#nascent sacrifice

[faithinthelambau]

Mini COTL AMV using only the trailers.

Song: Nascent Sacrifice (Saku no Nie) by Bin.

[the-seas-incarnadine]

TCOAAL - Metaphysics Theory

Okay so we've seen some interesting stuff in the most recent tcoaal progress report, and I'm SO ready to read a lot of stuff into it.

Some observations:

People have souls. There are also a number of Entities whose natures are more or less mysterious.

This lil guy is generally referred to as The Entity. It has a greater or lesser degree of difficulty finding summoning circles in the human world from its usual residence on the other side of the dream borderlands. It makes a pact with Ashley. It seems to want to collect or consume human souls. Its name is unknown, its dialogue is displayed as being spoken by "? ? ?".

The Entity notes that Ashley has a "tar-colored soul", and it refers to her as "tar soul". It implies that this is why it does not want to take her soul. It further indicates that this is not just a nickname but a preexisting phenomenon, the nature of which is unclear.

Ashley seems to be much better at summoning entities than the cultists we encounter, despite proceeding fairly haphazardly and without much background knowledge.

While in the dream borderlands, Ashley sometimes encounters what seem to be human souls. Normal souls appear like this.

During her vision in the Decay route, Ashley encounters a soul that looks like this. It is part of a group of four souls in a small room, hovering near The Entity. If Ashley tries to speak to it, a heart pops up between it and another (normal) soul. The Entity describes it as "a Tar Soul to be" that never "hatched", and remarks that Ashley's soul looks similar but darker.

That is, a Tar Soul proper, like Ashley, is either a "hatched" version of this, or has the potential to "hatch" into... something.

Given that the number of souls in this area corresponds to the number of souls The Entity has taken, and the Tar Soul To Be is part of a couple, it is sometimes theorized that this is Ms. Graves's soul.

This is Lord Unknown, to whom the Cult seems to be dedicated, and who our heroes are able to summon (but not communicate with) in the cult building.

Lord Unknown shares some imagery with The Entity, but they seem to be distinct.

In the Burial route, during the second summoning / the sacrifice of the Graves parents, Ashley says that The Entity can't have Andrew's soul, because it belongs to her. The Entity tells her it intends to summon her again, and instructs her to bring Andrew with her.

In the Burial / Sane route, during her vision, Ashley encounters a number of souls and must capture them in bottles. Afterward, she encounters this lil guy, who is referred to as "an entity". When she makes her way to it, she seems to recognize it, threatens to put it into a bottle (as a joke), and then says "let's get out of here before it finds us". Additionally, though its name is displayed as "? ? ?" (like The Entity" and it does not speak any words, the ellipses in its dialogue boxes are displayed in green. This seems to suggest that this is Andrew's soul.

From its appearance, we might conclude that this is a Tar Soul that has Hatched or that is closer to Hatching than the Tar Soul To Be encountered earlier.

Additionally, it seems to be taking a shape more similar to that of Lord Unknown (scale aside) than the human souls we've encountered.

All of that suggests that what a Tar Soul is is a soul on the path towards becoming an Entity like Lord Unknown - or, colloquially, a nascent demon.

The newest progress report gives us a few new images, but we're going to be focusing on these two in particular:

Hmm!! Interesting!!

Let's zoom in on that second one:

Here's what I'm seeing:

A Hatched / Hatching Tar Soul appears to be the playable character in this scene.

The other image seems to depict this same entity catching some red flowers (associated with The Entity and with the dream borderlands), with some trepidation.

This entity has lost track of "time."

Given what we saw of the Hatched / Hatching Tar Soul in chapter 2, and given that it seems to be a playable character, it seems reasonable to conclude that this is either Andrew or Ashley - given what we've observed above, Ashley's soul likely looks something like this, or will at some point, or did at some point.

The rest of this is way more speculative, and I'm unsure what direction it might go in chapter 3:

After the Burial / Sane vision (which Ashley seems to have brought Andrew's soul into), Andrew tells us that he was unable to sleep during that time.

Andrew often has trouble sleeping, and Ashley's presence helps.

In these new screenshots, the Hatched / Hatching Tar Soul seems to be confused about time, suggesting it's been in a strange state outside of the normal world for a long, ah, time.

This suggests that there is something unusual about the entanglement of Andrew and Ashley's souls. Does she literally have his soul in some way? Was she able to remove it from his body when she had this vision? How are their souls connected? Is the proximity of his own soul affecting his ability to sleep?

I'm not sure this is anything, but my curiosity has been piqued.

Anyway. That's just some thoughts, based on my current understanding of things! I hope people find it interesting, I'd love to hear what others think of these speculations.

[anneapocalypse]

WIP Whenever

Thank you @lilbittymonster for the tag! Tagging @farfromdaylight @orime-stories @calico-heart @gunbun and anyone else who wants to share.

Have a bit of sad elf fic. Spoilers for Heavensward.

***

"Urianger? It's—it's me. Pray forgive me, I know the hour is late…"

For a moment, the tremulous voice over linkpearl was scarcely recognizable as Master Alphinaud. Even as recognition pierced his weary mind—nay, he had not been asleep, late as the hour was, but certainly contemplating sleep—he felt the stab of alarm in his breast. Even as the words Is aught amiss? rose to his lips, he cast them aside, for rarely had he felt so certain that aught was, in sooth, amiss.

"'Tis I, Master Alphinaud. Pray, are you well? Are you safe?"

"I'm—" The lad fairly choked on his reply. Never had Urianger known Louisoix's grandson at a loss for words, and his alarm only deepened, before the next words came in a rush:

"He's dead—Lord Haurchefant is dead."

Urianger did his utmost to piece together what he knew of their exploits in the north with the halting tale Master Alphinaud now told. He was aware, of course, that Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light had returned to Ishgard following the restoration of the sultana, even as the dissolution of the Crystal Braves had ended the necessity of their exile. Several Braves whose loyalties remained with the Scions had returned to the Rising Stones, and one in particular, Riol, had been in contact, eager to assist in the search for their missing comrades.

Urianger recalled those "secrets long-buried" to which Master Alphinaud had previously alluded, though he knew not their nature, and from what spilled forth from the lad now he gleaned that the great wyrm Nidhogg had indeed been slain. Yet what followed was far from the nascent peace for which they had so hoped. Unrest in Ishgard, the well-intentioned pleas of the Lord Commander to the Archbishop. The storming of the Vault of the Holy See, the summonings—not of Halone, but of the Knights of Thordan, for which Urianger could hardly help but chide himself, for failing to pursue that avenue of inquiry.

And then the brave sacrifice of a knight of Ishgard, their stalwart ally to the end.

'Twas plain there was more to the tale, even then.

"Ariane…" Alphinaud said at last, followed by a long pause as though he could scarcely summon up the words. "She was… they were…"

Urianger's own reply was rather delayed, as it was a moment before he grasped what Master Alphinaud meant to imply. "…Ah."

"We tried to save him," Alphinaud said hollowly. "I tried… I did all I could, but the wound would not mend, and Ariane… she did something. I don't know white magic. I only know it nearly killed her, too. We had to carry her back to the estate, and I… I wasn't certain she'd awaken."

