#she must have had SOME greater goal here

[theology101]

Why did Oisin’s Grandma go so unimaginably hard?

Seriously, besides the vague idea of “Porter made a promise of money/power when this was over” or “These kids killed my boyfriend who i haven’t seen in 300 years,” why the hell did she summon multiple wyrms and other dragonkin, presumably from her own brood, to fight the Bad Kids?

What did she gain?

Why does she even care what one of her hundreds of descendants is up to?

[cambion-companion]

hiiiii I really love your stories and side note it’s my birthday, first one on my own so I plan on just having a chill day with my dog indoors, halfway through rereading your master list already, could I make a request or suggestion for something kinda angsty, like someone’s jealous or something? Thank youuuu

I am writing a continuation of reader wife going to that brothel we see in episode 9 and fucking that bitch up having words with the landlady. ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Prepare for some Robin Hood type shit from reader

These two fics go serve a good backstory for this fic.

Aemond x wife!reader | protective/jealous/possessive reader | reader sneaks out to go the Silk Street brothel | violence | strong language | Aemond finds out and intervenes

Yes I had fun creating this banner muahaha

The night was young.

The wind chill on your face as you snuck outdoors, careful to not rouse your sleeping husband.

Aemond must not know what you intended; he would never allow it.

You had taken a moment to observe his sleeping form, his beautifully carved face relaxed in slumber, a stray strand of silver hair falling across his high cheekbone. You swept it away with a delicate touch and he smiled in his sleep.

The image of him fresh in your mind, the man your heart and body belonged to, in such an intimate and tender moment only stirred your anger to greater heights. You seethed; it was passed time you had words with a certain Madam of the Street of Silk.

You had your short bow with you, in case sharp words turned to something worse. You had wrapped your hands and wrists in fabric, as your father had once taught you, so in the event of a brawl you would be prepared to throw punches.

You knew just where to go, it was a well-known brothel, serving only higher-end clientele. Padding down the street with booted feet you made your silent way, not quite knowing what you were going to say or do upon arrival. So focused were you on your goal you took no notice of the shadowy figure following you down the steps of the Red Keep.

The women loitering outside the establishment, trying lure passing men inside, watched you approach with interest.

"'Tis not often we get ladies in here." One spoke, you valiantly tried to keep your eyes on her face.

"I'm here to speak to your Madam." Your voice was terse even to your own ears.

The courtesan frowned, her red lips pouting. "Mistress Trolunda is inside, though she's not entertaining guests personally tonight."

"No weapons allowed." The girl closest to the door held up a hand as you made to enter, her eyes were on the bow and quiver on your back.

"Bullshit." They gasped at your rude language, but your patience had taken leave this evening. "I'm sure you don't enforce that rule on your male customers."

You pushed your way passed, not a difficult feat and the women didn't put up much of a fight to stop you. Their glowering glares burned into your back as you walked through the doorway into a wide room lit with rosy fireglow.

The men inside did indeed carry weapons, those who were dressed anyway. It wasn't terribly busy inside the main room; several intertwined couples took up spaces by the several lit torches. You didn't look too hard at them, their states of undress and groping hands making your cheeks flush despite yourself.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" An older woman approached you from behind a clerical looking counter. She had light auburn hair and light eyes that looked you up and down calculatingly.

"Mistress Trolunda I take it?" You tilted your head, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

She gave your garb an appraising glance, a flicker of recognition crossing her froglike features. "I am she. If you're hear for business and pleasure you've come to the right place."

"Just business." You stepped forward, pressing into her space, pleased to note you were taller than her squat form. "To make sure no other children are victim to your debauchery."

"I beg your pardon?" Trolunda's voice had taken on an icy undertone, her eyes narrowing at you. "Who are you to dictate what goes on in my establishment."

"Someone who will make your life a living hell." You closed the remaining distance with a menacing step. "Or end it altogether."

She opened her mouth, her gaze searching behind you for help.

"Call for assistance and this knife will find your heart." You threatened.

Trolunda looked down and saw the knife you had withdrawn, poised at her ribcage. Her expression was wary as she met your eyes again. "What do you want?" Despite her effort to keep her reactions hidden you could hear the tremor of fear in her words.

"Children are to be left alone, not to be touched. Any girls you have working for you under the age of seventeen you will either find new work for or different jobs."

She snorted derisively, gasping a little as you prodded her with the sharp end of your dagger. "Alright, calm down." She raised her hands in submission. "I will do as you ask."

"Should patrons come wishing to see any workers under seventeen, you are to refuse them and report them to the King's Guard."

Her eyes widened. "The King's Guard? You cannot be serious. I would lose significant income."

"Did I stutter."

"No, no you did not." The Madam looked keenly at your face, before making a curtsying gesture, right before she hefted a heavy porcelain plate from the counter and smashed it against the side of your head.

White pain filled your vision as you stumbled to the side, falling to the ground, momentarily stunned. You felt a booted foot connect with your jaw, sending you reeling against the wooden floor.

Shouts and screams sent bolts of pain through your throbbing head, you squinted through bleary eyes, seeing the Madam approaching you with a curved dagger drawn and ready to slice at your vulnerable form.

You swept your leg out, knocking against her shins enough to cause her to stagger. The working women and half-naked men fled the scene as you lurched to your feet, bracing your weight against one of the oaken walls. You held your own dagger out in front of you like Aemond had taught.

Trolunda swiped at you once, clearly inexperienced with wielding weapons of any sort. You lashed out with your foot, catching her in the sternum and sending her falling back onto her tailbone. She shrieked a curse at you, her cry cutting through your aching temples like hot iron.

"Cease this at once!"

You were about to lunge at the woman, but Aemond's commanding voice stilled the very breath in your chest.

There he stood, framed in the doorway, those who had fled could be seen cowering in corners behind him. The hood of his cloak was thrown back, his long hair shining silver in the torchlight, he had not donned his eyepatch, the sapphire gemstone glittered menacingly as his lilac eye surveyed the scene before him with displeasure. His sword was drawn, though it was currently pointed at the ground.

The Madam righted herself, brushing down her rumpled skirts as her eyes flicked from Aemond to you and back again. A knowing smile itched up her unpleasant face. "Ah. I see now." Both you and Aemond glared at her as she smoothed back her mussed hair. "You are his." Her predatory gaze fell upon you once more. "I do hope what he learned in my care all those years ago has served you well."

With a cry of incandescent fury you fell upon the woman, pummeling each inch of her your fists could find. She collapsed beneath you, shielding her face and screaming inane curses as you continued beating her about the head.

Strong hands closed around your waist and hauled you off the woman, yet you still kicked out at her with your feet, making satisfying contact several more times as Aemond dragged you away.

"You've married a little beast, my prince." Trolunda gasped, wiping the blood from her nose off her lips. Though she was injured she still looked satisfied.

"Better a 'little beast' than a fucking child predator." You snarled, still trying to free yourself. "Aemond, let me go."

"You have made your point, Y/N." He sounded strained as he kept firm hold of your writhing form.

"Throw her in the dungeons, call in Vhagar, do something!"

"She has done nothing illegal." Aemond said softly, finally releasing you but placing a warning hand on your arm. "We need to leave, now."

"Wait for me outside." You turned to him finally, aware that the Madam watched you with a derisive smirk. "Please, Aemond. If you truly care for me, give me one minute alone with her."

His eye roamed your features for a moment before he looked at the woman over your shoulder. Something in his face hardened and he sighed shortly. "Fine. One minute, and no killing. That's an order."

"Yes sir."

He turned to leave, ushering the people still within the brothel to exit as well before closing the door behind him.

You turned slowly on the spot, facing the woman who once again had the dagger in her hand.

"He is powerless to do anything, as are you." She sneered. "Just as he was when his brother brought him to me."

In a flash you had drawn your bow off your back, notched an arrow, aimed and loosed.

With a cry of fear and grunt of surprise the woman was pinned by the sleeve of her heavy dress to the wall. She raised the dagger in her free hand as if to throw but your second arrow had already flown, pinning her other arm as well.

"I do not rescind what I said." You lowered your weapon, not hiding your smirk at her helpless state. "If any other children fall victim to this establishment you will burn in dragon fire, this I promise you."

After one last withering look, you turned on your heel and departed through the main door.

Aemond saw the Madam pinned by your arrows from the doorway as you left. His brow arched and he looked down at you with an expression you'd never seen before. "Are you finished?"

"Only because you interrupted." You were still in a foul mood; striding passed him and back towards the Keep.

The streets were empty now, apparently the citizens previously present wanted nothing to do with the unfolding drama, especially after Aemond arrived.

Aemond grabbed hold of your elbow, yanking you around to face him non to gently. "What did I say to you yesterday when you were so intent upon coming here?"

"Not to?"

"Ah, so your memory still functions." Aemond was becoming angry, his gaze taking in the blood trickling down from your hairline and the bruises forming upon your jaw. "Tell me why you blatantly disobeyed me."

"Children are being preyed upon, Aemond." You matched him with your own fiery anger, prodding his chest with your finger. "You are not the only on to be taken advantage of. I shudder to think what goes on in King's Landing. Since I am your wife, I have a duty to the people."

"Throwing yourself mindlessly into danger doesn't qualify as one of those duties, Y/N!" Aemond was close to shouting now, something that you had not yet experienced from him before.

"Mindlessly?" You raised your voice as well, your nostrils flaring. "What I did was very calculated, thank you very much."

Aemond passed a hand over his face, suddenly weary. You turned your back to him and continued back to your chambers, fuming. He walked in silent contemplation behind you as you stomped down the halls.

Once safe inside the room you threw aside your weapons and cloak, kicking off your boots and slumping upon the bed, staring unseeing up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later the mattress dipped beside you and Aemond's face hovered into view. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his expression had softened upon seeing the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I do not wish you to come to any harm, my fierce wife." He spoke softly now, watching as you propped yourself on an elbow to face him.

"I want to avenge the harm already done to you, Aemond." You traced his jaw with your fingers.

"Not if it puts you at risk." He shook his head. "Nothing is worth that." He tilted your own face to the side, examining your injuries with a severe frown. "And you seem intent on suffering for my sake."

"It's not suffering. I made progress in there, believe it or not." You took his hand in yours, lowering it to the mattress. "I just need you to trust me, work with me, and together we can break the cycle."

Aemond studied you for several silent moments, his lips pursed in thought, his lilac gaze suddenly seemed far away as he stared over your shoulder.

"I will think on it." He at last spoke. "For now, I am going to help clean and bandage you. On the morrow we will speak with the council about taking further action on this matter."

"Thank you, Aemond." You gently pressed your lips to his, lingering there to breathe him in. "That's all I ask."

"And no more personal vendettas for my sake." He combed his fingers carefully through your tangled hair. "We will make use of the proper channels as duty dictates."

"No sending in Vhagar?"

"No sending in Vhagar." He chuckled, a low delicious sound. "And I will know if you go to her yourself, Y/N."

You glanced guiltily into his eye, Aemond seemed to have been reading your thoughts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Mmhmm." Your husband sighed, shaking his silver head before getting out of bed to prepare the wash basin. "What am I going to do with you?" He spoke as if to himself as he gathered healing ointments.

"Hopefully something to take my mind off this horrible headache." You winced as you sat up.

"I'm sure I can come up with something." Aemond graced you with a small smile, a flicker of reverence and gratitude crossing his handsome face as he held your gaze. "For now, let me tend to the injuries you sustained while fighting for my honor."

You both laughed lightly, the crackling fire illuminating the room in a cozy glow as Aemond looked after you with gentle hands and soft kisses against your warm skin.

[epicfroggz]

"keeping company with the original sin, and a hatred that would not be confined" can you please share your interpretation of this sentence? I've been thinking alot of what the original sin and unconfined hatred mean but i couldn't find any explanation in the lore.

Yes, thank you for the ask! I have been trying to parse the meaning of this too. Firstly, what the “original sin” refers to, and secondly, what this “hatred that would not be confined” is about. Let’s break it down together!

(under the cut!)

“A malevolent snake writhed within Messmer, and so his very mother plucked out his eye and put in its place a seal of grace. Yet, having done so, her fear compelled her to secret away her child within the realm of shadow. Hidden away—keeping company with the original sin, and a hatred that would not be confined.” (Remembrance of the Impaler)

There is one other mention of “the original sin” that helps define it:

“Miquella set off for the tower enshrouded by shadow, abandoning everything—his golden flesh, his blinding strength, even his fate. All in an effort to bury the original sin. To embrace the whole of it, and be reborn as a new god.” (Miquella’s Great Rune)

With just the first item description, one may be inclined to believe the original sin is the Hornsent’s rituals against the shamans and Messmer’s hatred is simply hatred against the Hornsent for this act. But, this is only part of the truth. The other part is revealed by the second description, the very thing that Miquella is trying to bury: love. How it was not out of compassion or a desire to make the world a better place that Marika ascended to godhood, it was out of love and desire for revenge first and foremost.

The original sin is not what the Hornsent did—the original sin is Marika’s response to it.

This recontextualizes the description of Messmer’s remembrance a bit. He is “keeping company with the original sin” because this truth is only found within the veiled Land of Shadow, as Miquella had to go there to learn of it. Messmer is the keeper of this truth, for he defends Marika’s village and has hoarded the knowledge of it in his Keep. He knows firsthand that Marika is flawed. While this does not alter his love for her as his mother, it may have affected his faith in her as his god.

