared into those dark brown eyes and sculpted brows, beautiful lips parted and smeared with scarlet, all the way down to his collarbones and you leaned forward, kiss prints all over his pecs, Taehyung’s rumbling deep baritone above you, noises of pleasure and praise, nonverbal but just as communicative, breath hitching as you sucked on his skin, adding purple to the red. Your tongue flicked against his dark nipple, staining it with red lipstick, the floral taste in your mouth now, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure more important, lips closing around the hardened nub, flicking it with your tongue, your hand trailing down his chest.

Taehyung touched your hand and turned one of your nails inward.

Your fingers curled and you raked your nails down his torso.

He moaned above you, arching his back to receive more pain.

so tap the vein and light the match we burn like stars before the crash

Every time, it felt better, more intense, your nails and your lips on his hot skin, his sound above your head, the depth of his voice vibrating his chest cavity. Down, down, undoing his pants, yanking down his underwear, and soon they faded into the background too, his naked body before you, covered in slashes of red lipstick, gasping for breath, dark brown eyes on yours.

He didn’t say your name, because he still didn’t know it.

There was nothing to know.

You didn’t have a name.

The orphanage picked one for you all those years ago, but it was no longer a part of you, lost in a fire that tragically killed your paper trail, turning you into a meaningless existence, merely a cog in the Circle’s machine. Cared for and shrouded by the shadows, adding you to a part of their watch.

You were a very important cog, but a cog nonetheless.

“Taehyung.”

Those brown orbs widened, stained lips parting.

“Yeah?”

There was too much fondness in that low tone.

but for you there's still a chance, just let go

You just stared at him.

His breathing deepened, swallowing hard. His long fingers buried into the cheap bedding, his eyes darkening as his chin lowered, licking his lips slowly. He watched you from underneath his lashes, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do whatever,” he finally breathed. “I’ll take anything.”

Your gaze flickered down and he was already hard. Something about your eyes. You dropped down, tongue sliding out, wetly running over the thick length. Taehyung sucked a breath through his teeth, hand coming up to wipe his mouth and plant back down on the bed, staining the sheets with marks of your meeting.

You wrapped your lips around it and it pulsed in your mouth, getting bigger as you lowered your head, still looking at his face, watching him shiver and groan at your lipstick-covered lips enveloping his throbbing cock. You took it all, hitting the back of your throat, so fucking much that you could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the sheer ecstasy painted over Taehyung’s handsome features, turning into drawn-out gasps as you began to move, bobbing up and down, your hands on the bed, neck straining from being stuffed full of cock. You could smell him every time you reached the base, that warm herbal scent flooding your nose, his thick length twitching in your mouth, fighting the tightness of your throat. You hollowed out your cheeks, tongue rubbing against the bottom, and Taehyung’s pitch hiked, biting his lip, lashes fluttering, pants shallowing.

“Fuck, oh, fuck…”

He was already filling your mouth to the brim, swollen head punching the back of your throat, bruising it in all the right ways, your moans trapped in your chest as you sped up, sucking harder, your fingertips brushing against his skin and spreading the lipstick-laced saliva all over his balls, adding to the sensation, Taehyung crying out as he looked into your hyper-focused eyes, his own pupils blown so wide they seemed to overtake the iris, starless and consuming all the pleasure you gave him.

He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, suddenly gasping as he came, shooting into the roof of your mouth, the scorching heat splattering against your throat and pooling there, so much and so thick that for a second you stopped to roll your eyes back, drinking his strong taste, before shoving his cock into your mouth again, fucking his cum down your throat so your were forced to gulp it down, barely breathing, enjoying your self-produced lightheadedness and Taehyung’s wail of protest, too sensitive to take your sudden rough pace, hand clawing at the air.

You slowed, licking him all over, soft, so soft, so much saliva, his stiff cock still dribbling out his orgasm for you to lap up.

His eyes on you again.

but now there's nowhere to run and yeah, there's nowhere to hide

And now you were naked, covered in red lipstick and his bites, straddling his lower torso, Taehyung licking between your breasts as you slid your ass down onto his still wet length, painted in Chanel, saliva, and cum, reaching down to reposition him at your entrance, his eyes shimmering, hazing out, high on you. Reflecting your form poised over him, a shadow with no morality.

You sank down and he moaned, low and deep, large hands on your waist and thigh, leading you. The thin walls of the motel did nothing to hide the screaming, the crying, the bed squeaks all around you two, above and below, whispers of devious deeds being performed meters away, but none of these things mattered. Your arms circled his broad shoulders and, as always, you were face to face, hawk-like, hyper-focused, and he was in front of you, fucked-out as your ass smacked into his balls, taking all of him, stretched out to an almost painful point.

He still didn’t know your name, so instead of saying it, his hand lifted and touched your chin, bringing your face to him, a slow, messy, pining kiss, your hips rolling into his, his moans wandering into your lips, eyes half-open to watch yours, your body shuddering with need, imploring you to fuck harder, rougher, to chase your pleasure, to chase it without abandon. You shoved Taehyung down onto the bed and smacked your hips into his, hissing at the jarring sensation of your tight hole being violently expanded by his long, thick length, nails digging into his tan skin. Taehyung harmonized with your lewd moans, husky depth adding to your heavy pants, following your rhythm and bouncing his ass on the hard mattress, hitting your deeper and more forcefully.

His hand fitted over yours, locking his fingers in between your spread ones, clutching tight, louder, louder, metal bedsprings screaming, your pants shallowing, staring down at Taehyung’s face covered with scarlet lipstick smears and dark brown curls sticking to his forehead.

what would it take for you to notice that i am a hand grenade pin already pulled so don't let go 

You wiggled your hips, smacking his hardness against your walls and clenching down, ruining yourself, ruining him, feral cries and satisfied hisses mixing with Taehyung’s deep baritone, one of his hands interlocked around yours, time ticking down and ready to detonate, trapped in the murky expanse of Taehyung’s brown orbs, heartbeat roaring in your ears, so loud it felt like it was the only sound you could hear, everything fading out except Taehyung’s face and you bouncing onto his cock, nails digging into his pecs.

“Taehyung…”

Your voice, wretched.

Like a guitar string snapping suddenly while being played.

You threw your head back, overtaken by the explosive fire racing through your gasoline veins, ignited by your orgasm shattering through your core and firing upwards, pussy convulsing and clutching Taehyung’s cock mercilessly, making his eyes roll back and his head slam into the pillows, knuckles white as he gripped your hand tight, whining on the top of his lungs, the high shooting from you to him, cock jolting and spurting thick gushes of cum upwards, right into you.

A violent crescendo of illicit ecstasy.

Someone smashed something against the wall next door, most likely a lamp.

You slumped onto Taehyung’s chest, body trembling with shivers of pleasure. His torso rumbled, struggling for breath, releasing your hand and wrapping his arms around you. Nothing romantic about being covered in red lipstick, saliva, and cum dribbling out of your hole.

Taehyung shoved his chin into your hair and trapped you there for a long while.

as we chase the sun my shadow slows us down

You didn’t say anything as he cleaned you up and you cleaned him up, both sitting in the narrow, half-full, yellowed tub, far too close together, practically in each other’s lap, using bleached hotel towels to wipe off the lipstick and cum with lukewarm water.

You raised your head, hair stringy and clinging to your skin.

His dark hair was plastered to his natural glowing tan.

You leaned forward.

Taehyung waited.

You pressed your lips to his.

A touch.

you're better off and i know

You drew back.

Remembering your gun sitting on the table outside the bathroom.

Remembering the man that you had shot hours before, staging it like a suicide.

What did that man do? You didn’t ask, didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. An old man who maybe had grandkids, great-grandkids. Maybe he ruined the lives of his hired labor, staining them with sin. Maybe he was at the wrong time and wrong place. Maybe he was guiltier than you, taking victims and leaving them to suffer with traumatic memories that could ever be erased.

You stared into Taehyung’s eyes, feeling no remorse.

Taehyung took your hand.

Squeezed it tight, so tight his knuckles were white and it felt like your fingers were being crushed.

You let him hold it for ten seconds.

Then you reached over and peeled his fingers off, one by one.

Got out of the tub, picking up the towel from the ground. Drying off your body, not looking at him. Put your clothes back on, hair still wet and cold. Holster on, jacket over it. The second you opened the motel door, you were the drunken, unstable prostitute once again, mumbling under your breath, speaking to voices unknown, pointedly ignored and avoided by everyone around you, even as you stumbled through the city, wet hair swinging, the only reminder that Taehyung had been with you, dripping water onto the sidewalk.

You looked down at your hand.

The hand that could kill.

The hand Kim Taehyung squeezed and would squeeze again, barring you didn’t kill yourself by being in the murder business. When Taehyung finally got out of the bath, he would once again find the large wad of cash you had left.

Money was never the drive.

Kim Taehyung made anonymous donations to various charities in your stead, his accounting background knowing exactly how to fumble the numbers and names. He and you would never be suspected. He was a real human being, one who cared about those around him. He would know where to put the money, know how needed it most. You wouldn’t.

You didn’t know anything about compassion.

You didn’t know anything about kindness.

You didn’t know anything about love.

you're better off and i know and i know

--

masterpost

[formulatrash]

hi! It’s totally fair if you don’t want to answer this question for whatever reason but, do you think there are any drivers in F1 that are part of the LGBTQ+ community? I don’t want to speculate on anyone’s sexuality, but it is a bit disheartening at times to see no representation whatsoever in the sport that I love so dearly... at the same time, it’s nobody’s duty to become a symbol for the community just because they’re a part of it, so I’d understand if they wanted to keep that low key, especially considering the amount of fans that would hate them for that only. It just makes me sad sometimes, not gonna lie.

I'm not gonna speculate publicly in any specific way, obviously. But statistically, it is impossible that there have never been LGBTQ+ F1 drivers - and actually there were two out ones, in Mike Beuttler (who sadly died of AIDS) and Lella Lombardi.

In other series, there are openly out drivers - in fact W Series seem to be basically incapable of stopping the drivers getting together, which is awesome and they should do it. And also kinda gives a lie to the idea rivals wouldn't.

There is a split between women's and men's sports in that basically sporting ladies seem to be like "wow, fit women time to openly drool over each other" and men being more pressured to keep it strictly no homo. It's nice that F1 drivers lately have been definitely more comfortable with being affectionate to each other and with deviating from very restrictive ideas of masculinity, although obviously that does not in any way imply their sexualities or gender status.

I think there are many reasons to be optimistic that an F1 driver could come out. Motorsport's landscape has changed - and the world, too - but of course, as you say, being the first is a sucky job and not, heh, one of the good kind.

Would they face some challenges? For sure. Some locations would be difficult - the UK, for instance, if a driver came out as trans. God, just imagining the thinkpieces from TERFs has made me nearly pass out.

I am sure there are LGBTQ+ people in the paddock beyond, whether that's in the media cohort (I mean, lmao, I am typing this why do I always exclude myself lol) or in the garages. And of course, the fans. As much as F1 talks about (even pre-pandemic) existing in its own bubble, of course it does not and while demographics are often skewed towards wealth and white western europeans, that doesn't affect the distribution of LGBTQ+ people.

Will it be godawful for the person who takes the first step? Yeah. You can't get away from the fact casual homophobia is pretty rife in F1, I'm regularly appalled by the sort of shitty jokes members of the media - who you'd think might be a bit less stuck in the jurassic period - will default to. Lots of people in F1 think they're a bit hardcore, that that's part of the image of the sport and it comes with both a strict conservatism and edgelord tendencies.

I think, with the right support, though, they'd be ok. Drivers generally have much better support systems now than ever before and god knows, it's cus they need 'em. From social media to the immediacy of reaction, everything from onboards to team radio to their Insta likes is under scrutiny and of course, that's gonna feel pretty oppressive in some ways.

(I know I hate it, as someone who gets a low-level version of it on Twitter)

But would their team or sponsors or the sport at large lose faith? No. And there would be, in the torrent of horrible stuff that's inevitable with any of these things, such support and inspiration.

