#since they can shed their old lives and put them towards something greater

[pinpkachu]

i forget that as a human i was gifted with the ability to create anything my heart wishes, be it literature, art, song, etc

[hunterartemis]

Media Bias (Avengers X Alien!Reader)

It was a request from anonymous reader and since I have limited experience with tagging, I am going to quote the person’s request here:

“ Hi can you please do Avengers x reader where the reader is like Starfire from og teen titans (but the reader is green and the blasts are blue) and the Avengers go on a talk show and the host is being very mean to her. Thanks”

So, dear anonymous. I hope you enjoy!“

Words: a whopping 4100

Y/n, open the door” I heard Sam thudding away on my door as I buried myself in the layers of blanket and put the air condition humid enough to cause a mini monsoon.

“Go away Wilson and leave me alone--” I bellowed on top of my voice.

“Y/n it’s been more than 7 hrs, you got to come out... whatever happened in the morning you gotta let it go--”

“I don’t wanna let it go... I am a national embarrassment--”

You must be thinking, what is the situation you’ve been dragged into. Let me pause there and rewind 17 hours back to give you a complete understanding which lead to this complete mess.

People think our story ended and sealed with Thanos never got to see what we go through in the New York penthouse. With the ongoing Pandemic on board, people are desperate to see us even more, as if it is the new Thanos and we are to defeat it. There is no greater sense of helplessness than playing the puppet of courage without doing anything. So whoever wrote that “after the defeat of big bad, the heroes rejoice” was a big idiot.

And thus, I found myself awake after hours, sitting alongside the broad glass panel that showed the completely stopped-in-time, shining in the dark cityscape of once bustling New York. A fleeting sense of desolation plagued me as I remember my own world in the verge of extinction. My breath almost stopped in the great worry of my fellow living being in this planet; the one who saved me from destitution--

 “y/n, is that you?”A calm and concerned paternal voice broke the train of my thought. I sharply looked behind my shoulder to see a disheveled figure of man standing in the dark. By the tousled curls and the slouched hem of the sweatpants, I knew was Bruce.

“Urh, you startled me!” I said with a dismissive voice. I felt almost embarrassed to realize what I was thinking moments ago. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself.

“It’s you who startled me y/n, what are you doing up so late?” Bruce said with a groggy voice rubbing his eyes rather irritatingly. “We have an important event to attend tomorrow first thing in the morning” he slowly moved towards from the shadowy part of the room to the path of dimmed light from the glass panel and spared a long glance at my face. The way he looked at me sometimes irritated me, because it was an inalienable fact that he fell into the same category of humans who express an unhealthy obsession with my kind: a scientist.

“It’s not like I enjoy staying up like you Lowly Human...I am as stressed for tomorrow as you are!” I tore my face from his ken to express my displeasure. In reply, he sighed disappointedly, which sounded patronizing in my already agitated mind.

“I wish you’d stop insulting my specie whenever you get upset...” he gently put his hand in my shoulder, but soon he withdrew and stepped back. “And what is that god-awful smell?”

Any female whether she is human or not is very sensitive to criticism, especially about how she appears, thus Bruce’s comment was not only offensive but hurtful as well. I could not restrain my anger and annoyance anymore, and I stood up sharply to face him “I just happen to wet myself in the rain yesterday at my detour downtown and it turns out it has too much sulphuric acid and it is peeling my skin away... right before when I am about to go up close on television.”  My hand subconsciously moved up to my cheek, where flakes were forming in my otherwise jade smooth skin. “And you are telling me to stop insulting your specie... I will when you unicellular cretins will stop ruining your own environment—“ I folded my arms defensively, gazing away from Bruce’s face “--as if I don’t get ridiculed enough for my chrorophyllic skintone, and now I am shedding like a common reptile.”

“Alright alright I am sorry...” Bruce threw up his arms defensively, and his small paces back and forth showed his discomfort more than anything, “do you want something for your skin, CeraVe or something? I can fetch you some ice if you want?”

His apologetic gesture made my whole effort defeated; but my pride disrupted me from being apologetic “Forget it... as if those human manures would work on my skin—“ I heaved a sigh and looked at him again “must we do the thing? I mean I am not the only alien that set foot on earth in this decade, why must I be walked around like a showdog in front of all the people?”

For some moments Bruce did not answer me. I almost thought he was ignoring me, but then I realised that he must be contemplating on every word he wanted to say and every word that was running through his brilliant mind. Out of anyone in the team, Bruce was the visual hole, the less than heroic material: even with the Hulk. And for this, the society made sure that he would be self conscious for the rest of his life for his other identity. My annoyance almost melted to sympathy when I heard him speak in a rather frustrated voice.

“Y/N, I know that you are stressed about this and frankly I hate this stuff too, but this is very important for the people: for your people as well as ours. Not all things that come from the space are benign and people need reassurance that you are not hostile. I hate this too, but it is for the greater good!”

“Greater good, greater good... it is always for the greater good!”  The same old daily whining of lofty agenda made me sick “I am sick and tired of these Brucie, I don’t want to do this anymore... I am tired about people asking me weird questions and cretins posing as scientists trying to push probes on me the first chances they get-- I wish I could just disappear with the portal that brought me in this cursed place!“

Bruce came closer and grabbed my shoulders gently “Don’t say that y/n... otherwise we wouldn’t have the means to counterattack all those aliens—“ my silence might have given him the cue that he wasn’t doing a very good job at convincing. His wavering eyes fixed on my face once again as he spoke “okay, here is a deal: how about it is the last time you appear in public, hm? Once you satisfy them that you are part of the team, I swear people will leave you alone... they left the Hulk alone too once they understood that he is one of the good guys!”

“No but...“

“No ifs and buts... go, and have some sleep. Let me look in the lab if we have some squalanes and peptide solutions lying around—“ he said with a paternal affection and disappeared into the dark passage which lead to his room

“Thanks Brucie you are the best—“

I couldn’t help but to smile a little. Humans!

...

“This is a bad idea I am telling you--“ I told Bruce with an hushed tone as the makeup artist went on with a puff on my face for the millionth times. The rest of my team was behind me, getting the same attentions to their dismay. I could tell Bucky was downright uncomfortable as his makeup artist had a hard time getting not distracted by his bionic arm; and Wanda was downright glaring at the man who kept flicking the brush on her nose.

“relax y/n, you are smart and you are friendly, you are going to ace this and trust me people are going to love you--“ Bruce said with gritted teeth to make sure no one could tell what he was saying. He almost flinched as some of the powder made into his nose and the makeup artist followed him up with a q-tip.

“My face is itchy...“ I whispered again, trying not to gouge my face out with my nails as the powder sat on the flaky part of the cheek. If this wasn’t a studio I would have scratched my face like a lunatic and ended up as someone who was attacked by a bear in the mountains. And I was glad that I was standing beside Bruce who knew how not to go overboard with the things. Clint would have brushed them off, Wanda and Bucky would have panicked, and Sam’s gestures no matter how genuine would have made me laugh.

“Wanda already told the makeup artist to spray you with Squalane, your face isn’t half as bad as it were yesterday night“ Bruce then went on politely gesturing the makeup artist to spray the stuff Bruce brought from the lab in a clear bottle, and the look on the Makeup Artist’s face was between annoyance and bursting into tears.

“Brucie...“ “I don’t wanna mess it up--“ I said nervously as we walked into the couch and settled with the others.

“Trust me you won’t... “ Bruce graciously consoled me.

The cameraman cued and we were all gestured to look into the main camera as the lights in front of us adjusted accordingly. Within all hustle and bustle, the host walked in like a royalty, and by the looks of his face and those following him with makeup and refreshment, he had a really bad morning.

“We will go on air in 3, 2 and 1”

“Good Morning America, this is your host Justin Fallon and welcome to another episode of The Early Show. Today we have with us some really special guests. You might know them from News, the murals, the comics and the Merchs please welcome our own global superheroes: The Avengers. Welcome to our show” the host said with an uncomfortable friendliness and turned towards us.

"Thanks for having us with you" Sam answered graciously, with a little awkwardness. I could understand why; it was always Tony, Steve and Natasha who spoke in public. After such a terrible loss, he is struggling to fill up their shoes for the sake of our public image. He had been wrapped up into a pretty bad controversy recently for succeeding as Captain America and it had a pretty bad toll on him—to the point his speech kind of went from cheerful to composed in an unnatural way.

 "It’s been way too long since our morning couch looked so colorful and it surely brightens up the day.” The host said with an obligatory politeness. Although the term was innocent enough but it seemed not so—I instantly froze up and million things started flying inside my head: was I looking good enough, is my patches showing under the layers of power and squalane. Turns out it was not me alone. From the corner of my eye I could sense the tension behind me from Clint and Bucky and I know it was different than mine. The host must have wanted the old team, and looked like he was stuck with the mediocre leftovers.

“Thank you...“ Sam replied.

“So here you guys are after averting the big wipeout crisis, in the quiet and chilling, so how does it feel to be in the pensive from being hyperactive all the time?“

“Well, at first it did feel kind of boring and lack luster, but slowly we are adjusting to it. With the ongoing Pandemic crisis I think we just have to adjust to the situation. In a way, I think we are all helping each other by staying inside and recuperating.” Sam answered diplomatically.

“That’s so nice” the interviewer said quite curtly and then changing the topic he sharply turned to Doctor Banner “I know of all you people Dr. Banner will find this Lockdown Leisure slightly more comforting, isn’t that so Doctor Banner?”

Wait, what was that? Was that even normal? Sam was sitting in the front and after him Bucky, then Wanda and then Bruce. Should not he come gradually? Breathe... maybe I am reading too much into this. Keep a friendly face, don’t think too much... the entire nation is watching... this is the one time I have to do things right! It’s for me, my team who housed me and my people.

I had to give props to Bruce for managing things calmly despite his claims about public speaking. He politely replied “Well theoretically it should be but it’s not like causes of anger cannot exist within the so called peaceful environment if you think about it, but I am glad you showed your concern” and like a pro, reached out to the glass in front of him to sip some water—like some real celebs in talk shows.

“Isn’t that true! So Solaris, how does it feel to be surrounded by the icons of the earth?”

I wasn’t really ready for the sudden attention. For a second I blanked out completely and gaped my mouth like a complete idiot. My stupefied face must have been quite prominent because the host tried to laugh it off lightly to divert the attention. I am still wrapping my head around the fact how some humans work so beautifully under so much attention—If I could choose between blasting off alien armies and speaking in talk shows, I will take the aliens instead.

“I..I--It’s quite fun... there is never a dull moment with them--“ I manage to utter, and thankfully it wasn’t a gurgling sound from a deep abyss.

“The thing is, being the most newest member, you sort of have a mystery around you, the kind of a Blue Comet sort--“

“Oh thank you— “ great going me, like a real talk show celeb—keep it up!

“So why don’t we break that down... Solaris, is that true that you came from a whole another galaxy which is not Milky Way?” the Talk show host asked, reading from a small piece of card.

Finally, something I can talk about all day: stars, planets and galaxy. I will have to slay this, I chanted inside and replied after drawing a breath “Yes that’s true. I am from Planet Auriga from Pleiades system. Our Sun is Alcyone, the second brightest star right after Aldebaran. You people call our system Taurus Constellation--” 

“--so much astrophysics, take notes kids they might ask you at the NASA interview.“ the talk show host interrupted. It annoyed me greatly because I could finish the words I worked so hard to speak confidently. So that’s how Bruce must feel all the time when people interrupted him when he explains things. However the host went on as if nothing happened “For a near human creature in this planet, do you identify more with the Professor X’s troop or with the Avengers?”

Near human creature? My race is literally the most Superior in all of galaxy.

“I don’t really understand what you mean...” I said as politely as I could manage.

“I mean isn’t it hard to fit in when you are the only alien in the group--“

The flippant remark was rude and I tried not to wrap my head around it. I recalled Bruce’s words to keep cool and maintain a neutral face replied : “I mean I am not the only one, Thor is also not of the earth and he is a darling to be around. Alien or not I think I have learned a lot about myself and the ways of earth by spending time with this wonderful people?“

I could hear the audience clapping and cheering with my reply. A surge of pride swept across my chest and I smiled slightly at the audience.

“How sweet--“ the host said, keeping with the cheerful mood “as the outer world people are coming into the planets, we think a lot of things are shifting, do you find it hard to cope into the earth from where you come from--“

Finally, a thoughtful question, I made a solid eye contact with the host and replied “No, the atmosphere is pretty much the same in Auriga, but I think humans can do a lot better taking care of the environment. I know for a fact that millions of planets and their lifeforms were extinct because of excesses I see on earth.”

The thoughtfulness of the host was only for so long “The girl’s been around... if you know what I mean—“ he commented with a little wink, and from the audience’s laugh I knew he didn’t mean something polite or mildly positive. After the laughter subsided, he turned again to me “I dig the midnight blue hair... it is so contradictory and yet it works“ he complimented “because you know scale and hair are not something we see very often in our planet--“ 

Excuse me, what was that supposed to mean?

“--so tell me are the lapis cascades all natural? I mean they are not dyed at all?”

“No they are not... the special keratin bond that reflect the blue pigment of the natural light but they are actually transparent—“ I added objectively.

“So that means in the right lighting you don’t need to mow the bush—“ the host said with a curved smile on his lips, and the audience went on laughing in the same manner they did moments ago.

Even under the blowing airconditioner, I started t feel really warm around my neck “I really don’t know what you mean; you are making any sense at all! Do you guys need special light to mow the bush, do you do in the solstices or during the eclipses—“  this time I didn’t hide the fact that I was annoyed.

“--she is really really funny you guys--“ the host again smiled and acted like I was a stone wall and my reaction didn’t register in his mind at all. “So you are saying you don’t mow your bush at all?“

“I live in a New York Penthouse, there is no bush--“ honestly if this wasn’t a dumb talk show, I would have taught this impudent human a lesson.

The host looked a little uncomfortable as our eye contact lasted for several seconds. He cleared his throat and went on “Okay you guys, she just clarified that there is no bush, so let’s move on to your...your look... I am so fascinated by it, it’s so reptile chic--“

What’s your fascination with cold blooded animals? Are you asking to die like one?

“Um, thanks...?!”

“So how do you manage to maintain this--“

That was honestly the last straw. This host is impolite and rude and he leeches off the discomfort of his talk show host. When this realisation hit, all my self-control and self preservation went out of the window. The vacuum was replaced by the sheer annoyance towards the host who deliberately mistreated us since the beginning.

“Do you think that’s how I live, maintaining my skin and mowing the bush--“ my pitch rose from my previous composed tone “I mean what kind of questions are these?“

The host was still wearing his phony smile on his face, but I could see the colour slightly draining off his face “No I was just asking, because the audience wants to know--“

“I think the audience is smart enough to understand that they cannot get the green skin on natural blue hair, so can you move on to a more sensible question?“ I answered heatedly and defensively at the same time, and as I spoke I felt the aura of tension shifting from discomfort to sheer panic.

“Y/n... don’t do this--” I heard Bucky whisper very faintly from above.

“Solaris, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t always get a green-skin hottie on the morning couch, don’t be offended!” he said while he gestured covertly to cut the camera on the other side. I have to give this man an applause , I could tell he had busted all his courage but he kept the face of nonchalance too good to be true—no wonder he sat on this chair for so long.

“What’s your obsession with the skin colour?—“ I said heatedly as I stood up from my seat “Don’t you dare cut the camera... don’t you dare! Do you think you humans are the epitome of beauty from which point everyone in the galaxy should confirm? I am sick of this... Everyone, I am so sorry for your wasted time but no more of this!”

“Solaris--“ this time it was Sam’s voice that implored me from the sides. For a split second I felt bad for him, because as Captain America, he would have to take the heat from the public. But I was at the point of no return. If I back out now, I would be called a pushover and I would have to endure that image for the rest of my life in the earth.

“You know what, as you are so obsessed with my looks, I would love to show you another thing of mine that is blue--”

Blast

So long story short, Solaris goes to a morning talk show, Solaris encounters a rude host and Solaris blasts him with her Blue Sun Beam. Biggest disaster ever!

The thudding outside the door would not stop, and honestly their over attention was getting on my nerves “honestly, why don’t you go away... what are you, my royal nanny?”

“Very funny Solaris... now come out and get some food--” this time it was Bucky who spoke. Although he was the shortest to reply, but it made me well up. He had the shittiest history amongst all of us: hunted, betrayed, manipulated and now sidelined—how can I see my problems bigger than him.

 “How can I... I ruined everything, all the reputation you built throughout the year, I blew it up within 3 minutes, how can I show my face to you guys! I was supposed to be the superior being--“

A moment of silence followed. But then the old familiar calm voice spoke from the other side

“y/n... It’s not about superior or inferior, you were just very very honest with your feeling! sometimes it’s good for the public, sometimes it is not. I mean look at me--I have struggling with my anger all my life and god knows the stuff I have wrecked in Hulk state. It’s okay to make a mistake... no one blames you!”

“Ha ha right...“ I replied sarcastically, feeling mad about how well Bruce understood my situation.

“Honestly, the way you acted today... Tony would have been proud!”

I could not hold myself anymore. All the feeling that has been plaguing me until now: embarrassment, guilt, confusion, sadness... all came down like a thundering rain with that one statement. I rushed and slammed the door open and jumped on Bruce to embrace him into a tight hug. At first I could tell Bruce was taken aback, but soon his firm arms snaked under my back to hold me tightly.

“I am so sorry... I ruined you all--“ I hid my face in Bruce’s shoulder. Suddenly I felt a gentle pat on my back, I straightened up and looked, it was Sam. His awkward cautionary expression was gone and he looked cherry as the old days “As Captain America, I cannot condone your behaviour, but as Sam... well, that jerk deserved it--“ he reached for his pocket and took out his cellphone “and hundred thousand people in New York agree with you“

I looked at him with a curious expression as he gave me his phone. When I looked at it, it was a tabloid video that had the clip of me blasting the host and it had—

“Stars in galaxies!... 100K likes?” I exclaimed

“And look down, there are comments too--” Bucky scrolled down from behind my shoulder to descend to the white space.

That jerk deserves it, he was literally harassing her...You go Solaris #MeToo

Solaris is so cool, I wish I was as cool as her.

Ugh, I hate that morning show host, if I was in her place I would have thrown him off the stark tower, #SunQueen

Racists never change, and We stan our color positive hero #SolarisRocks

Humans...

...

Okay, that took a lot of time because at first I didn’t know how to work on the request, then I had to go back and forth and rewrite most of it two times because I wasn’t convinced it was good. So I sincerely hope it’s good because I am freaked out as hell.