He understood, now, why Alphinaud had called. Shaken, in shock, the boy had turned to him not for counsel, but simply for some measure of comfort.

Would that he were nearer, the better to offer it. Would that words could ease the loss of such a treasured friend. Against his will, he recalled again the accursed letter he had penned to Wilfsunn and Bloewyda, filled with verse and platitude, as though to absolve him of his guilt.

Now was no time to permit himself to drown in his own shame. Not when Louisoix's grandson had need of him.

"'Dawn may banish even the darkest night,'" he replied, the only words he could draw to mind, and he feared that even now he had erred.

"'Yet ever shall primal desires burn,'" Alphinaud murmured, almost automatically. Well did they both of them know these words. "'Two swords shall vie to lay them low…' And so they shall. On the morrow we give chase… and gods willing, we shall thwart the Archbishop's schemes."

"The Warrior of Light yet lives, then." He knew it must be so, yet he would hear those words from Master Alphinaud for a certainty.

"She does. She…" Alphinaud went silent a moment. "I'm worried for her. But she lives. She did come to, some bells ago… She's in her guest suite now. Resting, I pray." He drew a deep breath, somewhat calmer. "'A blade born of Light and a blade forged of might…' I'd place my trust in her still, without question. Yet I fear for her. I hope…" He trailed off, sounding once again rather lost.

"So must we hope, Master Alphinaud. If there is aught I may do to aid you…"

"I thank you. Tataru said you've some promising leads on our missing friends?'

In truth, those leads were largely thanks to the efforts of Riol and Marshal Tarupin. With the Braves dissolved, at long last a full search of the watercourse could be undertaken, though of course some time had passed, and there was much ground to cover. Nonetheless, the Marshal had promised to report any findings, and at this particular moment, Urianger thought it best to remain optimistic.

"Aye," he said simply, "we have, and 'tis mine every hope that they shall bear fruit."

"I'm glad to hear it." Alphinaud let out a long breath. "I should let you go… forgive me again for troubling you at this hour."

"'Tis no trouble, Master Alphinaud. Pray, accept my sympathies for the loss of your friend. May the Twelve watch over your footsteps in the days to come."

"Yours too, Urianger. Yours too."

[spectre-week]

Spectre One: Caleb Dume/Kanan Jarrus

Kanan Jarrus, born Caleb Dume, was a Force-sensitive human male Jedi Knight who survived Order 66 during the Clone Wars. Living on thanks to the sacrifice of his Master, Depa Billaba, on Kaller, he met the smuggler Janus Kasmir, who taught him how to survive as a fugitive. Going into hiding, he forsook the Jedi ways for some time, swapping his blue-bladed lightsaber for a blaster. After working with the Twi'lek rebel operative Hera Syndulla during the Gorse Conflict, Jarrus decided to join her nascent rebel cell. -Wookieepedia

Prior to Star Wars Rebels, some of the tales you could tell about this spectre are from these eras:

Jedi Temple Era

Padawan Era

Janus Kasmir Era

On the Run Era

New Dawn Era

Early Spectre One Era (up until Spark of Rebellion)

At the end of these eras, Kanan is 28 years old. We have the most canon backstory for him of all of the Spectres, but there is still a lot of time and so much you could add to it. We can't wait to see what you come up with!

Need more suggestions? Have a question? Just Ask!

[doctor-radius]

The altar of the Flame-Tear is a Faction in valleyboar, they Worship the Nascent Demi-god of fire. They covet its burning tears which they use in rituals to burn their bodies as sacrifice so that their lord may one day bloom into a god. The altars ever burning fire is not only Flame but also a plague, its sickness spreads and burns the insides of those who it afflicts, coughing up molten slag as it devours them Turning them into little more than shambling pyres. The Altar of the flame-tear has its origins in the Second coven, once having been regular Worshippers of the mother but upon learning of the covens experimentations in creating a god with the mothers own flesh they Rebelled, viewing the new god as an extension of the mother and therefore worthy of worship. ----------------------------------------------- So far this is the only doodle ive done for the altar but im quite enjoying this faction. Started off as simply the idea of a molten metal wizard which then evolved into this!

[lesfir]

Disclamer: I do not like the idea of the Spawn Astarion path and I prefer the Ascension. My thoughts. This is a criticism.

I like Ascended Astarion in that he literally waves red flags like during a socialist revolution. He's explicitly offering: to be his forever or not. If my Tav agrees - then Lord Astarion > Freedom and\or Lord Astarion = Freedom. The choice is made, if not then no. Spawn Astarion is an underground red flag activity. Waiting for dinoflagellate to bloom.

Spawn Astarion adjusts, his manipulations are subtler. He also convinces himself because of his co-dependency and complete disorientation in the world, that it's what he does right. He sincerely believes in a new picture of the world - "Good one". Not an Evil one - “Power is the main thing. There is a strong and a weak, the strong lives, the weak dies”, he sincerely tries, to understand the different and new. For whom and why? Astarion: I would understand if you wanted to go your own way. Player: Actually, I will go and do my own thing. Astarion: You - what? I didn't think you'd actually agree. Astarion: How dare you! After all I've done for you - after everything I've sacrificed!

This phrase by the Spawn Astarion during the break up.

How many times would Tav even have to hear that phrase? During quarrels and clashes of temper. Astarion has a huge temperament. (A!A shows how mutch) “After all I've done for you--” the manipulative phrase.

The mechanism is simple: you feel guilty and make concessions. It is time to pay back the debt, as if the manipulator is hinting to you. He plays the role of a victim, so resentful and helpless in front of you. It is also a hidden method of emotional control. When someone says, “After all I've done for you,” they are showing that what they did for you was not for you at all, but their own need to control you. To press on, creating feelings of guilt. That's how you can live with chronic guilt for years.

(a picture of "true freedom" - I don't think so. The "beginning of true freedom" - I don't think so either)

7k spawn souls - Spawn Astarion isn't shy at all about using this as “something I could trade for everything (I dreamed of)”, as a sacrifice. Not even for himself, be better, do right thing. For Tav. When he said “I'll understand if you go your own way” - he turns around 180 degrees and says he didn't really think so (but said the right thing, for Tav).

Astarion: Good, because selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go.

Line for Dark Urge He also confirms that he really doesn't want to let go.

What would it be like if Spawn Astarion could keep Tav from letting go? After all, he “sacrifice” for them. The answer's right there. An Ascended Astarion is an Astarion who does what the hell he wants. His freedom is a permissiveness that has no limits on morality, law, anything. Spawn Astarion - looks like a nascent version of “nice guy” - I did the right thing and I sacrificed that for you, why are you leaving, how dare you. And you condemn me to this, an eternity in the night, alone? Spawn Aastarion lets Tav go, doing Tav a lot of moral damage, that will haunt their minds forever. Man, that's a red flag for me, btw.

Objectively something good, with sincere feelings, in the moment used as a tool, devalues it, hidden co-dependent guilt-inducing manipulations, to make you do what you were expected to do, “I've done so much for you!” He can covertly manipulate Tav's autonomy with sad puppy eyes. (which is creepy) A fight and he'll bite, causing guilt. And I don't think he won't. Given his dark side, what are the chances he doesn't lock Tav in his Underdark Palace around a horde of spawn. If I'm in the shadows, so are you - it's an angst plot. Tav: “I thought you'd changed” kind of thing.