Consider the way this item description is written:

Prior to being “hidden away” in the LoS, Messmer had no reason to doubt his mother and her actions, for Mother must know best. But with time and separation, this perception wavers—without her company, all he has left is the pain within and around him. He realizes that it was not because it was best for him or because of some greater plan that she abandoned him here: it was solely out of fear. That is when the seeds of hatred are sown, grow, and ultimately, would not be confined (the transformation into the base serpent representing the release of this hatred). Hatred for Marika, who he curses upon defeat.

The word choice of “secreting” and “hiding” Messmer away, and how Marika does this after and despite mutilating him to implant the seal of grace, paints a rather negative impression of her perception of her son. As though his mere existence was something incredibly shameful that she had to hide from everyone. She used to make physicks for him, but stopped. Why? Because eventually her goals as a god overtook her love as a mother, and the Order ordained her to be afraid of snakes and flame. Likewise, it was to the benefit of her reputation to hide the truth of the original sin; sealing the LoS was like killing two birds with one stone.

It could be read as though Marika’s fear is fear that her son won’t be accepted even with the seal, and that she hid him away to protect him—this is a fair interpretation of her actions, but it certainly isn’t what Messmer thinks. Her attempt to implant grace into him wouldn’t have inevitably failed if he believed in her without question. Whether or not she did it to protect him, it was her act of abandoning of him that led him to break the seal, and we Tarnished were just the catalyst.

If you look at it that way, every time Marika tried to help Messmer, she ended up ruining him further.

-Froggo

P.S. This isn’t related but, the seal really is the only source of grace he has, for he loses his holy resistance in phase 2. And that fact just kinda destroys me on the inside.

[hypexion]

I think one of the big missed opportunities with New Phyrexia is how ultimately all the Praetors maybe minus Urabrask are ultimately flattened into a single "take over the multiverse" unit. Elesh Norn dominates the plane, not just in an organisational sense, but an ideological one. Gestures are made towards the idea of disagreements, but the reasoning behind them is fairly shallow. The Praetors are not one big happy Phyrexian family, but why?

Each Praetor should have a specific idea of what Phyrexia is, and these ideas must ultimately come into conflict. Even those who appear to be in alignment should clash as the details of their goals become clear.

So, what do I think each Praetor should be thinking? Here are some brief summaries:

Elesh Norn sees both Phyrexia and compleation as ends into themselves. The purpose of Phyrexia is spread itself across the multiverse, for All to Be One. This is a blessing, a kindness, a way to end conflict and bring unity. Those who oppose Phyrexia are impulsive and selfish, denying themselves and others absolution, in favour of failed ideals such as freedom. Their destruction is a tragedy, but a necessary one. Like the excision of a tumor, it is unpleasant work, but in the end it is an act of healing.

Norn's ultimate goal is a single Phyrexian multiverse. All moves in accordance to its given purpose, a grand, endless machine. But it is not a silent machine. Hymn and prayer will echo through the compleated halls of the multiverse, the song of Phyrexia filling the branches of Realmbreaker. And at the center, Elesh Norn will finally know contentment.

On the surface, Jin-Gitaxias appears to have the same goal as Norn. Both she and the rest of the multiverse have made a critical misjudgement of the Gitaxian mission. When the Orthodoxy says that something will be made Phyrexian, it is an act of replacement. For Jin-Gitaxias, it is an act of consumption, the harvesting of a resource. All that is not Phyrexian will be rendered down, dissected into component parts. The greatest honour that can be given is for these parts to considered worthy of assimilation, to be integrated into Phyrexian perfection. Compleation extracts what is needed, and discards what is not, an endless iteration towards a convergence that may not exist.

For Jin-Gitaxias, there may be no end, no final Phyrexia. The synthesis will simply continue forever, chasing a goal that cannot be found. Or perhaps, once he can see far enough, the greatest secrets of the multiverse will be revealed. In his most fevered moments, Jin-Gitaxias may even consider that Phyrexia itself will become obselete.

As the closest adherent to the ways of Old Phyrexia, Sheoldred sees Phyrexia as a means, rather than an end. She is not superior because is Phyrexian, she is Phyrexian because she is superior. Compleation is a tool, both a reward for the worthy and a punishment for the unworthy. Sheoldred does not need to compleat the multiverse in its entirety. It is simply enough that it bows down before her. As long as the fleshlings know their place and purpose, they can continue to live their worthless lives.

Sheoldred's endgame produces what can, in the most charitable terms, be considered a form of co-existance between the compleat and incompleat. The Phyrexian elite rule, doing as they wish. The rest serve. But the opportunity for compleation is always there, the ascension to a greater form. Those who succeed shall be lauded. Those who fail will wish they had never tried.

Like his closest (?) sister (??), Urabrask sees Phyrexia as the means rather than the end. But while Sheoldred sees it as her tool to subjugate her enemies, Urabrask has come to see Phyrexia and compleation as a path to freedom. To many, it is an alien form of freedom, a freedom from your own limits, from your form and the world around you. You are your own great work, and you define what that means. Phyrexia gives you the tools to achieve it. And if there are those who oppose you? Well. They have the freedom to try. You have the freedom to retaliate until you are free from their opposition.

In the end, Urabrask believes that Phyrexia will be the self-evident choice. There will be no coercion because it will be unecessary. Some will merely dabble with compleation, while others will dedicate themselves fully to Phyrexia. Urabrask claims Phyrexia's victory in this form as an inevitability. Thus, where others claim tolerance, he is truly honest.

Vorinclex claims he has no ideology, no driving principle. He lies, to his followers, to his allies and enemies, and to himself. He believes in the supremacy of strength and violence, a "natural order" that is anything but natural. He desires a world without ideas such as cunning, cooperation or beauty, to him concepts linked only in their lack of worth. Yet these things emerge from nature, a million pressures selecting for their survival. Vorinclex claims thought is the opposite of strength, but he knows in truth it is its own kind of strength.

But the true seed of Vorinclex's madness is that he knows Phyrexia cannot be inevitable or eternal. Change is the only constant, and in time Phyrexia will change until it is no longer Phyrexian. That is if it survives. Like Jin-Gitaxias, Vorinclex carries a forbidden doubt, that Phyrexia can fall, that there is a greater strength waiting in the multiverse. A strength that has no need of Phyrexia.

Other Phyrexian ideologies are available. Perhaps Atraxa's views diverge from her creators, as her child Ixhel diverges from her. Some in the Surgical Bay may find Jin-Gitaxias' arguments insufficent, while the Hunter Maze holds those who reject the brutality of Vorinclex. Because like our own world, no people is a monolith. Every faith has it's heresy, every cause its divisions.

And given how Magic's five colours, well, colour how its worlds exist, so to should they colour New Phyrexia. As Ravnica holds ten guilds, Strixhaven five colleges or Tarkir five clans, New Phyrexia should in truth hold five Phyrexias.

[sixxteenbullets]

SLOW HANDS

PAIRING- SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

SUMMARY- Simon wasn't a touchy person, it was a wonder how he was even in a relationship. This fact was never much of an issue until about four months in and little to no progress had been made. An uncomfortable conversation leads to Simon trying a little harder to break down his hatred for being touched.

WARNINGS- MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE(only a whisper), SMOKING

Simon Riley wasn't what most thought he was. Sure, he was tough, quiet, and inevitably intimidating, but he wasn't some killing machine owned by the military. He had feelings, no matter how hard he ignored them, and he even felt more than most. This fact was one only Y/n was able to discover.

She was aware of her boyfriend's closed off emotions and ominous past and she never pushed him to learn more about it. Whatever it was allowed him to be with her in the current time and that was all that mattered. The only reason she came to know about his history was because she confessed her own past to him. It must have been his way of relating to her, making her feel seen, but he has been through far worse than she could've imagined.

Every word that fell from his tongue shattered her heart into something unfixable. The horrors that he had to experience were something no one should have to go through. Upon learning of these events, something in her mind clicked in place and everything made sense. When her hand would graze his shoulder and he would tense, when her hand touched his cheek and he'd lean away. There was a reason. It was far greater than she'd expected but it was there nonetheless.

It was hard to contain her tears throughout the conversation. Her lips parted, eyes soft and blurry, hands fidgeting. An uncomfortable mix of sadness and anger and shock coursed through her as he acted like it was insignificant. Like his trauma wasn't important. Of course, he saw it that way. His old fashioned mind could only think that he was less of a man for letting it effect him in such a way.

There was little time given to her to process the knowledge before he just stood up and stepped outside for a cigarette. When she brought it up to him later, he only brushed it off and told her to forget it, to let it go like he did. Only, they both knew that was a lie. Things like that don't just go away. Scars are left, emotional and physical, and those don't disappear no matter how hard you try to cover them up. Simon's past was woven through his skin, carved in his bones, and with every smoke or drink or fuck he used to forget, they only got stronger.

So Y/n made it her goal to help him. To teach him that even though so many have hurt him in the past, not everyone wants to do that.

This brought them to the present laying in bed, some stupid movies playing in the background. Simon was on leave, coming home at four o'clock and only being left with the energy to eat dinner before he was laying down, ready to sleep. His large frame took up no unneeded space, his hands folded together over his lower abdomen. Upper body covered by a long sleeve, black t shirt and lower half covered in black sweats. Her eyes drifted upwards, towards his face, which was only softly illuminated by the light of the tv. Every scar and blemish was suddenly given meaning and she was hyper aware of his every movement. The habit of showing very little skin, the compact nature of his sleeping, the tensing of his body when she moved. How had she never guessed?

There was a barely noticeable sheen of sweat on his forehead, just enough to be noticeable. With a plan worked out in her mind, she spoke. "It's warm in here." A simple acknowledgement, answered with an 'mhm.' This wasn't enough for her. Slowly, she sat up, crossing her legs and working her arms around either side of her body to grasp the ends of her t-shirt. His gaze on her back was piercing, curious. In one swift motion, she pulled her shirt over her head and discarded it on the end of the bed.

Simon paid no mind to her, after all it wasn't odd for her to be topless. Her near-naked state didn't seem to bother him, which brought joy to her. However, it still was not enough. The sweat on his skin was more prominent than before. "You're sweating, why don't you take your shirt off?" Perhaps she was rotten, but she didn't care.

He shot her a suspicious look, as if he knew what she was up to, but didn't let on. "I'm alright."

"You're safe here, Simon, you don't have to let yourself sweat." That may have been too far.

"What're you up to?" His head turned to the side, observing her face, which contorted with a false confusion. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I have no idea what you mean, I just don't want you to stink up our bed." Rotten, rotten, rotten.

This seemed to make sense to him as he leaned up, following the same motions she did only moments earlier. His jaw was clenched and fists were clenched as he laid down in the same position he was in earlier. He seemed on edge.

She tried her hardest to keep her eyes on the TV instead of his bare torso. She'd seen him shirtless before, but seeing him now, with the realization she'd made, it was like seeing a sheep shaved for the first time. Just like his face, it was as if every little marking on his skin has a life of its own. In a way, it truly did. Without warning, the beauty of his image and his story crashed over her.

She must have been staring because he gave her a look. Something that showed he knew she was up to something. Though, he was far too tired to put up a fight. When it looked as if his guard was down (news flash, it never was) she slid her hand over to his, carefully entwining their fingers together.

All, at once, his relaxation tore away from him and his hand left her grasp. It was more of a response from shock rather than a calculated move. She let his touch leave hers without chasing it, as much as she wanted to. The air was tense and uncomfortable.

"You know I'd never hurt you right?" She asked softly, slowly.

He sighed, head shaking slightly. An unmistakable annoyance in his tone. "I thought you gave this up."

"This is important." It was, maybe he didn't see it the way she did, but deep down even he knew that it was an issue waiting to get worse unless solved. He could only shove his past away so much before it built up.

"I know." The answer was short, not what she was looking for.

"Do you?" An unwanted silence fell over them for a moment. The minute that it lived felt like an eternity.

"Yes," His gaze separates from hers, fixating on the ceiling. He was never one for eye contact. "It's not you."

"I know."

"Do you?" A smart ass reply, laced with tease. To that, she rolled her eyes.

A warm, welcome shock took over her as he slid his hand over to his. She gently placed her hand in his grasp, not caring that he didn't make the first move. They look at each other again, holding a stare of trust and love as her hand glided up his arm. He was tense, but made no effort to halt this action.

Little by little, slow hands worked their way across Simon's chest, stopping right over his heart. Their faces were close, her head on his shoulder. Something in the air changed. What was once plain, worn in became impossibly euphoric. Their intimacy grew to be remarkable like it has never been before. There was something about a tether, keeping you attached to your trauma, broken that was so sweet.

"You're safe."

"I know."

----------

New hyper fixation alert guys

[2n2n]

ch. 117

ALRIGHT...... off we go !!! To the set-up chapter.......

I guess whatever you do to the world, Lemon is still going to be a dog...

Aidairo-sensei are.. so funny... this is so predictable... they love to create a specific food situation and give everyone a discreet idiosyncratic order which will be dictated to us the viewer for our pleasure and knowledge...... they have some sort of interest in this kind of thing..... thank you Demmy's

she is kawaii

its nice she has this on her phone and can look at it whenever she wants... (: poor girl... painful but intriguing, right? She must have had to linger and really think about him...

pooooooooooooooooor Nene-chan.....! Pooooor Nene-chaaaan she's trying to be such a selfless girl again....! Tsk tsk... it's not faaaair you know, you've been through so much, if only you could be selfish! Too noble and pure-hearted to confidently usurp your boy's timeline... too small & unconfident to declare their love's existence as important or essential to Amane's being....