I also gave reader a name because she is inspired by an alien character in TeenTitans called “Starfire”. So I call her Solaris, and was constantly reminded of Solar of Mamamoo (TMI)

I don’t hate on Fallon, I just used his name because it is recognisable by American public and I also had to see a lot of Jimmy Fallon’s show to write about the Talk Show plot. I was also greatly inspired by Naomi Campbell, RDJ and Nicki Minaj’s interviews.

[3w-writer-with-wings]

10 Most Powerful Scenes in Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

10) Three things

Starting with probably the most well known quote in VRAINS – three things. It would’ve been probably ranked higher if it was not that repetitive and its impact wasn’t scattered to many different scenes, but it is still a very powerful scene regardless. Yusaku was just an innocent six-year-old child who loved to play a card game and yet that same game was turned against him in the cruellest way possible. Suddenly he had to duel for survival and suffered for each defeat. For half a year, Yusaku was trapped in a never-ending nightmare that didn’t seem to stop until he heard Ryouken’s voice. These few sentences gave Yusaku hope to hold on just a while longer and he started using them as his coping mechanism, even years after the Lost Incident. Like Yusaku said it himself, it felt like the life stopped moving for him and despite therapy he could no longer lived his life like others. Thinking of three things to move forward was the only thing that helped him out and knowing there might be someone else still trapped there made him more determined to find out the truth. Since he used this coping mechanism outside duelling, it may also suggest that three things speech is the only thing that kept him from turning into an empty shell like Jin.  

Another thing that makes this scene so powerful is Ryouken’s side of it. Just like Yusaku, he was also just a child who loved the game and most certainly just wanted to play a game with a new friend. It is still unknown if Ryouken was aware of what will happen to children, but it is most likely that he genuinely meant no harm. True his father brainwashed him with his ideas of work for “greater good”, but Ryouken knew it was wrong. He could only report the incident to police and push the memories of it away and yet he reached out to one of the children just before he did. Later it was only further proved just how guilty Ryouken felt and always had a soft spot for the victims. Neither Vyra nor Faust had the courage to report the incident, but Ryouken, a mere eight-year-old child had. Despite his father’s brainwashing, he acted on his own and continued to do so until all the victims were fully safe.

9)      Ai saves Yusaku

From the start of the series, Ai wasn’t a typical partner character like Atem or Astral since he was mostly goofing off and wasn’t really useful when it came to duelling. However, in this scene, Ai shows for the very first time just how powerful he really is and even Yusaku is left speechless at Ai’s abilities. Ai even tells him to shut up back and letting him know that he is far too in this duel to just give up. He even refers to him as his partner and shows he is willing to risk his life for him all the same way. Considering Ai was already using Yusaku as his personal weapon against Knights of Hanoi at the time, this may be the first time he actually started seeing Yusaku as his own person and not just as the tool in his plan. Ai has always been sneaky and successfully covered up his true colours, though in this single scene, he genuinely looks concerned about Yusaku.  

8)      Hope for the future

Hopeful and optimistic scenes are very rare in VRAINS and this is just one of many reasons why this one was included. Shortly after Earth’s death and Go’s decline, Yusaku blames himself for what happened and is again unsure about what they should do. Fortunately, Takeru, Ai and Flame are there to cheer him up and despite the approaching battle, Yusaku is hopeful for the future. Compared to how he used to be, when he told Akira that he can no longer live normally and that he sees no future, this is a major change. Yu-Gi-Oh! protagonists have always been optimistic and even if it was impossible, they believed in themselves and in their actions. Yusaku has always been bold and realistic, so seeing him hopeful and thinking about future in his own realistic terms made it that more impactful. He even smiled several times and ensured both Ai and Flame that they have a plan to keep them safe and if it won’t work, they’ll just think of another one. Watching this scene for the first time really made you feel that despite the hardships, this show will have a happy ending and for a while it really felt that way. Knowing how VRAINS will end this scene may also hint that this is when Ai truly started thinking of Yusaku as his true friend. Ai has been moulding Yusaku into Playmaker from the start and when his so called weapon acknowledged him as a living being and promised to do everything he can to keep him safe – that’s likely when Ai began to realize just how much is Yusaku willing to do for him.

7)      Earth’s execution

 This scene is probably among one of the most heart-breaking ones as it is among surprising ones as well. Villain very rarely wins in Yu-Gi-Oh! and when they do, it’s a big deal. Earth wasn’t around for long but when he was, he appeared as a very nice, caring and socially awkward Ignis. He was likely also the only Ignis besides Ai that expressed love towards someone and he was willing to do anything to keep Aqua safe. What makes his death that much sadder is that he was captured by Go who was by this point a mere shadow of what he used to be. Both Go and Earth were victims of SOL’s greed and ended up as their tools. SOL did absolutely everything to ensure Earth was not a living being, using scientific expressions reserved for objects and not stopping even when he screamed he is his own person and cried his eyes out when forgetting about Aqua. Another powerful comparison was between Akira’s and Queen’s reaction to it. Akira couldn’t watch while Queen smirked and likely only thought of next step which later turned out to be creation of their own Ignis and putting Earth’s data in Go’s implant.

Other Ignis also felt Earth’s death, along with his own origin. Specter has always appeared to be someone who was entirely devoted to Ryouken’s plans and would do anything to destroy Ignis, despite being connected to one. After Earth’s death he felt like a part of him was gone and he even shed a tear and looked disturbed when seeing Go being fused with Earth’s data. Deep down Specter felt the bond between him and his Ignis and when Earth was no more, he likely felt the same pain as when his beloved tree was cut down.

6)      Yusaku defeats Kusanagi

 The duel between Yusaku and Kusanagi was anticipated from the start since it wouldn’t be a Yu-Gi-Oh! if it didn’t include an emotional clash between two best friends. What made this duel that more emotional is that Yusaku and Kusanagi seemingly did not have that best friend dynamic that so many protagonists before them had. They treated each other more like caring co-workers and even Yusaku stated many times that Kusanagi was his acquaintance and not a friend. Many times it also appeared like Kusanagi saw Yusaku as Jin and was doing all of this for his little brother and would likely choose Jin over Yusaku.  Still there were many moments where Kusanagi showed legit concern over Yusaku and apologized many times for involving him into this. As for Yusaku, he appeared to be more or less stoic about it, showing little emotion, which made it hard to tell just what kind of relationship he really has with Kusanagi, not to mention he always used very polite mannerism towards him which was his surname and –san. Compared to Takeru, whom he refer to simply by his first name, that was pretty polite though then again, Yusaku didn’t mind Takeru nor Kusanagi calling him by his first name either.

It was clear that the reason why they kept their relationship strictly professional was because Kusanagi knew there will be a time where he might need to put Jin over Yusaku and yet he still cared about him. Yusaku also did not want to involve anyone since he knew what he was doing was dangerous and even Kusanagi needed a while before he became a part of his team. Lightning knew well about their bond and did not hesitate to use it against them in the cruellest way possible. Even though Kusanagi played along and tried to make it as convincing as possible he was likely breaking inside. It also does not help that the scene where Kusanagi deals multiple damage to Yusaku looks strangely identical to the Lost Incident flashbacks where Yusaku was electrocuted many times. The duel came to a point where Yusaku couldn’t fight Kusanagi and that’s when it was clear that he also cares about him. The flashback to the promise further proved that this duel was something they anticipated and were ready, but what truly makes this scene so heart breaking is when Yusaku outright cries out after dealing the final blow to his friend. It was clear that Yusaku was ready for something like this, but at the same time he didn’t understand just what this meant for him. It truly broke him and another reason why this was so impactful is that duel was a mirror image to Lost Incident. They again took something that Yusaku loved and turned it against him until he was broken to the core. Only this time, there was no Ryouken who could tell him to think of three things in order to go forward.

5)      “You know nothing about me!”

When VRAINS started, no one really had a clue what it will be about besides hover boards and duels in virtual reality. By episode 2 the first hint of Lost Incident was shown and by that point it was clear VRAINS is going to be a lot more complex and dark to previous shows. We all wanted to learn just what exactly happened to Yusaku and what the truth he was so desperate to uncover was. By episode nineteen he is finally close to that truth, but Akira stands in his way, claiming he knows all about what happened and that Yusaku should let Akira handle this. We learn that there were six children who were kidnapped and held captive for months until they were rescued. Akira compared that experience with his own when he lost everything and had to do shady jobs in order to provide for himself and Aoi. He expected Yusaku to accept his help and move on with his life, but instead of that Akira is met by absolute rage. Yusaku and Kusanagi both appeared to be rather cool and collected people, however seeing how Akira was treating everything so lightly made their blood boil and shouted all of their frustrations out. This was followed by Yusaku’s raw description of just what was happening from the point of view of someone who actually experienced this and not someone who merely reported it. It was nowhere as simple as Akira described it and learning that Yusaku still suffers from PTSD and night terrors rightfully justifies his rage. Like Yusaku put it, he tried to move on countless times and did everything he could to forget the pain, but he just couldn’t. Learning the truth was the only cure he knew would help and seeing someone brush it off just like that was incredibly insensitive and gave him all the right to be as mad as he was.

4)      Yusaku doesn’t want to fight anymore

 It is rare to see Yu-Gi-Oh! protagonist to give up and for someone like Yusaku who will do anything to reach his goal, it was absolutely heart breaking to see him give up. This was the second time he was broken apart, only this time he had no one to give him hope. Yusaku has been fighting his whole life and tried to distance himself from others because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to take it if he were to lose them or if something happened to them. He even was getting better at socialising and trusting others more which is why this scene is so sad. Just when he was seemingly experiencing bits of normal life, Lost Incident happened again and this time it took away his friend. He was outright defeated at that point and despite protecting Kusanagi from Lightning’s badmouthing, Yusaku just couldn’t take it anymore. The pain of loss was so great that he simply shut down. In a way it is similar to when Yuma lost Astral and cooped himself in the room for days, refusing to eat or talk with his friends. And honestly can you blame him? This started out as merely quest to learn more about Lost Incident and over the time it turned into fighting with cyber terrorists, protecting thousands of people and dealing with homicidal AIs. Like suffering from PTSD and night terrors, Yusaku had even more responsibility pinned on him and it is understandable that after such ordeal he could not take it anymore. It was only thanks to Kusanagi’s voice that he found the last of his strength in order to defeat Bowman once and for all.

  3)      “If losing a friend means your heart breaks, then are you trying to break my heart?”

Now this single quote may as well break your heart. Yusaku and Ai might’ve started off as an odd pair that regularly annoyed each other, but with more episodes, deeper their relationship became. Ai has always appeared to be this happy-go-lucky goofball and that turned out to be a mask. Not only to cover up his true motives for siding with Playmaker, but his own personality as well. When he was cracking jokes, he was really just covering up the fact that he has been torn apart and hiding in network for years in order to protect his friends. Yusaku was his only hope and even though he has been manipulating him to the very end, Ai grew attached to him and especially after losing other Ignis, he felt alone and guilty. What makes this scene so powerful is that Yusaku tells Ai loud and clear that he is his friend and losing him would as painful as when Ai lost his fellow Ignis. A couple episodes ago Ai said there is only one person he fully trusts with his feelings and this person turned out to be no other than Yusaku. Ai also revealed that he was using Yusaku as his weapon and yet Yusaku still referred to him as his friend. This entire duel was probably the first time the two of them were completely honest with each other and out of all sentences they exchanged, this one was the most heart wrenching.

2)      Revolver's helmet breaks

 Like Yusaku, Ryouken has also been moulded into Revolver, the man in charge of cyber terrorist organization known as Knights of Hanoi.  His father who brainwashed him with his ideas to a point when he was willing to blow up himself with the rest of the network has created his entire identity and Ryouken had little to no say in it. Despite closely following the orders, part of Ryouken still rebelled since he wanted to uncover Playmaker’s identity and the fact that he managed to do it behind his father’s back proves that he wasn’t completely loyal to his father. He always had that tiny bit of conscience that made him report the Lost Incident and learn about the victims. After his father’s death he both felt free and lost, so it was a good thing he took some time off to clear his thoughts. He had time to learn everything about the victims and the case of Windy’s child was likely one of the many reasons he decided to outright eliminate all Ignis. And once that was done, the only thing he was left with were sins of his father. He was even ready to surrender himself to authorities and go to jail if that would help Takeru and other victims to move on. They settled this with a duel and when Ryouken lost, his helmet broke, symbolically freeing him from his burden. Takeru didn’t want him to go to jail for crimes he didn’t commit and rather wanted him to be a rightful Knight of Hanoi – the one who protects network and others so Lost Incident may never happen again.

1)      Ai means »to love people«

 Yu-Gi-Oh! series tend to give their characters rather meaningful names, like how Yugi means “game”, how Yugi’s and Juninchi’s first two letters form a word “friendship” and even in SEVENS, Yuga Oudo translates to “seventh road” which symbolizes Yuga’s wish to invent things for better future. The second Yusaku named Ai, I knew his name will be important part of the story. I already knew Ai means “love” and considering how much emphasis’ series put on relationship between protagonist and his partner, I assumed it will be important someday. VRAINS told a story of an AI who was torn from his world and friends and ripped apart, driven by revenge and goal to get back. In order to achieve his goal, he manipulated a traumatized boy into becoming a weapon he needed, successfully using him until the very end. What he did not expect is that the person he carefully moulded into a tool for his plans would become his closest friend so when he was slowly fading away in Yusaku’s arms and heard what his name meant… that’s when it hit hard in the feels. Ai was an AI with free will, born from the pain and misery that Yusaku had to endure for long months. He was programmed to think freely and yet the fate has drawn him back to his origin, slowly understanding just how much he needs Yusaku and how much Yusaku needs him. Even though there was a way for them to be together, he understood the pain Yusaku has been feeling his entire life, the pain of being used and knowing Yusaku cared about him to the point of protecting him with his life, it was clear there was only one other way. Not wanting to hurt him anymore, Ai sacrificed himself for his partner and once he learned the meaning of his name, he faded away with smile.

What he did was the ultimate act of love for his partner.

[arsnovacadenza]

Yep, I'm back at your service. What do you think of ikevamp MC? 💜

Ah, this is something I’ve been mulling over for a while. I did remember wanting to rank Ikevam MC based on different routes because.....honestly her characterization isn’t very consistent.

So far, I’ve finished three routes: Napo, Mozart, and Isaac’s. I’m only in chapter 24 in Leo’s route but I feel like I can get the gist of her characterization in that one. So, here we go. My impression of MC based on the route from most favorite to least favorite.

(Spoilers, obviously. And these are just my personal opinions. Feel free to disagree).

Mozart

To be very VERY honest, this route didn’t make me go super doki doki, but it’s definitely the most comfortable route so far. It takes two to tango, and I love how the route shows them overcoming their communication problems. 

In fact, out of the four routes I’ve done, Mozart so far seems to be the only one where both Mozart and MC are treated as equal: yeah, they both had their moments, but they’re willing to learn and grow from their mistakes. 

It’s like seeing two young people falling in love and changing not because of the other person, but because they realize their shortcomings get in the way of them living happily with each other. There’s a difference between the two. 

It’s not the most dramatic, but definitely one of the most memorable due to the two leads’ sheer character development alone. 

In conclusion, this MC is pretty good. She and Mozart balance each other pretty well. 

Isaac

I remember a moot saying she’s falling for MC and I can understand why. She’s so understanding and patience with Isaac to the point where I just want to push Ai-Kun aside and tell him “LET ME TAKE CARE OF HER INSTEAD.”

Saying that Isaac doesn’t deserve MC is too harsh, but.... I really dislike Isaac as a romantic lead in this route. Look, I love watching his grow from an] insecure, defensive person to someone who’s willing to put himself out there and face the world. I totally relate to that. And I get that romantic attraction to someone who can be a support system helps.

Butttt it’s emphasized that MC willingly threw her old life away for Isaac’s sake. In other words, she sacrificed more just to make sure he’s functioning. The “I can’t live with you” mentality hits too hard and it doesn’t sit well with me

If you read the 1st Anniversary Event where they show their life after being together in one year, you’ll see that both Isaac and MC still struggle with communication problems. Even Napoleon has given up acting as their marriage counselor.

But PROS! Let me talk about PROS! The route, at the very least, does emphasize her skills and her confidence in said skills. The part where she prides herself as a linguist? GOOD. BIG GOOD. I wish we see more of this in other routes.

In conclusion, this MC has the best personality but it also feels like MC is overcompensating for Isaac. Maybe that was the intention? Build a stronger MC so Isaac can lean on her? I hope not. I love her as a character in this one.

Leonardo

Look, I love how feisty MC is in this one. I enjoyed her chemistry with Leonardo from start to the earlier middle part of the route. After that, it’s a cocktail of Leonardo’s self-imposed suffering and patronizing. I often think that the MC isn’t given a lot of agency in deciding how her relationship with Leonardo will go. 

It’s a touching route and my heart goes out to Leonardo, but their romance revolves around MC wanting to become Leonardo’s emotional crutch and it’s distressing.

I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but I agree with Comte’s suggestion to Leo that he shouldn’t give in to his impulses and leave MC’s alone because him agonizing over her death wouldn’t be worth it. Yeah, he’s right. And the route shows her suffering for Leonardo’s sake. 

The writers probably intended it to be romantic, but it just comes off as tragic. Shakespeare didn’t really need to do anything in this one. Leonardo’s troubles are already tragic on his own.

Y’know, the route could’ve gone in a better direction. Focusing on Leo’s disconnection with his family  who abandoned him and the society of Greater Vampires as a whole would be a start. The route keeps teasing us in that direction but nothing comes out of it. 

In conclusion, the route keeps heaping Leo’s problems onto MC and seems to push her as this manic pixie dream girl who can magically change his life towards the better. That hurt.

Napoleon

I’ve rambled about Napoleon’s MC several times, one of which you can read here. It’s a route problem that’s mostly similar to Leo’s, except that Napoleon is a much stronger character in this route and that just undermines MC’s character further. 

But let’s talk about PROS. First, lemme get this out of the way: she and Napoleon were good from the beginning until up to the middle (the biting scene). Second: The route did drag after the scene in the shed and I couldn’t remember a single thing before Napoleon goes up to challenge Wells aside from them banging. Still, I nearly cried when Napoleon fell off the cliff. It had its touching moments, despite the route’s weak points.

As for why I disliked MC in this route....hmmm....I’m just gonna say it couldn’t balance the conflict between Welly and MC’s romance with Napoleon very well. MC’s character and involvement too, took a back seat once Napo’s man pain surfaces  past comes back to haunt him. 