What A!Astarion is doing is a contract with the devil. If it's yes, it's forever, if it's no, than say it straight away - that's the way he really want it, what and how he needs. Spawn Astarion expects this “forever” attitude, tacit agreement, for “doing the right thing”. Ascended Astarion is manipulative and toxic exactly as a Spawn Astarion. Both obviously co-dependent. Ascended Astarion is openly spouting all his evil stuff while in euphoria. Feeling alive again to the undead is a thing. Spawn on the contrary is disoriented, trying to be better, using that fact as a hidden manipulation. My Tav is not a “nice girl” and will not blame anyone for her decisions with phrases like “I sacrificed, I trusted you, how dare”. It was entirely her decision.

The real tragedy of Ascended Astarion is angst-"freedom?"-Tav judgmental stare from around the corner during a decadence party. Lucky for Astarion My Tav gets into Hades' chariot by herself and eats an apple and stuff. The tragedy of my Tav making someone learns be better, for an indeterminate number of years, among the hidden manipulations becoming their victim, trying to deal with Spawn Astarion's hidden red flags.

The tragedy of the Spawn Astarion, Tav who learns him to be a better person with their ideals, and he adjusts, expecting in return not to be alone at night, Tav will not see this wound and doesn't notice his hidden red flags, manipulation that he learns to use even more sophisticated.

[warningsine]

If it was ever possible to maintain the illusion that good work will attract an audience simply by virtue of its quality, it isn’t now. In 2017, there’s simply too much out there to guarantee that the best series will attract the biggest audiences. It’s a miracle, then, that Halt and Catch Fire, a show originally meant to fill the hole left by Mad Men, has managed to make it to the end of its fourth and final season, which concluded this weekend in the US.

A tech drama that takes place entirely between the first iteration of Microsoft Word in 1983 and Windows 95, Halt and Catch Fire kept its focus squarely on the haze of an emerging field, without any of the fist-pumping moments that might have come from a show focusing on the rise of Google or Facebook. The characters never achieved lasting success or transformation, perpetually stymied by the major players in a nascent and clunking industry. Instead, they faced an endless, thankless series of intractable workplace decisions about integrity, product quality and business logistics.

These seemingly pedestrian moments dominate the show’s central relationship between Donna Clark (Kerry Bishé) and Cameron Howe (Mackenzie Davis), two women who attempt to found a tech company and spend the next few years discovering what they’re willing to sacrifice in the effort. Eventually, it’s impossible for people this committed to their work to separate their personal values and their professional ones, and while that conflict might sound cliche, in the hands of Halt and Catch Fire’s cast, it’s enthralling.

Over the course of the series, the characters’ business interests range from building personal computers at Dell competitor Cardiff Electric to videogames, web-based chat, and e-commerce at Cameron and Donna’s startup Mutiny to antivirus software at MacMillan Utility to, finally, early search engines at Comet and Rover. (All of these companies are fictional and, with the exception of Cardiff, are founded by the characters themselves.) Halt and Catch Fire’s cast is full of classic Silicon Valley résumé – they’re perpetually successful enough to keep working, and to live more or less comfortably while pursuing other ventures, but they never quite strike it big, whether that’s because of conflicts between the partners, technological limitation, or, most often, the presence of an enormous corporation capable of choking the market.

Every major character on the series contains multitudes. Donna is a hard-assed businesswoman, but she’s also a practically minded, savvy person who wants to do her best to create a thriving company with an innovative product. Cameron’s myopia is frustrating, but it’s part of why she’s such a successful coder. Steve Jobs-style visionary Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace) is also, to varying degrees, a charlatan, and tinkering softie Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy) becomes irritable when he has to leave his comfort zone.

Those relationships contained a staggering number of stories. In just the fourth season alone, Halt and Catch Fire handled a teen coming-out story, the fallout from a divorce, a marriage, several mid-life crises, and a sudden, heart-rending death. But none of these stories are the defining features of the characters; they’re simply facets of their lives. Where another drama might end with the consummation of a romantic pairing, or the strengthening of a family, Halt and Catch Fire ends with Donna having an idea, and pitching it to Cameron. We don’t hear the idea, but that’s not important – the point is beginning the cycle anew.

In this respect, it’s similar to the Mad Men finale – but where Mad Men is ambivalent, at best, toward the bolt of inspiration that leads Don Draper to create the “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” ad, Halt and Catch Fire maintains a single commitment: ideas are what we have. That’s why the show could never have become a smash hit, why it got renewed by the skin of its teeth, and why it’s highly unlikely it will ever be brought back by an ambitious investor. With so many self-consciously explosive series vying for your attention, Halt and Catch Fire played a different game. It kept itself contained, forcing the audience to match its subdued, mesmerizing rhythm. Eventually, the audience and the characters learned the same lesson: sometimes, it’s worth putting in the work.

[profoundlyfaded]

[HC] The Orb and Karsite Weave

(Or: How Mystra is Only Out For Herself)

This primarily comes from my head canon that I use in all cases about the The Orb, and well specifically the book from where The Orb was contained.

I think the book in which the Orb was contained arrived back on the Material Plane at the same time The Crown was heisted out of Mephistopheles’s vault, stored by the Archdevil because he knew it contained this nascent divine power and perhaps he was considering whether a time would come when he would use it.

The Book, and by extension The Orb, were accidental passengers in Durge and Gortash’s return from Cania, perhaps that one could not be without the other - however, they completely overlook this book. But the Book and Crown are a pair and had our two villains realised this, they’d have had something more powerful than even they originally conceived!

So, it lands in the world and it’s like a flashing beacon; ancient, almost primordial. At first, Mystra’s Chosen picks up on it because it’s his work, seeking out and destroying magic that would threaten The Weave. However, his assessment of it is that of the old Weave, Mystral’s Weave, before she unravelled to end Karsus. Restoring this would be a great boon to Mystra, and to him, increasing her opinion of him in her eyes as well.

Gale has no idea it’s Karasite Weave; he tells us this in Act III and there is absolutely no subterfuge on his part when it comes to his titbit of information. And this isn’t a ridiculous notion - all magic was destroyed that day, and the Karasite Weave probably only existed for seconds. It should have been wiped out as something too small to shatter.

The only person who knows what it is, is Mystra. And I have trouble believing she wasn’t aware of what her Chosen had found until it was too late. Mystra could have stopped Gale, saved him before he needed saving but she let him open the book.

I suspect her reasons stem from a ruthless decision that she was willing to let any number of people die to destroy this piece of magic. It’s a threat to her - something that has utterly destroyed her Weave in the past (Gale tells us this in the none-romanced version of this discussion). It’s important to note from the Audience between Mystra and Gale is she says herself that it was his focus on saving himself that caused her to shun him. So, in essence, Mystra has two things to fear - the Crown itself as well as her Chosen now being imbued with this terrifyingly powerful nascent divine power. She knows if Gale combines the two, he’ll probably outstrip her as a God in a very short space of time.