It's a bit of a burden, being a figurehead and it's very easy to see why, for example, Lewis shrugged it off for a lot of his career because fuck knows, everyone's got enough to be getting on with with just the basic challenges of the career let alone having to be a representative. And it's why, with aspects you're not able to hide, people struggle - whether that's race, gender or whatever.

Living in the closet isn't a very satisfying option, though; which is the most convincing argument for how there might not have been any LGBTQ+ drivers other than the ones we know about. But it's more likely they grinned and bore it, of course. History's littered with people who never got to truly live as themselves.

It's very good having someone like Matt Bishop in a prominent role in F1. Because he can speak beyond the theoretical; that a team can welcome a gay head of communications and the paddock will have to and can work with them. That he's in a relative position of power is great because it means people can't chat shit and that means for someone without that relative power, they're protected by extension.

Who knows when more LGBTQ+ people will come along to the sport - but I think there's reason to be hopeful that they can be there.

[sorcererrezan]

golden hour

prompt fill for @ataleofcrowns. congratulations on the chapter 6 release cherry! 💛

prompt: facade pairing: navid/xelef  rating: T word count: 2,042 warning: spoilers for X’s scene during chapter 6!

—

Xelef is rather partial to the color gold.

Gold meant a full belly. Gold meant a job well done. Gold meant having survived yet another battle.

Gold motivated him and the people around him. Gold got him into trouble as easily as it got him out of it.

So when gold eyes looked defiantly into his, a spark of light brightening that nebulous place where his intuition resides, and dropped a heavy sack clinking with a familiar sound, there was no other option but to say yes.

Xelef’s not quite sure when he starts thinking of the flash of cleverness in Navid’s eyes more than the sparkle of coin. 

Just the night before, Heval forced him to examine this new tendency and why they haven’t yet moved on from Marabad. He’d resisted giving Heval the satisfaction of his admission at the time, but that was before his tendency powered his sprint to the tunnels and the burst of fire that kept Navid safe. 

If Xelef’s urgency directed his aim closer to the kill than he intended, it was only because he wanted to do a thorough job. Certainly not because for a split second, the jagged edges of fear pierced through the hard acceptance that has fused with the shell of his heart. 

That was before he discovered just how common of an enemy he and Navid have. Before gold also became something to defend instead of just throw at his leisure.

He didn’t divulge anything to the Blades besides the public warning that the Palace issued—which he still disagrees with, but spirits know there’s a reason it’s not him making those decisions. 

Xelef felt Heval’s questioning suspicion curb somewhat, as well as the Blades’ recommitment to Navid. It helped him regain some stability in himself. As long as he’s not the only one with a soft spot for the newfound Crown he can tell himself that the way Navid affects him isn’t unique. 

None of them had embraced Navid until his tears and the grip of his nightmare dissipated though. The intensity of Navid’s vulnerability had stunned him that night. Xelef thinks he might be able to relate to the way that his walls must have crumbled under their own weight during that moment, when the relief of a mission accomplished finally gave way to exhaustion. If he ever experiences it for himself, that is. 

Instead of being unsettled by the raw display of emotion he’d had to insist on leaving Navid behind, lest the way his eyes wavered like coins at the bottom of a fountain compelled him to do something neither of them were ready for. 

Despite the magnetic tension between them, he knows that they don’t trust each other. He’d considered Navid’s feelings only briefly when he conceived his plan before deciding to just deal with the consequences. 

Well, now here they are. He’d anticipated how Navid might feel once his shrewd mind pieced it all together, but Xelef hadn’t foreseen how much he’d care. 

It needles at him, the way Navid takes his motivations regarding coin at face value when they discuss the coronation. And it needles at him that it needles at him. That’s what he wants the Crown to believe anyway, right? 

The dissonance isn’t really something he wants to entertain so he distracts himself by distracting Navid. 

It’s rather more fun to catch the Crown staring at him than contemplate why there’s a kernel of him that anticipates an opportunity to be seen. Not just looked at as he so often is, up for strangers’ interpretation as he is now so used to, but seen. 

The gold in Navid’s eyes is alive in a way coin could never be. There’s a playfulness that seems to live in Navid’s irises, which Xelef’s learning is partly a diversion for the cunning survivalist underneath. 

Xelef stares right back, shameless in the way he parts the seam of his lips to drag his tongue across the bottom before letting Navid see how the plump softness of it gives under his thumb. He delights in darkening that sparkling mischief into something imaginative and promising and it’s not long before he gives the two of them a reason to leave the room together. The indulgently sly way that Navid looks at him insists that Xelef get him alone. 

Awareness thrums between them as they walk together, but he can sense a contemplative mix of emotions from the man next to him. It’s enough to make him curious. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Oh, nothing much, only the fact that I’m now responsible for millions of lives,” Navid is just as practiced as he is at showing who he’s supposed to be. If Xelef couldn’t sense his anxiety he might’ve believed his blithe tone.

The stakes are high and Xelef can feel the weight of that reality on Navid’s shoulders as if it sits on him like a pauldron. It’d be a flattering and dashing pauldron the way Navid wears it, but a symbol of conflict and its inevitable consequences nonetheless. 

Xelef meets the slight bite of Navid’s sarcasm with his pragmatism, forged in fire and quenched to harden like steel. “If you obsess over the weight of your choices, you’ll become paralyzed by fear, and in that state you’re of no use to anyone.”

Navid eyes are sharp as he seems to consider not just his words but also his intent. Whatever he decides to himself seems to satisfy him because some of the spark in his eyes returns. Xelef wonders what conclusion Navid came to, to look at him like he knows something Xelef doesn’t. 

He thinks he sees some relief in there too, and Xelef tells himself it relieves him in turn because he needs the Crown to be clear-headed and not because of the possibility that sharing his genuine perspective might have made him rise in Navid’s esteem.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Xelef steers them back into familiar waters with a self-satisfied twist of his lips. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Navid lets out a huff of a chuckle. He must be more exhausted than he let on because they slide into silence again. Xelef’s attempt at distracting Navid is successful though and soon enough he’s unable to contain his amusement. Xelef puffs up at the suggestion of his altruism, sliding back into the easy role of carefree rogue. 

“Altruistic? Pah! Disgusting.”

But Navid promptly tugs at his facade. “You can drop the act, you know. I know you’re not wholly selfish at heart.”

“Is that what you really think, or is that what you hope for?” A devious rhythm softens the quick reflexes of his defenses even as his heart starts to race. Being exposed is terrifyingly thrilling. Or thrillingly terrifying. Both? 

“You do like to perform. The role of carefree mercenary suits you well, I admit. But that can’t be all that there is to you.”

Navid pins him with piercing gold and Xelef hardly realizes as he’s backed against a window. It’s been a long time since anyone cared to find out who he really is as much as Navid ostensibly does. 

Navid steps close enough that he has to tilt his chin down to hold his gaze and even he can’t deny that the proximity makes him feel like a live wire, like his pulse itself might jump out of his skin so it can press against the man who’s always so tantalizingly near.

Xelef considers that he might have met his match in Navid with a smirk.

Navid already has a decently apt approximation of him, despite Xelef’s penchant for misdirection and the fact that they’ve only really known each other a handful of days. Xelef’s moved quickly in the past but never quite like this. 

But then again, nothing gets him into trouble as easily as gold.

“Navid.” 

Xelef reaches a hand out, soothing a knuckle against the slightly puckered scar on Navid’s cheek. He’ll have to ask him the story behind it soon.

“If you wish for me to treat you tenderly, you need only ask.”

It comes out as a gentler murmur than he intends. Xelef doesn’t need to speak up to be heard after all, with how much closer Navid gets as he anchors a rough hand on top of his. It’s as close to an acknowledgement of Xelef’s complex and often contradictory thoughts and emotions about the man in front of him—the ones he prefers to leave unaddressed because they leave him feeling uncomfortably bare.

“Don’t tempt me, Xelef,” Navid’s voice is rough with restraint as his thick brows furrow with caution. “I’ll start believing you.”

“I lie about a lot of things, my dark-haired beauty, but never about this.”

“That’s a lie,” Navid purses his lips, eyes narrowing even as he considers his own assertion. It’s a look that Xelef has seen on him before, usually around a table with others, as Navid weighs the reality of what he knows against the possibilities of what he doesn’t to figure out how to move forward.

Just like earlier, Xelef feels the foreign compulsion for Navid to have confidence in him. It’s been a while since he cared to prove himself to anyone, and even now his better sense is reminding him that the distance he places between himself and others is there out of necessity. If he weren’t deep in the shit of it he’d find it amusingly fitting that they can both see glimpses past each other’s bravado. Of course the person that interests him most is also the one that directly challenges him to leave the familiarity of his facade.

“Perhaps.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny it, though it’s getting harder and harder to ignore his hope that Navid will just figure it out and acknowledge it for both of their sakes. Whether his evasiveness is a test of Navid’s understanding of him or his own hesitation to be understood, he can’t determine. 

Neither can Navid it seems, because he redirects them to less murky waters. “And what is this, exactly?”

Xelef doesn’t answer immediately, taking his time to admire the sharp lines of Navid’s handsome face to reinforce his memory of it for later, after they part for the night.

“Right now? I would call this a flirtation,” this part is easy to admit. Flirtation comes naturally to both of them. He’s noticed the easy compliments Navid gives to others, how he effortlessly keeps those he thinks he might have use for close. His motives seem genuine enough—Xelef himself knows what the line between manipulation and exploitation looks like—though his charisma certainly has a craftily calculating edge to it. 

“But we can make it anything you want it to be.”

Xelef leaves the rest up to Navid’s astute interpretation. An acute sense of anticipation holds him in place as Navid opens his mouth to respond and Xelef internally wills him to see—

—Magic displaces above Navid’s head, and the breath Xelef had been holding spills out as a laugh. Whatever Navid was about to say is swept up in him trying to recover from the spirits giving him away. 

Ah well. At least he’ll have something to tease Navid about later.

Xelef doesn’t question how easy it is to insist that he keep his dagger with him. What would it mean if he and Navid use the same blade the first time they have to kill? Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything at all, but it reassures him that even if he’s away he can still be there for Navid when it happens, when the world inexorably reminds him of why he’ll always have to protect himself.

Is that altruism? When he tries to correct his own buried regrets by helping someone else avoid having the same ones?

Even more questions he’s not sure he wants to find the answers to. 

But when he feels Navid’s resolve solidify inside him, sees the squaring of his shoulders as he lifts his gaze from the designs on his door and takes a steadying breath before stepping inside, Xelef knows he’ll have to accept that it might not end up being up to him anyway.

Gold just might be the death of him.

fin.

author’s note: i’ve been wanting to do a character study in X’s perspective for a while and there were so many LAYERS to their scene in chapter 6 that i took a one word prompt and wrote two thousand words about it lmao. i wanted to explore the duality between X’s persona and their actions and set a starting point for them early in the romance. 

there’s a really delicious tension right now when they’re not acknowledging their deeper interest in the crown despite the fact that they’re always eye fucking whenever they can so much as see each other. i also wanted to play with the fact that they both know that there’s more than meets the eye and ALSO that they’re being manipulated in the grander scheme of their own personal agendas. 

i also wanted to mold navid’s characterization from the perspective of someone trying to resist falling in love with him. spoiler alert X, it’s impossible. anyways! so many thoughts, head full of X. hope i did my favorite royal boy toy justice 🤎

[cottonwoolsocks]

Roman’s Berry Jam

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: It was only a matter of time before the next Side was given their own Crofter’s Brand jam, and there was little surprise when it was awarded to Janus. Janus deserved it. No Side was more fitting. At least, that was what Roman kept telling himself.

Or; Remus makes his brother a present to try and cheer him up.