What’s more vexing is that she doesn’t attempt to find out more about Wellington other than from Napoleon and Sebastian, who of course are going to be biased. I mean, MC, sis, you could dig up more information about the Iron Duke through references in the library. Then you can devise a plan with Sebastian, Comte, or hell, Jean to help protect him from someone who’s dead set on killing him instead of angsting helplessly and crying when Napo actually marches out to his death.

Napo’s mentality, too, is flawed. Which is actually pretty in-character since he’s the type who’d rather get his own hands dirty when dealing with personal matters instead of asking for help. But, you could’ve changed his mind on that, MC. Make him think of you as an equal that’s worth fighting for because he, too, feels like you’re fighting for him. 

Leo and Napo’s route feel similar because they both involve making her into their living emotional or moral crutch, except that there’s not much emotional tension to go around. 

Napo is made way too perfect and self-reliant in terms of their relationship that it made me even wonder why Napoleon thinks of her as worthy companion instead of his unintentional harem of pretty bois.  In an ironic twist, his route is a total opposite of Isaac’s in that he’s the one overcompensating.

In conclusion, the perfect lover/knight in shining armor trope they’re going for in Napoleon’s route only hurts MC’s character and undermines her agency. 

So, my take on all of this?

Everything depends on what route she’s in. Her greatest flaw as a character, I think, is her inconsistency. I wish she were as assertive as she is in Isaac or Mozart’s route in every other route. I believe she was made that way because Cybird wants her to be more of an audience surrogate than Ikesen’s Mai/MC (who I feel has a more defined personality), but it just ends up making her cater more to the Suitors instead of the other way around.

As a side note, I’ve played other Otome before (Hatoful Boyfriend, Princess Arthur, and Locked Heart), and I did get into routes where I genuinely wanted the MC and her chosen Suitor to be happy together as two people loving and growing with each other. But sometimes, I happen to get unlucky and end up with routes like Napoleon’s and Leonardo’s instead.

Thanks for asking and I’m sorry it got so long! This was really fun to answer! 

 ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

[justaghostingon]

Merfolk are Overrated

Chapter 4: To The Shore

Kodya’s class takes a fieldtrip, and it goes about as well as can be expected when you let three curious mermaids loose in a general store.

Read on ao3 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041904/chapters/62957779

Or below the cut

As the weeks rolled by, a pattern began to emerge. Kodya would wake up early and go out fishing, just like before. Only now three bright-colored heads would rise from the water to greet him as soon as he cut the engine, the Kid at the forefront with some small gift to appease Kodya. He would still set out the nets, like always. But now a mermaid or two would be there to try and help. Occasionally one, usually Red, would get stuck and need to be cut out. Kodya would still eat his lunches out on the water like always, but now those lunches would be shared by three mermaids chattering and snacking themselves. Even Fluffy would mime out an opinion or two. Then after lunch, Kodya would start teaching.

Gyrus was, by far, the best student Kodya had ever seen. It took him almost no time to learn basic math, and soon he was calculating faster and with greater accuracy than Kodya himself could. Kodya had once tried to explain how budgeting worked to illustrate why his nets were so important, and by that evening Gyrus had completely reorganized his budget to the point where he was saving more money than he’d thought was possible. In all honesty, Kodya was pretty sure Gyrus was some kind of super genius, and found he was rapidly running out of things to teach him.

If he’d only known the Kid, Kodya is pretty sure that he would have chalked up Gyrus’ super-intelligence to just a siren thing. But alas, it appeared that great age did not translate to skill with numbers, as both Fluffy and Red were leagues behind. Not that they were terrible, Kodya begrudgingly noted that if they had been to elementary school together they both have had higher grades than he did. But they needed a slower pace, and often Kodya found he had to slow down the lesson to accommodate them.

If teaching them all math had been their only goal, Kodya would have tried giving Fluffy and Red more class hours while sending the Kid off to do homework or something. But neither Fluffy or Red showed any particular interest in putting extra work into improving their own skills. They’d put up a show to support Gyrus of course, but Fluffy’s constant fidgeting and Red’s frustrated growls made it very clear they did not really want to be there. This in turn made Gyrus get distracted trying to explain and keep them interested, meaning he didn’t advance either. Eventually Kodya just got tired of it and told them to go out and help fish every other afternoon, while he focused on more advanced material with Gyrus.

This they happily accepted, only attending class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and leaving  Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to the Kid and Kodya. Kodya would never admit it, but these days were his favorite. He’d stay out way longer than he usually did, just to keep whatever conversation the Kid inevitably dragged him into going. He hadn’t enjoyed another person’s company this much since he’d met Nephthys.

Nephthys noticed the change in behavior, commenting about how mopey he got while away from the sea, and giggling that he might have gotten a boyfriend he didn’t tell her about. Kodya was quick to deny this, but more than willing to talk about whatever trouble Red, Fluffy, and the Kid got into, under the pretense of being pesky dolphins of course. Such stories would appease her curiosity, and she rarely went beyond light teasing as she watched Kodya inevitably perk up as the weekend drew to a close and Monday neared.

It was on one such Monday that Kodya finally worked up the courage to ask Gyrus a question that had been weighing on him for a while.

“So how old are you anyways?” Kodya said, eyes on the white board as he wrote out a few problems he’d created based off of his and Nephthys’s shopping lists and an old book about store finance.

“Probably around your age,” Gyrus shrugged, to absorbed in his work on the problems to notice the way Kodya had shut the book to look at him sharply.

“And how old do you think I am?” Kodya pressed.

“I don’t know, 200s right?” Gyrus glanced up at him, and finally seemed to realize something was wrong. “Are you older?” He offered, looking embarrassed, and not at all like a being who was most certainly not a kid.

“I’m 24,” Kodya stated, voice flat. Now what am I going to call you? He mentally despaired.

“24?” Gyrus’ mouth fell open. “But you can’t be! You’re clearly an adult!”

“Of course I’m an adult!” Kodya crossed his arms, “I’ve been an adult for six years!”

“18?” Gyrus’ tail twitched in agitation. “Humans reach maturity so young? How long do you live?”

Kodya shifted uncomfortably at his tone, feeling slightly offended. He wasn’t the weird one here. “We live to be around 80? Some a bit less and some a bit longer, you know, a normal amount.”

“That’s so short,” Gyrus shook his head. “I can’t even…how can you stand it?”

“Hey!” Kodya scowled down at Gyrus, “Most creatures live way shorter life spans, so I’d say you living so long is the weird one here. We do just fine with 80 years thanks.”

Gyrus placed his head in his hands. “Every time I think I’m beginning to understand humans, I find out there’s so much more I don’t know.” He looked very small then, and forlorn. Kodya felt his anger dissipate.

“Look, Kid,” he said, drawing the last word on his tongue to see if Gyrus would notice and protest. He didn’t, and so Kodya plowed on. “You’re doing fine. You’ve learned everything I taught you way quicker than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Not everything,” Gyrus sighed as he picked up his whiteboard. “I can do the calculations, sure, but I don’t really get all the words. Like this one,” he pointed to a problem, “35 cents for bananas. What are bananas? I know they must be food from how you talk about them, but I have no idea what they look like. And this!” He jabbed a finger at one of the words, “Bug spray! How do you get something as small as a bug to spray anything?”

“Slow down Kid,” Kodya interrupted and Gyrus deflated at the sound of his voice. “I can bring you a banana and bug spray if you want.”

“But even if you did, there would inevitably be something else I can’t picture or misunderstand. I just wish,” he sighed again, pulling his emerald tail close around his body. “I just wish I could see it all for myself.”

His lower lip started to tremble, and Kodya felt his heart clench at the sight. “Maybe you could,” he said, and then instantly wanted to hit himself for promising something so impossible. But Gyrus was looking at him with wide, watery eyes like Kodya just promised him the moon, and Kodya couldn’t bring himself to deny him anything.

----------------

The old shed opened with the loud grating noise of rusted hinges. Kodya winced slightly at the sound, before pushing forward into the crowded space before him. Nephthys had said the inflatable kiddie pool was just in here the last time she’d seen it. But that had been nearly seven years ago, back when she’d tried to teach him how to swim in exchange for teaching her written English. Those lessons had not lasted very long, in part because Kodya was much less gracious as a student than as a teacher, and in part because the drowning incident had still been fresh in his mind.

He shoved aside The fishing rod he’d gotten for his Mom at fifteen, still as clean and unused as the day he’d bought it, and some of her old Navy Seal camping gear. Where was it? It should be with the practical stuff…

Something bright and pink caught his eye, the faded plastic tucked quietly in a corner behind some old storage bins. Kodya waded over towards it and gave it a gentle tug, pulling out of another box labeled POOL in his mother’s loopy handwriting. He pulled the cumbersome plastic out, and stopped.

There was something else in the bin, soft against his hands. Weird. He couldn’t think of anything pool related that was soft, and his mother was usually so organized. He looked down to see a strange fur wrap below. It was plain brown, with faded spots making a star pattern along it. One edge was jagged and sharp, with bits of leather skin poking out below it. Kodya ran a finger down the edge, and wondered if someone had taken a blunt knife to it.

The plastic of the pool rustled against the boxes as Kodya shifted, drawing his attention back towards it. He shut the pool box with a snap. Whatever it was, it didn’t concern him. His mother could sort it out on her own time. He had a mermaid’s day to make.

---------

“I’m back!” Kodya called as two brightly colored heads appeared in the water. “And you’ll never believe what I brought for you today!”

Gyrus beamed at him, and Kodya took a minute to examine that lovely smile and enjoy how it was all for him. “We’ve got something to show you too!” the Kid exclaimed, “Do you want to see it?”

“Sure Kid,” Kodya allowed himself a slight twitch of his lips, wondering what seaglass or shells Gyrus had brought for him today. “But I’ll bet mine’s better.”

Red and the Kid exchanged glances, before Red sighed. “Just so we are clear,” she said, “I do not fully approve of this idea.” So saying, she dove into the water, and in her place rose a single white corner, then another and another, until there was a great white box with a handle sticking out the side.

Kodya blinked. “What is that supposed to be?” He asked, squinting at the sides. Something about the faded pink stickers looked familiar. Was that ice cream?

“It’s a box with wheels!” Gyrus proclaimed, gesturing to the suspiciously familiar object. Kodya raised an eyebrow, and the Kid blushed. “Lift it higher!” Gyrus hissed, and the white box raised above the water, allowing for both the wheels and Fluffy’s head to come into view.

“See?” Gyrus’ purple orbs practically glowed. Beside him Fluffy beamed and even Red looked a bit smug.

“I see,” said Kodya, feeling somewhat baffled. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“That’s the best part!” the Kid’s green tail surfaced to slash the top of the water excitedly. It went straight into Tori’s face and she sputtered, causing one end to dip back into the water. “This box holds water! Without it coming out! If you put me in this I could come with you to shore!”

Well that diminished Kodya’s surprise a bit. He felt a bit hurt. He’d put a lot of thought into his kiddie pool. But he shook it off in favor of squinting at the white cart. It was looking more and more familiar the more he stared.

“Is that,-” he frowned, “- Oli’s ice cream cart?!” Oli’s ice cream was a staple on the beach in the summer months, and he’d recently upgraded to owning a portable cart that he employed Anan to push around and increase business. But Anan had lost it under what he claimed was a sudden storm. Kodya narrowed his eyes. “Did you hypnotize Anan into giving that up?”

“We didn’t hypnotize anyone,” Red sniffed. “This was a gift.”

“We just asked, and he handed it right over!” Gyrus added. “He didn’t even stop to question why we were all in the water!”

Fluffy batted her eyelashes and then threw Kodya a wink, and Kodya had the sneaking suspicion that they had used a different method of coercion instead. But hey, he shrugged. Oli hadn’t held that much of a grudge, and it was high time Anan learned a lesson about not giving in to the whims of every pretty girl that smiled at him.

“So what was it you brought for us?” Gyrus asked innocently, and all three mermaids' attention snapped to him.

“Oh,” Kodya rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I kinda brought something similar, only bigger, and with no wheels.”

“Really?” Gyrus beamed. “That’s great! Now we can all go on land!” All? Kodya opened his mouth to protest. He could hide maybe one mermaid, but three?

“That would set some of my fears to rest,” Red said, sounding appeased. “I did not want to leave Gyrus to wander this strange world without protection.”

Fluffy began bobbing up and down in the water, splashing wildly with the ice cream cart to show her enthusiasm.

I’m not getting out of this, Kodya realized with a sinking dread as all three mermaids celebrated around him. I need a plan.

--------------

The plan was simple. Really. Early in the morning, Kodya would meet the three mermaids at the docks. There was a rainstorm scheduled for Thursday, perfect for both providing cover and keeping the mermaids wet. Kodya would load the three of them into the back of his truck, where they would climb into the kiddy pool. Then Kodya would drive really slowly into town, pull out the white cart, now covered in a blanket to pass as a wheelchair, and wheel each mermaid through the store. Simple.

The first part went off without a hitch. It was indeed raining on Thursday morning, the icky, thick, constant rain that made it very uncomfortable to be outside for long periods of time. When Kodya arrived on the dock, he found it deserted. Perfect.

“Guys?” he hissed as he scanned the dark waves. “It’s time.” Three multicolored heads rose from below the dock to greet him.

“That took too long,” Red grumbled. “I had half thought ye’d grown cold feet.”

“It took longer to fill the pool than I expected,” Kodya sighed. “Now come on.” He extended his arms towards Fluffy, who was closest.

Red batted his hand away. “I’ll go first,” she snapped. “It is my duty as champion of the queen to ensure the safety of the rest of the pod.” Kodya rolled his eyes, but complied, hauling her surprisingly light body up into the air. Sylvia went next, eagerly wrapping strong arms around his neck as he lifted her up into the truck too.

And then at last, it was Gyrus’ turn. Kodya reached down for him, determined not to react. It was just a simple assist after all. Kodya could feel both warm skin and slick scales as he carefully lifted him into the air. Gyrus’ arms wrapped around Kodya’s neck, pulling close to Kodya’s chest and soaking his already wet shirt further.

Gyrus ran a curious hand through his hair, playing with the hair tie in the back. “You’re hair feels so strange dry,” He murmured, lavender orbs hypnotic. Their faces were inches apart, and Kodya froze. They hadn’t been this close since the day they met, when Gyrus had called him perfect, and the mere memory sent Kodya’s whole face alight. Gyrus gave the slightest of frowns as he ran gentle fingers through Kodya’s hair. “What’s wrong?”

“If ye are quite finished,” Tori’s loud voice broke through Kodya’s haze, “the sooner we start this, the sooner we can get back to the sea.”

Kodya yelped, placing Gyrus hastily in the back of the truck and ducking his head as he hurried to the front. Still bright red, he gripped the back of the wheel and took several deep breaths. He needed to focus damn it. Or this whole trip would end in disaster.

Disaster…the various, horrible ends of this hair brained scheme were enough to bring him back to reality. If he messed up here, the mermaids could end up in an aquarium, or worse, dissected. He took a deep breath and put the truck in drive. By the time he’d reached the store, the image of Gyrus’ face so close to his own was properly suppressed in the back of his mind.

---------

Step two turned out to have its own set of problems. Namely that as soon as he put the truck in park, he found the mermaids arguing in the back about who would go in first.

“It will be I,” Red’s arms were crossed. “It’s my job to keep you safe, there’s no point in arguing.”

“You don’t even want to see the store!” Gyrus scowled. “Nor do you know as much about humans as I do! And besides,” he crossed his arms, “I’ll be with Kodya so there’s no need to protect me!” He glanced to the side. “Right Sylvia?”

Fluffy threw up her hands in a clear signal of, keep me out of this!

“What’s the problem now?” Kodya massaged the space between his brow. Both Red and the Kid turned on him.

“I am going first, and that is final,” Red snapped at the same time Gyrus said,

“It isn’t fair!”

Kodya sighed, considering. On the one hand, letting Red go first would strengthen the fragile trust they had formed. On the other hand, the Kid was far, far too old to be babied like Red wanted, and going first with Red meant introducing her to Alistair. Kodya squared his shoulders. He’d rather avoid whatever fight she’d pick for as long as possible.

“It’s the Kid’s trip, he gets to go first,” he said, and Red scowled while Gyrus lit up.

“Alright!” Gyrus pulled himself to the edge of the truck to avoid the angry Red. “Help me down and let’s get going!”

“Not so fast kid!” Kodya scolded. “I’ve got to get the wheelchair ready first.” He pulled out the ice cream cart and opened the lid, revealing the cold water he’d taken from his hose the night before.

Carefully, he picked Gyrus up again, this time avoiding eye contact, and plopped him inside. Access water flooded over the edge and distracted the Kid while Kodya tried to hide his blush. To distract himself, he fiddled with the lid, wondering how it would close without bothering the top sticking out.

“This is so exciting!” Gyrus turned to Kodya, eyes shining. Kodya’s hands tightened on the lid at the sight, and a crack came from underneath them. Both Gyrus and Kodya looked down at the now unattached lid. Well, Kodya thought. There goes that problem.

The blanket was thrown over the top to hide the water and the faded ice cream stickers, and the makeshift wheelchair was ready to go. There was just one thing missing. “Here.” Kodya pulled out an old shirt and handed it to Gyrus. “Humans can’t go in stores without full clothing,” he explained, trying to make it seem normal and not like he’d spent hours agonizing over which one of his old shirts to give to Gyrus.

“Thank you,” Gyrus murmured, pulling the bright yellow shirt, specifically chosen to match the yellow tips of his tail, over his head. “Yellow is my favorite color.” Kodya shrugged as casually as he could, but tucked that little piece of information away in his brain.

“Time to go,” he said, stepping behind the cart pushing it towards the door.

---------

As Kodya predicted, Gyrus loved the store. He found everything about it fascinating. From the food to the overpriced towels and swimwear for tourists. Kodya thought he would explode when he found the nets Kodya usually bought and recognized them. He wanted to know how everything worked, what it all did, and why Kodya would or wouldn’t buy it. The towels in particular fascinated him, as he had known humans hated to be too wet, but he’d never realized what a big deal it was until he saw all the different patterns and colors. He was quite disappointed when Kodya broke it to him that the colors and patterns were purely decorative, and didn’t hold any significance at all.

Eventually they got down to business. Kodya walked Gyrus through his grocery list, explaining what each item looked like and what it did. Gyrus seemed to have memorized the prices, and was more than eager to read off the numbers and comment on cheaper options available. Kodya would then have to justify his choice, usually because of quality, and explain it to an attentive Gyrus. It was a long process, but Kodya didn’t think he’d ever had this much fun shopping for groceries before.

But as Kodya finished explaining about bananas and how they worked, he noticed Gyrus’ mood had taken a turn for the morose.

“What’s wrong?” Kodya asked, as Gyrus stared glumly down at the bunch of bananas in his hands. “Am I going too fast?”