(As an aside here, I think Dekarios the Divine does eventually usurp Ao if you pursue Godhood - that’s my interpretation of Raphael’s ‘warning’.)

Mystra shuts herself off from Gale, hoping, maybe even going as far as praying that he’ll run out of artefacts and explode, destroying the Karsite Weave with him. Again, she doesn’t really care about the casualties, to her any number of dead justifies the destruction of the Orb.

But he doesn’t run out. Instead Gale crosses paths with the Mindflayers, their Netherse imbued tadpoles and in orbit of The Crown.

Mystra sees the opportunity - she knows Gale has no idea what he’s really dealing with. She can be rid of The Crown and Orb in one fell swoop, and Gale is the Chosen who fell in service to his Goddess. I get the feeling the Mystra thought Gale might be grateful and much more willing to do this than he actually is, and feels her path is assured. She doesn’t count on the leader of the pack (or in the case of a Gale Origin run, Gale himself) deciding not to kill the Elder Brain at that moment.

It’s the easy route, isn’t it - what is a little sacrifice to save the world? Why would these heroes opt for the harder path?

So she dispatch’s Elminster to deliver the news and provide Gale with the much needed relief to let the Orb feed off the Weave. Remember this is not a cure, it’s a temporary respite that she could take away again.

(Aside here - the Human!Gale Orb ending is actually, in my opinion a really double edged sword because he’s not cured).

I do actually believe that Mystra couldn’t cure the Orb before now. The quest information for The Wizard of Waterdeep tells us, regardless of Gale’s decision, that if he seizes the Crown, the Orb will answer to him. I think Mystra can’t outright cure the Orb until she gets the crown because other Weaves don’t answer to her - look at the Shadow Curse, her power is deeply limited within Shar’s domain.

Once she has the Crown, it becomes in her best interest to extract the Orb from Gale. She takes it for herself, and we don’t really know what she does with it - perhaps she locks it away in one of her Pleasure Domes; perhaps she ponders using it against a fellow God such as Shar - but she needs both the Crown and Orb together. She cures Gale because it suits her and she’s not outright malicious enough to kill him in the process. I do think she held on to lingering affection for him but she also views him as what he can do for her.

[ontherocks21]

Someday I'll Write It:

Lady Vader Part II

While her fellow petitioners from the Delegation of 2000 hurled the moniker with whispered wrath from the outskirts of her rebellious circles, her Imperial 'colleagues' didn't exactly welcome her newly unveiled identity with open embraces either.

Senator Skywalker, they said with just enough snide emphasis and biting derision to echo around in her head and the halls of the "Senate" chamber.

Even in her darkest nightmares of discovery, it was not the way she had ever imagined hearing her name - her real name - spoken by her peers. Yet, insulting tone and scornful glares were the only weapons they could throw at her.

What else could they do when her now publicly known marriage to a Jedi was smeared across the HoloNet for all to finally see? What else could they say when that Jedi was the former Chancellor's, now Emperor's, right hand man?

Nothing.

Not even the few remaining Jedi, now under the jurisdiction of Palpatine's Empire, could bestow the ultimate penalty upon the Chosen One who had defied their sacred code.

The Skywalkers were untouchable.

But they weren't unbreakable.

She wonders what the whispers would speak if they knew how often 'the Hero With No Fear' was afraid. When he confides to her in the sanctuary of their home his decision between Impossible Choice #1 and Impossible Choice #2, she wonders if it would matter to those who spew venomous names with impunity, that their target is barely held together by her loving embrace. She wonders if they would still see 'the Empress in Waiting' when her tears fell to his crown in an attempt to cleanse the unfathomable sacrifices they continue to make fighting a far more subtle and secret war even after the supposed galactic conflict has ended.

Vader. Skywalker. Senator. Jedi. Hero. Traitor.

Words spoken by friend and foe, by insufferable Imperials and nascent Rebels alike.

It was just a matter of perspective.

And the only two who had the highest vantage point of them all bore the brunt of the vitriol in suffering silence.

Lady Vader, they whisper, as she walks by...

and Padmé Skywalker lets them.

[the-badger-mole]

Peace

The peace that came after the war settled on the world like an old jacket that didn't quit fit right. Tentative, nascent agreements had been forged among the nations, the bonds of which would be tested, strengthened and broken in years to come. For now, though, the world shifted and tugged, trying to get the forgotten garment to fit right.

Zuko sat in his office with a glass of kakubin dangling idly in his hand. He started out of the window, though there was nothing to see in the middle of the moonless night. He was mostly thinking. Reflecting on the last few years of his reign, and peace, and all the sacrifices that had been demanded of him since his coronation at the tender age of 16. The weight of the last hundred years of his forebearers' sins had been laid squarely on his shoulders, and although he'd more or less successfully led his country into an era of outward contrition and inward progressiveness, he wondered what all the people praising the forward thinking young Fire Lord would think if they knew how tenuous he felt his control was. How he sometimes woke up, expecting to have everything he's worked for wrenched out of his hands.

He knew there were people- too many for comfort- who thought he was as weak a his father had said he was. Especially now, after his latest concession to building a lasting peace. He was certain that a least some of the grumbling was just plain bitterness on the part of the nobles who'd been hoping to entrance the Fire Lord on their behalf. After all, the power of the throne being settled on their families was enticing, no matter how ineffective and weak they thought Zuko. Or perhaps especially because of that. Now, though, he had slipped through their grubbing hands because he didn't have the power to turn down the overwhelming collective entreaties of the other nations.

The door to his office opened, but Zuko was undisturbed. He could see his late night visitor in the window pane, and he knew he wasn't in danger.

"You aren't supposed to be here," he murmured.

"Neither are you." Katara shut the door quietly and leaned against it. Zuko didn't turn to face her, but she found his eyes in the window's reflection. She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his shoulders. One hand slid the length of his arm and gently pulled the glass from his hand. She took a sip and winced.

"How do you drink this with no mixer?" she asked coughing a little as she set the glass aside. Zuko chuckled and finally turned his chair to face her.

"It's better cold," he told her. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," Katara said. "I saw your light was on, and I thought I'd see why you were still up."

"I couldn't sleep," Zuko's mouth curled up into a smirk. "And I was hoping you couldn't either." He tugged on the sleeve of her robe and settled her onto his lap. Katara let out a squeal of laughter and put up the thinnest token of protest before settling into her new seat. She rested her head against Zuko's shoulder and stroked his cheek lightly.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"More ready than I've ever been for anything in my life." Zuko dropped his head into the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. When he'd agreed to marry Katara in order to solidify treaties with all three Water Tribes and Omashu, his cabinet had seen it as a sign of weakness in him. Didn't he realize that he had been marked for a daughter or niece or sister from among them? To throw that away for peace with some backwards water pushers and the ancient mad king of Omashu was ludicrous! Zuko had said very little on the matter, and allowed the rest of the world to speak for themselves. In the end it had only taken the threat of a few strategic trade agreements falling through for the grumpy old men to backtrack and insist that Zuko go through with the arrangement. That he had been counting on this outcome would be a secret he'd take to his grave.