Word Count: 2969 Genre: hurt/comfort, canonverse Characters: Roman, Remus, Janus, others mentioned Relationships: Creativitwins, platonic Janus & Roman & Remus

Warnings: food theme, slight gory imagery mention

If I need to tag anything else, let me know!

inspired by this post by @julia-loves-cupcakes because there was no way i could just leave roman like that :(

disclaimer i am thoroughly confused by the correct terminology for this wonderful fruit spread (jam? jelly?? confiture????)(/j), so i shall be referring to it as ‘jam’. hopefully that clears up any related confusions!

———

It came as a surprise to no one when it was announced that Janus would be getting the next Crofter’s flavour. He was well liked, and quick-witted, and a Dark Side, which made for a diverse branding appeal following Logan, the stoic and straightforward Light Side.

When Thomas told Janus the news, Janus had shocked everyone by practically bursting into tears as he clasped the jar, eyeing it as if it may break and scanning the room for any signs of a set-up, a prank, a cruel fabrication. But Logan and Patton, the only other Sides present, had simply smiled, and congratulated him, and voiced their approval. The simple glass jar became almost symbolic of Janus’s acceptance and place in the group.

Janus deserved the achievement.

No Side was more fitting.

At least, that was what Roman kept telling himself.

It would have been ludicrous for Roman to assume he would be next. After all, Roman? He was just another Light Side like Logan—just another character who had been there from the start: who was the same, really, in the eyes of business and branding.

And besides—Roman berries just didn’t exist.

Loganberries were the ideal signature, and snake berries the perfect next equivalent—neither recipe contained either of the named fruits, but that was insignificant to the wider appeal; it was sufficient for display, and advertising, and portraying a certain image, which at the end of the day was what was important.

Roman understood the importance of appearances. He understood why Janus was the ideal next choice.

Janus was suave, had an eye-catching colour scheme, already had well-established snake symbolism in his character. Snake berries were the serendipitous berry on the cake: the apposite mark of his acceptance into the group, the fitting next step in their story as Janus became more popular, as his character gained traction amongst fans.

Roman knew it made sense. He knew it was the rational next step, and that no Side was better suited, and that it was only practical that it was Janus who was to bear this particular crown.

So why, pray tell, was he so disappointed?

He had just assumed, he supposed, that he was more important. More popular. That the loyal prince who had been present from the beginning, who had been star of the show, loved and adored from the get-go, may hold even the smallest of loyalty cards over any who came after.

He had reasoned—foolishly, it seemed now—that his red, white, and gold design, the one he had designed so carefully to raise to perfection, would be ideal for any future product or design or endeavour that could come about—that it balanced the perfectitude of his character, of his design, yet was still bold and eye-catching enough to have an aesthetic impact. 

He was a prince. And princes were popular, and celebrated, and loved. 

...Weren’t they?

Roman’s hand slips away from the banister at the top of the stairwell as the light catches the label of the jar clutched in Janus’s fingers. He sees how happy, how thankful Janus is, and remembers how Janus is nice to him, Janus is his friend, and he would never wish ill upon his friends.

But as his eyes linger on Thomas’s proud face, Logan’s expression of approval, Patton’s excitement, the way Janus’s gloved hands cradle the jar—he can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. 

Of spite.

His hand slips away from the banister, and he turns and walks back along the corridor, back to his room, suggestions of a night of Disney movies dead on his lips and a request for Patton’s baked cookies forgotten, despite how long he had puzzled the previous evening to make sure everything was organised just right, that nobody would be busy, that he had no projects due so he could spend as long as possible with his family.

They know tonight is movie night.

But they have other things to think about now. Other achievements to celebrate. Such opportunities did not come by frequently, and often swept past in but the most fleeting of chances. 

He understands. He does.

The door clicks as Roman pulls it shut, collapsing onto his bed and not even flinching as his ankle clips painfully against the bedpost. He breathes in the scent of his duvet, familiarity easing the tension in his shoulders just a fraction as he screws up his fists and eyes.

Princes just aren’t as popular anymore.

It is almost an hour later when there are a flurry of knocks on his door.

He has been listening to the clamour downstairs for some time now, to the celebrations, the cheesy pop music Patton has no doubt judged befitting of the occasion. Roman assumes they don’t want him there, and to be quite honest isn’t sure he wants to go and find out if there is truth in such an assumption, isn’t sure if the celebrations and Janus’s smiling face will simply be too much too soon. He knows he is being selfish—that Janus deserves this, at least—but it’s hard to feel truly happy for someone's achievements when they stand as one of the few things you thought you maybe, just maybe, had a shot at.

There is a rush of air as the door swings open and someone takes a few steps inside, trips, and stumbles inelegantly forward with a barrage of emphatically placed swear words. Roman’s head snaps up, trying subtly to dry his eyes with his uniform sleeve and hoping the redness from the tears that definitely hadn’t been running down his face until only ten minutes prior could by now be passed as exhaustion.

“What do you want?” he snaps, because when does Remus visit him other than to pull a prank, or tease him? Roman is not in the mood—that much he hopes is clear to his brother from his tone and impassive expression. Since Janus’s acceptance into the Light Sides, Remus had largely been keeping himself to himself, popping up to share his usual quips and comments but never lingering longer than necessary, making it even more abnormal for the Dark Side to be making one such entrance now.

Remus looks up, grinning and oblivious to Roman’s disapproval as he straightens his jacket to its usual devoted dysregulation and clips the eyeball decor on his shoulder back into its rightful place.

“Made you a gift!”

Something small and hard and exceptionally pointed makes a target of Roman’s eye and he cries out, batting it away and shielding his face as antagonised tears threaten to escape. He curses, scrambling upright and muttering obscenities under his breath as he glares at his brother.

Remus offers him a grin and a thumbs up as he tries and fails to surreptitiously rectify the rumpled carpet. “No worries, Ro!”

As the pain in his eye begins to subside Roman gingerly pulls his hand away, blinking through the protective tears at the still-vaguely-fuzzy outline of the offending object.

The jar, he finds, fits snugly in his palm, and through the angled glass Roman can see a red, gelatinous substance which on a good day may vaguely resemble jam, if he didn’t know Remus better than that. Scrawled words adorn a label smeared across the front, and although the letters are barely legible, years’ practice decoding his brother’s handwriting on strategically placed, lewd sticky notes and witty comments on the corners of old magazines allows him to more or less determine the phrase:

Roman’s Berry Jam.

Alongside the words is a large heart which looks to have been traced upwards of fifteen times in colours Roman wasn’t even aware could clash quite so horrifically, and a small, golden crown adorns the ‘R’ with a ruby gemstone fixed centre of the tallest spike. The red substance is smeared over most available surfaces and when Roman glances down, he sees it has, naturally, also found its way onto his previously pristine bedsheets—but he can’t find it within himself to mind.

“Is this…?”

“Roman’s Berry Jam! I thought you deserved some, since you are the brave and daring Prince Roman!” And then, more quietly, “You looked disappointed when you saw J get his jar.” He shifts from foot to foot, energetic demeanour fading slightly to something more sombre. “Is it… Did I do good?”

The lid comes off with a satisfying pop as Roman twists it, and the smell of something indistinguishably fruity fills the room. 

He almost smiles but forces his face to stay neutral, afraid his delicately arranged mask of indifference will shatter the moment he shows even a sliver more emotion. Remus moves to perch on the edge of Roman’s duvet, kicking his feet back and forward off the edge of the bed. They hit the floor with each backward swing, creating a rhythmical, thunk, thunk, thunk against the carpet as Roman tentatively dips his finger into the substance.

“What’s in this, then?” Roman offers, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with a more eloquent sentence. He is appreciative, truly, but whenever a situation such as this presents itself he always seems to find himself deflecting with a joke or a well-placed distraction, no matter how much this frustrates him. “Blood? Brain juice? Cat guts?”

“All things I did consider,” Remus replies, holding up a finger, “but no. Real berries, real jam! Of some sort. Not sure what sort. There are looooads of berries in the mindscape, you see, so it probably tastes like butts, but I was rather hoping it would be pleasurable—” 

“Remus.”

Roman turns to face his brother, offering a watery smile as he clutches the randomised berry mix to his chest. The red is smeared all over his hands and his duvet and his white uniform, and somewhere in the back of Roman’s mind a voice is telling him it will stain, but he simply thanks the voice and pushes it aside in favour of holding the jar even closer.

“I love it.”

Remus’s face visibly eases, a smile swelling as his shoulders relax. “Wonderful; I was sure you were going to say you hated it.”

Roman’s face morphs to one of confusion. “Whyever would I say such a thing?”

Remus’s foot rubs restlessly against his leg as he taps each of his fingers against one another, and examines the ceiling.

“People usually hate the stuff I make.” 

In spite of the weight of his words, Remus’s face gives nothing away, as carefree and animated as always as his fingers dance and his feet drum steadily against the carpeted floor. A pang of regret pierces Roman’s chest, because he knows it is true. Has always known it's true, has even taken part, takes part in pushing his brother’s creations down—he practically leads the parade.

But now Roman is thinking about it, Remus portraying a face of constant playfulness inaccurate to his true emotions is no different to what Roman does constantly, is it? Putting on his brave and courageous face to disguise his insecurity?

Roman somewhat reluctantly tastes the jam.

“Sweet bear of Crofter’s,” he mouths around it. “This is outstanding!”

“Of course it is!” Remus fires back, but the anxious way he surveys Roman’s expression says otherwise as he scours for distaste or disgust or tomfoolery. “It is Roman’s Berry Jam, after all! And nothing subpar of perfection could be named after our dearest Prince!”

Roman isn’t so sure about that, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Truth be told, he has missed his brother—little as he may rise to admit it. The tears of frustration have receded, leaving in their place a wateriness that he hasn’t felt in all too long, come from happiness, and thanks, and appreciation for those whom he loves.

“Say, would you be interested in a Disney night? Perhaps I’ll even allow you to share my jam.”

Remus grins. “I had disembowelment plans, but I think I can postpone them, for you.”

***

They are halfway through The Little Mermaid, a mixing bowl of Roman’s Berry Jam snug between them, when three sharp knocks echo against the wood of the door. Sharing a glance with Remus, Roman takes a generous scoop of jam and shovels it into his mouth before lodging the spoon upright in the bowl and motioning for Remus to pause the movie as he approaches the door.

Perhaps it was Patton, finally wondering where Roman has been for the whole evening, or Logan to come and share the recent good news he doesn’t know Roman is already painfully aware of. Roman even wonders if it could be Virgil, come to escape from the loud pop music still blaring from the living room downstairs to request a quiet Disney movie or for he and Roman to spend another evening painting each other’s nails, and a myriad of excuses were already running through his brain for how he might decline.

The very last person he expects to see standing uncharacteristically apologetically in the doorway is Janus.

“Buzz off! We’re vibing!” Remus calls from Roman’s bed, catapulting a spoonful of jam for good measure which drastically misses either possible target and instead splats sadly against the doorframe.

A smile tugs Roman’s lips, deciding Remus’s comment speaks enough for the both of them and turning to see what exactly Janus wants from him now.

He’s your friend, the little voice in the back of Roman’s head reminds him, which he is beginning to realise sounds awfully like Patton. His achievements are not an excuse for you to be unkind.

“Good evening, Roman,” Janus says, expression giving little away as he regards him evenly. “I would like to…apologise.”

Roman’s hand slips from its perch on the door handle, brow creasing in confusion and a healthy serving of distrust.

Janus releases a measured exhale, and continues, “I didn’t see you at the top of the stairwell earlier this evening, when Thomas presented the Crofter’s. I’ve been trying to get away all evening since then, but”—he sighs frustratedly, and his eyelids momentarily flutter in distaste—“the others were...adamant that I remain downstairs to celebrate. I was not only just able to slip away as I convinced Patton to change the music to something less repugnant.”

As if on cue, the bubbly pop music echoing from the living room switches to a more sombre jazz number, and Janus’s eyes flick towards the stairwell.

“I find it important that I inform you I did not orchestrate tonight’s turn of events, and quite frankly I believe it unjust that you were not, at the very least, consulted on such a decision, especially given your earlier enthusiasm.”