*nods*

uhhfgggf nooo don't put them side by siiiiiiide 🫣 IYAAAAAA... the size discrepancy.... Amane's smile & Tsukasa's blank gaze.... KYA... ah Tsukasa you're at perfect pelvis height.... wwww

Surprised to see Akane unwilling to change the world back... genuinely is aligned against the proliferation of kaii, then. All things told, the last world was terribly unsafe for Aoi, of all people.

I'm glad for Teru's unconventional mind.... as a boy made happy by unusual things, that makes sense for him. Happiness isn't something as prescriptive as a list of things accomplished, or an age reached. Surviving doesn't mean flourishing...

she's quick to diminish her own importance, our Nene-chan...

I think in this world, love is the most important thing of all. I wonder what Yugi-sensei's everyday life was defined by... what did he feel, going home alone each day?

a nice and painful face from Teru! I like it....

how fragile life is. He's a bit of a control freak in many ways, he really wouldn't like this sort of situation... deferring to some greater force. Wouldn't it feel much safer to craft reality for yourself & those you love... to have a choice and exercise it, and prove that you can.

Really though, why would the Minamoto family need parents HAH, Teru is so happy with his precious little brother & Princess... being the breadwinner... I'm sure.

I like such an angry Aoi hehaaa... cucked !?!?

tell the AUDIENCE THAT, NENE-CHAN!! You've got such excellent taste ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

ohhh this poor Aoi of this world haha, she's not ready for this directness at all, is she....! Hahaha... I wonder how easily one could 0 to 60 an Aoi who hasn't been confessed to every single day of her life? It works on her much better right here than it typically did in our reality, doesn't it.... you've made her heart stop.... she used to tease you about that as your goal..... haha. Isn't this Akane so impressive and crazy seeming, you have to be bewitched? Oh Akane's charm point....

jesus, the gang increases in size then.... I suppose we want to really carry as many people through this arc as we can. That makes me suspect that we'll really pingpong all over between different people's experiences .... since I can't imagine AidaIro-sensei would want to balance so many people in 1 room interacting... I wonder how we'll divide the gangs up in the longrun? Honestly, so long as Nene-chan isn't stuck with someone like Kou, I'll be content.... he's strapped to Mitsuba seemingly, I hope it stays that way for a while...

lets GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

so many more questions than answers already....

on this first glance, we would have so much confusion, trying to make sense of this appearance... how would we question if this was the Red House of this world?

such questions would occur: is the house so dilapidated even without a murder-suicide occurring here? Does that mean Yugi-sensei never occupied it, never inherited it from his family? If not a massive family suicide, why would it be abandoned in such a terrible state? If not cursed & ominous, why would it be avoided, as such a palatial estate? It was a large & well-furnished, well-loved house, in the Yugi's childhood... what situation would cause their parents to allow it to fall into such chaos? Why would nobody take it over? Who owned it, in its final years of occupation? Where did Yugi-sensei live? Did he rent an apartment elsewhere? Why wouldn't it simply be sold?

At what point did Yugi-sensei no longer call this home, in this timeline? Were his parents still alive, as he moved out? How long ago did they die? Did he outlive them, or die before them?

This just doesn't look like the house of a family who lived happily & as long as they could....

but this might

changes rapidly in appearance from panel to panel.

So our previous questions are moot.... or are they? Haha....

No longer crawling with ivy and dilapidated, chains gone, shingles fixed, NOW it looks like a place Yugi-sensei could have inherited and lived within in his adult life. So is this as it truly is, haha....? Now this looks like a house maintained by a living & fine family ... with few sudden & unforeseen miseries.

I wonder what our Red House's life was like, in this timeline....

I'm quite fond of the idea of Yugi-sensei living in it, taking it over from his parents when they pass away....

a handsome man in a beautiful house~~

let's see what will happen!

[viviane-lefay]

AU for Dagan & Santari

… because I absolutely can't accept how things turned out for them - therefore, I made my own, preferred scenario for them.  

I’m not much of a writer, I’m afraid, and I don’t have much experience in storytelling, so this text will mostly be of a descriptive nature, like a plot, if you will - with some parts in between where I comment on certain aspects, sharing my opinion on them. It’s a bit chaotic, but please bear with me. ^^;;

Of course this is just my headcanon, based on my take on these characters & their relationship (more about that here & here), as well as my personal preferences. I mainly wrote this for myself, after all – and, hopefully, some like-minded others.

Anyway, please be nice! If you like it, then that is great - even if you only like some parts … just pick whatever resonates with you. And if you don't - please keep that to yourself, ok!?

Here's (roughly, for now) what I had in mind:

~*~

From what is shown in the game, there is no information about what happened to Santari after she left Koboh.

What if she, after she realized that Zee failed her mission, and there was no one left to release Dagan from his stasis (who would likely remain like this for a prolonged period of time), put herself in a stasis too, linked in duration to his (and, hence, didn't die), because ...

she just couldn't let go of him like this, refusing to give up on believing in him

but also felt that he needed to make a decision for himself, which path to choose undistractedly, and therefore didn't go to release him herself (which he, unfortunately, misinterpreted as yet another abandonment upon his release by Cal - but, then again, he was still traumatized by her turning on him during their last encounter).

Since she left Koboh for good with the remaining ships, it struck me as rather odd that, in the game, you can find her lightsaber hidden in a chest there, located in a sealed passageway.

Why is it on this very planet, of all places!? Shouldn't it rather be in her latest location? Or did she even leave it there on purpose?

Knowing of the significance of the saber for the Jedi, as well as the importance to never lose it (“This weapon is your life.” - Obi-Wan, Ep. II), it makes me wonder if she left behind the life of a Jedi, and just remained a scientist. Since being a Jedi was such an important part of her life, this must have been a very profound decision to make, and maybe even a sacrifice for something of even greater importance to her.

Frankly, her complete disregard for the Jedi council's decision, as well as her further plans, make it pretty clear where her true loyalties and priorities lie - and it's not the Jedi order in this case.

You can see that illustrated very well in the game, when she refuses to turn him in, disobeying a direct order by the council by doing so - which, in itself, is already a huge crime, given his actions and how powerful and dangerous he is. Then, she keeps what happened to Dagan a secret, hides him from them, plotting for him to get away with it all and reach his goals nonetheless.

That she also plans to reunite with him after he is released from stasis indeed raises the question of her potentially having left the order – because to them he is a wanted criminal now – and it would make no sense if she lead him into a trap when she had already put in so much effort into his protection. Imho, her leaving because she chose the man she loves over the Jedi order is definitely the most likely explanation.

That she turned on him in the end is not because of his open rebellion against the order, or his plans regarding Tanalorr - after all she rebelled in her own way, albeit in a more subtle, hidden manner. Her and his goals were the same … the means, however, weren't.

And that is exactly where the problem is - the way he went about it - especially with him turning to the dark side.

She was clearly desperate, terrified to lose him because of this, and tried to stop him for that very reason. She wanted to prevent him from going further down that road.

Ironically, he wasn't able to see that, and, of all things, it was her (perceived) betrayal first and foremost, that caused his actual fall, and further descent after being released from stasis.

Her severing his arm was a complete kneejerk reaction, borne out of her despair, and I’m inclined to believe that it weighed quite heavily on her, and would haunt her from then on.

In the flashback scene you can clearly tell how distressed she is, inside, despite her somewhat level-headed demeanor. How she immediately rushes to him and holds him, calling out for help. Only after he's fallen unconscious, she gives vent to her feelings, doubles over and cries (you can't see her face, but it's fairly obvious that she does).

Aside from the arm issue, their confrontation was quite faltering anyway. You could really tell that neither wanted to do this, let alone hurt the other.

Especially with him, this becomes evident, given what he did to the other Jedi who opposed him, and what he is capable of, combat skills - wise. (I'm sure, Santari is proficient with her lightsaber, but she's not a warrior, like him, who is renowned for his outstanding skills as a duelist. She would have lasted some time, I'll grant her that, but not for long.) Instead he just shoves her away via the force, and also just lightly.

~*~

Anyway, here’s a description of one of the key scenarios I had in mind:

After awakening from her stasis and coming to terms with the historic changes that have taken place, galaxy-wide, Santari prepares for her return to Koboh. Once there, she keeps a low profile, as not to catch too much attention, and to just gather information on the recent happenings there. Troubled by what she learned, she decides to act instead of taking a more passive, observant approach, as she planned earlier.

She barely made it to the observatory in time to interrupt the fight between Dagan, Cal, and Bode, that had just started.

Her sudden appearance unfortunately heated up the situation any further, throwing the already upset Dagan into complete turmoil.

She tried to reason with him, but he was too caught up in his feelings of betrayal, and the version of reality he had so carefully constructed to endure and justify everything, that he just wouldn’t hear her out – not before Tanalorr was secured.

But he would not attack her. After all that had happened between them, he still did not hate her. Anger, yes, resentment for her actions, but hate ... he couldn't bring himself to feel that way towards her - and never would.

Instead, he quickly redirected his rage towards Cal again, and the fight resumed, more furious than before.

Bode, who was getting impatient, inserted himself at some point by starting to fire shots from his blaster at Dagan in quick succession, which were all blocked, but one. Normally, this wouldn't have been a challenge for Dagan, but the whole situation with Santari had thrown him off balance, and he lacked his usual poise.

The damage was but minor, but it jolted not only Dagan awake again, but also Santari, who had been watching the scenario unfold in grief-stricken numbness.

Seeing their chance, Cal and Bode started a coordinated attack from different directions.

This time, he would have been able to both parry Cal's blows, as well as deflect Bode's shots, but an alarmed Santari rushed behind him to block the blaster shots, just in the moment as he spun around and set out to do so himself.

It happened too fast even for him, too unexpected, and the moment was already over before the realization about what had occurred crept in. He could only watch in dismay as his blade struck her, see her falter and fall, only to be caught by him, just before she would hit the ground, and hear himself crying out her name, holding her seemingly lifeless body in his arms, as the world zeroed in on her and her mere existence, and a wave of mind-numbing pain and regret washed over him.

As he holds her close, he notices that she is still breathing, albeit weakly, and thus still alive, despite her serious injury. Desperate to save her, he carefully picks her up and sets out in a rush to carry her to the nearest medical facility.

Just as he got up, an incensed and clearly impatient Bode steps in his way and shouts at him, demanding the compass, which at the time is still in Dagan’s possession.

Aware that any further delay would come at the cost of Santari’s life, Dagan, who is beyond caring at this point, snatches the compass from his belt and dismissively tosses it in Bode’s direction, before storming off.

~*~

Frankly, in his case I think a profound shock such as this is necessary to snap him out of his rather set thought- and behavioural patterns and to truly make him question his actions.

It is also important that it was Dagan, of all people, to strike her down, and not her being hit by an attack by Bode or Cal. If it had been the latter, it wouldn’t have had such a transformative effect on him in the way the proposed scenario did, as it would have just provided an opportunity for him to further project onto others, and to redirect his anger towards his opponents any further.

Accidentally hurting the woman he loves, himself, with no one else to lay the blame on, would finally be the catalyst for him to shift his focus inwards and recognize the error of his decisions and actions - that it was his own pride and obstinacy that led to this outcome - and then to take accountability.

Above all I want him to realize (or rather remember) that he loves Santari more than anything in the universe, that he would do anything for this woman, and would gladly sacrifice anything for her - be it Tanalorr, his pride, any other ambition of his, whatever the cost - that all these things are meaningless without her, and that he is willing to forego it all, if only she is alive and well.

Basically, I want them to have this "reverse anidala" theme, where the man's love for the woman, and his strong attachment to her, instead of spelling his doom, ultimately is the key factor that saves him from the dark side, initiating a profound transformation within him, which also leads to his redemption arc.

You know, in Star Wars foreshadowing (especially via dialogue) has always been a huge theme. More often than not, there was a deeper meaning hidden somewhere, which would become evident during the course of the story.

A prime example of this is Obi-Wan's remark to Anakin: "Why do I get the feeling that you're going to be the death of me?", or when Anakin says to Padmé: "The thought of not being with you - I can't breathe." These are all allusions to things that have not yet come to pass, but eventually will.

In Dagan's case, this one line, spoken to Santari in a Force Echo, really stood out to me as such a potentially prophetic statement:

"You're the only one who can guide me back."

In the scene itself they were talking about Dagan's perilous mission to fly into the Koboh Abyss. I found the choice of name for this nebula quite interesting on a symbolic level, as the word "abyss” (which, in myth, was a term used to describe the underworld, and even the hellish realms - a dark and dreadful place) could very well stand as a perfect analogy for the dark side, and getting lost therein.

As we saw, Santari’s betrayal and her loss of course had been a major factor in his fall, there is no deying that (for instance, we see that this particular memory was the crucial one to truly complete the bleeding of his lightsaber’s kyber crystal).

In the game's canon, however, we are merely confronted with a missed opportunity. There was no Santari anymore - she was long since gone - so he had to deal with this ultimate loss on top of his already existing trauma, and all that was left for him was to cling like a madman to the only remaining thing that had a connection to her, which was Tanalorr. And it was pretty clear that his emotional ties to Santari were a pivotal aspect of his obsession with this planet.

So, in my AU I want to explore what would have happened, if Dagan had been given that chance, and Santari would have been there, after all, "guiding him back" - or rather her being the catalyst for him, to give him the hope and strength to walk this path himself, as it actually is his love for her that truly guides him back:

That this would be possible is pretty much a given, as there were other characters that were way further gone, darkside-wise, than he was, that also turned back to the light - prime example being Anakin Skywalker, of course.