In public, he and Katara were as cordial as was befitting their previous friendship, and it was the general assumption that their marriage of convenience would be pleasant, but passionless. When they were alone, or among trusted friends, though, it was clear why they had spent so much effort quietly campaigning for foreign support of their marriage. For his country, Zuko would die, but for Katara he would live. Peace for the world had been awkward and fraught, but in a few short hours, Katara and Zuko would find a bit of peace that fit them well.

[robinyourcreator]

managed to catch adana's intro chapter draft at exactly 666 words, and i am nothing if not a teenage boy inside when it comes to heehee hoohoo funny numbers

stealing @defira85 's wip wednesday open tag for a uhhhhh happy... fwip fwiday?

You have always expected to die young, and gruesomely at that. In your more fanciful moments, you had sometimes imagined that it would be something… noble. Something good. Something that could maybe make up for the rather banal tragedy of being yourself. 

But you know that kind of sacrifice to be limited to stories. To die for a friend, well. You would have had to grant someone that power over you. And to take an arrow for a stranger? Even more the domain of fantasy. Those sorts of things just don’t happen outside of the pages of a storybook. 

But it seems to be a day for stories; prior to today, you would have said Baldur’s Gate was a safe city, but nevertheless a mind flayer ship has abducted you and dozens more of its illustrious citizens off the street in broad daylight. 

…Ha. Ha! You really are going to die for someone else after all. For the tadpole. For the nascent mind flayer chewing its way through your gray matter even now, to eventually split your skull and rend your flesh asunder and form alien flesh anew.

Somehow, somehow, the gods have managed to inflict a fate on you that repulsed you more than the thought of motherhood. Incredible. Truly incredible.

But the gods are apparently fickle, fickle little things, because just as you resign yourself to your horrifying and inevitable fate… a motherfucking dragon attacks the mind flayer ship.

Multiple dragons, even, tearing the hull open and filling your berth with flames. Somehow, you come out of this unscathed. Somehow, you even come out of this free, your damaged pod’s seal breaking and dumping you onto the floor. 

You pull yourself to your feet and pat yourself down, checking for injuries. You’re alive. Somehow, you’re alive.

You just might survive this whole mess. If you can pull yourself together enough to find a way out. Not that it seems likely you will, given the existential horror of the tadpole, the slightly more grounded horror of the dragons, and the general sense that perhaps the best death you can hope for is a weird one--

You hear the crunch of glass behind you as someone else stirs in the wreckage. Another survivor in the room. You aren’t alone.

In that case.

The impending breakdown packs itself neatly away, yielding to your newfound audience. You have her to perform for, to be at your best for, and so you will, and so you will be.

She looks up at you then, seeming to notice you at the same time you notice her. Staring.

She’s a pale little thing, so very small and fragile-- not in the way small races are small, but in the way humans tend to be small if they’ve never had three square meals a day in their lives. Just a girl, thirteen or fourteen if you had to guess, though blood-spattered and oddly utilitarian in her black, hooded coat and heavy boots, and otherwise as uniformly pale as if someone had dipped her in a bucket of whitewash at birth. 

Your mouth catches up before your thoughts do-- rare for you, but it’s a rare sort of day-- “...Gods, they took children, too?”

“I am twenty six,” the girl snaps at you, eyes narrowing, her voice like she’s spent the last month on an all-glass diet. 

You grimace. Honestly, that’s on you. You’d have gotten a similar response if she actually was as young as she looks. 

“...Whoops. Sorry, my bad. Must be tough for you, having one of those faces.”

She just continues to stare at you, though it’s more as if she’s looking through you, glaring as if she’s offended by even the concept of your existence.

…Well, so are you. You can even have a lovely chat about it together later. But if you’re going to survive this, you’re going to have to move, and quickly. You’re going to need her in fighting condition. And, if possible, her trust.

[maaarine]

The Tragedy of Heterosexuality (Jane Ward, 2020)

“The formation of modern heteromasculinity is marked by erotic competition among men for women’s bodies, public conquest of women’s bodies as a spectacle for other men, and the construction of sex itself as an act of men’s collective force or manipulation, women’s collective gift or sacrifice, and a cultural encounter in which men’s pleasure is the driving impulse, the inevitable focal point.

In other words, straight men have spent an inordinate amount of time exchanging erotic power and forging erotic bonds with one another but have struggled to interest themselves with women’s sexual pleasure and consent.

It is no wonder, then, that one source of queer alienation from straight culture is that heterosexuality often rings false; straight men do not actually like the very people they have claimed as their object of desire and affection.

Straight men do not need to be queered; they need to learn to like women. (…)

At the time of the nascent lesbian feminist movement, it was scarcely imaginable that straight men might themselves be capable of woman identification, and hence deep heterosexuality was largely unthinkable.

Heterosexuality relied not only on a gender dichotomy that positioned men and women as opposites types incapable of identification with each other but also on a subject/object erotic model in which desire could only be forged and sustained through degrees of difference, distance, and mystery.”

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 5)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (4) | Next (6)

Word Count: 3.4k

------ Chapter 5: Sacrifice ------

King Charles desired to be alone, for he needed some time to brood. He dismissed his servants and sat by himself in his throne room, upon the magnificent golden throne embedded with precious jewels and decorated with intricate metalwork, the symbolic seat of power. A storm raged outside, splashing buckets of rain against the tall windows and darkening the luxurious purple and blue adornments of the room with somber gray. The occasional rumble of thunder echoed off the high ceilings and the stone walls, providing a forbidding ambience. 

He was deeply troubled. His giant counterpart was waxing in greed and hedonism, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold off his assault indefinitely and maintain his kingdom. King Richard normally sought to replenish his supply of human maidens about once every six months, so for him to demand more so soon was highly concerning. It was hard enough to find people to fulfill the quota without having to essentially double the quantity. Not to mention his atypical request for men this time as well. What was he planning to do with them? King Charles had never actually met King Richard, since the giant king considered proper diplomacy with the humans below his dignity, but he could infer why a giant man might desire tiny ladies. 

He huffed, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with his hands. He was stressed and discouraged. He tried his best to maintain the dignity of his reign, and of his people, but he couldn’t help but see it all as a farce. Even as he sat upon his throne, within the halls of his authority, he knew he had no real power in the situation, no bargaining chips. He had no choice but to roll over like a submissive dog and take the abuse, and he hated every second of it. 

Even so, beyond his inner circle, he maintained a veneer of calm composure and regality. He couldn’t allow his kingdom to fall into depravity and chaos, without the firm guidance of a strong king. He shouldered a heavy burden, but not one as heavy as the poor souls who ended up in the clutches of King Richard. 

The creak of a door opening heralded the entrance of another man into the room. King Charles glanced up to find his advisor, Giovanni, standing at the threshold of the great hall. He was a lanky and timid man, not very sturdily built, but useful for his intelligence and analytical nature. 

“Come!” the king commanded in his rich voice, and Gio scurried forward, giving the king a respectful bow. “What is it? Speak.” 

“I found one, sire. I scoured the jails and dungeons all across the land, and there was one specimen worthy of a king. A lovely young lady, with caramel skin, glossy brunette locks, and tawny eyes.” Gio’s voice, in stark contrast to the king’s, was reedy and uncertain. 