Remus tosses another spoon of jam, this one smacking directly into the centre of Janus’s bowler hat.

His eyes flutter closed as he visibly bites back a retort. 

“Remus, kindly desist.”

Remus cackles and begins to load another spoon, but a subtle shake of the head from Roman has him sighing dramatically, choosing instead to sulk as he plops the spoon into his mouth. “Jam war,” he mumbles disappointedly.

Janus gives Roman a curt nod of thanks, adjusting his gloves and turning to leave, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Well, that’s all I came to say, so I shall be on my way.”

“Janus, I—”

Janus turns, looking puzzled and a little perturbed as his nose crinkles slightly. Roman rocks back on the balls of his feet, and comes to a decision, avoiding Janus’s gaze as he offers his next words.

“Would you care to join Remus and I in our Disney marathon?”

Janus’s eyes flick to one side and he waits for a moment, as if expecting for Roman to change his mind or for Remus to come charging out with another spoonful of jam aimed at his head. 

When nothing of the sort occurs, his expression softens. Just a little.

“Yes. I would like that.”

Roman steps back to allow Janus through the doorway, and swings the door closed behind him with a click.

***

Remus stretches his leg out further, sprawling himself ever wider over the space available to him which consists approximately of his third of the bed and as much of Roman’s space as he can liberate without being apprehended. His jam is a success, he is spending time with Janus again, and the genuine appreciation emanating from his brother is almost palpable. Just for good measure, he smears a little of the jam onto Roman’s nose. Just to remind him he’s still there.

Roman’s nose scrunches as the substance makes contact, but he doesn’t move to wipe it away. Instead, he just elbows his brother softly, achieving more of a gentle sway while crushed under most of Remus’s weight. He smiles, and takes another spoonful of jam.

Janus shakes his head fondly. He hasn’t seen Remus nearly as often since being accepted by the Light Sides, and much as some of Remus’s more...inventive antics...used to irritate him, he has found himself missing his constant predictable unpredictability. It is nice—refreshing—to see him again: especially without the usual weight of all the words yet unspoken between them. But that is business for another time.

Roman supposes that, even if he hasn’t got his own Crofter’s flavour just yet, Remus’s Roman Berry Jam is certainly the next best thing, even with the assortment of greenery he had found in the spread that he isn’t entirely sure was intentional. It was better, even, because Roman’s Berry Jam comes with a complimentary friend-brother combo (cuddles included), an eve of Disney movies, and, finest of all, the feeling that however much he may feel he isn’t good enough, or liked enough, or successful enough, he is appreciated. And for now—for this one, anomalous evening—that is all that he needs.

[c-mxian]

Shangri La no Tori Drama CD Limited Edition Booklet: Interview with Zariya

Please tell us how you started working on The Birds of Shangri La (Shangri La no Tori).

At first, the plan was to release it as a one shot under a different publisher, but things didn't quite work out (my manuscript ended up getting rejected at one point). I still really wanted to work on this story and Purantan contacted me just around that time. I remember showing the person in charge at first what kind of story I wanted to create and receiving their approval right then. That’s how the story eventually came to life.

I intended for the story and setting to be darker at first, with a somewhat “SM chic” vibe to it, but it’s completely different from the actual story now though of course (laughs). I initially planned to wrap the story up as a one shot, but I realized it would be necessary to do a serialization in order to better tell the story.

 Which elements remained the same in the initial draft and the story now?

The dynamic between the two main characters: a prostitute uke and a seme who takes care of him. I wanted to illustrate a situation where the seme is in charge of taking care of and arousing the prostitute uke only to have to pass him onto a customer in the end! As they grow closer, the uke would end up wanting to be held by the seme and not his customers. I thought the story would become very sad that way. On a lighter note, I really love it when a quiet and reserved seme gets troubled by a more active and straightforward uke. It’s the kind of combination I like the most and I’m able to draw that out as freely as I want in The Birds of Shangri La.

 Please share with us the scenes or lines that left the deepest impression on you in volume 1 of The Birds of Shangri La.

The last scene from chapter one. There are three rules that cannot be broken at Shangri La (“Do not let the birds come”, “Do not have intercourse, “Do not fall in love”), but I didn’t intend to include the last one at first. As I was working on the plot, I felt like something was missing with just the first two rules so I added the third one.

For this scene, I imagined a beautiful world accentuated with the scenery of the sea and sunset and a tone that marks this scene as the start of the actual story. With a lovely setting like this, I felt the romantic mood would be completely lost if I was too pragmatic with my choice in words for the dialogue. Although the story takes place in a brothel, I envisioned it to be one about pure love so I felt the inclusion of the third rule was necessary. I’m quite satisfied with the ambience even though I was supposed to reveal the rule later (laughs).

Despite being a last addition, the third rule is the most important one. I was able to portray what kind of story Shangri La would be from that point on and the readers were able to get an idea of that as well. The inclusion of the rule, “Don’t fall in love”, also adds a very nice lingering ambience to the story so I’m glad I included it. It’s definitely a line that leaves a very deep impression.

 The combination of your beautiful illustrations and balance of emotional language is one of the key elements that always leaves readers highly anticipating the next chapter. Please tell us how you came up with the characters in Shangri La no Tori.

 First off, I came up with the characterizations for Phi and Apollo at the same time since I already had a clear idea that the story would revolve around the relationship between a prostitute and the person who takes care of him. Next is the owner who is a very important character in the story, so important I’d even consider him the third main character. After that is Douglas, Apollo’s lawyer. He’s an essential character who is able to read Apollo, a man of few words. Contrastingly, I then created Carna as a companion who is able to speak on behalf of Phi. Phi may not be as reticent as Apollo, but he does not say much about the things that matter about himself.

 Please share with us anything about the other characters in the story as well.

I have so many things I want to share! As a manga artist, I don’t have many opportunities to talk with other people so I’m really happy for this opportunity.

When I come up with a character, I first consider what kind of role they will play in the story. I created Marco as the character who would help guide Apollo through Shangri La, a place unlike any he has ever been to. Marco is somewhat like a link between the world Apollo has known before and the new one he has stepped into.

Then there’s Sheth who I created because I wanted to have a character who had a vibe most similar to that of a stud. I wondered whether I should’ve made him more playful, but I felt it would be more appropriate to make his personality more relaxed and professional-like since Shangri La is a place akin to that of a high class salon. When he talks with Apollo, you can tell he’s just a normal guy and not loose as many may think. He’s a professional who takes his job seriously.

Carna may be a prostitute, but he is the bravest character in the story. In contrast to his small stature, his mentality is strong. I imagined him to be like a brother to Phi, someone who understands Phi well and stays by his side when he is not emotionally stable.

 So the recording just finished up a moment ago. What are your thoughts after listening to it in the booth?

The impression I always had of Shangri La no Tori when I drew the story is that it constantly carries a calm tone with little variation in intonation. When I listened to the recording, the balance was so nice and the mood livelier than I thought. Many of the scenes with Phi and Apollo are adult scenes, but there are also scenes like where Patrick and the other birds are livelily having a good time. While everyone is enjoying their peaceful daily life, the mood suddenly becomes tense when Phi loses his temper and starts acting violently. It was refreshing to see how a slight change in the sound can shift the tension of a scene and add emotional variety to the story. Since the story takes place in the southern region of the world, I was afraid it would be too laid-back and eventually become dull, but I guess I didn’t have to worry about this!

 What did you think of the characters’ voices?

I’m really thankful because the cast is absolutely amazing. Mr. Nakashima, the voice actor for Phi, is really amazing at expressing the various different sides of Phi: his sexy and mischievous side, his innocent and naïve side, as well as the side of him when he loses his temper. It really felt like Phi was alive.

As for Mr. Matsuoka, he did a wonderful job in portraying Apollo’s open-minded side. As a top, Apollo hasn’t quite “bloomed” yet and his potential is still hidden. Mr. Matsuoka added a wonderful layer of sexiness to that aspect of Apollo. When Apollo first arrives at Shangri La, he is taken aback by this completely new world he has stepped into, but he is able to get a hold of himself and stand ready for what’s to come. I could really feel how broad-minded and deep of a person he was and am really excited to see how the changes he will go through will be portrayed.

Aside from Phi and Apollo, the owner, Marco, Douglas, Raymond, and everyone else…the rest of the cast was absolutely amazing! I would love to share my thoughts on each individual character, but I’ll have to leave that for another time as there is a limited number of pages for this booklet. I have already shared my thoughts on twitter though so please check them out!

Each of the cast members’ voices fit each character so well, but I was really touched that even without clearly expressing their characters through their lines, they really gave life to the characters with their acting. There are certain things I can’t fully portray in the manga so I was really happy to see all those nuances come to life in the drama CD.

 Aside from the love scenes, there are many scenes of everyday life too.

In a BL, the two main characters’ relationship is the most important thing, but depicting Shangri La as “a place with a pleasant atmosphere” was also equally important to me. Shangri La is a “paradise” where only those who have been chosen by its respectable owner can enter. Even though Shangri La is a brothel, it’s a place where one can heal both their mind and heart, as Raymond has said. I was very satisfied with how the drama CD cast was able to portray Shangri La.

 What were your impressions when you heard the drama CD itself?

Out of all my works, I have always thought that The Birds of Shangri La would be the most difficult one to turn into a drama CD due to the lack of dialogue in many scenes. I added in some lines because I was concerned certain things wouldn’t get across without any dialogue.

Despite my initial concerns, it was fun to think of the sound effects and background sounds as a kind of music. When drawing the manga, I could only portray the sounds of the sea and the leaves rustling in the southern region with sound effects (sfx) even though I could picture them clearly in my head. All these sounds come to life in the drama CD. After realizing how big of an effect these sounds have, I regretted not thinking out the interior of the rooms and the miscellaneous things in them more thoroughly. For example, the sound of shell decorations dangling by a window whenever the wind flows can add an extra layer to the atmosphere of a scene.

I can say the same for the music as well. In the beginning when Marco comes to pick Apollo from the port, I imagined reggae music playing in the background, but I could only indicate this with a music note symbol. Shangri La already has a feeling of otherworldliness to it. If I added Gamelan music, I felt the setting would become disconnected from reality so I requested reggae music instead for the drama CD. The drama CD brings Shangri La to life in a way that illustrations and words can’t. I hope you can enjoy the differences between listening to the drama CD and reading the manga.

 Lastly, please give the readers of this special booklet a final message!

To be honest, I was very concerned about the lack of an H scene between Phi and Apollo in the first volume and whether the readers who look forward to this scene would find the drama CD lacking. As I listened to the recording, I started feeling differently. Aside from Phi and Apollo, the characters living in Shangri La and the region surrounding it all give life to the drama CD and the cast did a wonderful job at realistically depicting the lives of these characters. Even if Phi and Apollo don’t go all the way, I think many people will be able to enjoy this drama CD. I hope everyone will treasure the various characters that appear along the way while experiencing both pain and joy as Phi and Apollo’s feelings for each other begin to bloom. I will try my best to create a story that will not disappoint you so I hope you can follow me until the end!

Thank you very much!