“No, no,” Gyrus sighed. “It’s stupid.” Kodya crossed his arms, waiting, and Gyrus shifted the bananas into one hand to run the free one through his hair. “It’s not that I’m not grateful you brought me here so I could see everything, it’s just,” he peaked up at Kodya through his starshaped bangs, “there’s so much of it. I’ll never learn it all today, even if we didn’t have to hurry up and give Tori and Sylvia their turn.”

“Who said you had to learn it all today?” Kodya pointed out. “We’ve got the pool and the wheelchair now. We can definitely come back here again.”

“But it won’t always be raining,” Gyrus pointed out. “You might get seen helping us out of the water.”

Kodya waved a hand as he began to push Gyrus forward. “We’ll just have to figure out another way then. You’re smart. You know what the hurdles are, you come up with something.”

Gyrus shot Kodya a small smile. “Thank you Kodya,” he said. “You really are the best person to teach me.” Kodya ducked his head and pushed harder, trying to hide his blush.

“Kodya? Is that you? I thought I recognized you wandering about my store!” Kodya’s head snapped up to see Alistair waving from the counter. Oh no. “But who is this handsome stranger you’ve brought with you?” Alistair practically jumped over the counter to see better. It took all of Kodya’s strength not to grab the cart's controls and wheel them both out the door.

“Careful Alistair!” Kodya shouted as the man stepped closer and began shamelessly feeling up Gyrus’ muscles. “He’s in a wheelchair!” He pushed Alistair away as Gyrus starred with a look of absolute puzzlement on his face.

“Of course, of course!” Alistair said as he stepped back to lean on his counter. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“I’m Gyrus,” Gyrus said, sounding faintly amused. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure! An absolute pleasure! I am Alistair, and this is my humble store!” Alistair gave a sweeping gesture to encompass the whole building. Kodya rolled his eyes at his theatrics.

“Are you really?” Gyrus asked, sounding intrigued. “Where do you get all the items for sale?”

“Trying to find my sources? How shameless,” Alistair raised an eyebrow and Gyrus blushed, sensing he’d done something wrong. Kodya scowled. “But don’t worry!” Alistair laughed. “My sources are all local, like our charming mutual friend, Kodya here!” He pointed to Kodya who crossed his arms.

“I don’t supply you that often,” Kodya grumbled.

“Oh come now Kodya, don’t be modest.” Alistair winked, he leaned over to Gyrus and whispered, “He caught me a great white shark, I still have the teeth if you want to buy them!”

“I know,” Gyrus smiled. “But I don’t need another shark’s tooth.”

“Another?” Alistair drew back in shock, mouth hanging open. He glanced wildly between Gyrus and Kodya. “You don’t mean to tell me our grumpy Kodya snagged a stud like you?”

“We aren’t dating Alistair,” Kodya stepped in before Gyrus had a chance to misunderstand. “I’m just showing him around while he’s in the states.”

“So he’s single?” Alistair said, and Kodya felt his heart stop.

“Kodya’s been really kind to me!” Gyrus piped up, clearly hoping to back up the illusion of being new to the area. “He’s taught me so much about these states!”

“Oh really? And what has he taught you?” Alistair leaned forward into Gyrus’ personal space.

“Lots! I’ve learned about money, and the presidents on the bills, and dinosaurs…” Gyrus began to rattle off all the things he’d recently learned while Alistair took the opportunity to stare shamelessly at his lips.

Kodya rolled his eyes, disgusted, then froze. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he’d seen a blue tail.

-----------

Kodya stalked through the store, following the telltale trail of water down the aisles. He hated to leave the Kid alone with Alistair, but he trusted him to be able to handle himself and keep Alistair distracted while Kodya hunted down their real problem.

Speaking of which, he turned a corner to find one half of the dynamic duo munching happily away on the fish in the deli. “Fluffy!” Kodya hissed, as the pink-haired mermaid turned her wide eyes on him. “What are you doing here? And where’s Red?” He’d seen a blue tail, and unless Fluffy had changed her forest green scales blue and back in the last minute, there was no way she was alone.

Fluffy shrugged, gesturing to the fish in front of her to say, I don’t know, I got distracted by the food.

Kodya cursed, striding forward to grab Fluffy bodily and drag her away with a cry of, “you aren’t supposed to be here!” His motion startled Fluffy, whose tail whipped around and knocked the whole deli over, sending the whole display of fish directly on top of her.

Kodya and Fluffy froze. Panicked blue meeting panicked brown. For a second all was still, until in the silence the clunking sound of heavy boots began to fill the air. Fluffy sprang into action, covering herself with the fish in an attempt to blend in. Kodya helped, figuring that if whoever was coming mistook her tail for another fish they might just by themselves some time.

They had just finished when Knox, an employee of Alistair’s store, rounded the corner. “I heard a loud noise, and have been instructed to look for damages,” he said in that monotone voice of his.

Kodya could have cried with relief. If there was one word that summed Knox up, it was gullible. “Don’t just stand there!” He snapped, putting on his most thunderous expression. “Get the first aid kit!” Knox paused, eyes traveling from Kodya’s face to Sylvia’s fish covered tail, to her big puppy dog eyes about to overflow with tears.

“I will retrieve it,” he said, voice still montone, but there was a quickness in his step that betrayed his concern. As soon he turned the corner Kodya let out a relieved sigh.

Fluffy beamed up at Kodya, clearly ecstatic that it had worked. Kodya frowned back at her. “We still need to get out of here before he gets back,” he pointed out.

Fluffy rolled her eyes with the clear message of, you worry too much. And no Kodya wasn’t having that. He grabbed her arm and tugged it upwards.

“Come on,” he said as Fluffy obligingly circled her arms around his neck so he could lift her up. “We’ve got to find Red and get out of here before he comes back.”

“Before who comes back?” Kodya and Fluffy’s heads snapped to the right to see Tori emerging from the towel section. “And what was that noise?”

“What were you thinking!” Kodya felt his fury return in full force. “You knew you had to wait in the truck!” Fluffy looked down guiltily, but Red crossed her arms.

“I am the Champion of the Queen.” She scowled. “It is my duty to keep Gyrus safe. You were taking too long.”

“Gyrus is perfectly fine!” Kodya hissed, taking a step forward. “But now thanks to you two, I had to leave him alone, and now I have to get you out of here before anyone sees your tails and calls the press!”

Red drew herself up to her full height, which given half of her was a floppy fishtail, wasn’t that impressive. “I am perfectly capable of…” But Fluffy held up a hand to stop her, cocking her ear as if listening. Kodya and Tori followed her example, and Kodya’s heart stopped once again.

Footsteps.

Red dove towards the racks of towels as Kodya looked around wildly for a place to stash Fluffy. Could he throw her back into the fish?

Too soon the footsteps came to a halt. Kodya froze as a very familiar voice said, “Kody?”

Slowly Kodya turned around to see Nephthys standing in the aisle, eyes wide as she took in Red half hidden behind the towels and Fluffy still in Kodya’s arms. “Neph, I can explain,” he started, but she shook her head.

“Alistair is coming!” She said as she pulled out her purse. “Distract him while I fix this!” Kodya wanted to argue he’d be better able to carry both mermaids, wanted to ask why she wasn’t reacting, but the look in her eyes told him not to argue. He wordlessly handed off Fluffy and hurried back to where Alistair and Gyrus were waiting.

“Kodya!” Alistair called out. “What was that all about?”

“You just left,” Gyrus added, a bit reproachfully. “Then we heard a huge crash.”

Kodya waved a hand. “An accident. But don’t worry, Nephthys is taking care of it.” He shot Gyrus a look that he hoped communicated, help me distract him.

Alistair was still frowning, concern clear on his face. “I should still check it out, someone could have been hurt.”

“You really don’t have to,” Kodya said, and Gyrus added,

“Didn’t you say you can’t leave the counter to avoid losing a sale?”

Alistair stroked his beard, looking torn. “This is true, but I really can’t ignore people hurt in my store…” his face split into a sly grin that made Kodya’s stomach drop. “So Gyrus, you’re hired!”

“I’m what?” Gyrus stared in confusion.

“Wait a minute!” Kodya protested. “You can’t just hire Gyrus!” He was a mermaid for one, with a tail and no social security!

“Why not?” Alistair beamed. “He’s got all the qualifications: He has an understanding of basic math, thinks Andrew Jackson isn’t worthy of his position on the twenty dollar bill, and best of all, he’s really cute!” Alistair winked at Kodya and turned to Gyrus, “So what do you say? I’ll pay you an entry level salary, but with your brain and looks you’re likely to get promoted no problem!”

“You’ll pay me?” Gyrus blinked. “In money?”

Alistair opened his mouth to reply, an amused smile on his lips, just as Nephthys rounded the corner with Fluffy on her shoulder and another woman with red hair helping Nephthys support her. “Time to go Kody!”

Kodya wasted no time, grabbing Gyrus’s wheelchair’s handles as Gyrus scrambled for the grocery bags and began wheeling him out after the three women.

“Wait a minute,” Alistair started, “What happened?” But Nephthys waved her free hand behind her.

“Got it handled, take care of the mess and bill me!” She cried as she pushed through the door, a towel wrapped over Fluffy’s tail as she and the familiar looking stranger carried her out. Kodya and Gyrus followed, leaving a confused Alistair behind as they stepped into the open air.

“Where’s Red?” Kodya asked as soon as they got to the safety of the truck. He and the blue-tailed mermaid never saw eye to eye, but he didn’t want to leave her stuck in there.

“I’m right here,” snapped the woman with the red hair, “or have you gone blind?” Kodya blinked, and blinked again, his brain not catching up with his eyes. His gaze traveled down, from her distinctive red hair, to her odd plated shirt, to the towel tied around her waist, and her….

“You have legs!” Gyrus screamed, finger pointing in shock. Kodya blinked again, and yes. That was what his brain was struggling to comprehend. Before them both stood Red, on two legs and looking utterly human.

Tori placed a hand on her hip. “Yes, thanks to the potion the witch gave me.” She gestured to Nephthys with her other hand.

Kodya’s eyes flicked to Nephthys, and she gave him jazz hands with an awkward smile. “Surprise?”

[argentdandelion]

That One Sad Fic Where Noelle’s Dad Dies

“Noelle.” “Wha—? Kris, it’s 3:00 AM….” Noelle said, squinting at her bedazzled cell phone in the darkness. (Ever since it assassinated her actual clock, she had to adapt.) “Skip school today. Go to your dad.” “…what? Why?” “Choose a game,” Kris said, with all the concision and emotion of a very ticked-off grandma.

“Alright, Kris! I got it!” Noelle turned on a lamp and hurriedly scanned through the video game titles.

Mario Kart, Professor Layton, Grand Theft Auto…

Noelle smiled and pulled out a title. “Ah, the perfect one! Silent Hill!”

“And for the love of Dog, do not bring Cooking Mama. Sweet Angel, that will only make him die faster!”

“Oh. Right. Shouldn’t bring anything too relaxing.” Noelle put down Silent Hill and chose Dragon Blazers III.

Noelle’s ears perked up. “Did…you just say ‘die faster’?”

But Kris had abruptly hung up, like clothes in a closet.

—–

“Dad? Dad?” Noelle gently shook her father from his sleep. The lamp was on, beaming light onto his face.

Rudy blinked blearily into the intense light. “Oh dear…now I’m getting medical care from aliens.”

Noelle frowned. “Come on, Dad! You said it yourself, we’re deer monsters.”

Dimly, Rudy noticed the furniture setup was different from what he remembered. He glanced across the room: the flowers in the glass cover had been put on the small counter by the sink, leaving the angel doll dethroned and emanating an aura of rage. The Nontondo console, sitting on a bedside table, was hooked up to the hospital TV and trying to keep its relationship discreet.

Emblazoned on the TV screen were the words “Dragon Blazers III”. It was drawn in fire-coated letters, as if overcompensating for a lack of innate coolness.

Rudy yawned and looked outside. The sky was still dark. “Noelle, why are you waking me up in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not the middle of the night, Dad.” Noelle said sheepishly.

“Oh, good.”

“It’s 3:20 AM.”

Just then Rudy noticed the bags under his daughter’s eyes, her messy hair, and the few crumbs stuck to the fuzz of her lips.

“Noelle.”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Lick those lips of yours.”

Noelle stared at him awkwardly.

“You got crumbs stuck to your fuzzy lips, and I don’t think you’re going for a flavor saver.”

“Dad, a flavor savor is a soul patch, not a mustache!”

“We’re covered in fur. It’s kind of hard to tell the difference!”

Rudy laughed, before pausing thoughtfully. “Eh, it doesn’t matter much. It’s not realistic for society to expect women to constantly shave.”

“I mean, of course,” Noelle wrinkled her brow. “There’s no way anyone has the time for full body shampooing and hair removal.”

Noelle moved a tacky little chair closer to the bed (clearly intended for smaller visitors), and cringed at the squeak. Noelle smiled, and handed her father the other controller.

She yelped.“Oh! Darn! It’s a single-player game!”

“Ah, good. It’d be messy to be a player and also married.” Rudy winked.

“How’d you know it has a marriage option?” Noelle asked, befuddled. “….Never mind.”

Rudy slowly leaned over, looking at the item Noelle held. “You only got one controller? Oh, it’s fine. I can always watch. You’re much better than me at these games anyway.”

—-

“Gosh darn it, Shella.”

“Come on, Noelle! You can swear harder than that.”

Noelle blushed.

“This is the last time I’ll ever be able to see my little girl swear a blue streak.” Rudy said solemnly.

“It’s the wish of a dying man, Noelle. Now let it rip!”

“Fu–”

—-

Noelle painted the room blue as the ocean with the intensity and number of her swears…including two Rudy had never even heard before.

Noelle hunched over with an exhausted look, panting. Suddenly her cheeks bulged, and she spat out one little swear lingering in her throat.

Rudy sat in his bed, stunned at the depths of foulness to tumble out of the mouth of a sweet-natured teenage girl. “Wow, Nolle…

I am so proud of you.”

Noelle beamed, still flushed with the exhaustion of releasing sixteen years’ worth of repressed cussing. Noelle’s cheeks bulged again….only to erupt into laughter. Soon, Rudy, too, was laughing, and the room itself was filled with laughter (and swear residue).

Rudy’s ears flailed out, and with a bug-eyed look Rudy coughed out some dust.

Noelle stared at the dust smeared on her father’s hand. Rudy looked solemn. “Noelle, I think it’s time I told you the truth…”

“I’m part vacuum cleaner.”

—-

They had traveled deep into the dungeon in the bowels of the earth. Suddenly, the claustrophobic halls expanded into a greater room….

“A cutscene!”

Noelle perked her ears up and forward, leaning closer to the TV with a gamer’s hunch. She sat there for a few seconds, straining her ears, but the sound had been turned too low for that sweet, sweet cutscene music.

“Oh, darn. Wish I could hear the music.”

“Oh, Noelle, you can turn it up. The only other guy is the Warrior, and he’s delusional. Guy thinks he’s a NPC spouting foreshadowing for an incomplete game.”

Noelle adjusted the hospital TV’s buttons the old-fashioned way, as the remote was on paternity leave after irresponsibly siring tiny music players.

Atmospheric music ran through that quiet hospital room.

“You dense son of a submariner! Wither away!”

Smiles filled their vision as they enjoyed the scene together, as they witnessed the bizarre scene of characters innocently smiling while delivering scathing dialogue. Ill-advised ‘cultural translations’ for a tougher audience, Noelle thought. But I love it.

A room away, a patient quietly fumed and flailed his limbs, ranting again. Muffled as it was through the sounds of battle, and laughter, and conversation, none heard him. He shed a single manly tear through his costume.

—-

Swarms of Modiglettes tread towards them in the darkness.

Noelle tensed up with a little “eep”, and Rudy turned to his daughter’s terrified face. “What are you waitin’ for? Flare ‘em!”

Noelle shook off her fear…and decided to upgrade the spell to ZettaFlare, for good measure. The vastly over-levelled scale of the spell wrecked the swarm of Modiglettes…and the entire dungeon. The enemies soundly defeated (as well as most of the party), the scorched, half-dead remainder of the party weakly cheered.

"Creepy! Just like that angel doll!”

“Heh, you think so?” Rudy said with relief. “That thing’s a nightmarish abomination!” Rudy glanced toward that faceless angel doll on the counter top, still a little askew after all those hours beside the flowers. He felt it glaring at him judgmentally…as if wishing for his death.

Rudy noticed, just then, the petals falling from the wilting bouquet…onto that letter enclosed within.

"Kris…they’re a good kid.”

“Earlier, they told me to come visit you.” Noelle replied offhand.

Noelle had never seen her father’s brows rise higher. “Huh. That’s awfully out-of-character for them. I sure hope that isn’t a clue they know something we don’t.”

Noelle laughed nervously. “Yeah, I sure hope so! It’s….probably a sign of some turmoil or trauma that occurred off-screen. That totally happens in RPGs, so it’s not that weird.”

—-

As Noelle defeated foe after foe, progressing on her journey, she spoke less and less. The same went for her father. He reclined in his bed, his head heavy.

Noelle said nothing: not of her anxiety, not of her sadness, not of her ever-growing desire for soda and cheese chips.

“Dad? You haven’t said anything in a while. It’s getting kind of awkward. ‘Companionable silence’ is, uh…not something I’m very good at.”

“Oh, you don’t have to narrate everything,” her father said. “It’s not like you’re playing it for an Internet audience.”

“After all, video games can be…” Her father looked down before looking back at her. “an activity well-suited for urban hermits.”

—-

“THE END”, it said.

Noelle stared at the screen. “What happens next?” Noelle asked, her voice laden with tension.

“The credits screen, of course!” Rudy replied.

“No, no…I mean…what happens to the characters?” Noelle said, glancing towards the window. Her hands still clenched the controller.

“…Y’know…I like to think they all went home after beating the final boss, and had that long-awaited cake.”

“I don’t think they’ll ever get the cake,” Noelle said quietly, looking down. “They always thought they could, but then things happened no one could predict, and now they have to live a cake-free life.”

“You’re right. Come to think of it…a lot of games have cake you can’t get…” Rudy looked out into the distance, up towards the ceiling. “I suppose all they can hope for is finding joy in cupcakes, muffins and brownies. After all, it’s not like having a cake-free life stops them from finding happiness. There are a lot of caloric baked goods in the world.”

Noelle stared at her father, her eyes wet. “Are we…are we even talking about cake anymore?”

Rudy lifted an eyebrow. “It’s good advice, literal or not, and it’s straight from my supply of fatherly wisdom.”

Then, suddenly, there was a weight on Noelle’s hands, and Noelle’s eyes went wide open. Her father weakly squeezed Noelle’s hand, looking straight at her with a wan smile.