“And what was her crime?” 

“Oh…” Gio fidgeted with his hands. “Petty theft. She stole food from a market stall. Despite her beauty, she’s just a poor peasant…” 

The king sighed with a labored grimace. “Not a crime worthy of banishment, torture, and death,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“E-excuse me, sire?” 

“What’s her name?” 

“Uh… Tanya, I think?” 

“Very well. She’ll have to do.” King Charles stroked his chin with a ponderous expression. “What about the men?” 

“Well… since we’re not sure what the men are for, I wasn’t certain what qualities to look for… but there are far more able-bodied young men in the prisons than women, so we have plenty of options to choose from,” Gio concluded. 

The king nodded, kneading his forehead to stave off a nascent migraine. After suffering through King Richard’s reign for as many years as they had, the human kingdom of Minimaterra had a system of selection in place to determine who would be chosen as tribute. The very concept was brutal and execrable to everyone involved, but they were powerless to refuse the giant king, lest he retaliate and enslave them all. The ruling class enacted their policies for the greater good of humanity. 

The first chosen in the selection process were convicted criminals. While there were plenty of prisoners in the system, finding people suitable for tribute was more challenging. King Richard was very picky in his personal tastes, and always sent one of his trusted servants for the sake of quality control, so the humans couldn’t simply choose anyone, or else the tribute would be rejected. They had to be young, beautiful, delicious maidens, which excluded the entire male population, older women, and any woman that wasn’t pretty enough to fit the standards of a king. It was difficult to find such a fine specimen in the jails, especially with all the women they had already sent to Giganterra. Not to mention, women were far more hesitant to commit crimes when even the most petty infraction could result in such terrible life-changing consequences. In Minimaterra, women were taught from a young age about the dangers, with parents warning their children that they would be gobbled up by the giant king if they misbehaved. 

After convicts, the next tier for selection was volunteers. In exchange for their noble sacrifices, the king honored a request, or provided one of their family members with a lifetime stipend. Although this method was effective in procuring more desirable individuals, it was not sustainable in the long term. Such a commitment placed rising financial burdens on the royal treasury over time. Minimaterra was a peaceful and reasonably prosperous kingdom, but resources in their limited territory were finite. The humans had no opportunities for trade with other kingdoms to facilitate economic growth, since Giganterra walled them in on all sides and kept them isolated from interstate commerce. The coffers would run dry eventually. When that happened, and he could no longer buy people’s cooperation, the human king would be forced to conscript free women against their will, an unsavory notion he wished to avoid if possible. 

“Have we gotten any volunteers yet?” the king inquired, leading into the next logical point of inquiry. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Gio replied. Even though he was in the presence of royalty, he couldn’t stop himself from shuffling his feet uneasily. “A woman named Candy signed up this morning. She was babbling on, some nonsense about following her destiny and finding true love. She said she just had to visit Giganterra at all costs. I think something is off upstairs, but she is quite physically attractive, so she will be perfect.” When Gio reported to the king, he didn’t spare details: He knew the king wanted all the available information, so he would be more knowledgeable in making informed decisions. 

“Okay. Was she the only one?” 

“No, your grace, there was one more. A woman named Eren. She was very… shall I say... fiery? She had a savage look to her, like she was about ready to stab somebody, but still enough feminine beauty to appeal. Another quality candidate, in my humble opinion.” 

“Hmmm. So three women. We still need two more. And with only a few days until the deadline...” the king mused gloomily, grinding his teeth. “Gio, bring me some refreshments. And fetch me entertainment. I need a break.” Gio bowed and left to carry out his orders. He held the position of an advisor, but he was more than happy to serve the king with anything he required. The king rubbed his face with his hands. He slumped down, remaining on his throne, as if clinging to whatever authority he could muster. 

Gio came back quickly with a bottle of mead and an elaborate charcuterie board loaded with a variety of exotic cheeses, meats, crackers, nuts, and fresh fruit. He was accompanied by the court jester, Cesar, who put on a show to entertain the king. He juggled, performed acrobatics, recited humorous limericks, and told jokes. The king didn’t smile or laugh, but Cesar was unbothered. He was a goofy, confident, outgoing guy with a vibrant personality, unable to be dampened by the more serious king.  

Another servant entered the great hall and came near the throne with a deferential bow, waiting to be noticed. The king gave him permission to speak with a wave of his hand. “Your Majesty, there’s a mother with her daughter who is requesting an audience. They’re here to offer themselves as tribute.” 

King Charles’s heart jumped in his chest. “Send them in,” he ordered, releasing the servant. He indicated to Cesar to halt his routine and the jester stood off to the side, hands clasped stiffly behind his back. The servant returned leading two women behind him, a haggard older woman with a stern mien with a much younger, thinner girl who looked barely old enough to be of age. The timid girl was hunched over, hugging her arms around her slim body like a shield. 

“You offer yourselves for tribute?” the king asked, his voice echoing in the empty hall. He leaned forward to look down upon the commoners. 

“Not me—her,” the mother proclaimed, roughly shoving her daughter forward. The young lady looked miserable and scared, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. King Charles regarded her thoughtfully. She was rather plain, with bushy, ratty hair and limbs like twigs. She appeared to be unkempt and sickly, as if mildly underfed, with no curves and a flat chest. The king frowned. She was hardly the ideal candidate to satisfy King Richard’s perversions, but he was getting desperate. They could probably hide her flaws with makeup and padding. 

“What’s your name?” he asked her. 

Her mother cut in before the girl could reply. “Her name is Addison,” she interjected. “How much can I get for her? I heard I can get payments for life?” Addison cringed, ever so slightly, but kept her mouth sealed shut. She seemed just as afraid of her aggressive mother as being sold off against her will. 

“That is correct,” the king confirmed. “But it must be her choice, not yours.” He stared at Addison expectantly. She hesitated. Her mother prodded her hard in between her shoulder blades. With her mother’s glare blistering her back, Addison reluctantly nodded. 

The king felt an unsettling twist in his guts. He knew accepting her answer would be morally wrong. She was clearly under duress, being manipulated, threatened, or abused for the gain of a heartless family member. Yet, he felt trapped. Either way, he would have to send somebody, whether they wanted to go or not, with brutal consequences for failure. Presently, he lacked a sufficient quantity of maidens. He couldn’t allow himself to feel sympathy for this girl, just because she looked young and pathetic. He had to consider the greater good. 

“Alright. I accept.” He turned to the servant that guided them in. “Take care of the details, please.” The man dutifully nodded and escorted the pair out. The king sighed and poured himself more mead. He needed a stiff drink. 

“Excuse me, Your Majesty? If I may be so bold?” Cesar piped up, stepping towards the throne. 

“Proceed,” the king allowed, draining his glass. 

“I heard King Richard requested men as well as women this time around. I’ve given it some thought, and... I’m willing to make the sacrifice! I will go to Giganterra!” the jester announced, raising his pointer finger triumphantly. The bells in his hat jingled merrily with the motion. 

King Charles looked him up and down, baffled. “Cesar, I appreciate your selfless bravery, but that won’t be necessary. We will have enough male convicts to fill the quota.” 