[amy-issen]

ok so here it is!! i spent the last week solely making and listening to this playlist like i was POSSESED because this ship is lovely and deserved a nice playlist!  if anyone wants to know why i picked each song, i’m going to ramble about it extensively in the read more, so check that out if you want! hope you enjoy it! also thanks again to @birbwell​ for letting me use her art for the cover!

i divided this playlist in a few sections so let’s start with the first one (section one: first meeting/pining) i. in the rain - joe hisaishi i wanted to start with a short instrumental track to set the mood, and i looooove howl’s moving castle score, so i had to pick this one! the fact that it has rain in the title also helps to reference how their relationship began! ii. with every breath i take - frank sinatra “every breath that I take is a prayer that i’ll make you mine” my sister is a big sinatra/jazz fan (and also a yakuza fan) so she helped me with picking a few of the songs here! this one is very romantic, elegant and beautiful and i thought it fit the mood (and it’s what i think tachibana listens to in his free time lmao).

iii. gold rush - taylor swift “what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? with your hair falling into place like dominoes my mind turns your life into folklore i can't dare to dream about you anymore” this one is my FAVORITE song on this playlist, and one of the first i picked because this song just fits them like a glove. it’s basically pining 101, and i love that what taylor said this song is about “daydreaming about someone then snapping out of it.” i feel like the first part could be from tachibana’s perspective and the second one from kiryu’s (also giving a bit of a glimpse into the future, with the mention of a coastal town they’ll never find together) iv. first love/late spring - mitski “so please, hurry, leave me, i can't breathe please don't say you love me mune ga hachikire-sōde (my heart seems like it’s going to burst)” this one was another song i picked very early on because i love mitski, and i needed to include her here. i just wanted something to symbolize the trust that tachibana and kiryu have to share to work together, and the feelings that emerge from it, if that makes any sense. i don’t think this has a specific perspective, because i feel like this could work from both kiryu’s and tachibana’s (mostly kiryu though) v. real estate - adam melchor “every time I wonder how i'd carry on without you i'm runnin' out of real estate tryna make all the right moves i don't wanna hesitate i would bet the house on you “ do you UNDERSTAND how satisfying it was to find a song named real estate for them?? come ooon. ok that’s not all of my reasoning for it but it’s like. most of it, lmao another song i felt was about trust and feelings. (also a bit of a glimpse into the future, because i’m sad) vi. i get a kick out of you - ella fitzgerald “i get no kick from champagne mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all so tell me why should it be true that i get a kick out of you?” another one my sister recommended. i originally was gonna go with sinatra’s version of this, but i love this one and it just wouldn’t leave my brain. again, one from mostly tachibana’s perspective, get this man to sing this on karaoke night right now. vii. like real people do - hozier  “i will not ask you where you came from i would not ask and neither would you honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips we could just kiss like real people do” this is one of my all time favorites from hozier and, again, it just fit perfectly. tachibana and kiryu have both lived some very... troubled lives so far, and while they’re depending on this trust they have in eachother, none of them really care to know about what they’ve done or who they are. this is mostly from kiryu’s perspective, specially with this metaphor of being rescued/dug up from the earth with the whole being found in the rain and saved by tachibana and his poor driving skills. viii. delicate - taylor swift “this ain't for the best my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me... we can't make any promises now, can we, babe? but you can make me a drink” y’all are going to have to forgive me for picking TWO taylor swift songs but COME OOOON this is another one that i picked early on because i could draw so many parallels between the lyrics and things that they both said in that car scene on chapter 9 (mostly tachibana though) and i kept harassing my sister with screenshots to prove my point and i’m gonna do it again

ANYWAYS i’ve made my case, and now we enter the second section of the playlist at last ( section 2: actual romantic/fluffy songs because this is a ship playlist) i. good old-fashioned lover boy - queen “dining at the ritz we'll meet at nine (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 o'clock) precisely i will pay the bill, you taste the wine driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely just take me back to yours that will be fine” is this a bit of a cliché? yes. did i want to include it because it’s very cute and i’d like to imagine kiryu and tachibana having a nice date night with no people trying to kill them all the time? also yes. i love this song.

ii. stay with me/mayonaka no door - miki matsuraba “you in your gray jacket with that oh-so-familiar coffee stain just as you always are the two of us reflect in the window display stay with me knocking on midnight's door i beg you not to go home tonight” (translated lyrics) is anyone not obsessed with this song lately? this is the only song here i’m blaming tiktok for making me listen to it lol. in any way, this song is deceptive because it sounds really happy but is actually quite melancholic. i thought it fit their relationship well, and it seemed like a good addition to the playlist with it’s 80′s city pop vibes.

iii. on melancholy hill - gorillaz (covered by matt forbes) “just looking out on the day of another dream where you can't get what you want, but you can get me so let's set out to sea, love 'cause you are my medicine when you're close to me" this is a gorillaz song but i went with this cover because it fit the feeling of the playlist a little better. another song that i just love very deeply and i thought fit the sentiment of kiryu being like “hey i know we have Big problems and you’re very sad in the moment but i’m here for you” iv. (i love you) for sentimental reasons - nat king cole "i think of you every morning dream of you every night darling, i'm never lonely whenever you are in sight" surprisingly, not one that my sister recommended, but one i found for myself while looking for quiet  romantic songs. i feel like this is tachibana's reply to kiryu being there for him and helping him. plus, idk i just wanted to imagine them slow dancing to this. v. positions - ariana grande (covered by travis atreo) "perfect, perfect you're too good to be true but I get tired of runnin', fuck it now, i’m runnin' with you" i picked this cover because i felt like using ariana's one would be a little goofy for this section lmao, but i really like this song and how it's about commitment and doing everything to make a relationship work. i just wanted to throw some sexy vibes before this playlist delved into depressing stuff. also if you telling me tachibana wouldn't absolute body a tiktok set to this song you're lying to yourself. (section 3: oh no this is getting sad) i. forever - labrinth "i'll live forever" i love everything labrinth makes, the euphoria soundtrack lives in my mind rent free and this is my favorite one. this barely has any lyrics so, again, mostly a track i picked for its intrumentals and feeling overall. mostly preparing you for the sad stuff ahead. ii. hong kong - gorillaz "you swallow me i'm a pill on your tongue here on the nineteenth floor the neon lights make me calm" this is my favorite gorillaz song, by FAR, and i think it's introspective vibe really fits tachibana's character. not really a song about relationship but i really wanted to include it because it's just such a GORGEOUS song. iii. fragments - severon another instrumental track! this one i stole from a playlist my sister made for a fic i wrote last year. again. sad vibes. iv. sign of the times - harry styles (covered by LANY) "remember everything will be alright we can meet again somewhere somewhere far away from here" i loved the synth-y vibe this cover had, while still keeping this song's sad "our lives are dangerous and i'm about to die" vibes. i mostly wanted to evoke the vibe from the scene where tachibana agrees to go with lao gui after kiryu gets shot. just really sad all around. v. so close - jon mclaughlin "we're so close to reaching that famous happy end almost believing this one's not pretend let's go on dreaming though we know we are so close, so close, and still so far" me? picking a song from disney's enchanted??? for a playlist??? it's more likely than you think. idk this song just gives me that vibe of being so close to being happy and together, almost reminiscing and wondering what could have been. but it just... won't happen. vi. as the world caves in - matt maltese "yes, it's you i welcome death with as the world, as the world caves in" oops, yes, i had to go there. just couldn't resist including this song, and i feel like it's really self-explanatory. vii. places we won't walk - bruno major "neon lights shine bold and bright buildings grow to dizzy heights people come alive at night in places we won't walk" again, i feel like this song speaks for itself. a bit of a meditation on kiryu's perspective on things that could have happened, things they would have done, that kiryu will just have to do alone from now on. viii. carry me out - mitski "i drive when it rains at night, when it rains, i drive and the headlight spirits they lead me down the styx so black it shines and carry me out carry me out"

possibly the saddest and the most powerful song in this playlist, because i just had to put a mitski song again. the image of kiryu carrying tachibana's body is just constantly in my mind when i listen to this, but i could also see this song being from the perspective of tachibana's spirit. ix. arms tonite - mother mother "i died in your arms tonight i slipped through into the afterlife it was nice" lmao this felt a bit like a cruel joke to include, but i didn't want this playlist to end TOO depressingly. it's a nod to tachibana dying in kiryu's arms, sure, but also it's romantic and possibly a little hopeful (tachibana lives au!!! orpheus and eurydice au!!! fuck it, idk!!)  xi. everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears "there's a room where the light won't find you holding hands while the walls come tumbling down when they do, i'll be right behind you so glad we've almost made it so sad they had to fade it everybody wants to rule the world" not a recommendation from my sister, but it is her favorite song, and she was happy that i included it. another 80's bop with sad lyrics! i feel like this is a lovely summary of their story together and it feels like a nice little bow to wrap up the playlist.  i hope you enjoyed my long ass explanations! i might add songs later (or make an entire second playlist altogether for the fic i'm writing rn, but let's not get ahead of ourselves)

[navigatrixnarrations]

Prequel: A Matter of Some Urgency

A possible prequel to @whenimaunicorn’s ongoing and amazing Heart of Admiration series, as inspired with conversations with her and a line from Luke Arnold’s Black Sails AU short in The Sunder City Spectacular.

Word count: 1527

Warnings: They’re pirates. They curse a lot.

Charles Vane notices her entrance. It would have been difficult not to. It's not rare to see women in the tavern, but they are typically working there in some capacity. They do not typically wear a pistol at the waist of their rather fitted sea coat, nor walk with the rolling gait of an experienced sailor, nor carry a navigator's backstaff. Her eyes fall on him, and Vane finds his own eyes following the almost arrogant swing of her hips as she approaches his table in an alcove at the rear of the room.

"Captain Vane?" Her voice is slightly husky, educated but not posh, not snooty.

He nods, and she continues. "I'm quartermaster of the Starling. I believe you're expecting me." When DeGroot told Vane that the quartermaster of a recently-arrived crew was seeking a word with him about a matter of some urgency, the bloody man had failed to mention that said quartermaster was a woman, and a damned comely one at that.

She removes the pistol and long knife from her belt and places them on the table in front of him, a sign that she has come in peace. He gestures for her to sit across from him and signals the barmaid to bring her a drink then gives her a hard look from beneath his brow. "What's this about?”

"A certain item of yours has come into my possession. I'm here to return it to you." She hands him a burlap sack containing his black. She had been appalled when a couple of the more rambunctious members of her crew came back to camp having stolen it from the Ranger. It wouldn't do for them, new to Nassau, to start their time here by making an enemy of the most notoriously violent captain on the island.

Vane looks inside the sack, not wanting to remove the flag and thus show anyone in the tavern that it had been stolen. Instead, he runs his hands over its fabric, ensuring that it's no worse for wear than it had been before it was stolen. Having satisfied himself that it hadn't been vandalized and noting that it had been folded with care, he turns that heavy gaze back to her. "What do they call you, quartermaster of the Starling?"

She meets his piercing stare with her own, unflinching. "They probably call me a lot of things when I can't hear them." Furious though he is that anyone had the fucking gall to not only steal from him but steal the very symbol of his hard-earned reputation at that, Vane has to force himself not to smile at her quip. She holds out a graceful, callused hand for a shake. "Hope Wickham."

"Why did your captain send you, Miss Wickham, instead of approaching me himself?"

She frowns, but doesn't rise to the bait. "He didn't send me," she says coolly. "He has no idea any of this happened. I'm meeting with you of my own accord and in my own capacity to try to protect my crew."

Vane takes a long pull on his ale, waiting for her to explain.

“I may be new to Nassau, but I'm by no means new to the account. Captain Fisher and the rest of the crew are used to doing things a certain way, and don't yet understand that Nassau has rather different understandings of acceptable behavior for those under the black than does Tortuga. On Tortuga, this would be seen as a prank by a new crew seeking to position itself and a score easily settled without much bloodshed. Unlike them, I know that is not the way of things here."

Vane narrows his eyes. "How do you know how we do things here?" And how, he wonders, did such a lovely little thing become a pirate in the first place? For her crew to have elected her quartermaster, she must be formidable…

"I apprenticed with Mr. DeGroot. We stay in touch." The corners of her mouth turn up in a wry smile, eyes alight in amusement at the absurdity of the situation. "I realize that he is nobody's first, second, or tenth choice for a tutor in etiquette, but," she gestures broadly, "we live in a world of wonders."

Vane finds himself smiling back at her, ever so slightly, struck as much by her candor and wit as by her appearance. "So you're a trained navigator, then?"

"I am."

Well. This is interesting indeed. But he can't let himself be distracted from the purpose of this meeting. The smile drops from his face, which returns to its customary scowl, and he hunches forward enough to give the impression of looming over her without getting up. "Members of your crew snuck onto my ship, stole my black, and they did it so badly that someone saw them getting away. So let me tell you what happens next.”