“Noelle, dear. Life stinks. But video games make life stink less. When I’m gone, game so much the WHO gives you a disorder.”

“I promise, Dad.”

Her father laid back on the bed, staring up towards the ceiling again.

“DAD OUT!” He shouted. His tongue stuck out and his eyes turned to X’s.

Tears bubbled in Noelle’s eyes. “His eyes turned to X’s…just like the video games…”

—-

It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. On days like these, kids like Kris should be inside playing Nontondo games, but no, Kris had to go be all nice-like and visit someone whose dad had died.

Kris found Noelle standing by the window, light streaming past her silhouette in the early morning light. Kris stared at Noelle’s back in a way that definitely wasn’t creepy.

The two of them stood like two islands in a quiet ocean…but for the malfunctioning air conditioning system, which was quite terrible at imitating calming ocean waves.

Kris observed a massive snarl in Noelle’s hair. It was so big it looked like her hair had gotten pregnant. Dear sweet angel mother of Dog could she not have combed her hair a little before visiting her dying father at 3:30 AM?! Kris thought. But Kris kept quiet.

“Yo, Noelle, your hair is awful,” Kris said. Kris cringed, hurriedly adding: “Also, sorry ‘bout your dad. Obvious foreshadowed deaths are still super sad.”

Noelle spoke in a voice drained of tears, due to a quick surgery she had to improve tear evacuation in her face. Thankfully, Kris wasn’t looking at Noelle’s face.

“I suppose so,” Noelle said quietly. “But if it means I got to spend time with my dad, one last time…then it was worth it for my hair to look like it got goshdarn pregnant.”

Oh thank Dog we agree, Kris thought. Would have been awkward if I brought it up.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do next,” Noelle said, almost to herself. “Life’s…never going to go back to normal, with my dad being all corpsey.”

Kris looked at the bed. It felt empty. “It’s kind of ambiguous whether he’s a corpse or dust.”

“You don’t know…maybe we scheduled a cremation service ahead of time, ‘cause he was on his way out anyway.”

The room was quiet again, but for the annoying creak of the malfunctioning air conditioning. It sounded like a wooden ship breaking apart in a storm-tossed…No, no. Make for a more subtle metaphor, Kris told their own brain.

The moment carried on, stretching out like a lazy morning. In that unhurried moment, where a person could simply be alive, Kris lost track of time. It didn’t matter: it was either 9:27 AM or croissant o’clock.

What did Noelle see, in one of the best views in all of Hometown? The houses below? The woods beyond? Undyne arresting Snowdrake for streaking?

“Thank you, Kris,” Noelle said quietly. “Thank you for somehow knowing roughly when my dad was going to die, despite having zero medical knowledge.”

Noelle’s ears floated up. A few seconds passed. Noelle turned around, exposing her hideously enlarged tear ducts.

“OH MY DOG KRIS DO YOU HAVE TIME TRAVEL POWERS?!”

But Kris had long since bounced the joint.

—-

Everyone knew it was coming. The foreshadowing was very obvious.

Kris stood stiffly in the doorway, a sense of unease building in their various body parts.

At first, the room seemed unoccupied. Then, Kris caught a soft, high-pitched noise. Kris caught Noelle sobbing, her face concealed under a waterfall of hair. (Much like a waterfall was wet, it was also wet. But with tears.) A thought occurred to Kris, unbidden, that her hair was beautiful: long, and blond, and finely combed, and increasingly stained with tears and snot. Her arms wrapped her arms around her body.

Kris did a double-take.

“Noelle…why are you brandishing a disembodied pair of your own arms?”

Noelle coughed out her sobs and swallowed.

“These are my sorrow arms, Kris….I grow them whenever I am enduring the crushing pain of existence.”

Kris’s blank face somehow looked hesitant.

“I doubt that. I’ve never grown any sorrow arms.”

“…oh. I’m sorry, Kris,” Noelle said, a little subdued. “Growing a second pair of arms under overwhelming sorrow must be a monster-only thing.”

“I only wish…I could have played Dragon Blazers III with him.”

Kris paused, tilting their head just a fraction of an inch. “How long would it take to finish Dragon Blazers III?” It was a mundane inquiry, very similar to “Do you have croissants?” in how mundane it was.

Noelle sniffed. In a brittle voice, like a piece of plastic (the brittle kind), she said: “It’s pretty big. About eight hours, I-I think.”

“If you could finish the game with your father, would you?”

“I’d do anything for it.”

“Would you give me hair-care tips?”

“…what?”

“’Cause I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful your hair was, despite the fact it’s increasingly stained with tears and snot.”

“Kris, I am mourning my dead dad. Please read the room before asking for hair care tips.” Noelle’s arms tightened around herself. “But, yes…theoretically, I would provide hair care tips.”

“Despite that unwanted tone of voice, I’m gonna be the better person and rewind time so you can play a video game with your dad, all good Samaritan-like.” Kris said.

“…what? Rewind time?”

—-

“Yo. Red SOUL.” Kris said blankly, sashaying towards a SOUL in a birdcage.

“I need you all up inside me.” Kris said, as seductively as a teenager of unclear age could while still being legal. Kris opened up the cage and their SOUL eagerly jumped into their chest cavity.

“PSYCHE!” Kris exclaimed. “I knew you’d automatically rewind time, sucka! And I’m gonna make Noelle slightly less sad!”

[life-love-geekculture]

SPN 14x20: a few (i.e. many) thoughts

Writers lie.

But, they lie in order to tell a greater truth.

At least, that’s how the proverbial wisdom goes anyway. After this episode, however, I’m not entirely sure I know what Chuck’s truth is supposed to be.

“Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible.”

That’s my all time favorite quote from the series. Along with the addendum endings are a raging pain in the ass. Ever since his introduction, I’ve always felt an affinity for Chuck’s character. He’s a writer. So am I. He vocalized a not insignificant part of that experience. Reconciling the pain characters you create and love have to go through to get them from point A to point B. The difficulty in wrapping up a story. Hell, critics. It’s one of the reasons Metatron always drove me a bit nuts during his play at godhood. All of the technique, but none of the artistry.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is Chuck’s turn to villiany hurts a little. It’s brilliant beyond all belief, don’t get me wrong! What better way to get across the theme of free will on a meta-narrative level? But within the SPN universe it just feels anti-thetical to the story he’s been “telling”. An honest to god betrayal of it.

Don’t get me wrong. I can buy the avoided apocalypse (the first one at least) was Chuck’s intent all along. He wanted Sam and Dean to choose family. He created free will so it could be used. It plays seemlessly into the parental metaphor they’ve also attached to him. The kids have got to grow up sometime. And part of growing up means cleaning up your messes on your own. Which the Winchesters do...a lot.

This sudden shift in attitude,though, just doesn’t make sense to me. It’s less writing an ending as crumpling the document and throwing it away. If the multi-verse is supposed to represent drafts, then Chuck is the kind of writer who keeps ahold of them because some element in one could make another better (and now bringing all the alt-hunters back make sense on a meta level and my head hurts). The point is, if SPN is his final draft or his favorite why destroy it?The characters’ didn’t do what you wanted ? That’s half the fun of being a writer! The unexpected twists of creation! Inspiration turned to life! It makes no sense.

And so I tried to look at it from the God-angle perspective and it still doesn’t make sense. Chuck doesn’t change. Like he told Lucifer he’s pretty much the same as he’s always been. Yes, there’s the Old Testament’s wrathful side. The fire and brimstone and punishment, but even in the Bible that’s balanced with compassion and forgiveness. There’s the Chuck whose solution has always been: build a bigger box. The one who fought for creation to be born. Not made, born. The one who could be reasoned out of apparent wrath because the point was the lesson (the truth) he was trying to get across. And then I remembered his exchange with Castiel...

Chuck: See this is why people need to lie. It’s good. Keeps the peace, you know?

Castiel: Seems like an odd stance for...you.

Chuck: Is it? I’m a writer. Lying is kinda what we do

Chuck is God’s lie.

That is, it’s the mask he wears to keep the peace. It’s his way of walking away and letting the kids learn (and in many ways blossom) for themselves while still supervising. It’s something Metatron calls him out on when they meet in season 11 to discuss Chuck’s autobiography. Specifically, Metatron notes the emphasis on time spent in the Chuck persona was being used to hide the truth. And, it’s a truth Chuck readily confesses to Sam in the Bunker.

Jack told the universe to stop lying. Chuck comes back immediately in full father-mode. The father who demands obedience over the growth of the children (hello, season 1 & 2 parallels). These are not coincidental. Now, sure Chuck could fix creation, but could he do the same for himself? Evidence suggests...not so much. And, based on the look Billie gives Jack in the Empty, the kid done fucked up something. That was not a happy look.

So where does this leave us?

Well, with a zombie apocalypse in the immediate future and lots of ghosts to deal with next. More importantly, though, it looks like the boys may be on a mission to stop or save God himself. It’s...it’s a hell of a way to go out. The writer in me is very proud.

Before I wrap this up, though, a few thoughts on TFW 2.0:

First, I called it with Dean. Again, not a surprise. As I said, he needs to get to the edge before he can back off from it. That said, this episode wasn’t without some painful moments for him. As some of you may know, I’ve started rewatching and reviewing old episodes of SPN in preparation for the series finale. A bit serendipitous given recent events, but as part of that I rewatched episode 1x03 recently. Dean’s speech about Mary being his hero is so similar in tone to the speech he gives Lucas (the kid with the psychic link to the lake ghost) about his belief in Mary wanting him to be brave. It physically hurt to watch. The facade hiding the pain of Mary’s second death publicly cracking in a way similar to the facade hiding the pain of her first. But it also made me really excited to complete this review series and pull out those hidden parallels. Also, don’t think for a second I won’t point out how much of a nerd Dean really is. I have said it for years and now I feel vindicated!

On a more serious note, I don’t know what to say about Jack. Seeing him dead hurt (the only tears I shed in the finale to be honest). But this season left off with so many unanswered questions. Just how powerful is this kid? What are the Shadow and Billie planning? What is with Halucifer 2.0? How the fuck do souls actually work? And I’m still trying to get my head around his self-prophecy to Cas. A perfect world has always seemed, again, anti-thetical to the point of the story. The power of choice means things can’t be perfect and the only way to bring about perfection is to rob creation of choice. It’s a constant battle the Winchesters have had to fight. I’m cautiously intrigued to see how this storyline is going to be fulfilled.

So let’s talk about Sam. I knew the kid was in a bad place going in to this episode, but...DAMN!

I’m pretty solidly in the camp he wasn’t intending to kill Chuck with that wave of multi-dimensional hoo-haa. Sam’s only ever been that bad of a shot during the trials when he was sick. Still the fact he even tried it...This might be the one thing I can’t forgive Dean for this season. Even when the boys have been at their worst, Dean still allowed Sam to talk.To get his grief out. There’s been no relief since Mary’s death and Sam’s journey has inevitably played into a point I made reviewing Absence(14x18). The boys are used to dealing with death as a matter of consequence, not an accident. Which is why Sam is currently blaming himself for what happened. While it’s true Jack’s storyline for the season contributed towards Mary’s death, it’s something that could have happened regardless of if he had a soul or not. There’s no cosmic choice involved. But add it to the list of things that have gone wrong this season, and it makes sense for Sam to shift the blame to Chuck when he realized he’s been watching and apparently not doing anything (something we’ve known about Chuck for practically forever).

It’s something people do when bad things happen all the time in the real world. Chuck could have been less of an ass explaining why he couldn’t help, but he’s sorta not...wrong. Assuming he didn’t interfere with Jack to kick this mess off (and I hope to God that is not the case), it all goes back to free will. Sometimes bad things just happen. Sometimes Someone makes a stupid mistake in the heat of moment, and you just have to live with the aftermath. That said, I just kind of want to wrap the moose in a bunch of blankets and keep him protected in the Bunker forever and...

And so finally, we come to Cas. My sweet, awesome fucking angel/best dad in the whole universe. Cas wins the whole season! Give him all of the awards! The poor angel has been putting out fire after fire and I love him for it as much as I’m still terrified for him. It does crack me up a little that everyone got so pissed at the boys last episode for the Ma’lak box, and yet Cas is literally thinking of putting Jack in the Cage this episode. Like father, like son I guess. Yet, it’s clear his intention is to save him. Cas isn’t blind to the danger Jack poses, but his aim is to just contain him till a cure can be found. Not a great solution but the only one we have at the moment. And can we talk about that scene in the graveyard! Perfect imagery of a father being strict but compassionate towards his son who screwed up. All of the awards! All of them!

[velerodra-valesinger]

Ghosts

[ Note:   This takes place on Sunday, and references the events of Saturday evening.   I am a day behind on actually posting this one.   It’s also - a little all over the place and lacks a lot of context.   Idk if I like this post or not.   But - posting it anyways.

Mentions:  @eilitheduskbringer, @blackholmleague, @deadsunharbor, @straygems

Featuring old yet relevant quotes from:   @thefrozenheart]

She didn’t sleep that night, she didn’t get home until sunrise.   Upon arriving she went about her  morning routine in something of a trance.   After making sure breakfast had been prepared Vel took a bath, and then headed to her office, locked the door, shut the blinds and leaned back in her chair and rested her eyes.    She spent most of the day like this.

Thoughts drifted toward the nameless apparition she’d encountered the prior night.   The way she wept.   The way her ethereal form drifted and the sense of sorrow, longing, and desperate loneliness that seemed to radiate from her.   

When she had left the settlement.   She’d gone to the cemetery in Stormwind.   She had failed to help one ghost find rest, and she liked to think that spending time among the dead might atone for her failure.    

She wasn’t sure if spirits truly lingered in the cemetery.    Just as she wasn’t sure if the modest monument she’d left back at the settlement in honor of the nameless ghost would mean much to anyone.    

Guilt - a guilt nagged at her.    

How long had it been?  Since she’d felt so hollow?    

The Stormwind Cemetery was an unlikely haunt to find a lover for the night, but she’d found comfort in stranger places.   

Vel’s chest still stirred when she thought of that ghost’s distant gaze.   The sorrow, the longing, the desperate loneliness.    And as that image haunted her, she haunted to the cemetery, with sorrow, longing and a desperate loneliness.   Mixed with a dash of guilt.    

Vel drifted along like a living ghost as she followed the near-stranger out of the cemetery and into some forest clearing.    

Her flesh was torn, blood was shed and after hours of abuse Vel found a fleeting peace beside the woman she barely knew.    There were kisses too - but those didn’t stand out in Vel’s mind.    It was the stinging, the slicing, and piecing sensations that stuck with her.   The mists had already tended to the wounds.    

By sunrise guilt had been exchanged for shame and regret.  It had been a long time since Vel allowed herself to turn to such methods as a way of distracting herself from the things that plagued her mind.   

Under the moonlight, Vel had been lost in a moment.   A wandering apparition.    Lonely, and desperate Vel had been but a fraction of herself.  

She still couldn’t recall the woman’s full name now.   And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.  

She still hasn’t figured out the name of the ghost she’d left a small monument for, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find that out anymore either.   

While Vel had been off wandering around, she’d heard the voices over the seal, she’d heard Eilithe mention she’d been bleeding out.   

Vel wondered what it said about her, that rather than check on a living creature she cared for she’d chosen to spend time tending to a ghost she never knew in life.   

She wondered further what it said about her that even upon hearing Eilithe say she’d been bleeding out that she had chosen the company of a near stranger, and an cold, emotionless, physical interaction over choosing to be at the side of someone she had actual affection for.   

Those pangs of guilt once again caused her body to ache.   Her fingers twitched and her back and head both throbbed.    They ached in that dull but relentless way she was familiar with.   But she felt it more now.   The sunlight was spilling through the slits of the closed blinds of her office window.    

Heavy eyelids fluttered open.    

She gazed around her office.   

A piece of parchment was on her desk.   She dipped a quill into ink and for a while she just held it there.   

She recalled Airid’s words back when they approached the settlement, that minds and wills would be tested.    Vel had seemed distrustful of the woman by the end of the evening, but it wasn’t Airid she had an issue with.   It was the nature of the work.   Chasing ghosts, and robbing the dead.      Vel had enough things haunting her.   She had never cared for the relics, she’d only been along for the ride because it was important to Eilithe.  

Peter and the others, from what Vel could ascertain over the seal had been rummaging through the pockets of corpses before putting them to rest.   Vel had been burying a note and a key she’d found in a desk drawer, and marking it with a blood stained rock.   A proxy grave for a woman she never knew.    A woman that for all she knew was still wandering around in search of a man that she’d loved and locked away.  

And now Airid and the others had set their sights on a some temple beneath the house.   How many tombs would be down there?   How many more graves would be pilfered?    

For a creature who had some very questionable morals, Vel couldn’t handle the idea of disturbing more graves, or of failing to help more restless spirits find peace.    It hadn’t been her will or her mind that she found tested, it had been her own values.  

She brought the quill to the paper and wrote a letter.   

Dear Eilithe,

I fear upon reflecting upon the events of last night that I am not - an asset on such expeditions.    I do not have it in me, to be around more ghosts.   I am plenty haunted as it is.   I find the idea of taking things from the dead, to be objectionable to the degree you view slavery objectionable.    And while there is some comfort in being able to put some dead to rest, I cannot bring myself to be involved in robbing the dead, or failing to bring them peace.    For all I know for every body burnt,  caused some other spirit to grow restless somewhere else.  

While I find the notion of taking from the dead - objectionable, I do not hold it against anyone.   I know it is not done out of malice.   However for me, personally, it is a line I cannot cross, and this I feel it is best if I remain away from future expeditions.   I love you Eilithe, and I hope someone tended to your injuries.    And I will support you in your endeavors to the best of my ability from a distance.   Please, take this dagger, and bring any husks you find peace.   I would do so myself, but - I just - well I’ve tried my best to explain above.   I hope you understand and do not view this as me being weak.   Or giving up.    We all have lines that we do not cross.

In my place, take Rubiaura, as she likely doesn’t have the same - reservations that I do.   Rubiaura is far more concerned with the living than the dead.    She is capable of healing using both light and shadow magics, and is a surprisingly capable field medic as well.   

I was told many times not to apologize, but I fear in this case it feels appropriate.   I am sorry I cannot be of greater use to you in this endeavor.    More than you know.   I love you.   And I am not going anywhere, just shifting my focus back towards other issues around the Harbor.    I can be of more use to you working on things that do not stir up my personal ghosts.   

—Vel

She slipped it, long with the dagger she carried, under the door of Eilithe’s office before retreating back to her own, locking the door behind her.    

She flipped a coin idly a few times.

Once.

Twice.