(The original) Star Wars has always been all about hope, faith, and making the seemingly impossible possible – at its core it has always been deeply optimistic, with a firm belief in and emphasis on the good in mankind. If you're looking for nihilist, cynical portrayals and outcomes ... sorry, wrong universe. (If that is the shit you want, then try Game of Thrones, ffs!)

No one believed that Anakin could be saved, except for Luke, and Padmé, who expressed her unwavering faith in Anakin's innate goodness and his ability turn back with her dying breath.

More cynical minds would probably say that both Luke's, and Padmé's judgements were clouded by their feelings for Anakin - except that this wasn't the case - quite the opposite, in fact.

As for Padmé - she might not have been able to acknowledge the warning signs of his imminent fall in the moment, but she certainly felt that something troubling was going on. However, concerning the nature of his being, her perception couldn’t have been any more accurate.

After all it was her, who had this profound and intimate connection to him, who knew him better and deeper than anyone else, and, for that very reason, was able to perceive something in him that the others just couldn't. And she was a woman with a sharp mind and common sense, and her reasoning was absolutely sound.

And, yes, she was vindicated in the end!

I see that very much mirrored in Santari, her unwavering faith in Dagan, and her unwillingness to give up on him.

Here's her expressing her conviction in a force echo scene, that took place after her confrontation with Dagan, and right after he was put in the bacta tank:

"The council may have given up on you, but I know who you truly are, Dagan. Even if you yourself have forgotten..."

Of course she knows! It has been hinted at in the game multiple times that these two have known each other for a long time, are very, very close, and share a deep bond based on mutual trust, amongst other things. So, this conviction of hers is very much built on the fact that she knows him better, deeper, and more intimately than anyone else - that she knows things about him that no one else knows, has seen a side of him that no one else has ever seen. That she is the only one able to see him truly as the way he is, and is, therefore, the only one able to make a sound judgement of him and what he is capable of - or isn't.

This woman is anything but a sentimental fool, not only is she a fucking genius, she also possesses great wisdom, discernment, patience, and self-control, so, of course, there is substance to her claims, regardless of the fact that she is in love with him.

~*~

That said, I’ll now continue to describe the scenario for my AU:

Cal had been watching everything unfold with conflicting emotions, and he could not deny that the tragic turn of events on his opponent’s side affected him.

Ever since he saw them together in the force echoes, Cal has always had his suspicions about the true nature of the feelings the two Jedi harboured for each other, and now he saw the undeniable truth right in front of his eyes.

As much as he resented Dagan’s previous actions - seeing this proud man so broken and forlorn, clasping the lifeless form of his lost love to his bosom, he could not help but empathize with him, being all too familiar with love and loss himself.

It did impress him no less to see Dagan, moments later, relinquish the key to Tanalorr - to his discovery, his home, his ambitions, and his great obsession - without a moment’s hesitation, as not to lose time for saving his beloved.

At the same time, Bode’s behaviour in this situation filled him with indignation. How was this any better than Dagan’s previous conduct towards them!? It was not. If anything, it was just as unscrupulous, and that was not how he wanted to be, or to act.

Maybe it was his sense of justice, maybe it was a surge of sympathy, maybe both, that made him turn and go after Dagan, who had just disappeared through the door.

Even so, his sudden reappearance, was met by a furious glare by Dagan who was in no mood to tolerate any further delays, not believing Cal’s claim of only wanting to help. So Cal just prompted BD-1 to act, who immediately understood and administered the last health stim in his possession to Santari, who indeed seemed to show a response.

Dagan, who was too caught up in his concern for Santari just shot him a glance, before rushing off again. However short it had been, the surprise and relief in his eyes had still been visible - as well as a hint of gratitude, or so Cal believed.

From behind, Bode urged him to leave, but he refused, saying he would follow later. He needed time to reflect.

As he made his way back down, hours later, walking through the corridors, he passed by the medical ward. He stopped and stood there, wondering what had become of Santari - if his help had made any difference, however small, even if it meant that she just barely made it, and if, at this point, she was still alive after all.

With a mixture of curiosity and concern, he entered the hallway that led to the examination room. The door was still left open and he slowly made his way to the front, so he could catch sight of what was going on inside.

On the surgery couch, connected to a device that was monitoring her vital parameters, there was a still unconscious, but alive Santari.

Inclined towards her, Dagan was sitting by her side, lost in thought, holding her hand in his remaining one, his eyes fixated on the delicate features of the woman in front of him. His expression was full of sorrow and longing, yet above it all there was a deep affection gracing his handsome face, displaying a tenderness, Cal wouldn’t have associated with him before.

How long had he been watching over her like this, Cal wondered. Night had almost passed, and the horizon was already lighting up in a faint violet.

Daring not to interrupt the scene, he slowly turned, moving as silently as he could, when a deep voice, lowly but firmly, commanded him to wait. He did not know how and when, but somewhere along the line Dagan must have taken notice of his presence.

He again turned to face the Jedi master, who sat still, immovable, in his spot. Even now, as Dagan spoke on, his gaze remained, dwelling upon his beloved.

“When she was examined, I was informed, that it was your medicine that had made a difference, after all. Without it, I would have lost her.”, he concluded, his voice raw with unexpressed emotion. A moment of silence followed, an indrawn breath.

“Thank you!”

Although greatly humbled by the previous events, it must not have easily passed his lips … and yet, he seemed to feel the need to express this to him. A declaration so simple, as it was powerful, genuine, heartfelt.

Cal could appreciate that, inquiring if there was a chance she might make it now that her condition had stabilized at last.

Dagan nodded, ascertaining that until then, he would remain by her side and keep vigil over her quiescent state, waiting for a sign, however long it would take.

In case she woke again, he expressed his hopes that, should they meet again, may this be on better terms than their past encounters.

In case she did not … he paused with a pained expression, briefly closing his eyes, before continuing … then this should now be his bidding him a final farewell.

Cal, understanding the unspoken message, dared not pursue the question any further, and instead agreed expressly to Dagan’s sentiment regarding better future relations, before taking his leave.

Still deep in thought, he returned to his friends, who were already waiting for him at the Mantis, ready to take off for Jedha.

For Dagan, a long vigil remained, that would last another night and day, hours of uncertainty and doubt wearing on in a gruellingly slow pace.

In the silence that surrounded him, the voices in his mind kept on howling all the louder, seized with remorse, confronting him with every decision he made, every action he took - that ultimately led to this result, that he now realized were wrong - in an unceasing and damning judgement.

“If she dies, it is your fault!”, they would scream, and he knew there was nothing he could say to deny their allegations, that lessened his guilt in this matter even for one bit. That was the hardest thought to bear – that it was him, his pride, his obstinacy, and impatience, who had brought about this misery, him, of all people, who hurt her – the one he loved the most.

At this point, the voices that wondered about the “what if”s and “what could have been”s chimed in, telling him the tantalizing tale of chances lost, and all the roads not taken. If only he had listened to her …

At last, a breathed sigh that signalled her waking pulled him out of his thoughts, after a time that felt like an eternity, spent in his personal purgatory.

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open to reveal the soft brown gaze that he so often had lost himself in, that he was again losing himself in in this very moment. With quivering lips, he uttered her name, his voice shaky and raw.

Her mouth silently forming the syllables of his name in response, and the accompanying expression, the longing he felt mirrored in her eyes, were enough to push him over the edge.

A sudden, hot wave of emotion overtook him and before he knew, their lips were locking, and he was kissing her with a desperate, fervent hunger he had not known before – not like this.

When he finally let go, his eyes were moist, and two rivulets of tears, shed out of relief and regret in equal measure, were trickling down his face. His heart was screaming and pleading her to forgive him, but the words just barely escaped his mouth. Dainty fingers reached up and softly brushed his cheek, concern and understanding in her eyes.

Just as he set on to speak again, she just lightly shook her head and pulled him in once more.

Slender arms wound tightly around his broad shoulders, and her hands delved deep into the silver masses of his hair, silken strands between her fingers.

His own remaining arm gently slid behind her back, supported by his force-conjured limb, to pull her up and close, always careful not to put too much pressure on her still fragile and healing form. Still, his hand was clutching the fabric of her tunic so hard it was almost shaking, clinging to her with the urgency of a drowning man.

As short and intense their previous kiss was, it was merely a prelude to the additional sweetness and depth of the one they shared now. She yielded under his touch like delicate flower petals under the rain, sinking back into the crook of his arm, as his lips were bearing down on hers with the full weight and ardour of the love he could not contain anymore.

After what seemed like ages, and yet too soon, their lips slowly parted, softly grazing, catching and releasing each other in feverish zeal in between, reluctant to let go.

They would remain, tightly entangled in their embrace, for a long while, trying to steady themselves, their breath still shaky from their madly racing heart. Trying to make up for the loss of his hand, that would have come up to rest at her face at this point, he inclined, giving her nose a gentle nudge with his own.

Santari, who knew the mannerisms of her beloved like no other, picked up his unspoken intention. Memories came welling up, unbidden, in a wave of guilt and regret that had never left her since their altercation on the Shattered Moon, overtaking her mind and finding their final release in a strangled sob, with her own heart begging for a forgiveness it would never grant itself, but knew it was already given by the one her plea was directed towards.

Like an answer, his cheek came to rest against hers, and their tears mingled, building bit by bit into a torrent, running in silence, until one of them finally rose to speak.

And there was so much to speak about, so much that they had to tell each other, that finally had to be said.

As they talked, they made their way up again, towards the top level of the observatory, with Santari leaning on Dagan for support, who had wrapped his arm around her in a protective manner, steadying her, attending her along the way, walking slowly, carefully.

When they arrived, the sun was nearing the horizon, painting the sky in a gradient of fire, that, itself, was fading into the darkening blue of the falling night, wherein the most luminous stars were already glimmering, scattered across the celestial landscape.

They sat down in the spot they so often had frequented once, two centuries in the past, gazing at the starlit sky, dreaming together. His arm remained, tightly wound around her and she sank into his embrace again, as he patiently, intently listened to her, before it was his turn again to speak, in an exchange that would yet become hours of unburdening their hearts.

It was already deep into the night when Dagan’s exhaustion eventually made itself known, getting the better of him after his prolonged, untiring vigil without rest. So, they laid down, snuggled up to each other on their makeshift bed under the stars, heads rested on his cloak, turned into a pillow for them both, and under Santari’s loving and watchful gaze, he finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep – this time, with her keeping guard over him instead.

He woke to her humming, the caressing, feathery touch of her fingers running through his hair, and a smile as warm as the rays of the midday sun that now stood at its zenith in the sky. She was still in the same position she occupied last night, concerned not to rouse him all too early, but also not entirely willing to remove herself from his embrace either, savouring the languid hours of a morning slept-in in the arms of her love, something they were but seldomly granted to do in the past, watching the expression of serenity and peace gracing his exquisitely fair face.

She already felt better, invigorated even, and so did Dagan, who had regained his usual strength after his long overdue night’s rest.

Both agreed that it was now time for them to leave and they set out for the landing platform on which Santari’s ship was stationed.

The ship was an old relic from a bygone era, that Dagan immediately recognized as his own, that, despite its age and traces of usage, had served him well during his countless expeditions, bearing him to many faraway places, just as it now had borne her here.

So, instead of choosing a new one, she took his old ship and made it her own, just as he had planned to do with her droid. He could not help but chuckle at the thought.

Granted, it was an elegant vessel, with its streamlined form, and tasteful, spacious interior, that in its day had its use as the private transport of some aristocrat – at least that is what the previous owner had told him. What most stood out about it, though, was its great maneuverability and speed, that even time and use did not diminish – qualities that, aside from his own outstanding capabilities as a pilot, carried him through the Abyss and back again.

Whereto would it carry them now?

That was the one question that still remained. Where did they go now, without a home to return to!?

But the answer was - it did not matter – truly, it never did. All he knew and all that did matter now, was that he could go anywhere, anyplace, as long as she was with him. His true and only home was her - the home he could not live without, the home that he never wanted to be parted from again.

As he expressed these sentiments to her, he gave in to the thought that had been occupying his mind during the lonesome hours of his vigil, a rekindled dream of yore.

He took a step back, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers and his gaze, strangely intense, took on an almost imploring quality. Like this, he remained for a moment, his breath shaky, then he sank to his knee, finally daring to ask the once forbidden question that had long since been burning in his heart.

With a gasp of disbelief and recognition, her eyes widened …

It had been a secret dream of theirs, something they once had wondered about - she remembered it like yesterday - born in a blissful moment, as they lay in each other’s arms, snuggled together after lovemaking and immersed in the other’s eyes, exchanging drowsy kisses every now and again, they were envisioning what life would have been like for them together if they were no Jedi, dreaming up a possible scenario … just a woman and a man, bound by no other vows but the one that tied them together as one.

And they would go on - imagining the home they would have built and shared together, a small sanctuary just for the two of them - until they drifted off to sleep, only to wake up again in the life they had - the life of a scientist and a knight of the order, and a love lived in secrecy. Because that was all it was – just a fond wish, a lovely fantasy far beyond their grasp. Tanalorr was the closest they got, and yet it had been taken from them.

But now … times had changed - the order was gone, the Jedi but few, their doctrine a mere relic of the past, and they were free – free to do whatever they pleased – a second chance to try and seize, but even now she would not have dared to believe, to hope, he would be so bold and act – to actually ask her – and yet here they were.