Hope doesn't quail from his ferocious growl, from his coiled posture that makes him appear to be a predator about to pounce. She meets his icy glare directly. "Who saw them?"

"My quartermaster and his matelotage." Did she just…did she just ignore his directive, his implied threats?

She tilts her head, considering. "Anyone else?"

Vane grunts and leans back in his chair. "No."

Hope nods to herself. "Can you trust their discretion?"

“With my life." Oh, he sees where she's taking this line of questioning. Barristers would do well to learn from her technique. "You're going to ask who else on my crew knows it was gone."

She shrugs as if to say you caught me. "Well, who else does?"

"Only them." She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off. "Regardless, you know I cannot let your crew's insult go unanswered. I’ve a reputation to maintain, a captaincy I do not intend to lose."

"Nor do I expect you to. However, by returning your black undamaged, along with compensation for the," she pauses and bites her lip, considering her next words, "inconvenience you've been put through by this unfortunate breach of propriety, I trust this need not be a killing offense." She takes a bulging coin purse from her coat pocket and pushes it across the table to him.

Vane opens it and quirks a scarred brow at the amount of coin within. "Is this from the Starling's collective savings?"

"No. It's my personal share from our last prize." Earners, then, and sure to be rivals of the Ranger. He had seen Captain Fisher at the warehouse a couple of times, and he couldn't say the man had impressed him. Perhaps their last prize was simply luck. How the fuck had Fisher convinced a woman like Hope -- like Miss Wickham, he mentally corrects himself -- to join his crew? One of the world’s wonders, he supposes.

He places both hands on the table and leans forward abruptly. Hope's large eyes widen slightly, not in alarm, Vane notes with approval, but in assessing the threat. His voice drops to a near-whisper. "My turn to ask the questions. Who else knows that your crew had my black?"

She leans forward as well, close enough that Vane catches the scent of the jasmine oil in her hair. "As far as I know, nobody." Her voice is equally low, matter-of-fact. "My crew hasn't bragged, because they didn't get a chance to parade your colors on the beach. I made certain of that. And they won't now, not after I've relieved them of it. The ones who took your black are young and foolish. I've revoked their shore privileges for the time being, until they can show they won’t be shitheads to other crews if they come into town."

Vane knows something about being young and foolish and making a mistake. Sometimes one's youthful foolishness isn't so easily atoned for, some damages can't be repaired…

"They know you're returning it to me?"

Most people would have been unable to meet his heavy gaze for this long. "Yes. If they don't like it, they can elect a new quartermaster. However, they agreed when I explained my reasoning as to why keeping it would not be in their best interests."

"And DeGroot. Does he know why you asked him to arrange a meeting?

"He didn't ask. I didn't tell." She gives a short laugh, eyes shining with mischief. “I let him think I'm here to ask you for a job, just to irritate him."

It would be so easy to accept her money then wreak bloody havoc in the Starling's camp as a warning, but Vane finds himself reluctant to end the meeting. It was masterful, the way she'd gotten to the core of the issue, convinced him of their common interest, and dissuaded him from violence, and it was brave of her to approach him alone. A man couldn't help admiring her for that. And a trained navigator, to boot -- she'd be an asset to any crew. Perhaps he would have to make her an offer at some point…

He pushes the purse back across the table to Hope. "Keep it. Buy the next round and we'll call it square."

[azerothpeacecouncil]

When: October 10th, 5:00 PM ST Where: OOCly Duskwood (ICly a safe far off corner of Tirisfal)

A curious thing has reached your ears...an even more curious notice was posted in a place only those who need it will see. A gathering in a far off corner of Tirisfal, untouched by the toxic blight, is happening soon.

Here, we come together to as Forsaken, for Forsaken, to remember all that has been lost. Not just their beloved city, but much much more. Home. Trust. Friends. Even hope. But not all is lost, no. Where things we believed in may have shown betrayal...is now when we must join together most of all and find the trust in each other, and see to the future. All may come to honor what Undercity stood for. What it still stands for. For what was. For what is. For the Forsaken. ~~ After many ups and downs, rescheduling and change of plans. Azeroth Peace Council happily presents our mirror event to Honoring of Teldrassil: Remembrance of Undercity. One that has changed greatly in meaning since it’s loss.

Here this event is not just to mourn a city that has meant so much to so many people, but to also reflect now on all that the Forsaken,  and allies, endured and felt during this recent war, and the things that led up to it. The feeling of betrayal. The feeling of loss. Friends and families ripped apart and a leader they thought would stand as their ray of hope. Much is lost. But now we seek to gather what can be gained. A time of remembrance, togetherness and a show of care to a people who deserve it. This is for all the Forsaken who are hurt, confused and need a time to express and allow themselves a moment to grieve, for the Horde who support and fight along side their friends in their unlife, and for the others... who may have family who look different now, but still love them. Join us, the Azeroth Peace Council and friends, to see these people honored and given the space express their grief and heartache, even if it beats slower or not at all. We welcome you...to the Remembrance of Undercity. -- Below is important info on: Schedule, Rules , Location and Questions ---- Something in advance, please make sure you have either the pets: (Preferred!) Lost of Lordaeron, Wicked Soul or Tiny Apparition.

The rest of the information will be located beneath the Read More, please read thoroughly, as it holds very important things to know. Especially information for those who might not be Horde (Alliance).

Schedule: 

All times are subject to change and fluctuate due to the nature of participation and role play. These are just estimates.

5:00 PM Server Time

The time to start showing up.

5:30- Thoughtful Souls

Here, you will have a chance to speak on your feelings. On what was lost. On what ...or who you lost. What this time means for you as Forsaken, and what it means over all. Undercity. Sylvanas. The divide. Anything...now is the time, to speak of mourning. Love. Grief. Anger.

I will be taking speakers before hand, please PM. The first few speakers will be given priority to Forsaken. After scheduled speakers, those from the group will go should time permit. You will have 8 minutes to speak. Pre-written if possible would be good here!

6:35~ (Depending how the speeches go/last) The Ceremony of Embers and Spirit

Here, a ceremony will be had symbolic for all. A great fire will be made, and after the introduction and speech for it, will let all step forth and cast items into the fire. These items are to be a symbolic chance for your characters to get rid of the things they thought they could trust, things they do not stand for, things they want to forget.

Think about what your character may wish to cast in the fire (Be it old weapons, tabards, insignia, momentos of war ect). Things that they can be satisfied in seeing gone from their life, to move forward together with all. Please note: You do not have to throw everything in, there will be an important reminder about history and relics of the past.

And after...we will have a time to remember. To reflect. To honor and then to see restless spirits put at ease....

(This ceremony is for Forsaken and Horde)

-7:45-8:00 A Feast for the Weary and Hopeful

A special selection of food has been prepared for the Forsaken who can, would like to or benefit from eating. There will be a selection foods made from

pork blood and meat, mushrooms and forsaken nutritious molds and insects.

And that’s it...please don’t ask for alternative.

There will also be foods for the rest, of kodo stews, plainstrider haunches, blood sausage, fruit pies and why not... You also get some safe insect meals. Fried spider fritters and snail. At this point, all will sit and feast and relax. And should any...non Horde wish to express their feelings here, they may (If none were allowed to during the Thoughtful Souls)

Rules:

- Absolutely no trolling, griefing or over the top OOC and toy spam. If you do not intend to come to participate, do not come at all. 

-If you are not in the position of speaking or giving a speech, please do not over do it with multi paragraphs. Due to crowd based RP, that can make it hard for people keep up. Please be courteous.

- Please behave ICly as well. Gotosh has hired specifically Death Knights for this as well as those volunteered from his Council, and he would prefer they didn’t have to enforce too much. Let this be a time of rest and remembrance, and no party antics.

- And a special note for Alliance who do show up to show support. Absolutely under any circumstance, please do not push it OOC or IC if a character in RP expresses distaste with you being close. The nature of this event is a little different then our Teldrassil event, and while you are not going to be shooed off, please respect the space of these characters and listen to security if they ask to make room. We want this event to be a realistic mesh of majority Forsaken and Horde, but with the allowance of Alliance who understand it’s nature. Forsaken were (are) human after all, and many wish to see their loved ones. This much, is very canon. 

Questions:

Wait did you say...Alliance? Why would they BE at this, they shouldn't be allowed!: While this is a Horde and Forsaken focused event, the Alliance who do want to show up, I am going to strictly say you better be Alliance who are here to support. Antagonistic behavior will not be allowed, dealt with and 100% not be put up with. But Alliance who wish to come somberly support will not be shunned, and we do not want you to either. It wouldn’t be fair to our first event, which was a Horde event where Alliance were allowed to come and see, if we did not allow this again. While the nature of Forsaken is different then Teldrassil, we want to create a realistic atmosphere. Even if its just a few Alliance, this should be a safe place for human relatives, grieving human relatives, and Alliance who have friendships with Horde and Forsaken. But please know, we understand the nature of the situation, and I hope this doesn’t deter you from showing. All privileges and focus will go to Forsaken and Horde first and foremost. I ask if you’re inviting friends, to please let them know of this so they do not try and take matters into their own hands. Security will be there after all.

Is there a dress code?:

Dark, forsaken inspired, things that are meaningful for your character to wear at an occasion like this. 

Why wasn’t this held in Tirisfal?

We were noticing a lot strange things with Tirisfal phasing, even on the low level side. Duskwood has a quick and easy way of being accessed through the south, it’s low level and the area fits the mood aesthetically. Plus, it looks visually similar to our first event. ICly this is Tirisfal, in an area far off where the blight did not reach. This would also allow , should any sympathetic Alliance wish to show, they can so safely.

LOCATION

(Inky Black Potion for this event will enhance it! Yeah, Duskwood is dark...but you’ll see.)

Additional questions? Shoot us a message! 

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 1

Here are my extremely unfashionably late takes! They’re long, so strap in if you want.

okay, I genuinely thought the scenes in Gumb’s basement were ripped from the film for a second. extremely well done.

I both appreciate that they’re acknowledging the Bureau-mandated psych eval Clarice would have to go through (not sure she’d have to have another one a year later?)...

...but I sure wish they hadn’t chosen to open this show in a therapy-like session. it’s going to be subject to enough NBC comparisons as it is.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is so pretty, and in the same almost, idk, elfin kind of way Jodie Foster is.

“Bride of Frankenstein”! a novel reference! and a Hannibal Lecter reference even though they can’t use his name! I’m excited

I was afraid of this part, though--everyone’s going to call her “Clarice” aren’t they?

it’s very significant that in the books, Hannibal is virtually alone in using her first name to address her; even Ardelia calls her “Starling.” but of course this series chose “Clarice” as its title, so...

“the checkout lady at the Safeway asked me to autograph a melon” omg

so Clarice has supposedly been “mandated” to see an FBI therapist for an entire year? hmm.

tbh, this feels kind of like a proxy for Hannibal’s scenes in the movie, especially with the therapist calling her “Clarice.” not sure if I dig it.

“...given that your last therapist was an inmate” Hannibal reference #2!

they’re explicitly talking about Hannibal without being able to name him and it’s hilarious, frustrating, and immensely satisfying all at once.

there’s no way to avoid talking about him altogether without being disingenuous to Clarice’s eventual character arc, so I’m glad they’re ripping off the band-aid early

“you let that relationship be intimate”  Yeah, Clarice and Hannibal’s relationship IS intimate and YOU! SHOULD! SAY IT!!!

it’s kind of ridiculous for this guy/the show not to acknowledge that little trainee Clarice was sent to see Hannibal by someone who should’ve known better. That Crawford was doing it with the intention to save lives doesn’t mean he didn’t use the shit out of Clarice.

that’s not to take away her agency or minimize the choices she made after she met Hannibal. She wouldn’t have been in a position to make those choices if Crawford hadn’t arranged it, though.

even if they don’t have the rights to Crawford’s name, either (I have to assume that’s the case) couldn’t they at least mention this??