On the third flip the coin passed through her hand, as she unintentionally faded to mist for just a moment.    As the coin spun around on the desk before landing on heads, all she could do was look at her hand and let out a dry, somber laugh.   

Old words danced in her mind, words spoken to her by the woman whose icy touch remained with Vel even now.   

“I did not see you… until this moment. Or perhaps I didn’t understand what I saw. With the souls that dance around you and the flickering of your spirit. You were hidden before me, but it is still now. Quiet and clear. You are nothing. Yet everything. A tangible vapor. Look at you. You are lovely… tormented and lovely. So alone. So desperate.”

Vel clenched her hand tightly a few times.  She reached down to collect her coin and she flipped it a few more times and seemed satisfied.   

Still she felt a chill as she heard Aria’s words echo in her mind.  

"There is a part of Death within you now.  May it ever keep you.”

Vel stood up.    She put the coin into her pocket and brushed at her hair.   Her eyes flickered softly, and a lazy smile crept onto her face.   The same smile she always wore.   She opened her office door, placed her hands in her pockets and left.   As if it were just another day.

All the guilt, shame, loneliness and sorrow that had been haunting her the previous night and most of the day seemed to fade into the distance as she walked, and it felt as if she just were to keep moving they’d never catch up to her.    

Though, she failed to realize that those feelings that haunted her - weren’t chasing her, they were a part of her.    And no matter how fast or far she moved, she’d never be able to outrun herself.  

Every step away from one ghost - was just a step towards another.    

[squidbatts]

Tell Me (is it worth it?)

A necessary conversation after a graveyard scare

((it is, as always, Peter Loving Hours and im still thinkin abt m23 (and janine) so Have This. full spoilers to s7m23 but possibility for minor implications to m32. 

potential tw for discussions of depression and a near death experience))

{ao3}

The run back to shelter is quiet.

Five signs him a quick “Are you alright?” but he waves them off.

“It's been a long day,” He signs back, and nearly laughs at Five's scrunched-faced scowl that so obviously says You think?

Nearly, because it's then that Janine decides to look over her shoulder at the two of them. Their eyes meet for the briefest moment before Peter redirects his gaze up at the dark, grey sky.

He can feel Janine and Five still looking at him -- even half wonders how they're looking, if they're worried or annoyed or upset -- but he refuses to look back down, even when he stubs his toe on a rock because he's not looking where he's going. It hurts, obviously, but it’s leagues better than what he'd been preparing himself for today.

He grimaces.

Definitely too soon for jokes.

See, Peter knows he shouldn't have tried to sacrifice himself for the greater good or whatever. He knows that he gets stuck in his own head, that he's not doing great on the whole “being happy and enjoying his life” thing, that he turns half his conversations into embarrassingly self-deprecating circle jerks about how he can't die or the ways he should've died or just how bloody awful he feels all the time, but, well, if wishes were horses and all that.

When they reach Sage’s beach, Dennis gives them an awkward smile before quickly walking away -- because what else are you supposed to do when you're leaving a bunch of strangers who just heard you try to end it all? Really, Peter would love to know the answer to that one, if anyone's figured it out -- but Sage stops to look at Peter with his unfairly perceptive eyes.

“Thank you for your assistance on this operation, Colonel Sage,” Janine is saying, but Sage just keeps staring Peter down.

“If you don't mind me saying so, Colonel De Luca, I think that your runners would benefit from some rest,” Sage says, finally looking away from Peter, though his body is still turned towards him. “Today has been… taxing. For all of us.”

“We really must keep going if we're to reach our lodgings for the night by sundown-”

“You could spend the night with my people,” Sage interrupts, “We’re no Abel Township, but I'm certain we can find room for you.”

Sage's oil rig and seaside town is almost as big as Fort Canton, if not bigger, but Peter recognizes Sage's tactic -- insulting yourself so the other party feels inclined to support you; insisting on leaving now would make it seem like Janine is implicitly agreeing that Sage's settlement is worse than Abel, and Sage must known as well as Peter that Janine would never willingly insult an ally.

“If you do insist,” Janine says, after a moment. From the corner of his eye, Peter can see how she’s fighting off a frown. “But I need to debrief with my runners, do you have somewhere private where I could do so?”

“Oh, but of course, Colonel, I’ll have one of my men lead you there. It will be just a moment,” Sage says, finally leaving them, but not before squeezing Peter’s shoulder. He doesn’t do it tightly, it doesn’t even hurt, but Peter still winces.

Janine glances at him, but doesn't say anything. Nerves make him want to move -- to shake, to tap, to fidget -- but he doesn't want to draw Janine's eyes back to him, doesn't want to see her look at him like she's shocked he's there, like he's a wild animal that she has to be careful not to spook. Like she barely knows him.

They wait for Sage's man in silence, the kind that settles like a old quilt on a small child; suffocating and far too heavy. When Sage’s man finally arrives, he nearly trips over himself at the sight of Janine before leading the three of them (though not without a considerable amount of backwards glances at Janine like he’s imagining her in a leather catsuit and eyepatch) to a more isolated building that Peter can only kindly refer to as a shed.

“They can't spare anywhere nicer for the saviors of the UK?” Peter signs to Five, since the leader is still stammering his way through talking to Janine and he's close enough that it’d be rude if Peter muttered it under his breath.

Five rolls their eyes, obviously amused, but still tries to put on a scolding facade, “Janine said ‘private’ not nice.”

“I know not everyone can have fancy farmhouse dining room to hold meetings in but really, you'd think they could do better than a shed.”

Five snorts, unable to hold onto their Head of Runners appropriate disapproval. Janine kindly and curtly denies the leader's flustered overtures and gets him to leave.

She’s almost painfully normal during the debrief -- same old Colonel De Luca voice as normal, with her hard gaze and her curt, to-the-point words -- but after it’s done she nods to herself as says, “Alright, Runner Five, you may go, but I would like a few minutes with you, Mr Lynne. If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not,” Peter says, though his body yells for him to run. Five raises their eyebrows and grimances in an exaggerated Yikes face as they leave. “Listen-”

“Mr. Lynne,” Janine says, bulldozing over what Peter was going to say, still using her above-it-all tone, “I wanted to apologize to you, specifically for my behavior today. It was a stressful situation for us all and it’s unbecoming of a leader to break down like that in the field, even when-”

Janine cuts herself off, voice breaking. Peter lurches forward half a step before he can stop himself, arms held out towards her. “Jenny-”

Janine screws her face up for a half a moment before smoothing it out and locking it back into normalcy. She’s looks at a point over Peter’s shoulder. “Even when confronted with a potential personnel loss. I’m sure my own… discomposure didn’t help with your own decisions. As your leader, I should have been helpful, not another difficulty.”

“You can’t seriously believe that,” Peter says, “I told you, Jenny, none of this is your fault.”

“I’m your commanding officer and,” Janine pauses, finally meeting Peter’s eyes. “I should’ve planned better, should’ve thought more about it, should’ve considered that possibility that you’d consider yourself a liability. I should’ve known what to say.”

Peter allows himself to take those steps forward, to cut the space between himself and Janine. He places her hands on her biceps, squeezing slightly. She sighs but leans into his touch. Peter bites his lips and watches as Janine studies his face. He doesn’t flinch away from her I can’t believe you’re here gaze this time.

“I really was thinking about Abel,” He says eventually, both because it’s true and because he thinks it’s important that Janine knows it.

“I know you were. That’s perhaps the worst part, that I know you were thinking of all of us, because to think that you thought anyone in Abel would accept your sacrifice is-” Janine cuts herself off and shakes her head, looking pointedly away from Peter and at the blank walls instead. “I just wish that you knew how much we all need you.”

Peter laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “You all seemed to do alright before I came back.”

“We lost Abel and we would’ve lost Five thrice if not for your intervention,” Janine says deadpan, not even letting his deflection stand. She sighs and shakes his hands off, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even ignoring what you do for our Township, I want you to understand that you’re… you're not unimportant to me. Not disposable, not an acceptable loss, not anything like that, not for any reason.”

“Not for any reason?” Peter asks with forced levity to hide the sudden weight he feels in his chest, “That’s a pretty extreme parameter, Jenny-”

“Not for the whole of the United Kingdom, Peter,” She interrupts, sharply. The words are painted in shades of her Colonel De Luca voice, but they tremble enough to make Peter tense. Her eyes are passionately bright, even though she’s blinking a worrisome amount. “Even if it would save the entire world, I wouldn't sacrifice you.”

“Janine,” He starts, the word sounding like it's been ripped from his lungs. He’s not sure what comes after it, what could come after it. An admission like that is- It's a lot, for the two of them. They’ve been close since he reintegrated into Abel, and he’s spent more than a few nights in her bed, but something like this… Peter swallows thickly. The space under his sternum feels overfull, his breath is caught in his throat, and he feels watery all over; a little like drowning, but maybe worse.

“It's- I know it’s selfish of me, unbelievably so, both to feel this way and to tell you about it, but I'm not sorry. I'm not asking you to live for me, I wouldn't want that, but you need-” She pauses and takes a deep, wet breath, turning her head away from Peter and rubbing a hand over her eyes aggressively. “I needed you to know. What you meant to me.”

“Of course I know,” Peter assures her, stepping forward. She turns her head up towards him and he has to force himself not to wipe at her tear-dewed eyelashes. Instead, he uses a hand to gesture at his own head. “It’s just rough in here, sometimes. It’s not always logical, or smart, but it’s just… there. And I thought, for a moment, that seeing if a burn cube could incinerate me would be the best way to help everyone, but I- I didn’t think of everything, or everyone. I’m sorry.”

Janine turns away again and laughs, but it’s harsh, humorless, and sad. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Neither do you.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Janine staring at the floor with knitted brows and Peter looking at Janine with distress. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, had thought that his leaving would be an all-win situation. He bites back the instinct to apologize again and waits, until Janine’s eyebrows uncrease and she lets herself relax, arms falling back to her sides, leaning herself forwards until her forehead hits Peter’s shoulder. Peter wraps his arms around her, pulling her in as close as possible. He presses a kiss onto the crown of her head before he rests his cheek against it. It’s not closure, not for either of them, and Peter knows they should probably talk about it more, but just for right now, this is enough.

Janine sniffles slightly into his shirt and he strokes her hair and thinks of all the different ways that today could’ve gone. He’s grateful that it ended up like this.

[peoplediedrobert]

I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues

A exploration of Aaron and postnatal depression

AO3 

*this fic will not be for everyone. It is a topic that is very near and dear to my heart because I suffered from (and still do really) postnatal depression for 18 months. I thought it would be interesting to work out my feelings through Aaron, as male postnatal depression is NEVER given the attention it deserves. Given his history (just like mine), he is a prime candidate for PPND. I hope you give it shot, and let me know what you think. Keep negative comments to yourself, though!* 

(If someone needs more info about postnatal depression or PPND, shoot me a message!)

It starts small, as these things often do. Seb had been living with Robert and Aaron only a few weeks when Aaron began waking up multiple times throughout the night, more often than not for no reason. Seb would be sound asleep, baby monitor softly crackling beside Robert’s head, but Aaron would strain his ears to make doubly sure Seb was fine. He would roughly wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, body twisted in the duvet, sometimes he even bolted straight up. This went on for weeks.

The lack of sleep became apparent immediately. Aaron’s sullen and sometimes dark attitude worsened with each day he survived on four hours (or less) of sleep. He was easily irritated by everyone, more so than usual. On more than one occasion he would snap at Robert or Liv over something insignificant and had to watch them curl up within themselves, eager to get away from Aaron’s sharp tongue. Aaron hated himself for that, but couldn’t stop it. His mind was on edge. It was like he had no control over his own mind or thoughts. He found himself staying at the scrapyard for even ten extra minutes, just to revel in the silence. The Mill was always loud. Seb was babbling or crying, Liv was listening to music at a ridiculous volume, and Robert was just always there, hovering. Double checking. Trying to soothe what he didn’t understand but only making it worse.

Aaron began skipping breakfast. He just wasn’t hungry, and if he stayed in bed, he had at least half an hour to himself every morning. At first, Robert would try to bring him a tray of food, joking about breakfast in bed for his beautiful husband but Aaron could do nothing but pick at the food, his appetite nonexistent. Robert stopped trying after a few days. Aaron found himself pulling away from Robert. The small touches they gave one another throughout the day--a hand on the small of a back, brushing up next to one another periodically, light squeezes of a hand in passing--became too much. His smile became an even rarer sight than before and he could feel himself becoming smaller and smaller, hunching over.

The moment he knew there was an actual problem was when he found himself getting irritated and angry when he heard Seb cry. It began to feel like Aaron had to physically force himself to pick Seb up and comfort him. It felt like he didn’t want to pick him up but knew he had to. The guilt gnawed at him for weeks--what kind of a bloke gets irritated at a baby? What kind of a bloke begins to resent the idea of caring for an innocent child who just wants love and attention?

Aaron didn’t understand. He was in a good place. He had worked hard to get to this healthy point in his life. The pain of the last year had taught him to open up just a bit more, to reach out rather than bottle it all up within himself. He felt like a failure. Maybe everything he had told Robert, over and over again, about not resenting Seb was a lie that he told himself because he missed Robert so much? There’s no way he could be a good father anyway, given his history, right? That voice in his head, fanning the fire of self doubt, got louder and louder every day. Aaron got the urge to run. To run as far as he could, as fast as he could, away from the stress, the noise, the way Robert and Liv began walking on eggshells around him. He wanted to feel the burn in his legs so maybe the constant and ever present anxiety in his head would go away. This was a problem.

It all comes to a head on a bright and cheery Sunday morning. After finally falling asleep as the sun rose, Aaron is awoken by the sound of Robert, Liv, and Seb at the breakfast table. Aaron sits up in bed, his eyes bleary and his head pounding. The night prior had actually been a good night--he’d gotten nearly five hours of sleep. Aaron heaves himself out of bed, throws on whatever clothes he can find and joins his family, feeling hungry for once. He notices immediately that everyone quiets down when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, all turning to look at Aaron. He gives them all a smile and he can physically feel the tension in the room dissipate (when did that happen? When did everyone look to Aaron to figure out how the day would go?) He sits down at the table, doing his best to insert himself in the conversation. Liv gives him small looks across the table, searching his face for signs of the old Aaron, a grumpy git to everyone else but a big softie when they were in their home. He tries hard to give her what she wants. He smiles and he asks questions and he ruffles Seb’s hair in passing. All of it feels like an act.

Shortly after breakfast, Robert suddenly looks to Liv and softly asks, “Can you take Seb to the pub to see Chas, or over to see Diane? Just for an hour or so.” The look on his face is so earnest, it’s impossible for her to say no. They gather up all the little things he might need and pack it in to the diaper bag. Liv gives Aaron a little hug and pushes the pram out the front door.

“What was that for, Robert? I thought you wanted to spend today as a family?” Robert says nothing. He guides Aaron to the couch and sits him down and takes a seat on the other side. The distance between them has never been greater, and Aaron wants to cry. Robert continues to sit in silence, clearly gathering his thoughts, opening and closing his mouth a few times until the anticipation gets to Aaron and he barks, “Would you please get on with it, Robert?” At that, Robert turns to Aaron and the world falls out from beneath him when Robert asks, “Do you regret this? Me and Seb? Do you want us to leave?”

Shock runs through Aaron and out of his mouth before he can think. “What are you on about, Rob? Where is this coming from?” “Aaron, I know you pretty well, surprisingly, and something isn’t right. And it hasn’t been right since Seb moved in with us. I know it was your idea, but I wouldn’t blame you if this is too much. We can always say we gave it a go again and it didn’t work.” Robert looks impossibly sad, and Aaron’s heart swells at the thought that Robert could put himself through this just so Aaron would be happy.

Aaron lurches forward and pulls Robert into a bone crushing hug. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it isn’t you, and it isn’t Seb.” He releases Robert and then taps the side of his own head as he says, “It’s something up here. I don’t know what’s happening. Maybe I’m not cut out for this but I don’t want you to go.” Robert looks deep in Aaron’s eyes, and immediately Aaron knows what the next question will be as he gestures at Aaron’s stomach.

“You haven’t…”

“No, Robert. I haven’t. But something is wrong and I don’t know what.”

“Well then we figure it out, together. I love you, Aaron and I want you to let me help.”

Aaron drags his hand across his face, wiping up the tears he didn’t even know he’d been shedding and takes a deep, ragged breath as he admits, “I think I need to see someone. At the very least I need to figure out what’s happening in my head.” He leans his head back against the couch, just enjoying the feeling of Robert rubbing his arm over and over. The exhaustion of the past few weeks settled over Aaron and he physically sags against its weight.

Aaron makes an appointment with his GP and has to force himself to go the morning of. As he arrives, his nerves are jumping. His foot jingles nervously against the floor until it is his turn to go back into the office. She welcomes him and gestures for him to sit down. “What brings you here today?”

Aaron doesn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain to a fellow adult that well, you aren’t sleeping well and you aren’t that hungry and you’re irritable? He would sound like he’s describing every teenager ever. “I don’t know. My partner and I took in his little boy to live with us full time. It was great in the beginning. We went through a rough patch last year but we got back together and everything was fine. Then…” Aaron stops, embarrassed at what he’s about to say.

“Aaron, I will help in every way that I can. But I need to know what’s happening.”

Another deep breath and he lets it all out. His struggles in the past, his sleeplessness now, how irritated he is at everything and everyone, most importantly how he has started to feel towards Seb. He recounts every moment of anxiety, every time he felt like clawing his own skin, every time he just wanted to run and never look back. Here he was in front of what was essentially a stranger, tears in a constant river down his face, laying himself bare. When he’s done, he just looks up to the doctor and is met with an immensely sympathetic face.

“I think the answer is rather more simple than you think, Aaron. From everything you’ve told me I think you’re suffering from postnatal depression, specifically paternal postnatal depression. Although it manifests itself in hundreds of ways, your sleeplessness, irritability and the inability to connect with Seb all point to that diagnosis.”

Aaron’s breathing slows and he looks at the doctor, confusion written all over his face. Without meaning to, and without understanding why, he begins to argue, “Isn’t that something only women get? He’s not biologically mine—why is this affecting me and not my partner?”

“Postnatal depression isn’t always about biology, Aaron. Yes, oftentimes when women suffer from it, it’s because of the hormonal changes in her body but it’s more than that. You’ve had your entire life interrupted by a very loud and very needy little human. Even if it was something you had prepared for, you don’t know how your brain will react when the baby actually gets here. More than that, It is common for someone with a history of depression to be affected—man or woman. You’ve done nothing wrong and this doesn’t mean you don’t love Seb or don’t want to care for him. That’s not how this works.”