Cesar’s face fell, but he set his jaw with determination. “But... quality is important! I’d be a better choice than some lowlife thug!” King Charles realized he did have a good point. Cesar was gifted with a strong, lithe build, and he was exceedingly handsome, with bright green eyes, wavy brown hair, a sparkling smile, and toasted skin. If he were a female candidate, his selection would be a no-brainer. 

Even so, the king shook his head. “No. I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent.” 

Cesar, spurned a second time, resorted to begging. He crumbled to the floor on his knees in an overly dramatic display of supplication, clasping his hands above his head. “Oh, please! Pretty please, sire, let me go! I really wanna!” he whined, giving the king doe eyes. The action was made more ridiculous with his particolored outfit and bells. 

The king was nonplussed. “Why?” 

“Because...” Cesar began, and paused with a blush. He decided to lay all his cards on the table. “Because I want to meet the giantess princess!” 

“What?” 

“That’s the reason why he’s asking for men, isn’t it? We’re well acquainted with his preferences by now; we know he has a thing for pretty ladies, not men. The men must be for his daughter! Oh, please, your grace, let me go! I so badly want to go!” He’d fantasized about giantesses since he was a young lad, and now was his chance to finally become acquainted with one in the flesh: huge mountains of soft, warm flesh, preferably with bulging breasts, a slim waist, and toned thighs and buttocks. He could hardly contain his lust as he prostrated himself before the king. 

“You really want to go that badly?” The king shook his head in disbelief, yet for the first time that day, Cesar was finally able to make him chuckle. “Alright, Cesar: I shall grant you your wish. May God have mercy upon your soul.”  

“Oh, thank you, sire! Thank you!” Cesar bowed and thanked the king profusely. He grinned from ear to ear, flashing his flawless white teeth. He would do everything he could to please the massive princess. 

The humans still needed one final person to satisfy King Richard’s boundless lust and gluttony. As the days passed, and the deadline drew nearer, the human ruler became more desperate, calling for a single brave soul to step forward and save them all. They needed a miracle to avoid calamity.  

Offering oneself as a sacrifice to the giant king was considered a noble, courageous, and selfless act, a form of martyrdom for the sake of humanity. Such a concept could appeal to those who wished for a larger purpose, wanted to inject meaning into their empty lives, or, in a darker vein, those who did not consider themselves valuable. As tragic and ghastly as this reality was, King Charles was in no position to refuse those lost souls who willingly gave up their lives. 

Jackie, a resident of Minimaterra, found herself in an intolerable position. A year ago, a close friend of hers who had suffered a catastrophic personal tragedy chose to sacrifice herself. Jackie mourned the loss deeply and always wondered what happened to her, after she was taken. Her friend had no close family left, so she specified that Jackie should receive the stipend from the royal treasury in exchange for her life. With every payment, Jackie stewed deeper in guilt and despair. She didn’t want money, nor did she want to materially benefit from her friend’s demise: She wanted her friend back. 

Her conscience gnawed at her every day as the calls for tribute became more urgent, and the pressure on her increased. No amount of tears sufficed as proper penance. She felt empty inside, despite overflowing with sadness and remorse. A grim idea surfaced in her mind, one that couldn’t be suppressed once it began to fester. While she feared what may happen to her, she sought to fight against her own insignificance and existential nihilism and do some good for her fellow man. For better or worse, she gave herself up to the giant king. 

And thus, all the tributes were chosen: Candy, out of an earnest desire for love; Jackie, out of a sense of guilt and selfless justice; Eren, from a thirst for vengeance; Addison, too timid to stand up to her greedy, overbearing, abusive mother; and Cesar, out of pure horniness. The remaining two, Tanya and a male convict named Graham, were chosen against their will, and would not learn of their damnation until the giants came to collect them.  

As a courtesy to the brave souls who self-selected for tribute, King Charles elected to meet with them personally on the day before they were sent off to a grim, yet uncertain, fate. He assembled all the volunteers together, excluding the prisoners. Most of them, with the exception of Cesar, had never been inside the castle before, so they were awed by the lavish opulence of the furnishings, the high ceilings and wide corridors, and the fine art pieces. The servants herded them like lambs into a private room with luxurious couches and gourmet refreshments. 

They partook in the fancy hors d’oeuvres, some of which were so rare that the commoners had no idea what they were actually eating. Overall, the mood in the room was tense and gloomy. Addison huddled awkwardly on a corner of the embroidered couch and eyeballed the food hungrily, as if afraid somebody would slap her hand if she tried to take some. Eren seared a hole in the coffee table with her thousand-yard stare as she angrily munched on an appetizer and fantasized about slicing open the throat of a giant in glorious, bloody revenge. Jackie withdrew into herself, accepting her destiny with melancholic stoicism. Candy and Cesar were the only two who were chipper and chatty. Candy was oblivious to Cesar’s flirtatious advances as she prattled on about fortune tellers and handsome knights, stars blinding her vision to the gruesome truth. 

A servant announced the entry of King Charles, and his subjects all stood up and clumsily bowed, not used to being in the presence of royalty. The king acknowledged them and gestured for them to sit; they scrambled to obey. “Thank you all for coming,” King Charles addressed the small group. “The salvation of humanity rests upon your shoulders. Our civilization would crumble without your noble contributions to the cause. 

“As a token of our thanks, I invite you all to enjoy a night of luxury in my palace. You will be provided with lodgings of the highest caliber. Eat and drink and be merry to your heart’s content, for tomorrow your lives will permanently change.” The king omitted that he provided such accommodations to keep the tributes from backing out of their obligations. 

His expression grew serious and intense. “I have one more thing to ask of you, from those who have already given their all.” He paused before uttering words of startling gravity. “You need to do anything you can to assassinate the giant king.” 

The air seemed to suck out of the room as everyone sat in stunned silence. Eren’s face contorted into a malicious grin. The king continued to speak. “We’ve tried, in the past, to smuggle in weapons or poisons, but our efforts failed miserably. King Richard’s royal taste tester is a giant with an exceptional nose for detecting poisons of any kind, so we weren’t able to hide any toxic substances in sufficient quantity to kill a giant. And, of course, weapons significant enough to maim a giant are too difficult to conceal.” 

“But we aren’t going to give up so easily. You will likely be dehumanized, locked up, and powerless at your size, but don’t underestimate yourselves. Do what you can. Use your eyes and ears and voice. Gather information, foment dissent, endear yourselves to his enemies, use any scrap of influence you can get to worm your way into the minds of those with strength. Divide and conquer!” 

The assembled parties nodded, the cogs in their minds turning and scheming. “Good luck to you all. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the king concluded, excusing himself from the room. He sent in the servants with bottles of drink and sumptuous meat dishes and desserts for his guests to enjoy their final night of freedom. They ate and drank and reveled in luxury, yet the king’s words hung heavy in the back of their minds. No longer were the tributes resigned to their fate; they had a mission to accomplish. 

Chapter 6

[zenkor123]

Graesy Sae vs Alma Coin

Graesy Sae(who is new as d12 representative) is angry at Coin, and wants Katniss and Peeta moved to the D12 brigade, accuses Coin of making Katniss her "plaything" states that she manipulated this poor girl's grief she knew that Katniss wasn't over Peeta but messed with her anyway. So far Coin also sent people to the battlefield as young as 12.