“hasn’t seen her own family in years” Are they actually going to address Clarice’s maybe-dead-maybe-not mother (depending on the canon they adopt, book or film) and possible siblings??? Please tell me they are!

Clarice’s “egregious” PTSD doesn’t have much to do with Buffalo Bill ofc, and this therapist seems to be making excuses to be the first in a long line of men getting in the way of Clarice’s career goals...

...which she recognizes and confronts him about. Call him out!!!

*Anthony Hopkins voice* That’s my girl.

the way she’s been written in this scene gives me a lot of hope going forward! she’s funny, she doesn’t take any sexist bullshit, she’s calm and polite but you get a glimpse of the rage underneath. 

wow, they promoted Senator Martin to Attorney General!

the opening credits (if you can even call them that) are a let-down, though

she has her beads!

can anyone who’s not Hannibal please stop calling her Clarice

wonder if they’re going to touch on any of the extreme tension that existed between Senator Martin and Clarice in the novel? they didn’t interact in the movie, but in the book, Martin is under intense stress, and it doesn’t go smoothly.

of course in “Hannibal,” Martin invites her to “ride horses,” so they obviously reconciled after Catherine’s rescue and kept in some kind of touch.

and speak of the devil: horses! (and Catherine)

“I can’t have a reputation, I’ve only done it once” Thank you for being the voice of reason, Clarice.

“Paul Krendler” *ugly screaming commences*

“you don’t have any people, Clarice” Aaand that’s the plot of the Hannibal novel!

looks like they even gave her the ring Jodie’s Clarice wears!

oh yeah, this Krendler looks like a sumbitch if I ever saw one. No one will ever be as perfectly cast as the dude in Silence imo, but a much better fit than Ray Liotta. 

“small carat, but it’s a sweet ring” A very in-character observation probably directly informed by her comments about nail polish in Silence.

she mentions this victim’s nail polish (!) being “tasteful,” and I shrieked a little again.

I understand it’s necessary for Krendler to be a douche, but there’s not even going to be any payoff for the audience (or Clarice) when Hannibal eats him, so boo.

wait...wait, why aren’t Clarice and Ardelia in their Alexandria duplex? They’re not just best friends, they’re roommates! For the entire seven-year story! GIVE ME THE DUPLEX!!!

BUT points for Ardelia bringing Clarice a treat, since she was always leaving her candy bars in the Silence book!

Clarice interacting with the washer/dryer is a nice nod to the books, too.

speaking of... “What did we learn in the laundry room back at Quantico?” For some reason this line made me actually cry, I guess because this whole episode has been such a love letter to something I love so dearly, and it’s making me emotional.

FIRST PRINCIPLES!

DESPERATELY RANDOM!!!

wow, the men in Clarice’s new office giving her lotion as a hazing “welcome” gift is awful, and now I’m just mad (which is the point of the scene ofc).

so this ex-military OC is the John Brigham stand-in, I take it?

if that means John Brigham won’t be here, No Thanks.

Clarice telling him she’ll drive...a tribute to Dana “Why Do You Always Have to Drive?” Scully, perhaps (who was herself inspired by Clarice) as well as a nod to Clarice’s love of cars?

“Why do they call you the bride of Frankenstein?” Sorry, I don’t have the legal rights to tell you about my last intimate relationship.

“Already on my way to West Virginia Granny Witch” Look, this show could crash and burn from this scene on, and it would still have been worth it just for these first 25 minutes.

I like that Clarice is shown wanting to help people, and the scene of her with the baby is a nice call-back to the eventual shoot-out at the beginning of “Hannibal”...but I hope they don’t try to domesticate her too much. Clarice needs her hard edges. To be tough (reasonably so)--a cub growing into its big cat’s claws.

also, somehow I doubt that Miss Valedictorian spent her six years in the Lutheran home “changing a lot of diapers,” but sure, okay. If her siblings are alive in this, she might have changed their diapers!

even though Krendler’s a real dickwad so far, he’s not slimy enough for me. Needs more grease.

“I got a call from your therapist who’s concerned that you might genuinely flip out” I really do not like this subplot Sam-I-Am. Aren’t the huge glass ceiling/Boys’ Club obstacles enough?

seriously, though, I know Hannibal tells her that the metaphorical lambs will come back--at the end of Silence, though, she’s at some kind of temporary peace, not in danger of “flipping out” any time soon.

if Esquivel really is our Brigham stand-in, I’ve got...problems with that. He was Clarice’s teacher and became her friend, not some Krendler double-agent. (Also worried they’re setting him up as a love interest for her which...eesh, no thanks.)

and sorry, I actually hate that Catherine kept Precious the dog in this.

I have no problem with Catherine being a character, or with her interacting with Clarice...that said, I don’t know if her being shown as severely traumatized and reaching out to Clarice as a form of emotional lifeline is...a good idea?

I understand the symbolism of Catherine’s smashed mirror, but...smashed mirrors are already a Thing in this series (albeit not Clarice’s chapter in it), and that’s all I can think of here.

Catherine’s a victim of unthinkable trauma. Nevertheless...she’s talking to the woman who saved her life. Who risked death to do it. I just don’t like the way this scene is written. Apparently, in this show’s canon, Catherine hasn’t gotten the help she needs. But Clarice isn’t her therapist, and it’s upsetting to have Catherine being all “I’ll never be safe and neither will you.”

how does Catherine remember “the mannequins, the autopsy table”?? And why is she throwing them in Clarice’s face?

I’m going to stop talking about this scene now because it’s making me angry and a little upset, which is maybe the point? I just don’t think it’s written well. If Catherine’s going to be a recurring character, I hope she’s shown getting professional, medical help.

Clarice finding the victim’s papers in the box of pads is a direct callback to her finding the photos in the jewelry box in Silence. Nice.

let’s agree that Hannibal and Crawford are both in Ardelia’s (too-cutesy-for-me) book

another nice little X-Files homage?

I have some qualms about that big climax, but...meh. It was capital-F Fine.

Yikes, this is a full week late. Thanks for reading this entirely-too-long post through to the end, if you’re still here! 

To sum up my thoughts...

The Good: 

the visual connections to the Silence film (that green coat/blue knit scarf combo in particular)

Rebecca Breeds’ performance overall so far

Clarice’s strong writing/characterization

her sense of humor and her inclination to call out bullshit

maybe it was just me, but I also got a sense of Hannibal’s influence on her in some of her dialogue--her blunt observations--and I love it

Ardelia Mapp

the repeated in-your-face references to Hannibal Lecter

the respectful, non-exploitative way the victims were treated by the narrative.

let’s just say, not all Harris-inspired shows managed to do this. :)

the many, many allusions to the novel

“you let that relationship be INTIMATE” !!!

The Bad: 

the near-constant implication that all Clarice’s trauma stems from her experiences in Gumb’s basement

I just don’t understand this one...it’s not supported by the text imo

the “Clarice-is-a-psychological-loose-canon” subplot

almost everyone calling her “Clarice”

NO DUPLEX IN ALEXANDRIA! Boo!

Esquivel maybe replacing Brigham

the narrative choices they’ve made surrounding Catherine so far.

Seriously: please let Catherine seek/get help instead of screaming “HELP ME” at Clarice, who after all risked her own life to save Catherine’s, over the phone.

The Ugly: Paul Krendler, lol. Confession time: I also don’t care for the way they’ve styled her hair. Not sure why it bugs me, it just...does.

Overall, I’m thrilled to death with this. I was so afraid it would be disappointing, so even if it’s not a five-star episode (and pilots rarely are), it’s a great beginning! It’s beyond amazing to see our girl on the screen again. Just this hour-long episode did her character way more justice than the entire Hannibal film. Despite its shortcomings, it’s such a loving homage to characters and a story that mean a lot to me, and I love it just for that.

Going forward, I’d like to see more of Clarice as a person. Her hobbies and interests--cars, sharpshooting, running, fashion magazines stuffed under her bed, horseback riding, her total inability to cook...anything would do. I of course want to see more of her with Ardelia. I want to hear more about her backstory and find out which version of it (truly orphaned when her father dies or sent away by her mother) they’ll choose to explore. And while we all agree that this show is about Clarice and she don’t need no man, I won’t lie: I’d gobble up more sly references to Hannibal. He’s her endgame, after all.

I’d also like to really see the warrior underneath. There are flashes of her in the last twenty minutes of this episode. But Clarice Starling is a big cat, she’s a warrior, she’s between iron and silver. I’d hate for her to spend most of this show doe-eyed and traumatized. I want her to be ferocious, to see the woman who’s a match for the monster.

Krendler needs to get nastier. He should make us feel like we need to shower. In the novels, he wants to use Clarice--only for her body. And when she won’t allow him to, he takes his revenge. That’s what makes him so particularly awful. Let’s amp him up here.

And finally...maybe I’ll appreciate Catherine’s scene more on a second watch. Maybe I’m not being sensitive enough to her trauma, her struggles. But I didn’t like the way that scene was staged or scripted, and I didn’t like the suggestion that she just hasn’t gotten help after a year and is subsequently taking her pain out on Clarice on some level. I hope future episodes handle this subplot, and her character, a bit better.

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do another of these monstrosities for the next episode. (I promise it won’t take me an entire week this time!) And thank you again for reading!!! 

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!) 

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be.  But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could  actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way,  searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

[moondrop04]

RWBY VOLUME 8 FINALE AFTERMATH!!!

SPOILERS!!!

SPOILERS!!!

SPOILERS!!!

WOW.......What A F***** Finale To End A Volume!!!! I was left surprised, shocked, sad, disappointed and ecstatic with the events that unfolded and also for the future of the RWBY series!!! I have so many theories and headcanons racking in my brain that I’m acting like a Giddy Little Troll 😆. So let’s jump right into the FINAL aftermath of Volume 8....

-(Tick-Tock Took Out The Vine) Before starting into this I want to give a shout out to CRWBY for starting out the episode with the “Warning” for the deaths that we were about to witness. I’m glad they were thoughtful for their fanbase’s wellbeing after watching this finale and hope they continue this trend of “warnings” in the future.

Now onto the first major character death of the episode......Vine 👀. I was fully expecting to see at least one of the Ace-Op members to die in the finale and I was actually quite surprised to see it only be Vine. Given the circumstances that Qrow, Vine, Elm, Marrow and Robyn were put into because of Harriet’s blind loyalty, it wouldn’t be too hard to have expected more characters to die in that situation.

Vine has always been the calm one within the team, so to see him willing to sacrifice himself to save his friends from death was a very touching moment. I was also honestly quite surprised he could used his semblance like that as well 😳. I kinda wished we had seen some more aspects of him extending his aura like that in previous episodes, but that’s just a bit of a small nit-pick of mine.

It’s also going to be interesting how this will impact the rest of the Ace-Op members going forward, especially Harriet. This will no doubt cause some inner turmoil for her character and only time will tell what type of effect it will hold in future dire situations .

-(Fighting For Your Beliefs) Hmmm......I’ll be honest......I was a bit disappointed with Winter and Ironwood’s fight 😓. Now I have a few reasons why I feel like this so let me explain....

1:I think the decision to make Ironwood fight with a “BFG” against Winter was a poor one. As we have seen in Volume 7 episode 11 we know that Ironwood can fight much better with his duel hand cannons. Watching him fight with a bigger weapon against a much more agile opponent didn’t feel right to me lol.

2: Having Winter win the fight using the maiden powers. Now I have no issue with Penny giving the powers to Winter, but I would have preferred if she could have found a way to defeat Ironwood without having the convenient power up. Winter is a very good fighter in her own right and I think having her defeat Ironwood with her abilities alone would mean much more before she was given the maiden powers by Penny.

3: Now I have said this before in previous posts but I would have liked it if Qrow was the one to fight Ironwood. There was indeed a bit of a build up for Qrow to fight Ironwood this volume so I do feel we were a bit blue-balled for that confrontation. Then after some time to think about it I feel the decision to make Winter be the one face Ironwood was the right one. Considering that this was the end of Atlas and that these two characters are the most associated with Atlas, made their fight against each other more fitting then leaving it up to Qrow.