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He felt the weight lift from his shoulders and he sat up a bit straighter.

“There’s multiple ways we can treat this. Weekly counseling is your best bet, and there’s always medications we can try. If it helps, oftentimes postnatal depression lifts after the first year. There’s no reason to assume this is permanent. And you have nothing to apologize for. Now that you recognize the problem, you can begin to fix it.”

And that does it. Aaron’s face turns hot and the tears start falling all over again. That was his biggest fear—that this anxious, guilty, terrible feeling would be with him forever. That his brain could never just let him be.

The doctor hands him tissues and silently squeezes his hands. “We will solve this. Let’s make you some appointments. A more immediate ‘fix,’ if we could call it that, is that you have to get more sleep. Studies have shown that lack of sleep is the biggest trigger for postnatal depression. Make yourself a priority and this will pass.”

The drive home is mercifully long enough that Aaron can gather his thoughts. He can finally admit to himself how scared he had been of himself the last few weeks. He doesn’t even try to stop the tears making tracks down his face. It feels good to feel something other than anger and irritation.

When he arrives home, he sees Robert sitting on the couch, reading a book. He looks up when Aaron walks in through the front door and gives Aaron a small, cautious smile. “How did it go?” he asks. Aaron drops himself down next to Robert, thighs touching--he needs to feel connected to Robert again. He didn’t realize how far apart they had grown but now he feels it like a physical ache. He picks up Robert’s hands and intertwines their fingers.

“Turns out, and you may not believe this, but I’m normal.” Robert snorts and turns his head towards Aaron with a smile, “I don’t think either of us fit that description, but go on.” “The doc thinks I have paternal postnatal depression. So me being a mardy arse for these last few weeks is actually textbook.” Robert’s eyes go incredibly soft and he gives Aaron’s hand a squeeze as he continues. “I need to go to counseling once a week and possibly medication if it comes to that. Apparently with my history, this isn’t unheard of. So, now I know what the problem is. Also it’s been doctor approved that I need to get more sleep. So, I get all the lie-ins I want.” At that, Robert bursts out laughing and Aaron joins in. “Oh I see, you just wanted an excuse to be lazy,” Robert says teasingly. He gives Aaron a soft kiss, cradling his face in his hands. “We’ll get through this, Aaron. Together.”

Aaron continued to have bad days. He slept more, he took time for himself, he stopped taking the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he still had bad days. Days where everyone irritated him and he wanted to run, but instead of turning inward, he made an appointment or he talked to Robert, or he played in the garden with Seb or he played endless amounts of video games with Liv. Slowly and surely, the fog lifted and Aaron smiled more. He laughed more and felt like a normal human again. And the next time they bring a baby home, Aaron feels immensely more prepared.

[moodybidoof]

The benefit of being stuck in the suburbs is I finally got around to answering this questionnaire. It’s really long and unedited and I don’t expect anyone to read it lol, but it was fun to do. 

If nothing else you should look at the question “What stories does the clan have with moral lessons?” bc I literally just copied my favorite childhood fairy tale and it’s raw af. 

Where in Thedas does the clan reside?

Until relatively recently they stayed close to the Frostback Mountains, mostly towards the south near the Arbor Wilds. During a lean winter in 8:82 Blessed, while settled in the Frostback Basin, they were attacked by a group of Avvar warriors who aimed to appease their gods with a live sacrifice. Several of the elves were killed, including the clan’s Second, and the Keeper was seriously wounded, so Marethari took charge and had them flee into the eastern lowlands.

They moved around the Korcari Wild and Brecilian Forest up until the start of the Fifth Blight, when they took a ship to the Free Marches and, as we all know, got stuck outside Kirkwall for years. After Marethari’s death and the chantry explosion, some of the clan members joined up with Merrill and the Kirkwall city elves to get to safety, and they continue to use the name Sabrae for their hodgepodge clan.

They stayed near Kirkwall and were offered a permanent home outside the city by Viscount Tethras in 9:44 Dragon - a gift for aiding in the reconstruction of the city.  

What are the dangers of living where they live?

The Veil is thin around Sundermount, though that’s not so much of a problem as long as the clan is careful. Templars and apostates were obviously an issue soon after the chantry explosion, and not long after that there were red templars to deal with. Forces from Starkhaven also tried their hand at conquering the city, and all this chaos attracted looters, bandits, and the like.

Needless to say, things were a mess for a while.

Nowadays they still have to worry about the creatures that share Sundermount with them, but things have calmed down considerably. The biggest issue is finding game to hunt. The clan had already been in the area for several years and they're competing with the indigenous predators of the Vimmark Mountains. Also, the whole thin Veil issue was only exacerbated by all the death and magic that dominated Kirkwall for the last almost decade.

What are the benefits of living where they live?

In the years after Corypheus’ defeat, Varric’s boone to the elves went a long way to normalize their presence and give them the recognition they deserve, and of course they also have a friend in Guard-Captain Aveline. All things considered, the clan has very much made itself part of the city in a way that few elves of any origin have before

Since Kirkwall has once again become a trading hub, Clan Sabrae has access to goods from all across Thedas. Also, they’re settled right near a trove of ancient elven artifacts.

In what ways has their location shaped their culture and way of life?

Like I said before, they’re a part of the surrounding community to an extent that’s really unique to Dalish elves for sure, and even city elves; probably the only thing that’s comparable is Wycome’s city counsel, after the Inquisition got involved there. Many of the clan members are former city elves, so they still keep up close relations with those that chose to remain in the Alienage, and the clan is more attuned to the problems of their city cousins. It won’t be a surprise if within a generation, the Dalish children of Clan Sabrae grow up hearing a mix of traditional and modern elven stories.

Going back a bit, living in the Frostbacks for so long created a culture very much focused on preparing for the worst. They farmed and hunted when it was warm, then pickled and tanned anything they didn’t immediately need for the winter. If push came to shove, they would trade with trusted Avvar clans. Resources were scarce so they were very practical about how they used everything, and while they encouraged resourcefulness, they avoided anything that seemed like an unnecessary risk. There was a certain way of doing things, so that was the way it was done.

Halla can’t survive in the cold climates of the Frostbacks, so the clan hearded and bred harts instead - greater frostback elks, specifically - to use as draft animals. They didn’t start keeping halla again until they settled further east.  

The wheels on their aravels could be switched out to sled runners.

Living near the Avvar and then in the Brecilian Forest meant that the clan had up close experience with spirits and hedge magic. Prior to the incident with Tamlen and Mahariel most of the clan members had a healthy suspicion of such things (for example, traditionally putting up wards in the doorways of their aravels and around camp to guard against spirits) but it wasn’t something that was taboo either. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for the mages to create and work with docile sylvans to aid and protect the clan.

They knew many stories about ancient elven magic and old myths about Thedas’ wilder places, but after Marethari became Keeper she began telling those stories with a darker edge to them. After the Avvar attack, a trek through the Fallow Mire, and run in with feral sylvan and other demons, her view of wilder magic was tinged with fear - and then there was the incident with Tamlen and Mahariel. Marethari’s time as Keeper shifted the clan’s culture, but Merrill is trying help them shed their fear of mysterious magic.

Have they always been here, or did they come from elsewhere?

Oops I already wrote their whole story in the first question. So yeah, they’re from the Frostbacks originally, then southern Ferelden, before settling where they are now.

If so, where were they from before, when did they leave, and why?

Long story short, Avvar attacked the clan, the Keeper was injured and the second killed so Marethari had to make split-second decision as the clan’s First and lead them into the lowlands to the east. They traveled towards through the Korcari Wilds, where Marethari tracked down Flemeth and made a deal with her to secure the clan safe passage. They moved around the Wilds and the Brecilian Forest for almost 50 years until fear of the Blight and mounting suspicion from local Templars forced them north.

Are they nomadic? Semi-nomadic? Or do they have a permanent settlement? How has this affected them?

They used to be semi-nomadic, staying in roughly the same area but moving around enough to make sure they wouldn’t overuse the resources in one place or outstay their welcome with any nearby human settlements. Especially when they were in southern Ferelden, they were dogged by rumors of walking trees and “demon elves” (which weren’t entirely untrue), which attracted attention from the Chantry, so they had to make sure the Templars never caught up with them. This was just all the more reason for them to be as practical and cautious as possible, especially around the Chantry.

Their hunters had seen anything and everything you could think of; lurkers, giant spiders, demon trees, templars, the walking dead - you name it and they’ve probably had to fight it while they traveled through some of the weirder parts of Thedas. As a result, most of the clan members are trained to fight in some capacity, just in case.

They’re still getting used to having a permanent home now. Even the original Sabrae clan members among them have been around Kirkwall for ages at this point, but being in limbo is very different from settling in for the long haul. Though they are an independent settlement, they’re fairly involved in what’s going on in Kirkwall proper and obviously have strong connections with its people.

If they are nomadic/semi-nomadic, what are their migration habits like?

While they lived in the Frostbacks the clan moved as the weather changed, going further north in the winter and back south in the summer. They followed wild harts to ensure they always had game to hunt and pastures for their own animals. While they were settled in for a season they would set up tents covered in furs and skins to provide space to rest outside their aravels.

They ended up moving more often when they starting living further east because the land was far more unpredictable and they had to make sure they didn’t attract attention from any nearby human settlements. As a result they mostly lived out of their aravels and clearly had two types - ones to transport stuff, and ones that were homes.

In what ways does the clan sustain themselves? What do they have for resources, and how do they acquire/use/maintain them?

The nearby caves are full of nugs, mushrooms, and various ore, and even the giant spiders and deepstalkers can be used for the webs, venom, and scales.

The mountains themselves are home to august rams, hares, coyotes, and black bears, which provide the clan with meat, furs, leather, and (in the case of the rams) horns which can be carved into most anything. There’s also plenty of herbs and flowers native to the area, including a clearing of ironbark trees not far from the camp, which is of course an incredible resource.

In a pinch the clan could also always send a hunting party to the Planasene Forest or simply peruse the Kirkwall market stalls.

The problem is that almost everything in and under the mountains is dangerous, so scouts and hunters try to prepare themselves for anything from wild animals to darkspawn. Though, ideally, they won’t have to fight at all - instead preferring to use traps, poison, and stealth to their advantage. Clan Sabrae also has an abundance of mages from the fallen Circle, and having a magic on your side always makes things a little easier.

Imagine a spirit looking down at their site. What would they see?

Banners hung from stones at the city-side entrance to the camp, both a welcome and a warning to those arriving for Kirkwall. It’s a familiar shade of red, emblazoned with the white face of a halla.

Large aravels wrapped around the edges of an alcove in the mountain, forming makeshift walls. Some are flat-topped and covered in warm furs and skins; others look more like the landships humans expect to see, their red-orange sails wrapped tight for now. The camp itself has grown since the elves first arrived in Kirkwall, expanding further into the VImmark Mountains to accommodate the elves who’ve arrived from cities, Circles, and other Dalish clans. You can see from their mismatched clothing and the number of bare faces among the crowd that these elves all come from very different backgrounds, but the atmosphere of the camp is undeniably warm.

A shop is set up, where an old elf is chastising his young apprentices for the way they’re handling their ironbark tools. A red-headed elf sits among the halla, who’ve been penned just outside the camp; she looks at them like they’re her own children. A hunting party armed with wooden bows and ironbark blades returns from their adventures further into the mountains; they leave their catch - a deer - with another elf, before settling down by the campfire to listen to the stories a harhen is telling. The world was turned upside down, and these hunters know they must protect their clan from much worse than wild animals, but for a moment, in this place, they are safe.

What is their typical style of dress?

Furs and leather to keep them warm and protected, but otherwise it’s a hodgepodge. There are elves from all over that have joined the clan, and while a Circle mage might not want to keep wearing her robes, it’s easy enough to use to reuse the fabric and turn it into something new. They wear more shem-style clothing than you’d expected from a Dalish clan, but it’s all layered underneath typical elven armor, embroidered with elven style patterns, and tailored to better suit their tastes. Also, they wear closed toed shoes! They live on a mountain, they can’t just walk around barefoot.  

What are their interactions/relations with outsiders/other Dalish like?

Like everything with this clan, it’s a mixed bag. They’ve welcomed elves from all over and even helped human mages, plus Keeper Merrill is obviously pretty on top of what’s happening with people in Kirkwall, so the clan itself is pretty open to outsiders but that doesn’t mean everyone is comfortable trusting shem yet, or that the shemlen are thrilled to have a Dalish clan right outside the city. If nothing else, the arrangement’s been good for trade.

As for other Dalish, there’s some tension there. Word has spread about Marethari’s death and Merrill’s eluvian, and while some people are thrilled to Clan Sabrae to share what they’ve learned at the next Arlathven, others seem to think that there might be some truth to the rumors of demons in their midst. There are also clans that disapprove of how many city elves they’ve taken in, but that’s something the clans have always disagreed about.

If strangers were to approach them, how do they react?

With a welcoming smile and dozens of elven arrows trained on the stranger from afar. Like their Keeper, the clan is warm and friendly, but they’re not naive. In addition to the usual dangers that the Dalish face, they’ve also had to deal with people looking for apostates among their ranks or elven servants who’ve been “stolen” from their homes, and obviously Clan Sabrae isn’t going to give up anyone who comes to them for protection.

What are their interactions/relations with each other like?

Like any family, there’s ups and downs. 8P

It was rough at first. After Marethari’s death the clan was leaderless, and those that chose to stay near Kirkwall did so mainly just because they had no idea where else to go. Even more fled after the Chantry explosion, and not all who stayed to help the city were willing to work with Merrill until it became clear that no one else could be the leader she’d become. It was hard to hold on to their fear of her when they saw her risk her life to protect them and the city elves; saw in her the familiar young woman many of them had grown up with, more willful and loving than ever - not some abomination.

There’s still some tension around the mages, and of course arguments arise around day-to-day cultural differences but at the end of the day they’ve all got each other’s backs.

If a clan member wanted to leave the clan, how do they react?

There’d be a kerfuffle as they said their goodbyes and the clan would send them off with some supplies for the journey ahead, but no one’s gonna stop them. At this point they have a lot of elves coming and going, but even clan members who’ve been around forever are always free to leave if they wish.

What roles does the clan have, and what do they consist of?

Ofc there’s the Keeper, with her First and Second.

Master Illen is the master craftsman, and he trains many apprentices in creating armor, weapons, aravels, furniture, and even overpriced trinkets to sell to shemlen. After living so close to Kirkwall for so long they’ve started sending dedicated merchants into the city, many of whom are former city elves. With more mages in the clan they’ve also started enchanting amulets and such, though they mostly keep those for their hunters.

Maren is the head groom and Halla Keeper, and there are others who tend to the horses and mules they now keep as well.

A Hearthkeeper tends to things at home along with many of the other haren, keeping watch over the young children while their parents go about their daily duties.

There’s a healer whose versed in both healing magic and herbal remedies.

In recent years two Master Huntsmen have taken up training everyone in the clan to defend themselves, in addition to running more intensive drills with the hunters and scouts. There are always guards posted around the camp at all times - day and night - and those who venture from the camp always travel in tight-knit groups. The clan’s Second has also become involved in training the hunters who are mages, taking special care to make sure they can defend themselves against templars (both human and red).

How many people are part of the clan on average?

About 40 and growing. They’ve been stationary for a long time, which made it easy for other elves to find a join them. While many members fled after the Chantry explosion, new elves joined them seeking protection, especially mages who were fleeing the Gallows. Now that their home has been officially recognized by the Viscount they’ve attracted that much more attention.

What is the history behind the formation and building of the clan?

Sabrae was an elven lord during the time of the Dales, and a friend of the Emerald Knights Mahariel and Talas. During the Second Exalted March, Sabrae and Talas fled into the Arbor Wilds, leaving Mahariel and the other Emerald Knights behind to fight in Chantry invasion. As the Andrastian forces moved even further south, the newly formed clan continued into the Frostback Mountains.

The clan is obviously named after Sabrae, and Talas’ ancestors remained with the clan right up until recently; the line ended with Marethari. (Mahariel went on to found a different clan, where Mahariel’s name and mother are from. The ancient history between the clan founders is part of the reason why Mom’s elders didn’t want her to be with the Keeper of Clan Sabrae.)

What stories does the clan have with moral lessons?

The Halla and Her Three Kids, a fairy tale in which a halla mother goes out to forage, and warns her children not to leave the aravel while she’s away. She sings them a song and tells them to only open the door when they hear it. A servant of the Dread Wolf hears this and uses his wicked magic to change his voice and trick the kids into letting him in - only the youngest child is clever enough to be suspicious, and he hides while his two brothers are gobbled up.

When the mother halla returns she’s of course devastated, but her grief and rage are a powerful motivator. She calls upon Mythal as both a mother and as one seeking justice, Falon'Din to guide her lost children, and thanks Sylaise for keeping at least one child safe - and then she and her youngest begin to work on a trap.

The mother cooks a rich meal, and sets a special seat over a hidden pit, which is filled with embers and slow-burning firewood. She then invites the wolf to come to her home and mourn with her, as if she doesn’t know he is to blame. As he eats the chair grows heavier and heavier, until it collapses and he falls into the fire below. As he burns and pleads for his life, the mother tells him that she does as the gods have taught her: “a death for a death and a burn for a burn”. She and the child then finish off their enemy with a stoning, and all the halla in the clan celebrate with a real feast.

(This is an actual story I grew up with.)

What legends does the clan have about their people/history?

Clan Sabrae tells the story of a skilled hunter named Harralan, whose clan once lived in the Brecilian Forest. Harralan was arrogant and full of anger; he resented the life his people lived and dreamed of returning to the days when his people ruled cities and nations of their own. Though his wish was understandable, he thought of little else and allowed his heart to be clouded by his bitterness; so full of hate was he, that he attracted the attention of a rage demon.

The demon transformed him into Mythallen - a child of vengeance. Though he espoused concern for the future of the People, and for the injustices they have suffered, in truth he understood nothing of sympathy, compassion, forgiveness, or true leadership. Instead, he enslaved, yoking others to his revenge, transforming them into little more than weapons, extensions of his will.

The clan was able to destroy Mythallen, but too few of them remained to continue on as one. The remaining elves joined other clans, while their dead were remembered in legend.

How do clan members spend their leisure time? What do they do for fun?

They’ve picked up some games from humans - Wicked Grace being a particularly popular one. They also have their own gambling game that involves a four sided top, and some clan members have started combining both games.  

The harens don’t like it, but rock climbing is becoming the entertainment of choice for the younger members of the clan.

Also, reading! Many of the mages brought books with them from the Circle, plus Clan Sabrae now has unprecedented access to books that human and dwarven traders brought with them to Kirkwall.

What kind of laws/rules does the clan have?