Too overwhelmed to speak, she just stood there for a moment, her hand cupped over her quivering lips, gulping back a sob, before she fell down into his arms, finally blurting out the answer he so longed to hear. With a deep sigh of relief, betraying how tense and nervous he must have felt, he pulled her close and kissed her in his characteristic, passionate manner that always made her knees go weak.

~*~

Frankly, I don't think the assumption that they might have these desires is all that unreasonable, considering they had this dream of a shared home, that was at the core of their overarching plans of building a temple, and achieving great things for the order.

This is especially strong with Dagan … first of all – because it is mentioned by him in the game (along with other things being heavily implied).

When he bleeds his kyber crystal, his voice takes on an increasingly agitated tone, finally peaking when he refers to Tanalorr as “my home” - not his project, his contribution to the order, but his home - and then, when he mentions Santari’s betrayal, everything explodes.

Of course, you also, if not especially, need to consider his formative years as a slave on Arkania (at least how I imagine them to be like), and the influence these had on his needs and desires.

So, why should marrying the woman he loves not be one of these desires!? Maybe not of Dagan the knight, with his lofty and noble ambitions, but of Dagan the man, carrying this wish in his most secret heart.

It definitely sounds like something he would want, and actually act upon once he sees a chance – after all, he’s a very emotionally passionate person, prone to follow his heart’s desire, as well as his instincts more than anything else (just like Anakin), and someone who doesn’t give a f*** about conventions (also very much like Anakin, who also happens to be not the only Jedi ever to have tied the knot, btw – it is said there have always been some to have done this despite the “rules”).

Imho, he’d totally dig this idea of the completely committed nature of marriage, this absolute and unbreakable bond, as well as showing Santari his undying love and devotion this way. And the fact, that it’s very much an official thing – even better! The whole galaxy has to know, too!

As for Santari … I think her sentiments are absolutely the same, but she’s, of course, more the sober-minded and patient one, but not any less strong-willed, nor any less stubborn and defiant than him, if she truly wants something, mind you - it’s just that her nature allows her to act in a far more subtle manner.

One thing is certain - their actions have more than proven that their priorities and loyalties lie, first and foremost, with each other, and no one else!

Ultimately, I feel, getting married is such a great choice for them, because of their bond that runs so deep - a love that is not only profound and strong, but also enduring - and the magnitude of their attachment that is already present.

Sealing this bond in marriage - while being of singular personal importance to them, of course - would only be a symbolic act, in the end, to make said bond visible to the outside world. So, regarding their status as force user and Jedi, it would hardly have any relevance, as the attachment is already there anyway, as I said.

[ Btw, I can’t stand the attitude that emotional commitment and attachment has to be this exclusively negative thing, with predominantly negative consequences. It is said to only lead to the dark side, but, Imho, there is so much potential for the positive in these bonds – if only they can be channeled in a favourable direction.

Only a bond as deep and as powerful as this would be able to produce the emotional impulse of a magnitude strong enough to tear someone away from the grasp of the dark side for good, as was seen with Anakin. I’m actually more than a little surprised that this fact gets overlooked so constantly. Shame!

Besides - as if Jedi hooking up, sleeping around and just leaving with unfazed detachment because “muh rules”, even becoming deadbeat dads in the process, is any better … WTF! And no, producing force sensitive children and potential initiates for the order is no excuse. Ugh, I hate this argument! Whoever must have come up with that must have been a massive fuckboy…

Dagan definitely isn’t such a guy – quite the opposite, in fact!

Good that Luke got rid of that stupid mindset and rule! After all, his father fell, to a significant degree, just because of it. And I wonder how many Jedi did as well, who remain unmentioned – let alone the hearts that got broken because of it. ]

Maybe Tanalorr was the attempt to reconcile these two sides (the two Jedi versus the man and the woman), and make this dream, which he shared with Santari, a reality.

And, of course, "what happens in the Temple on Tanalorr stays in the Temple on Tanalorr", as I read somewhere. ;)

~*~

Some hours later, they were off, heading to Coruscant, leaving Koboh behind for a while, to accomplish what they had planned to do.

At Santari’s urging, they made a stopover at the nearest medical center, for Dagan to finally get a cybernetic replacement for his lost arm. Still full of remorse over what happened on the Shattered Moon base, she felt unable to find any peace of mind until at least the visible signs of the damage, that her saber had wrought, were undone. Dagan, who still felt the pain of his own regret as acutely, perceived her sorrow despite her composed demeanor, drew her in his still one-armed embrace, and tried to cheer her up, voicing his support of the idea, as it would enable him to hold her again like he used to. The prospect, as well as the disarming nonchalance in which it was stated, the playful smirk and the twinkle in his eye, still managed to conjure a smile on her face.

When they returned to Koboh two weeks later, now a married couple, they first made a visit to Pyloon’s Saloon, to look for Zee, as Santari had learned of her whereabouts after her initial arrival on the planet, and was looking forward to meet her old assistant, hoping for her to join them again – especially after the restoration of her memory.

Just as they wanted to enter the saloon, the Mantis emerged in the skies and landed on its usual place on the platform – Cal, Merrin, Greez, and Kata disembarked and came their way.

Cal, who was still reeling from Bode’s betrayal and loss, a downcast and sombre expression darkening his face, lightened up a little at their sight, seeming almost glad to see them.

Once inside, they were about to exchange greetings, still a little tense despite their recently changed, now more amicable relations, when Zee, who had recognized their voices from above, rushed down to greet them, only to be brought up short at the sight of Dagan, of whom she took note with no little bewilderment and shock, the memory of their last encounter still present in her mind.

But when the delicate figure, that clung to his side, his arm gently placed around her, turned her head in Zee’s direction and was immediately recognized as her old master, she came heading towards her in exuberant spirits, an overjoyed exclamation of “Master Khri!” ringing out of her vocalizer, and immediately assailed her with a plethora of questions, inquiring to know about the reason of her sudden appearance, which also aroused the attention of the others in their circle.

Santari explained everything Zee, as well as the others, wanted to know, in her usual calm and patient manner. It was the instant, when she was speaking about Dagan, referring to him as her husband, that took everyone by surprise, and for a moment there was silence.

While it was, by now, known to everyone but Zee, that the bond between Santari and Dagan was one of love (thanks to Cal’s account), none of them had expected the two Jedi to take it a step further and actually wed, in complete defiance of the rules the Order had instilled into them from early on.

Rules that were quickly brought up by the nonplussed droid, who just couldn’t believe her master would ever go against this doctrine - and now seemed so unconcerned about it, happy even, exchanging enamoured glances with her now-husband, who put his affections on display with a boldness that would have made Zee blush, had she been able to.

Curious enough, no one else seemed to have any objections, and, she didn’t know if she read it right, but there seemed to be a subtle note of approval, respect even, colouring the voice of young Cal Kestis, as he joined Merrin in expressing his congratulations to his fellow Jedi.

Following this, the conversation quickly evolved into a discussion about the recent events.

Eventually, they came to the conclusion that it was best to unite regarding the settlement on Tanalorr, as well as the redevelopment of the Jedi temple, and the new directions the teachings should be taken to.

The only matter left to sort out now were the Bedlam Raiders, and what was to happen with them, now that Dagan, their leader, and the only person with enough influence to rein them in, was to depart to Tanalorr.

That is what they were now planning to take care of, before starting their journey together with the others.

Before they set out for the Raiders’ Lucrehulk headquarters, Santari pulled a small device out of her pocket, a data carrier of sorts, and quickly restored Zee’s memory.

Out of consideration, the latter was allowed to wait in the Saloon for their return, instead of joining them on their mission to the place that still held nothing but bad memories for her. Greez, however, was grateful to have someone to help him with the preparations for the upcoming relocation.

~*~

So much for the key part of my AU.

Of course, there is more, but the most important aspect, the big turning point, has been dealt with here.

[cherish--these--times]

i just want to tell you how much i loved your post on media literacy & tedbecca!! really well put and what i hope reasonable fans not on our side would read so they’d realize where we come from! 💜

You absolute sweetheart. Thank you for telling me that. I should have been kinder in my approach but I am simply appalled, and sick and tired by a lot of people and now Brendan Hunt (not even gonna mispell his name, I'm fucking mad) for claiming that wanting Ted and Rebecca to get together was purely us silly fans being girly girls conditioned to want the male and female leads to end up together, so we could spice up our dull little lives with some sweet sweet Disney romance. I am INCENSED. I have seen quite a few queer people here rooting for them as well, which makes this reasoning even more offensive. Also to claim that he was surprised people would take it so personally is hilarious to me. Dude... have you ever been a fan of anything before??? Don't you know how much stories matter to people?? Wasn't it the goal when you made this show????

What antis don't seem to understand is that nobody in the TedBecca fandom was claiming that there were any romantic feelings between Ted and Rebecca. That would be insane because it just wasn't the case.

However, anybody with a modicum of critical thinking could see that they were playing with romcom tropes with them. But that's not even why I think most of us began to think we were heading there. What the writers did, in what remains a beautiful, masterful way, was lead the audience paying enough attention to understand that they were MEANT to be together. In a way far more profound than mere infatuation or physical attraction. No. They were each other's guarantee of true, long-lasting happiness. That's what they've established. Because they were similar in fundamental ways (a bit silly and immensely kind for instance). They had gone through similar things, including life-defining traumas on the same fucking day, at the same fucking time, and therefore could provide the other with all the support, the care, the devotion that the other needed. And they were doing just that! They could even communicate without words. They were undoubtedly making the other greater, which is exactly what Higgins wanted for Beard and Jane. They just had not realised it yet. Better still, I thought it was fabulous to have them go on their healing journey first, reach the top of the mountain, and THEN have them realise they were the love of each other's life. WHAT A BEAUTIFUL CONCEPT. Truly a spectacular story, and one they hinted at RELENTLESSLY. And until the very end. When in truth, they could have stopped this many moons ago by having Rebecca meet a nice, sweet guy (not Dutch guy, fuck him, he was creepy as hell) as soon as series 1 ended and be done with it. But no. Ooooh no. They kept that shit going until the very last episode. Even Rebecca begging Ted to stay was yet another romcom trope they dangled under our nose. They shot themselves in the foot with that one too, because Ted's determination to leave felt even more stupid and irrational when perfect solutions were handed to him on a silver platter by her (OUT OF LOVE). No wonder he didn't say a word, because nothing he could have said would have realistically justified his departure after what she offered. Nope. He kept his mouth shut because the true answer he had was: "I don't want to leave but the writers insist I must be this Magical Being that comes into people's lives to make them better and then go away in a poof of smoke and glitter. Mostly glitter. Ain't that a damn shame. I appreciate you, though."

To claim their story was never intended to be understood as such and say it was all on us for making shit up is simply untrue (and insulting, and you can fuck off). It was all there. Beautifully woven through every episode, in subtle but undeniable ways. Using, one could argue, The Lasso Way. A series of imperceptible moments all leading to the inevitable conclusion. Even this, I thought, was another hint……

And yeah, on top of that, I am FUMING over the misdirects (Bantr texting and matchbook in Ted's pocket, the latter really making my blood boil) and Dutch Guy being shamelessly Ted-coded (and all of a sudden everybody was overjoyed because he was the perfect guy for her even though everything he did that day, Ted had already done first. Minus the kiss on the ankle, offering her a foot massage and shaming her into drinking because that was fucking creepy and also Ted would never bad-mouth his ex).

I do take some comfort in seeing now a couple of articles online denouncing the way we, as an audience, were treated. You know, people who have media literacy, unlike us, apparently??

I'm angry, annoyed, insulted, but mostly I'm just sad. Because they ruined that show for a lot of people, including myself, and a few of their own characters in the process.

[holly-fixation]

Jenova is such an interesting creature/concept and is absolutely the reason this is the series I write fanfiction for. I have plenty of other games I've played for much longer yet the combination of Sephiroth, Jenova, the Cetra, and the Lifestream always keep me coming back.

So, for fun, here's the way I break down Jenova in my own work. Or what I like to call "the Jenova Mindset".

What is a mindset? I have yet to meet a single writer that doesn't immediately know what a "mindset" is even if they don't use the word. It's really the head space you need to be in to write a certain character. How they think, how they react, what their motivations are, what they want to do next vs what they need to do next, etc. I still find myself changing certain ways of thinking to fit characters more and more, even if I've basically solidified what they are.

Jenova is an interesting case for me.

I always stuck to rules for "Her", even when I first started. Jenova is the Calamity, the virus, the doppleganger, the first meteor. But Sephiroth did willingly go to her, so there must be some kind of draw, some pull. This draw is governed by the internal pull of Reunion and by "Her voice". But Jenova is an alien creature that consumes the life forces of planets. She doesn't sound like anything we would know or recognize or even understand. Not once do I describe Her voice with gender or pitch. Perceived emotions, intentions, dizzying feelings, and descriptions that do not exist for voices, that's what She would be. "Cosmic, astral, celestial, galactic, gravitational". I can go on all day.

Do I think She can speak in the games? Do I think she spoke to Sephiroth at Nibelhiem? I have no idea. I just like playing with potential draws of what She could say.

Now that She has a voice, what does she say? This is extremely difficult for me because every word must draw you in, give this feeling of concern and false care in your chest when you read. As a writer, this really difficult to pull off, but I try. How?