Sae also accused Coin of jealousy of Katniss.Sae concluded that he didn't trust either Plutarch or Coin to care for the wellbeing of the d12 victors. In 8 days they had addicted Peeta to morphling and triggered violent episodes. She called for them to be reenlistdd in the D12 battalion and stated that Peeta constituted a dual citizen.In any event he deployed a seam lawyer to protect Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta.

Coin hated Sae to the core of her being stated that the revolution required sacrifices and her job was easier then a foot soldier at the front.

She is almost an adult so her actions should be treated as such and she is responsible for her actions towards Peeta.

She also said that D13 has been responsible for their wellbeing not the nascent D12 government and everyone in 13 knows that they risk their lives for 13 and Panem, they do not fear death but learn to greet it like an old friend, by continual exertions they achieve discipline and they can reach both their mental and physical peaks.

Very few in 13 die of the type of accidents that Arthur Cartwright or the 5 becuase of their training. D12 was passive it traded freedom for safety and got neither.

And if Peeta is to get better he needs to face his demons not cower from them.A men of 13 is proud of his heritage and the drinks that power, comfort and bring 13 together morphling.

While Seam and merchant fought eachother for scraps D13 survived what was merely the latest nuclear bombardment, just like the survivors of the cataclysm, or Washington's forces in Valley forge they refused to give up they didn't let an unremarkable thing like death get in the way of greatness, they cremated their dead and to this day the garden houses of 13 are fertilized by their ashes.

Andy and the 5 killed merely urge 13 on towards victory and don't turn them into terrified children in the games doomed to die In the cornucopia.

And you Congressmen Sae, your the oldest person in 12 but our oldest is 110 years old, In D13 we get to meet our grandchildren, the same cannot be said for many districts"

[demani-dusk]

Making propaganda for Babel and FatT with major spoilers for both because I can

Consider yourself warned about clicking under the cut

Dies anyway

Even though the pieces of these stories are rearranged, I'm really interested in how many of the same arguments, beats, and themes around self sacrifice are present in Partizan/Palisade and Babel or the Necessity of Violence. These are, after all, both stories about nascent, tenuous revolutions. We have these passionate moments of arguing for the importance of trying to stay the fuck alive, although Ramy is arguing with someone doomed by the narrative and SI is arguing with someone whose loved one just sacrificed themself. Brnine is still kicking despite everything, despite the fact that I think they saw the solar combuster mission probably very similarly to the way Robin saw the tower takeover: doing the unthinkable and expecting that unthinkableness to be your best advantage. Being able to do it because you don't really care what happens to you anymore for grief reasons. Shit, the way Robin and Braun are both sort of only half committed and then find themselves passionate but also deeply unprepared leaders as people they look up to die, as the people who *should* be leaders die. Palisade is still ongoing and we don't know what will become of Brnine. But yeah, idk, fun works to draw comparisons between.

[dujour13]

BG3 Act 2 rambling OC thoughts (not spoiler free)

Saedra: tiefling – scholar - warlock

A penniless orphan raised by monks of Ilmater in Baldur’s Gate, Saedra nevertheless has ambitions. Until the tadpole incident she was bartending to put herself through wizard school and struggling more than financially, because although she’s deeply driven, she’s overworked and under supported and just not making it through the academics.

Which is why she jumped at the offer of a pact* from a powerful satyr. It didn’t stop her from continuing her studies, but it did send her in a new and promising direction.

*I have a vague headcanon discussion with Astarion about the nature of devil pacts vs fae pacts: something about legalese being inscrutable and esoteric in its own way, but a fae pact is more like a poem – you never quite know what it means and it could and should mean something different for everyone. Hence even more dangerous.

The satyr, on whom her Guardian is modeled**, for now doesn’t seem to have an agenda beyond encouraging her sexual explorations. She’s cheerful and open about being pan and promiscuous, which is what attracted the satyr’s attention in the first place. Flouting her cleavage at the bar, smoldering looks while polishing glasses, calling everybody “love.” She fully embraces her hot, naughty tieflinghood as part of that fun oversexed persona. (btw when she killed Minthara she totally stole her sexy outfit.)

**her Guardian:

She genuinely likes people and is fiercely loyal to “her gang.” Who counts as “her gang” is a wider circle than some might approve of—at the start of the story she’s outgoing and generous with all sorts of people, especially the refugee tieflings, but that tendency is gradually giving way.

As a warlock she has a nascent cynicism – distrust of the fey, devils and the like***, that is growing as the story leads her to darker and darker places. Of the companions she’s most fascinated by Astarion and Lae’zel, maybe because they have the lowest approval, but also because she loves how tits out they both are about being nasty. It’s a behavior she’s starting to try on for size. I can hear her imitating Lae’zel’s “t’ch” and laughingly calling people “dahling,” half teasing and half adopting a new aspect to her own persona.

***really doesn’t trust Raphael, definitely not letting the pixie out of the lamp

Still, naïve as he rightfully believes her to be, Astarion likes how she has his back and Lae’zel likes how she galvanizes the group and brings them together into a more efficient fighting machine.

Her thoughts on the companions so far:

She thinks Lae’zel is hilarious and hot af. Ironically sees her as naïve in her own way. Dtf but I think Saedra got friendzoned when she started sleeping with Astarion because it’s been all business since then. Snif.

She feels sisterly toward Shadowheart – protective but oddly not sexually attracted. Admires her light/dark-sidedness, her kindness and her cruelty.

Wyll is hot but so very caught up in his hero persona. She wants to fuck him into a gibbering mess. That said, she danced with him and immediately drew a line in the sand when she saw where it was headed, because he started getting more than just bedroom eyes. Saedra does not want some lovesick folk hero pining over her or worse, making sacrifices for her, much as she’s attracted to him.

Similar with Karlach ohhhhh myyyy goddddd but don’t get sappy on me or it’s over.

Halsin (in Act 2, nothing happening yet?) is just a big, nice man she could get lost in. Maybe a little too much of a dad for her particular tastes.

She openly admires Gale’s magical talent and they vibe over being generally decent and liking cats, but she’s a little worried she’s too much for him. He seems fragile. (Oh after I wrote this I found out some things and boy was she wrong. And right. Hm.)

Her desire for power draws her to both Gale and Astarion, but her sexual proclivities lean her more toward Astarion. At the moment he's a casual hook up but also the more she hears, the more invested in his story she becomes.

More on Astarion (I’m in Act 2 so these are early/maturing impressions):

Saedra is very wary of the tadpole as well as the Guardian. She already has a pact with an unpredictable patron who may not have her best interests at heart, so she resists the temptation to use the illithid power or consume the worms, or take Raphael’s or Ethel’s deals either. What’s most interesting about Astarion is she suspects his desire for power is luring him into slavery – a cautionary tale for her as a warlock as well as with the illithid parasites. Totally fine if Astarion wants to try the forbidden fruit. She’ll watch what happens to him. Except—she’s starting to care what happens to him…

And here’s my genius barmaid in a drinking contest which she did eventually win thanks to her determination and a little sleight of hand, but not without getting totally wasted