The only positives I can give this fight is that it showcased more of Winter’s fighting potential and I was pleased how the animators made her fight with both Ironwood and later with Cinder. 😊

-(For Her Friends) Now onto definitely the most important part of this episode......Penny’s death. Now I’m really gonna be honest with all of you......I was not at all surprised that Penny died in the finale 😔. Ever since she gained the maiden powers she was always gonna have the “Red Flag” known as Cinder be connected to her. I more or less imagined that Penny’s powers would be taken by Cinder at some point and Penny would make some sacrificial play to save her friends while she still had her robot body. So when I witnessed her second death, as a REAL GIRL, I was shouting out “How could I be so RIGHT and so WRONG all at the same time!?” 😫

Now what has me intrigued about this second death is the part about Jaune’s involvement. I’m gonna keep my opinion about this choice from the writers neutral for now because I feel this is deeply connected to what they have already written for Volume 9. There’s is something they are planning for Jaune in the future and I want to see the whole picture of what they are drawing out before giving this either a thumbs up or a thumbs down. 😤

I have one more thing I want to bring up about this, and this is my opinion so if anyone wants to skip over this part I totally understand......so here it is. I truly believe Penny will be brought back to life in the future 🙂. When she first “died” back in volume 3 I fully believed she would be back eventually, so even if the circumstances are different this time around I am still having that same feeling that she will come back. I understand everyone else has their own feelings about what happen to Penny so I will not disapprove how everyone feels about it. It’s just how I feel about it is all 😊.....

-(The Captain Goes Down With His Ship) So.........this is the end of James Ironwood. As Atlas inevitably falls, so to does the man that represented as its symbol throughout the series and it’s aspects of strength, elitism and control.....

.......yeah I’m not buying it 😒

Something feels off if this is how he “permanently” dies..... I understand the symbolism of his “fall” parallels that of Atlas crashing down and being destroyed, but him dying doesn’t feel complete to me....

Not to mention this man has survived with half his body being destroyed in the past with what I believe to be nothing but his sheer will. So if I had to bet on anything I think he would have found a way to have survived Atlas’s crash and the flood that came afterwards....but I think he would be terribly wounded in the process....

There are also a few characters that I feel he hasn’t had a satisfying conclusion with that still needs to be addressed......Qrow, Oz and Glynda.

Also forgot to mention that apparently Arther Watts is dead too.....yeah I believe he’s not dead either 🤨. In fact I’m fully expecting Watts will survive but will be horribly burned and scarred the next time we see him. He will vow vengeance against Cinder and will stop at nothing to obtain his revenge on her. So it would be really lucky of him to find an unconscious and badly wounded general nearby that he could kidnap and experiment on to be his personal attack dog later to kill Cinder 🤔......wouldn’t that be a something to see lol

I’ll gladly wear some clown shoes and makeup in believing that we will be seeing both Ironwood and Watts again in the future, and if I’m wrong then I’ll gladly accept that L from everybody.....till then see you again next time general Ironwood and Arther Watts 🤗

-(Volume 9 and The Future Of RWBY) Alright! There is a couple of reasons why this post has taken me three weeks for me to write 😓.

First reason obviously is because of my job 😭. Some things have been happening at my work that has been stressing me out for weeks and honestly it’s been exhausting to even write anything....

Second reason is that over the course of the past few weeks after the finale aired I have been non-stop thinking of several headcannons, theories and speculations on what may happen in volume 9 and future volumes of RWBY 😆!! Don’t believe me? Here is some of the crazy s*** that came out of my head lol

-Team RWBY, Jaune and Neo meet the God Of Darkness

-The God Of Darkness gives Team RWBY power ups and new outfits to fight against Salem. Also gives Neo the ability to speak.

-Oscar vs Raven

-Salem sends Cinder to Vale to search for the Crown of Choice......but not alone. She gives Cinder 4 more experimental S.E.W Grimm to aid her and one of them happens to be Summer Rose.

-Horribly burned and scarred Watts kidnaps a wounded Ironwood and experiments on his body to change him into a complete cyborg with one objective......kill Cinder.

Believe me I have more context for each of those that I just addressed but that’s for separate posts that I hope to make in the future lol 🤗

Well that’s about all I got for that finale review and I literally cannot wait to see what happens next 😤 lol. I hope to engage with some of you in the fandom in the future and hope we get along 😎

Till next time........BUH-BYE!!!!

[marithlizard]

First Impressions: RWBY v8c9, “Witch”

"Witch", huh?  Presumably Salem.  Are we going to get more backstory lore? Because YES PLEASE.

The Atlas army vs. the whale whose teeth loom like mountains on the horizon.  They look like toys. I can't help thinking these soldier mooks equal any Huntsman in courage, if not in skill.  And this is the first real large-scale action any of them have seen - that anyone in the world has seen in their lifetimes.

eyy Ren has gotten over the snappishness as well as the despairing angst.    Suddenly gaining control of his evolving Semblance must help a lot with the feelings of powerlessness.  (And though we haven't seen him use it on Jaune or Yang, I'm thinking being able to know for certain how much your friends care about you and have your back  is a source of power in itself.)

They're discussing fairy tales MY HEART

Ozpin continuing to confirm he has handed over the reins completely to Oscar.   I don't like this about the accelerating merge, though. It feels like we're going to lose Oz  very soon. And yet,  Jinn's vision definitely showed us Oz and host coexisting in middle age.  Did they not use magic in that lifetime?  Or is the merge somehow not about "losing" either one of them?

Team FNKI in a line of regular soldiers!  They've got to have mobilized all the students, but I wonder if we'll see any others besi-  Neon. Neon you are wearing rollerskates to the apocalypse.  

...well, why not?  

Marrow,  YOU'RE just a kid.  You can't be more than a few years older, and you're not that much more seasoned. Though I understand the feeling.

So, Hazel, you're ready to rejoin fact-based reality?  Or at least listen to someone who pretty much definitionally can't be lying?  

(Actually...the only information we have about Jinn comes from her, and it'd be a hell of an interesting twist if she was editing facts to fit her own agenda.  I don't think it's very likely for meta reasons, but it'd make a great fic premise, wouldn't it?)

Huh.  He sounds much much calmer, and like he's been thinking through everything for the last few hours.  

....what? He's not even going to ask???  THAT is a surprise.  The existence of Jinn and knowing Oscar  gave him the password in good faith  were enough to deradicalize a violent extremist. (Wish it was that easy in RL.)

Oscar's little wave

(You know, now that I think of it,  Ozpin has never interacted with Jinn himself.  She's greeted him twice and he hasn't answered.  Does he resent her for not answering his predecessor's questions more helpfully?  Mistrust her?  )

yes rescue Emerald good

"Just to be  clear" - oh god I thought that was Salem's voice and nearly jumped out of my seat.

"I'll come back for it"  crap crap crap  Hazel's redemption arc is going to be short, painful, and fatal.   And Salem will keep the lamp, if not have the password.

And we'll just all turn our backs on the divine artifact-entity and walk away.  I guess they don't think she's enough of a person to say goodbye to?  

And our eavesdropper is...the one person who CAN'T summon Jinn or ask her a question.  

Oh no. No.  Please don't have the fandom descend into "Jinn is ablist" discourse. (ETA: upon thinking further I take it back,  the gods suck and providing a Relic that not everyone can use is in its way a tiny symbol of their callous attitude to people. ) 

RJY working smoothly together, nice. 

Robyn said people are always suspicious of her, and her truthsense ability has a clearly visible limiting condition.    But Ren can apparently read the emotions of everyone around him all the time without them knowing.  Surely that would make a lot of people uncomfortable.  (Although I expect  the writers to ignore this, and will be pleasantly surprised if they explore it at all.)

That's always the way isn't it, you roll a 4 on your concentration check right when a demonic jellyfish is floating by.

Huh, they separated from Oscar?  And Hazel is worried about him? I'm still dizzy from the speed of this 180.  

uh...hi, Salem.  Nice...weather outside the whale today?  Seen any good dismemberments lately?

Hazel,  you are a terrible liar and you can't bluff.   Admittedly the stakes are a lot  higher here than in the weekly WTCH poker game.

Salem NYOOM

No one can accuse Yang of not understanding the core competencies.

"Juan"???  I did hear that correctly, yes?  Marrow not remembering Jaune's name is hilarious.  And I was about to say understandable, but no, they worked with the Ace Ops for weeks!  Did you just have him mentally filed as "the blond himbo tank"?

O-kayyyyyy.    I can't blame Emerald,  but this could go so horribly wrong so fast. 

Isn't Hazel-disguised-as-Oscar  way too heavy to pick up like tha-  OHHHHHHHHH.  Now things make much more sense.  Oscar was the one worried about Hazel earlier,  and failing utterly to bluff.  Infinitely more in character.

Awkward Semblance is also extremely convenient in short-cutting negotiations. Nice.

I do not, in fact, have any doubt that Winter would blow up her sister.   And in this situation  I can't say it's the wrong thing to do.  As far as they know their bomb is the only hope.

Wow. I really did not think we’d go to toe to toe with Salem herself at this point in the plot.  It's so traditional to save the final boss fight for, well, the final boss.  She's terrifying and unstoppable, but not actually more terrifying than the giant whale.    

Her regen is just like  the Hound's body morphing, but far smoother and faster with a thousand "deaths" of practice.

She sounds more normal right now, oddly.   Her voice is lacking both the measured slowness and the resonance it has when she's making speeches.  I like the idea of that falling away when she's surprised and exasperated.  

Our heroes are very very lucky that RWBY is not a darker show, or those Grimmhand  restraints would be doing a lot of gross agonizing damage with their nails.   There's no reason she'd want to be gentle at this point.

Yeah, there's the sonorous voice again. Although it wavers again with that "Why do you Keep. Coming. Back?"   Does she not know? How can she not know, Jinn's vision said Ozma told her everything.  Perhaps she means: why do you keep fighting  me instead of hiding like the hermit.

Yang, don't give her information,  gah!   "Her again."  She sounds pleased.  I think we are going to find out Summer's fate this volume after all.  Salem will reveal it to break Ruby’s spirit.  Prediction: it will work. 

(EDIT: I completely missed the significance of Yang calling Summer “my mom”.  Wow.)

She definitely intends to turn Emerald into something like the Hound.

"No more Gretchens."   Oh, of course that's what Oscar said he needed before they could leave, the cane.

Hazel's life expectancy is minutes long but at least it included a satisfying KAPOW.   And every single sparkly crystal he owns.  Somehow he seems smaller here, less bulky than he did at Haven.  Less a titan and more a man.

yigh he's pounding her into mush.  Which he has several times before, apparently.  This is all to buy you time, Emerald, why are you not running.   (I know, I know.   She's never had someone actually help her and care about her, only scraps of affection to establish control.    At this moment Cinder's hold on her is breaking forever.)

(Neo, on the other hand.  Will she bring the lamp to Cinder, who frankly has been a totally crap partner and deserves no loyalty?    Is she still after revenge?   My bet is still firmly on her planning to backstab Cinder as soon as Ruby is gone.  But beyond that, we don't know her thoughts at all.  She might join the heroes, or disappear like Raven to hide while the apocalypse works itself out.)

That's true, Oscar, but what can you do to stop her?  

Hah!  Clever,  Hazel.  And she's actually screaming in pain from the fire, whereas she didn't make a sound when being pulverized.

What does the cane DO?  It's impressive as heck, but I can't tell.  Channeling his magic, certainly.  Are we going to lose Oz  right now?  With no chance to talk to Ruby or Qrow or anyone, to reconcile?  It seems all too likely, and such a waste.

Which makes me think, in turn, that perhaps we will lose Oscar too in a way.  Unexpected - I have always thought the merge would end with Oscar holding all the memories.  But maybe he won't be quite either of them anymore, even if he remembers both and the others still call him Oscar.  And that thought also makes me sad.

Anyway,  good episode, though now the title doesn’t seem particularly relevant. Hazel was much more the focus.