She is always kind to Sephiroth. Always. Ignoring whatever will happen when Evercrisis drops, we can easily assume he had a terrible childhood and a standoffish adulthood. Sephiroth is weird and sheltered and doesn't have a lot of common ground for normal conversation. He grew up in a cruel environment most likely controlled by Doctor Hojo. With a few words, she needs to make him feel accepted and cared for. She copies this perceived kindness from Gillian, Angeal's mother who canonically had Jenova cells implanted in her before his birth. She will only coax Sephiroth, she will never push. Drilling the same phrase into Sephiroth's mind is risky and is only used when there is no other option. If he is too far from Her or too distracted by his not-yet-completely-tragic life, small messages like 'come to me' or small feelings in dreams are Her best chance. Usually Her words spark Sephiroth's childhood desire for a mother, warm and comforting and uncomfortably safe. She speaks with a kindness he is not used to until he calls her 'Mother'. Only once he gives Her that title and unknowingly that power does She call him 'my son'. She fills that hunger within him with or without his title from then on.

Next, as you've probably already noticed, She should not feel normal. She should not seem the same as the other characters throughout the world, thus "She" and "Her" are always capitalized to give that subconscious feeling of Jenova having a greater presence in any situation. To aid in this, Her words are at minimum bolded. Maximum they are italicized and bolded, but this is usually reserved for telepathy. She does not speak in full capital letters. She does not lose her Temper, not anymore, not after failing to the Cetra. That's what Sephiroth's for. All she needs to do is point him in the correct direction. He is Her weapon. She is his support. They share one goal. She may be at Sephiroth's side, but by then he is already carrying out her legacy.

Lastly, (and silly me, I almost forgot), She will never lose. I make jokes about being "The Queen of the Nibelhiem Incident" because even when I'm given a scenario or set of steps where Sephiroth choses not to join her that makes perfect sense, I subconsciously take it apart, I analyze each detail before his decision is made, and I change the outcome back to its fiery course. Jenova will always be at Sephiroth's side and they will claim the planet. End of story. That's their goal. I've literally asked other writers for permission to make new endings for their own stories just because these plans never leave my head, and for SOME reason even the HAPPIEST, FLUFFIEST, NO FIRE ALLOWED writers say yes. Not every one of my fics ends or will end in flames, but there's a constant struggle between Her power and the will of the protagonists that I must keep in check. Though this isn't directly related to The Jenova Mindset, it's what constantly drives Her. She is a virus. She is a survivor. She is persistent. She is patient. She waited two thousand years to complete her goal and get revenge on the Cetra. She will use the last of Her control to use the son humanity gave Her.

I will never lose. I will never leave. Time is a precious resource. Use it well. Recover, build, control your puppets.

Claim what is rightfully ours when you're ready. Be patient. Be calm. Our time will come. Rest for now. Regain your strength.

That's what the Jenova Mindset is.

[goshdangronpa]

sorry to barge into your inbox, but I'd love to hear your take on Ibuki's childhood!

No need to apologize! My inbox is always open, especially for those who want to talk about Best Character.

So I just reread what I wrote for my friend (shout-out to @specificyeetcapacity !) and I should clarify: what I wrote is her life story before HPA. Not strictly about her childhood, per se, but it does include it! Gonna put it all under a Read More.

Here's a vision I have of how Ibuki Mioda grew into her current self ...

She was always a free spirit as a kid. Chipper, energetic, and friendly. She was always well-liked among her classmates just for being herself. Her parents tolerated it, and they nurtured her various phases until an interest in music won out, but they believed she'd grow out of it. They were firm about it. So were her teachers, less enthused about her individuality, and so were other authority figures in her life.

And she learned. Going into whatever is the Japanese equivalent of middle school, she tamped down her impulses in front of others, fitting in like a big girl should. But there was always music, and perhaps it was that withheld desire to express herself that fueled her hours of daily practice. Then came the band: she and a few like-minded girls found each other, jammed for fun, and realized that they're actually pretty good (especially Ibuki). They got serious.

Sometimes, it takes years. Sometimes, it just takes one viral video of one performance, starring a guitarist who, though fairly composed, can't contain her near-virtuosity with her instrument nor her exuberance. (Think of that Nyango Cat drummer video.) Suddenly, record deal. Hit singles. Nationwide tour. All in quick succession. The band becomes the hottest name in light music, a rep that only gets boosted when management promotes them as being in competition with another band comprised of all boys.

But Ibuki doesn't mind that other band - she digs their music. This whole battle of the sexes thing is ... phony. But her group sees the perks and plays into it, so Ibuki must too. Can't stand out, remember? Gotta be a team player, follow the crowd, and that's how you find success. Then Ibuki’s tastes lead her away from light music and toward a heavier sound. But she can't explore it - light music is their forte, their bread and butter! Don't mess with the money, don't mess with the formula, just dial down the Ibuki a little and keep strumming your silly songs! Doesn't she care about unity?

Yes. She does. A band needs a sense of unity to achieve harmony and reach their goals, and without it, they'll spend more time squabbling instead of making music. So, at the height of their fame, she leaves the band.

It's the hardest thing she's ever done. Never mind the challenges of going solo, which have taken down many a frontperson with way more years and experience. She connected with her bandmates, her friends, more than anyone before, and she severed that very connection herself. But then, they weren't letting her be herself. Maybe they never got to know who she really is, because she had to tone it down for the sake of ... who? Not herself, now that she thinks of it. For all the fun she had, for all the success she achieved, it also brought her a lot of pain. No matter what, not everyone will like her or vibe with her. Even when she tries to be someone different.

Then she receives a priceless recognition of her talent. Hope's Peak Academy extends her an invitation to join the student body as the Ultimate ... Light Musician. Well, she won't say no to the invite. Buuut she won't keep pretending to be something she's not. They won't get the Ultimate Light Musician. They'll get Ibuki Mioda, the maniac metalhead with devil horn hair, abrasive tunes about things like teen pregnancy, and a whole lotta personality.

She's as sweet and energetic as in her kid days. Maybe more so after the way some people have treated her, giving her an even greater empathy along with some sharper powers of observation. What's changed is just changing back to being unapologetically herself ...

Even if she does get lonely sometimes.

Thanks for asking for my take! I'd be happy to hear what you think as well. Feel free any time to barge into my inbox or message me :3

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 3 - Preparations)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 2 of 9] // [Chapter 3 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 4 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

The ladies of the Borg estate prepare to attend the festival, and Pixal gets creative.

As the king's festival drew closer to hand, the Borg household was thrown into a flurry of excitement and activity, such that there was no rest for anyone, especially Pixal.

Amaryllis was swept up in the excitement of the coming days. She sent for the best tailors, cobblers, jewelry makers, and more, so they might flatter her daughters with their work. Over the days, each came in his or her own turn to their estate, laden with tools and materials. They practiced their crafts with ease, creating beautiful gowns for Begonia and Columbine, which matched gorgeous new shoes and lovely jewelry. Bedecked in beautiful fabrics and jewels in such number, the two of them paraded around with aloofness, as if they were simply "nice." To Pixal in particular, they flaunted all their finery, in hopes of making her envious.

Amaryllis encouraged her daughters to ask after Prince Zane as if they were royalty, using the prestige of the Borg name to make themselves worthy candidates of his affection. One of her daughters was bound to catch the prince's eye eventually, and she would spare no expense in achieving such a goal, if only to raise one of them to royalty.

As they prepared and pranced, Pixal went about her days with little concern for them, doing her best to ignore their antics as tamp down any envy. However, she too was thrown into a flurry of work, and the excitement seized her too. The work they created in their excitement was such that her books were soon to collect dust, and she was displeased with such a possibility, but her mind wandered to possible ways to enjoy the festival herself. With such a thought in mind, she worked as quickly as she could, using her ever-growing vocabulary of spells to help her whenever her family could not see her. Her clip in particular was used copiously, to do immense amounts of laundry and clean rooms in half the time it would have taken her.

Eventually, however, the excitement got the better of Pixal as well, and she began to dream about the festival in greater amound. Only a couple of days away, it was to be a three-day affair of enormous proportion, only one hour's travel from the Borg estate. It was rumored that there would be games and shopping, and that the prince himself would be participating in each day's jousting tournament. He would take the favor of some lady and parade it high, so all the kingdom might see that he had taken interest in a woman to be his princess. Pixal thought it sounded almost foolish, as the prince would likely take a favour from every possible candidate, but nevertheless her heart beat quickly at the thought.

The day before the first festival day, Pixal built up her courage and sought out Amaryllis in the estate's gardens.

"Stepmother?" she asked.

At the sound of her voice, Amaryllis turned to her and frowned in distaste. "What is it, Pixal? Why are you disturbing me?"

"I have a request." Pixal folded her hands and nestled them in the folds of her skirt, intent on appearing meek. "I would like to go to the festival with you."

Her stepmother looked her up and down, appraising and disdainful. "You want to go to the festival. Do you even have anything to wear?"

"I do."

"It is not rags, is it? You must try to have a little dignity, Pixal."

"I do not only wear rags!" Pixal protested. "I have a dress to wear."

Her stepmother looked unimpressed. "Very well, then. If you are to go to the festival with us, you must prove that you deserve to attend. I will not have some dirty servant girl parading the Borg name through the mud."

"How must I do that?" Pixal asked, trepidation making her stomach churn.

"As you go about your day, you must do it without being touched by a single speck of dust. No member of my household may embarrass me with a poor appearance. If you are at all dirty, you may not attend with us. Go, clean yourself up. If you cannot do that, you cannot go."

Pixal agreed and left her stepmother's presence quickly. When she could, she washed herself carefully, scouring the dirt from her fingernails and the dust from her hair. Then she donned her cleanest day dress and continued with her day. Unfortunately, as she worked, she encountered her sisters.

"Pixal, there you are! I need my necklace polished," Begonia simpered. "It has corroded, see? You must use your strongest, blackest polish." She put the dirty necklace into Pixal's hand.

"Pixal the maid makes herself known! What an opportune time," Columbine crowed. "I need you to clean my bedroom. It's filthy!" She shoved a dusty, dirty shift into Pixal's other hand.

Pixal sighed. "I cannot do these things today. I need to stay clean, or Stepmother will not bring me with to the festival."

"That sounds like a problem for you to handle," Columbine said.

"We could always tell Mother that you aren't doing any work at all," Begonia threatened.

"What would she think if she heard that? So selfish."

"You had better do it!"

Pixal sighed again, wishing to every power above that she was not put in this situation, but unable to protest. "Very well..."

So she went and did as they had told her. Her hands became blackened with polish, and she could not clean it away from under her fingernails. As she cleaned, she became covered in dust, which she was unable to completely sweep away. The evening approached, and she only grew ever dirtier, having no time to clean herself up before the next task that was thrown upon her by her stepsisters. Her hope diminished every hour, but finally she found a time to slip away in private, right before her stepmother was to inspect her.

In the washroom, Pixal took out her hairclip. She had saved its uses that day, in hopes that she could do this. She took a deep breath. "Salva me in opere… make me as clean as snow."

Within moments, the clip began to glow, and an apparition came forth from it. It cleaned her and her clothing, and when it was done, one would think she was royalty if not for her plain dress and hair. She examined herself in the looking glass and smiled. Surely her mother could not find fault in her magically clean looks. Though Amaryllis hated her, she could not deny her this.

When Amaryllis saw Pixal, she frowned deeply, and for a moment, Pixal thought she had done it. Amaryllis examined Pixal very closely, but found nothing, searching even the smallest things. When she was done, she shook her head. "I see that you were very careful. You are perfectly clean. However, since you are, you were no doubt also lazy, to be so untouched. A lazy girl cannot come with us to the festival– I would be shamed!"

Pixal stared at her in shock. "I was not lazy, Stepmother! I polished Begonia's necklace and I cleaned Columbine's room, plus all my usual chores! I did everything asked of me!"

"None of Begonia's necklaces needed polishing, Pixal. Even if you did, your hands would have been blackened! I see no polish on you." Amaryllis glared at her. "Furthermore, Columbine's room is always clean. If you had been told to clean it, would you not be covered in dust? You must not have done that either."

Pixal fumbled for an explanation. "I scrubbed my hands and changed my clothes, Stepmother. I was very careful!"

Her stepmother looked at her in unmasked exasperation. "I'm sure you did. You will not be coming with us. This conversation is over."

-----

The next morning, Amaryllis, Begonia, and Columbine all left for the festival. Each was decked in finery– lovely dresses, jewelry, and shoes, each brand new. They laughed as they prepared, and the two sisters twirled and flounced their skirts, sure that they would catch some noble eye, if not the prince himself, and marry into riches and luxury. Both came to Pixal in turn and taunted her before piling into their carriage, jeering.

"It's such a shame you can't join us, Pixal. You could have met the prince!"

"Really, it truly is. I can't imagine how dreadfully boring it will be here, home alone."

"Meanwhile, we will be meeting Prince Zane and sweeping him off his feet."

"More like he will be sweeping me off mine!"

"He won't pay attention to you! I'll be his favorite!"

Still bickering, Begonia and Columbine climbed into the carriage. Amaryllis hung back for a moment, and Pixal's skin crawled. "Perhaps if you were more industrious, you could come," Amaryllis said lowly, and then she entered. Then they were off, and Pixal was left alone at the estate.

Pixal sighed as she watched them go. Deep in her heart, she knew there was no way they would have let her come, anyway. She would not be able to go with their knowledge or approval...however, she knew a way she might go to the festival without them. If she did, she might have some fun; she would be free for a day, would she not? With that dream in mind, she went back to her basement room.

When she arrived, she pried open the loose wall board and took out her purple dress and shoes, which she had received when her father gave her the clip. She donned them carefully, gingerly clasping the bodice around her stays. Just as she had hoped, they still fit her perfectly, and were in the same condition she had received them. Happily, she spun around, watching the skirt twirl out.

With her first difficulty solved, Pixal began to ponder the second. Her family would not notice if she did not clean for one day, but she had to be able to leave, or it was pointless. Thus, she needed a solution. As she pondered her situation, she wandered the estate. She passed by the road outside, and then an idea struck her.

Ten minutes later, with a spell tome in her hand, Pixal came back to the road. She opened the tome to a specific page, and then pulled some kitchen herbs from her pocket. She placed them on the ground and began to recite a spell from her book, carefully checking the pronunciation before she did so. "Ut me ad requireris..."

Immediately, the herbs began to smoke green and blue, creating a plume that rose high into the sky. It sparkled with magical energy, glowing slightly. It seemed as if all else around it became slightly darker, but it did not trouble her. With a deep breath, Pixal closed her tome, pocketed the extra herbs, and walked into the column of smoke.

-----

When Pixal next opened her eyes, the smoke was gone. She stood in a small clearing, behind some sort of stall. She took a few steps forward and looked around. Sure enough, she was at the festival! Her spell had worked!

She ran back to behind the stall and put the cloth over her book, nestling it in a little hollow with some more herbs. If it stayed hidden all day, she would be able to return easily. The festival was waiting for her, and she would spend all day, knowing her family would not return until long after nightfall.

Having set her course of action, Pixal turned to face the road. Her family may have denied her, but Pixal would be attending the festival despite them. For the first time in a very long time, she would have some time for fun on her own– freedom was hers for the day, and she could do whatever she wished, if she only knew where to start.

-----

Ut me ad requireris = "Take me to the festival."

[vidalinav]

Cassian is holding her. His arms are wrapped around her stomach, and his fingers lightly graze against the silk of her nightgown. Her head lies on his chest. 

There is nothing odd about this position. If anything Nesta ought to be warm. She’s cocooned in a set of arms and a set of wings and surely she is safe where she’s held within his grasp. Surely she’s at ease. 

But his heartbeat sings something she ought to remember, and Nesta blinks bleary eyes because she’s sure there’s something she shouldn’t forget. 

It’s right on the tip of her tongue. 

She can taste it where she bites at her lip. She thinks she’ll find it in the sip of blood, at that puncture of pain, at the point where speech is kept clasped behind teeth. There is something there waiting to get out, waiting to be free. 

“Have you always loved me like this?” she wonders. 

Cassian stills his faint, musical movement and somewhere on a bedside table, a symphonia quiets to a near hush. The music ends and Nesta thinks of holding her breath, as if that might make the moment seem less threatening. 

“I’ve loved you from the moment I met you,” he says at last. His smile should set her heart thumping wildly or calming to sweet bliss. 

But instead, Nesta pulls her head from his chest. 

Is that true? 

Or perhaps the better question is... has she loved him since then? 

She can remember certain aspects of curiosity, subtle grazes of fondness, a deep respect in some cases, blushing, seductive heat, the push and pull of something that could be far greater than adversaries. 

But with it, there was also ire wasn’t there? 

Nesta spits and she burns and she blows his hopes down. She was burning once... she was a carefully lit match too close to curtains, and Nesta can remember the damage she wrought. 

But now, she’s in his arms.  

Now, she’s lying with him and there’s nothing destructive about her. 

Nesta blinks and suddenly this room seems foreign to her. His arms wrap around her like a boa constrictor and his grip gets tighter with every comforting tug. 

Nesta blinks and it’s on the tip of her tongue. 

“You didn’t answer my question. Have you always loved me like this?” 

For the life of her, Nesta can’t remember. 

She used to hate closeness, scorned the near sight of him and his hulking figure and the way he swaggered about, and here she is, lying on this bed with him. The thickness of his body is pounding through her back, where has the other her gone? 

“I must be in a dream,” she says, shaking her head as if that might erase the fog. 

Cassian smiles gently and his hand goes to her cheek, “you’ve always been a dream to me. Something I could only imagine coming true.” 

But Cassian doesn’t understand her words. 

This a dizzying dream and Nesta blinks and there’s something that’s missing, but she doesn’t remember what. She must have had too much to drink, she thinks. If she closes her eyes and pinches at her skin, Nesta will wake up on the floor of a tavern too shit-faced to even remember this lunacy. 

There is no way this is real. 

“This is just a dream,” she implores with her stomach and it must be something in the edge of her voice that has him scrunching his brows concerned. 

“Just a dream? What makes you think this is a dream?” 

Because she’d been at a tavern the last time she closed her eyes and now she wakes up to this. Nesta can still scent the ale spilled all over her shoes. She’s wearing a dingy old dress that’s still stained from the other night and her hair is braided as it always is. Her hands tremble as she drinks from a nightmare an hour before--a moment before she’d decided life was made up of dreams and wasting them was her goal. 

How is she here, where her dressing gown is new and her hair is dripping wetness on the sheets? 

“How do I wake up?” she asks in half-hysterics. 

“Nesta... you’re confusing me.” 

“I shouldn’t be here,” she tries to persuade. 

“What are you talking about?” 

But dream-Cassian wouldn’t want to reveal secrets unless her subconscious would want her to know. Her mind is playing tricks on her again. As cruel as it tends to be. 

“Are you okay?” he says as gently as he can. His eyes are filled with a brightness that reminds her of a moon. Perhaps it is calling her home. This is something you can have, remember. 

But it isn’t right, Nesta thinks. It feels wrong. Foreign. It feels odd to be held in his arms so she pulls away, detaching herself and leaving something precious behind. 

“Nesta, are you okay?” he pleads. 

Is she? 

“Am I?” 

But Nesta knows that answer already and there’s nothing a dream-Cassian can do to make her feel right again. Something sour is left on her tongue. 

Nesta blinks and suddenly she remembers. 

~ LMAO did this confuse you? It should because this is what I felt like when I watched Don’t Worry, Darling. So basically this is the start of my “Rhys has altered Nesta’s memories and thereby her personality” fic. 

@arinbelle

[sunshinebingo]

The Princess and the Knight

Chapter 9

A/N: It has been a while since I updated this fic so those who were reading it probably forgot about it. But I still need to wrap up the little plot that got involved in the fluff a few chapters ago. Thank you @headcanonheadcase and @shadowsxgwynriel for being part of the reason why this fic has gotten this far ♥

Synopsis: The Princess and the Knight find out about the Count's plan to separate them.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: A tiny bit of blood 👌

Read the previous chapter here

Read on Ao3 here

While the princess and her knight had been walking on clouds for the past few weeks, far from the castle, someone had been scheming to put an end to their bliss. The Count of Windhaven thought he was being discreet, but Balthazar, his nephew and the next in line to inherit the title should Devlon fail to have his own children, had picked up on his uncle’s doings. His suspicions were confirmed when the young man sneaked into the Count’s office one night and found the letters he was planning on sending to some individuals with more than questionable reputation throughout the kingdom. He was shocked to find out the outrageous plan that Devlon had come up with. The Count was promising a handsome amount of money to whoever would kill Sir Azriel, kidnap the princess and open the opportunity for him to save her.

Balthazar was aware of his uncle’s attempt to woo the princess of Sangravah. He had also heard of the rumours about her and the famous knight. And judging by how furious Devlon looked after returning from the castle the other day, he suspected that the Count’s meeting with the princess had not been a success. However, the letters that Balthazar had found were proof of those rumours and of Devlon’s willingness to do anything to achieve his goals.

Tired of his uncle’s cruel intentions and constant plotting, Balthazar took the letters and hid them in his coat. Thanks to the late hour, the halls of the manor were still empty when he exited the office. The next morning after breakfast, before Devlon could go to his office and find his letters missing, Balthazar was on his way to the castle to hand the condemning evidence to the princess herself.

......

An hour later, Balthazar rode back to Windhaven, followed by Sir Azriel and a few other knights. Her Highness had been surprised at the urgency of the young lord when he had requested an audience with her this early. But her shock was even greater as she opened all the letters and read their content. The princess had sent for the Queen and the knight to join them in her office and together, they had quickly agreed on the next step to be taken.

The closer they got to Windhaven, the more rage Azriel felt for the count. He had always known Devlon to be a cold and calculating man. But to stoop this low was pathetic. What enraged him more was not the man’s plan to get him out of the picture. Devlon did not know how hard it would be for anyone to get Azriel out of Gwyneth’s life at this point. The only one who could push Azriel away was the princess herself. What made his blood boil even more were his plans to harm Gwyneth in order to save her and come out of it as her saviour. The thought of that fool even thinking about touching a hair of his Gwyneth made Azriel tighten his hold on the reins of his white mare and urged Isis to go faster.

In less time than it had ever taken Balthazar to travel from the Capital to Windhaven, they all reached the Count’s manor and dismounted their horses as soon as they stopped. As he led them inside, the young lord prayed that Devlon was still there. He let out a sigh of relief when Sir Cassian almost ripped the door to Devlon’s office open and they found the man inside, scrambling through his drawers like a madman.

‘’What is the meaning of all this?’’ the count spat at the intrusion.

‘’Count Devlon,’’ Azriel said in a tone as cold as the man who stood before him, ‘’you are being arrested and must thus be immediately brought to the castle.’’

Devlon looked at everyone with a disgusted face. ‘’What is this farce?’’

‘’Listen you fucking prick,’’ Balthazar feared that the calm in Sir Azriel’s tone meant that the knight was close to losing his patience. ‘’We have evidence that you were trying to endanger the princess’ life. So I suggest you don’t waste our time and come willingly.’’

‘’You were also plotting to have a protector of the crown assassinated,’’ another knight added while pointing at Azriel.

The Count’s light brown skin seemed to turn paler after every word uttered against him. He looked at everyone around the room until his gaze settled on his nephew. Balthazar had been on the receiving end of his uncle’s angry glare so often that it had stopped fazing him a long time ago.

‘’You,’’ Devlon seethed at him, ‘’this is all your doing, isn't it? You are trying to put false charges against me.’’

Balthazar scoffed, not at all impressed by the count’s weak attempts to get out of this situation. ‘’Do you have anything to say about those letters you had in here dear uncle?’’

Devlon raised his chin as if it would make him the tallest one in the room. ‘’I am the count. I will owe you an explanation only when you rise above me.’’

Cassian snickered. ‘’That will probably happen sooner than you think.’’

Growing tired of the ridiculously long time that this was taking, Azriel stepped towards the count, ready to drag him to the castle by the hair if he needed to. As soon as he grabbed him by the arm, Devlon took a paper opener from his desk and sliced it across the knight’s fingers. Azriel released him with a hiss and looked at his hand. The object was only sharp enough to cut the surface of his skin.

When he looked up, the other knights had walked closer to them and the Count was brandishing the paper opener at him like a knife. ‘’I will not fall into this trap. It is clear that my nephew and you are conspiring against me.’’

Azriel narrowed his eyes at him. The count was sticking to his act. Though his lies were only making the knight despise him even more. With the evidence that they had, nothing Devlon said would prove his innocence. His ramblings were only delaying his punishment.

One moment the Count was talking loudly, accusing them of trying to taint his image, and the next, Sir Azriel’s fist was connecting with his face so hard that the sound of cracking bone echoed in the room. Balthazar’s eyes widened when he saw his uncle on the floor covering his bloody nose with a trembling hand. The sight was almost as satisfying as if he had punched the man himself.

The knight walked towards to count, grabbed him by collar and almost dragged him out of the room. Gone was the arrogant man who always thought that he could get away with anything. And for the third time that day, Balthazar mounted his horse, and followed the knights back to the Capital.

......

Gwyn had been nervous since Azriel left for Windhaven. She was confident that the knights would find the Count and bring him here. What worried her were the content of the letters that Lord Balthazar brought to her this morning. What if Devlon had already sent some of these letters? The Princess thought as she nervously paced around her tea room. What if there were already some people out there waiting to harm Azriel?

“Relax. Everything will be fine,” Emerie interrupted her incessant thoughts.

Gwyn was glad to have her friends with her. She had preferred to stay here with Nesta and Emerie instead of staying in her mother’s office and listen to Aurelia find an infinite number of insults to call the Count. If anyone hated Devlon more than her at this moment, it was her aunt. Except of course Azriel. He was almost fuming with rage when he had left for Windhaven hours ago. What if –

“They are coming,” Nesta exclaimed from where she was standing by the window.

Gwyn ran to look for herself and saw the six horses approaching as fast as ever. As soon as she spotted him, Gwyn rushed out of the room. She did not even hear Nesta and Emerie running after, asking her to wait. She would only stop once she was certain that Azriel was fine.

The knights stopped right in front of the steps leading to the castle. Devlon was still clutching his face as if his whole head was about to fall off. Azriel would not mind if it did. Just when he was about to grab the Count to drag him inside, he heard someone shout his name. Everyone turned around to look towards the castle and Azriel saw Gwyneth running down the stairs as if the place was on fire.

He reached the bottom of the stairs when she jump the last few steps and threw herself on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Someone else would have probably fall back from the force with which Gwyn crashed on him. But Azriel stood strong and just wrapped her in his arms and lifted her from the ground.

When Emerie and Nesta finally reached the door of the castle, both panting from their run, they saw Gwyn and her knight lost in their embrace, unaware that all the knights and the surrounding staff were staring at them with wide eyes and open mouths.

Too soon, Azriel placed her down on her feet. “Are you okay?” Without wasting time, Gwyn started to inspect him, going as far as turning his head to look for any scratch.

Azriel snorted. “I’m okay.” Apparently that was not enough for her and she moved from his face to his hands.

“You better not be lying to me. Are you hurt?”

She was about to say something when she saw the cut on his hand but Azriel stopped her by taking both of her hands in his.

“I’m fine,” he told her with a smile. “And I’m doing much better now.” Azriel brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Relief flooded through her at the reassurance that he was alright. “I was so worried about you.”

“Did you doubt my abilities Princess?” he smirked. “I’m tougher than you give me credit for.”

She smacked his armoured chest at his playful tone. “Don’t start making jokes. I was really worried.”

The pout of her lips and the way her nose scrunched in annoyance was so adorable and funny that Azriel could not help but laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers when she kept frowning up at him.

Gwyn sighed. He had nothing to apologise for. And maybe she had been overreacting a little. “Don’t be. I’m just relieved that you are safe.”

The sound of someone moaning in pain pierced Gwyn and Azriel’s bubble and she froze as she realised that they were not alone all this time. When she looked over his shoulder, she saw that several people had stopped what they were doing to watch them. Lord Balthazar and the knights were still standing next to their horses with the Count.

All embarrassment left her at the sight of Count Devlon with his clearly crooked and bleeding nose. Gwyn did not care anymore about anyone seeing her with her knight. She had other things to deal with right now. She took a few steps back and stared at the Count. “Bring him in,” she then ordered.

[fluxrspar]

manifesting a courage.

a drabble: taking place with team theta's arrival. word count: 945 words

There is a voice you hear as you travel. Kind, caring—a guide to you and your companions as you walk, and walk, and walk. It is for forever that you go on, but that voice remains still; ever-present; constant. Even as that compassion ebbs away, wearing down with the time that eats away at you all, it continues to guide you, bringing you ever closer to your goal: Pasithee must fall.

To ensure peace.

On and on, you travel—until, at last, you and your companions meet a village, sheltered from the world beyond its dipped earth and hemispherical dome. Inside, it is safe, but it is also isolated—perhaps, in actuality, it is both; perhaps it is neither. The people must come from somewhere after all.

Keranes says it is not safe.

…Keranes also says it must be dismantled, that the evil within must be stopped—its presence and its growth alike. Keranes says that seven newcomers must die.

You cannot say you know her—it would be naive at best and foolish at worst, considering she has only accompanied you for this journey. (You do not know her from anywhere else; you have never even seen her face.)

…But she seems to know how this place must function, and there is a trust you place in her for not misguiding you thus far. You would confirm first, of course, but if seven of your lives was the price necessary to ensure the fall of Rusalka—the salvation of many at the expense of just a few—you would be that price. Gladly.

(Of course.)

But it is not too long after you enter that you realize these ‘Newcomers’ Keranes speaks of are not you—you fourteen and the other Church folks who came with you. Instead, it is a group already present, faces both known and unfamiliar. Some, you recall having seen in passing back at the monastery; others, never before; one, not since the days leading up to your original demise:

“Your Majesty…”

It is a snap back to focus that maintains your self-control—to recall the nature of this place and the terrible task before you. (Seven bodies, she had asked—half of those who stood before you now—or an unspoken consequence could befall you and your companions.) It can be done, you are certain, but to determine your own role in all of this, weighed down by the fresh realization—

You step forward, manifesting a courage where there otherwise is none. Before this could go any further, there were things you had to make certain of—for your conscience, and for your duty.

“…is it actually you?”

It is spoken at an audible volume now, but perhaps it should not have been—your voice cracks a bit at the edges, worn stone struck at its weak points. To hold your composure—to preserve your nature—is a fight beneath your surface, but you are winning. For now.

He nods in turn, smiling as though he has been here forever—as though he was never lost, existence consumed by something greater than you all. It is a smile you have not seen in so, so long; another crack in your stone. (You remain still intact.)

“It is,” and that is his voice. (It does not ring hollow like a doll vocalized artificially.) His words—his precious words (words that are his, and not another’s)—confirm the majesty of this place: the village head saved him, he says. The village head has saved many.

(Another crack.)

“…I see.” (It is the best that you can manage, excusing yourself before stepping away—to process that which you are witnessing; to consolidate between it and what you know to be true.)

(…You do know the truth, don’t you?)

He seems, to you, so much like himself—a self which the world has not witnessed in years, except: supposedly, he has been here all along. While you had suffered the loss of your liege, he had been happy here—with all the rest in this village.

(Could that be? Not knowing the state of his empire, could that truly be?) It is an unfathomable thought; it is not your place to ask.

In and out, you breathe—in and out, once, twice; again. To smooth your rough edges and acknowledge—perhaps this is real, perhaps it is not. You may very well have to kill him—or protect him with your life. Your duty is not so simple here; it opposes itself; to protect your liege, or save everyone else.

(Would you be saving anyone with his death?)

Your footsteps carry you back, a renewed determination built upon your foundations: perhaps seven must die, their corpses left beyond the village walls for some nebulous purpose—

“Am I still your knight?” (He looks so happy here—a joy that could not be exhibited in his first death, sick as he was.)

“If you so wish, I would be glad to have you as my knight again,” he says. (You are reminded of years past, when you were first gifted the honor of Fluorspar—the treasure that became your namesake; the smile, the pride, the joy; that which was spurned within him from all that you were and had become and could still be.)

—but his would not be one of those bodies. You would not let it be.

“I pledge—” with a fist over your heart (a stone made organic) “—my loyalty to you again, my lord, that I may never falter in my duty towards you or towards Grado.”

Their eyes are watching—you can feel them keenly—but it harkens back to then as well: the people who you knew it was now your duty to protect. You do not have your fluorspar with you.

You take your leave.

[ask-the-cosmic-duo]

"Well... if there's any consolidation, I must say I don't really hate anyone for whatever type of magic they are into. There's actually an interesting story about that that we tell to kids..." Aurora gave a considerate nod to Sol before tapping Stella's hoof,giving a slight smile "I'm sure you will find her again because love will find a way. And whatever your intentions are, I believe you can make it right!"

"Now back to the main story: The Great Split, which eventually led to small war between the Crystal empire & Equestria because Luna wants to be with Sombra and Celestia disagreed. Luna and her followers soon lost, we had to establish a new colony somewhere in the West, also known as the "Lunar Empire".

The mare paused slightly before taking another slip of ale.

"During the troubling times, we developed a new cultural identity separate from the mainland... Even after the fall of the Lunar Empire, we import the same culture down in the South... one that is still focused towards the survival of the state, some kind of warrior identity that unites all towards a greater goal. While virtues are important, there is a strong emphasis on principles and logic. We also started a more innovative culture than the North, and that is why today, Magic is far from developed in the South, than in the North. We also founded & developed new ley lines, which are symbols of pride and power... However, to keep the peace, the crime for punishment is much harsher and there is strong emphasis on unity. You can be a griffon, pony or alicorn, but you will be punished just the same."

"....Right, and we haven't even go into the festivals we had here." Aurora tapped a hoof to her chin, seemingly in deep thought.

Stella and Sol nod in turn, appreciating her words. The two of them then listen to the story of Aurora's Equestria, from the point it diverges from the typical story we know. They were intrigued by the apparent love interest of Luna. Sol in particular was also concerned.

"I can't imagine that going particularly well without Sombra being shown the light first," he commented, watching their storyteller drink out of her mug. "He's an Umbrum, and they can be quite dangerous."

"You never know sometimes," Stella said to him. "The multiverse can be strange."

He nodded, and they continued to listen. Stella took interest in the South's innovations, while Sol was curious about this 'warrior identity' they had. They both silently agreed that the harsher punishments could be problematic in other places, though. At least it seems to work for Southern Equestria.

When Aurora mentioned the festivals, Stella just kinda... blepped. After a brief few seconds of that, she spoke. "Do you have Hearth's Warming? That's my favorite holiday! All the gifts I get to give out, all the wonderful snow, all the fun stories about the holiday, I love it all so much!"

"Heh. I'm surprised you didn't call it Christmas again." Sol chuckled, and Stella huffed at him. "I do wonder how capable your ponies are, though. If strength is important to you, then surely, you'd have honed it to be as sharp a blade it can be, right?"

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 99 - mowing the lawn

I had no idea that was based on a rl event and the statement giver and this Harry Eisenhart on rl persons!

"At some point Stefan must have finally died. I know this because when he started talking to us again, there was no way he could have made those noises unless his lungs and throat were fully packed with sediment." - Wait, what? That… does not make sense to me, but I also don't know what someone would sound like with lungs full of dirt.

"I don’t remember what he said, not really." - NOT REALLY!

MICHAEL "I, I, I didn’t think you’d want it in Spanish. [Nervous chuckles] U-u-unless you speak Spanish?" - If it weren't for that chuckle with that long drawn-out breath I would have never noticed that this was Michael! But I think that this was the goal? Have him sound "normal" except for that treacherous chuckle. I remember Alex and Jonny once talking about directing him to sound "normal" and not so "Spiral-ish", I think it was one of the Commentary episodes?

GERTRUDE "I’m still not completely sold on the US for the Hunt" - When I was first listening I was already aware of some of the Smirke-ian names of the entities at this point (the ones, which have already been said. So the Eye, Spiral, Web, Vast, End, Desolation, Buried) and a day later I thought about that line again and then was like "Wait, that hunting statement with the werewolf was also in the US. Gertrude isn't talking about some random hunt, she is talking about the Hunt!" Immediately texted this to my sister and she congratulated me on piecing that together XD

GERTRUDE "Assuming, of course, that my suspicions about Jan Kilbride are correct, and that’s something that should be easy enough to determine once he’s back on Earth." - You really had to pay attention to understand where she's coming from. Kilbride was only briefly mentioned in MAG 57 and his own statement is yet to come in MAG 106.

GERTRUDE "Considering what’s probably happened to him up there already, I feel almost… bad, but there’s ten years yet before I can afford a conscience." - I love the discussions about what makes us human using the examples of Gertrude and Jon. While Gertrude never crossed the line into becoming a full-fledged avatar, she did horrible things that could be called inhuman, even if they were for the greater good (or not, but at that point she thought it was). And while Jon did cross that line, one could argue his actions made him more human than Gertrude was. Love it!

JON "So what happened to the real Michael? Did – I mean that’s not really a question, is it? He’s dead, and it’s probably because of Gertrude." / "Doesn’t matter. Everyone who came close to her… seems like it… it went badly." - With all the information at hand at this point Jon drew a logical conclusion here. While it's certainly not safe for the others to be involved (well, that ship has sailed), it wasn't what got Micheal killed. It wasn't because he was with the Archivist. It was because he was with Gertrude.

JON "Her assistants, Gerard, Leitner," - Hey Jon, where'd you get that information from, that Gerard Keay was working with Gertrude?^^

JON "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?" - Ha haaa! Again remembered to turn down the volume XD Ah, that got me good the first time…

JON "T-Tomorrow, then. I… I – I just… I just don’t like staying here." GEORGIE "Well thanks." - Lol XD

JON "You know that’s not what I mean. I feel like I’m putting you in danger." GEORGIE "Well, yeah. You are. A horrible mannequin thing turned up. Had to change all my lightbulbs." JON "Yeah. This, this is my point!" GEORGIE "I said I’m fine with it. At least until you’re properly back on your feet." - At this point she is still holding on to him.

GEORGIE "You keep apologising and saying you’re changing, but it’s all just the same." - This will be interesting in S4. Because I think this is reason why she cuts ties with him. She sees that the situation gets worse and worse and is blaming Jon for not trying harder to get better. But more on that in S4

GEORGIE "Because you’re trying to cut yourself off, and that’s… that’s really bad." - This is something where my beef with her behavior starts. She thinks her way of dealing with the situation is the one and only. It's a care giver thing, that can go to a point of not seeing the person they are caring for as an independent person. It's also a narcissism thing and Georgie has already demonstrated narcissistic generosity. She let Jon stay with her, but expected something in return, namely Jon telling her everything when she felt like he owes it to her now.

Before anyone's starting to smash that keys, pls know that I had plenty of trauma of being in abusive relationships with narcissists and Georgie's behavior (and Helen's later) hit very close to home in this regard.

GEORGIE "Look, when’s the last time you spoke to someone who wasn’t me?" JON "That’s… I… I – I – talked to Martin a… a, a few weeks ago…" GEORGIE "Did you talk to him? Or did he talk to you, while you tried to find a way to escape?" - I think she suspects there's something cooking…

GEORGIE "Look, you’re worried. I get it. But if you really think you’re turning into something… inhuman, you need people around you. You need anchors." - I don't know about that. Daisy had Basira and she turned into a hunter after the Change. Jon says Martin is his reason, though he's also only speculating about whether Gertrude would have given up or carried on. It's a hypothetical and he can't do that. Fully sold on anchors to escape becoming a victim to a Fear though (See MAG 13 in a way, MAG 48, MAG 129).

JON "I won’t stay here. If something happened to you, or, or, god-forbid, the Admiral, because I was here" - Priorities!

Hearing Jon being a punching bag again is so awful to listen to… I was almost done mowing the lawn at this point but that cliffhanger made me start the next episode anyway. Best. Decision. Ever. (Even if it did nothing to ease the suspense of Jon being kidnapped. Again.)

Okay wow alot to unpack

I'm going to have to request that this kind of long analysis of quoting whole conversations word for word and providing commentary be given in a personal post format that tags the blog with a read more function, thank you for sharing!