Aside from the obvious, “be a respectable member of society” stuff, hunters and craftsmen are taught to respect the balance of the land and to use every part of the animals they hunt.

Everyone has a job to do, and every job is important. Whether you watch the children, whittle trinkets, or are the Keeper, every role is equally important to the survival of the clan.

Members of the clan are obligated to give mythvhen - a word that literally translates to righteousness, or righteous heart. This means to help others simply for the sake of helping, without receiving or expecting any recognition in return.

There are all sorts of rules associated with specific holidays and religious practices.

If a clan member breaks these rules, what punishments are there?

Depends on the severity obviously. A scolding from the Keeper (and probably every hahren, just for good measure), extra community work, exile at the worst. Unless something really terrible happens, the focus is less on punishment and more on understanding why the rule was broken, and explaining to the clan member why it’s important.

What is the clan’s culture surrounding birth?

During the first three months of pregnancy, couples and the healer won’t tell anyone else about the birth, to protect the baby from the evil eye. Even after the pregnancy is revealed, parents won’t even discuss naming the baby and nothing is prepared aside from what the child will need right after it’s born (so no toys and things like that).

Wards on the family’s aravel should be inspected, to make sure that spirits are being kept out.

A mother usually prays more often to Mythal, and a father to Elgar’nan. They pray to Sylaise to make their home safe and welcoming, and Andruil to keep the Dread Wolf at bay.

The birth itself is a joyous occasion, and the whole clan gets involved. A week after the child is born, the clan celebrates with a feast and welcomes them into the family. This is when the child is named, and the Keeper will say the first prayer for them using their new name, asking each god to watch over them.

What is the clan’s culture surrounding death?

When a clan members dies, the burial process begins immediately.

The dead is covered until they are with the Keeper, at which point they are uncovered and washed with water from a mountain stream. They are then dressed in simple burial clothing - white cloth, nothing more - and a sash is wrapped around their waist and tied in a way that represents the god of their vallaslin. (If they were too young to have been tattooed yet, the sash represents Falon'Din.)

From death until burial the dead is never alone, and those with them regularly recite prayers to Falon’Din, asking for safe passage into the beyond.

No more than a day after the death, the body is brought to the graveyard at the top of Sundermount and laid to rest alongside their ancestors. A tree is planted to mark their grave, and the Keeper asks Mythal to watch over her people even in death - the prayer directed towards the statue of Mythal that stands in the graveyard.

The deceased’s family mourn for a week, rarely leaving their aravel and putting vanity aside to allow themselves all possible space to grieve and process. Clan members will take care to bring them food and drink, keep them company, and take over their daily duties. After the week is up they return to work, but of course the clan is mindful of the pain they are still feeling.

What are the most monumental parts of life for clan members?

Receiving their vallaslin is an obvious one, as it means they are now an adult in the clan’s eyes. Young elves spend the day in contemplation, meditating on which vallaslin is most suited to them. Once they’re ready, they will wash and purify themselves, then don a traditional shawl that has likely been passed through their family. At sundown the Keeper will begin applying the vallaslin, during which time the young elf must make sure not to make a sound.

In what ways does the clan honor and revere the Elven Pantheon?

In every way? Lol

By which I mean, there are prayers for literally everything. Before a hunt, after a hunt, when skinning an animal, when purifying a home, when setting magical wards, when eating a meal, when making an herbal remedy. A prayer for an elven birth, a different prayer for a halla birth. A prayer to keep a secret, and a prayer to reveal hidden knowledge. And so on.

Some are longer than others, some are more formal, some are made up on the spot, but the gods are woven into everything. The clan doesn’t pray with the intention of being heard, but they want to acknowledge their heritage and give thanks that they can carry on these traditions.

What practices does the clan have in regards to vallaslin? How is an elf determined to be ready? How is the design chosen?

Oops I already talked about this a little bit. To add on from question 27, elves receive their valasllin soon after their 17th birthday. The Keeper and the hahrens discuss among themselves whether or not a child is ready, based on how mature they are; in other words, how ready they seem to take on the burden of being an adult in the clan.

What is the clan’s vallaslin like?

Just the normal vallaslin from DA:O.

[faline-cat444]

Super Giles:Chapter 10-The Last Corner

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

We start this final chapter off with some sound effects...French sound effects and some of those are arguably more easy to turn “English” than others so I dared not try due to lack of experience on the...Weirder...ones.It’s not like all of it is “Honhonhon” and manga tends to be the same way these days by keeping in the kanji effects and placing either the Japanese or English equivalent to the noise in plain text(All depends on the publisher’s/translator’s choice.

Walter Oliviers,Michel Smets,and/or whoever can be credited to writing this story,I hope you are happy with what you managed to accomplish.Whether you’re still alive or between then and now you died and one of my mother’s interpretations of the afterlife is selected spirits re-manifest at certain times if their actions are brought up...I hope the other ghosts aren’t laughing at you for being remembered this way.You arguably had a group of people forced to read this story for some school systems.It might just be due to how I had to pick up a French copy or my own weirdness of opinion but this kind of came off a little too philosophical at points than something your typical fourth grader’s brain is going to comprehend.Then again,if publishing it this way was the only way to share your vision it’s understandable since at least by how my school experience was those in the age chunks between twelve and eighteen would probably chalk this all up to “Drugs,lol”.

If there’s anything to truly take from all this it’s that pretty much anything has the chance to be written if you strike the right time/people.With this now out of the way I suppose I still need to return to that story from the early 1900s about the messenger boy who gains the ability to bounce like a rubber ball from his fairy godfather as he hunts down the boogeyman.

Ehh...While I mean a lot of that this whole story is pretty much how Krusty reacted to Worker and Parasite.

“Vroom-Vroom,” roared the bulldozer.

“Crips-Cnars-Schrip,”cried the crane.

“Schrans-Schrans,”the excavator gobbled.

“Ssssch-Ssssch,”hissed the grinder.

The machines were impatiently waiting for near each other in line,throbbing,thundering,rumbling,and grumbling.A worker raised a small green flag.Suddenly he lowered his hand.This was the sign they could begin.The machines rushed in a cloud of dust.The trees and bushes flew in the air,as well as gravel and earth.

“I’ll show them how a lamppost dies,”the lamppost said solemnly.He straightened up like a candle,held out his lamp high,turned on the light,and shed as much light as possible on the arriving troop.

Giles looked admiringly at his friend.

“Why am I not that brave?”he thought,”I am terribly afraid.”He was shaking like a pipe,and as pale a dead man but smelled like a broken down motorist's gas can.

The devourers were still approaching.Fifty more meters.Forty.Thirty.

A jeep came honking its horn and stopped right in front of the machines.It was the fat sergeant with the crimson face.Huffing,he got out of his jeep.On his arm hung a brand new uniform.

“What is happening here?”he gasped.The workers jumped from their machines and surrounded him.

“I am here on a special mission for General Vanderspleen,”said the sergeant with an air of importance.” I must deliver a new uniform to the Interior Gasoline Supply Soldier!”He held out his hand in Giles’ direction.

“Soldier?”growled an astonished worker.”I only see a gas pump!”

“The supply soldiers know how to camouflage,”said the sergeant in a hushed voice.”The more he looks like a gas pump,the greater value he has as a soldier!”He pushed the workers aside and walked towards Giles.

“On behalf of General Vanderspleen,I am putting on your new uniform here,”he said solemnly.He took the pants off his arm and held them out in front of Giles.

The workers were watching with their mouths open.

The sergeant threw the pants over his shoulder and placed the uniform jacket over Giles’ casing.He then added a cap for the finishing touch.

“Voila,”he grumbled with difficulty.”It doesn't entirely correspond to the rules,but it's better than nothing!”

He saluted,turned around and climbed back into his jeep.

“But what about our highway?”asked an astonished worker.”That pump…Uh…The soldier is in our way. Should we move it?”

The sergeant's eyes flashed flames.

“Are you crazy,old man?”he shouted.”The soldier is a point of support for our troops!Personally decorated by the general! If you dare to touch them,I'll drag you all to the War Council.And then you will all be shot!”

He started up the jeep and drove away.

The workers were looking at Giles,full of respect.They started their machines again,but instead of heading straight for the gas pump and lamppost, they took a turn and passed a few meters further.

“They…They passed us,” Giles stammered.”They made a turn.We…We’re saved!”

“They let us live!”the lamppost sputtered.

At the same time,they started to laugh and cry with joy.

---

The next day brought in the asphalt paver.The wide strip of land was completely covered with a thick layer of asphalt.After this machine came the line puller.It drew beautiful straight white lines that divided the highway into traffic lanes.Three one way, and three the other.Giles and the lamppost watched the work with a keen eye.As if it was their own highway.And it kind of was.

When the highway was completely finished,it was solemnly inaugurated by the minister and a whole collection of personalities.First they drove in their shiny black limousines down the brand new road.The minister looked satisfied.

“Splendid road!Well done!” he kept repeating with no signs of stopping.But since he had a very large and expensive cigar in his mouth it sounded more like “Schplendid woad!Well wone!”

The high personalities nodded.

Suddenly the minister noticed Giles with his new lemon-yellow casing.

“Stop here!”he ordered.The engine slowed down.The minister took the cigar out of his mouth and asked in a stern voice “Why hasn’t anyone told me about this gas pump?”

The high personalities stared at each other and shrugged.They didn’t know either!

“As Minister for 'the inauguration of new things',I should have known.Such negligence!”

“We can officially open up this pump,”a personality proposed.”We just opened the highway,we've got all the tools with us!”

Giles did not understand very well.”Are they going to open me up?”he worriedly wondered.”But then all my gas would leak out!The minister will certainly not allow it!”The minister thought deeply while chewing his cigar.

“Alright,” he replied briefly.

Immediately there was great commotion.

“Where is the ribbon tender?” he shouted at the top of his lungs.”And the bearer of the ministerial scissors?”

The ribbon tender advanced with dignity towards Giles.In his mouth he had a few pins and in his outstretched hands lay a large red satin ribbon.

“He’s blindfolding me first,so I can't see how they going to open me up,”Giles thought.

But the ribbon tenderr draped the ribbon around Giles and made a beautiful knot in the front.Giles looked like an Easter egg.

The scissor-bearer stepped forward even more solemnly than the ribbon tender.On a black velvet cushion he carried a pair of golden scissors.

“Surely those are metal scissors,”Giles moaned.

The minister held his cigar in one hand,and the scissors in his other.”I declare that this wonderful new lemon yellow gas pump is officially opened and is legally ready for use.”

With a quick gesture—as only a minister who inaugurates new things can do—he cut the red satin ribbon.

“And now I will refuel first!” he added.The driver pulled the big limousine forward and the treasurer slipped in a hundred into the slot.” Luckily he doesn't know about the truck,”Giles thought.”I'm only going to let him think he's the first.Otherwise he will get angry again and refuse.”

With the cigar in his mouth,the minister removed the pistol and wanted to place it in the reservoir.

“You fool!” Giles hissed.”Pay attention to your cigar!A single spark could make this whole place blow up!”

He sealed off his rubber hose and did not release a single drop of gas,in fear of an explosion.

“Your cigar,your Excellency,” said one of the high personalities.

“Hmm,It’s true,hold it for me!”

“Whew!”Giles let out a sigh of relief and released  the gas.If all his clients were this reckless,he would stop right away.

After the minister and his escorts disappeared--certainly to open other “new things” elsewhere—other cars arrived.And it was good as Giles had imagined it…An uninterrupted flow of vehicles,big and small,all kinds of models and colors.Regularly,there was one who stopped to refuel and Giles did his best to satisfy everyone.He acquired a good reputation and more and more people came to seek their gas from him.

In a line of sometimes several miles,customers waited patiently for their turn.

In the meadow behind Giles,the children were playing tag and soccer until their parents called them.

That evening,by the light of the lamppost,customers continued to line up.

“Gasoline is really cheap here,” explained a blonde woman,who had come especially from Brussels.

“And the pump has such a pretty lemon-yellow color,” her friend said.

Everyone had a good reason for preferring gas from Giles than any other source.

“It lasts a long time,”one claimed.

“It allows you to drive faster,”another thought.

A third source said it made their car give off more pleasant noises.And a fourth said he came mainly for the atmosphere.

In the midst of all this commotion,Giles carried out his work with stride.He swallowed piles of money and gave gas in return.Only once did he get scared…It was the sight of a beat-up old sidecar.On the motorcycle there was a man and in the sidecar a woman.The man got off and removed his helmet.

Giles had a shock.”Father!...Mother!...”

The father placed $100 in the slot.”This is my last one!” he grumbled.”But I’m putting it in the best gas pump in the world.”

How proud Giles was.The best pump in the world,his father said so!Instead of swallowing the money,Giles spat out a whole lot.

“Hey,what's going on?” grumbled the astonished father.”This pump gave us a jackpot.”

“Thank you very much, my little pump!” he whispered and started to refuel.

”You know,”said his mother hidden by the helmet,”it may sound ridiculous,but suddenly I’m thinking very strongly of our Giles.He loved gas pumps very much.What became of him?”

Giles heard her sniffle softly,and he also felt tears come to his eyes.

Giles fill the tank to the brim.

“Now it’s giving us too much gas.We will surely have to come back here!” said his father satisfied as he tried to read the number of liters on the meter.But he did not succeed.”The glass plate is completely fogged up,” he said.

When the old sidecar pulled away,Giles gazed longly,thinking of the past.

“Hey,Pump,is it coming?” said a loud voice.

And automatically,Giles swallowed the next customer's money…

[eldricktobin]

“Man was gifted the spark of fire!”

Big long story made out of a dream below.

/So quench that fire not in any old beer./

*scene of a triumphant college team carrying their hero who looks at an empty spot in the onlookers before being carried to the lockerroom*

"Bitterlife(TM)? Not for us champions!" *the team pours the lesser brew into the toilet... knowing the other teams are doing the same, drinking it, or crying into their toilets.*

"Only Goodlife(TM) for winners!"

/Goodlife. The taste of victory!/

'So'

'No your son couldn't muster the right expression so we cut him from filming today. Want another go with him tomorrow?'

'No. One day or one week isn't going to reach him. He's a screw up,' says the man who was just playing victorious champion... a role he'd played for real not 4 weeks prior.

March Madness. So many dragons burnt to ash. Better them than us.

But why shouldn't man turn it into a celebratory spectacle? Hadn't we won the right? Just knowing how to kill the great beasts wasn't enough we still HAD TO DO IT OURSELVES.

Couldn't that boy understand?

And there's no reason he couldn't. There was no pet drake the family kept to keep the boy from feeling the spark without help. Hi mageblade, a symbol of his desire to not be killed ooffhand without a fight was as long and as shiny as his mother or fathers. Infact it sparkled in way their's did not.

He cheered himself hoarse just fine too. And he recounted the whole shebang to his mother with exuberance and precision as she couldn't attend due to guard duty as usual.

Of course as sacred a task as it was, the boy couldn't travel that road either. Your inner fire had to be ready to melt your bones, to do the same in an instant to any who would rob the sacred dragon parts stronghold... for those pieces too tenacious to just die. The spirits of the beasts obviously powering them long after their hearts had stopped beating. Every piece a threat to all human life should they not be ritually scorched daily to keep their sizes manageable.

No one wants to stare eye to eye ... and be little more than a tick on an eyelash... with a full grown continent devastator. A class that should never be met again. ertainly provided the schools kept vigilantly training and the youth gleeful or dutiful enough to lead their campuses towards the madness.

"Something wrong with the shoot?"

The gruff recent victor turned to the voice... then up to the face. Two of the heads regarded him with concern, the third pity. He knew why "Cerebus"'s third head always pitied man... currently himself... but man in general. It was just disconcerting. Pity from a dragon. Even a 'runt drake' as their classification ran. Butstill pity. Pity because man will be tortured for eons should the dragons. the true dragons rise back up. Big C here would just be consumed as a traitor and completely cease to be. Spirit extinguished to never blossom forth ever again.

And yet... pity for man. Or at least him. Maybe pity the boy was still a disappointment?

'Just...'

"Your son then?"

'They said he couldn't do something right again for the shoot. It's done now. Commercial is a go. No more reshoots. HUZZAH!'

"And yet you're not happy."

'Nope. I anted to look at him and see his smiling face. Proud of his dad. Not just that mask of horror that I could have died. And yes. Don't start. I could have. I can incinerate a head with my own spark. not enough to stop the 10 headed monstrosity we were up against...'

"But enough to stop it cold in it's proverbial tracks. Oh I know. I was forced to keep the toes chilly for types like that one."

'Really. All that scaly bulk?'

And the two wandered off talking about Big C's years and years under the harsh dictates of his betters.

Why wouldn't the runts have risen up when mankind asked if they would rather the tables turned. If they would rather be the gods of their kind instead. A dragon -out of body- is tormented by all their faults as are all the greats beasts who haven't a scrap of their flesh moldering in a stronghold. Summary consumption for a traitor is more than half of the surviving drakes could dream of. That requires their former betters to give half a flap about them. Runts were appliances. Furniture. If there had been cannons at the time... cannon fodder.

Sure they still make some humans cower... they are still dragons. But in a way they are so very proud of what man has done with the time given them by asking the runts for aid.

Cities. Not just round hut villages. Arts. Not just cave paintings. Science... magecraft...

And sports to keep their bodies ready for the next challenges... be they from the sea or an uprising. The runts would not like an another uprising. Advocates and colaborators -and of course traitors- are first on the chopping block. Or chomping rather. The analogy loses something.

NEWS FLASH! A stronghold getting ashed! Guards slain... a visiting son here on a lunch break not even able to summon his knife in the face of such tragic loss... *tv shuts off*

NEWS FLASH! Would be vigilante Afrent Stone killed with the purpetrators of the recent stronghold raid that necessitated... *tv shuts off*

"See this tree?" Big C bites through it in two chomps. "That could be you! One of those heads there," he waves his snout vaguely at his self removed 2 other heads,"could leap for you at a moments flicker even as you think it is dying. It is not. Neither are. They are regenerating. AND soon there will be 2 more three headed dragons on this spot. They might not be as merciful as I am. So incinerate those heads!"

And once again the team summons all the spark it can, the team captain rounding up all the sparks -but one- and trying to kindle a greater fire... and can't.

Big C shakes his head and motions to the fire team nearby. They ash his discarded heads. One a side note Big C kinda like helping this way. So much clarity of thought, and since central is the poet... poetry for days. Until the other heads come back. Then it's sports and... oh.

That one didn't help again.

Cerebus could smell real fear from him and all the other boys and girls of the team. But no relief. Rage... and likely self directed... both parents lost... but then. The boy's tone changes immediately.

She has come. fighting long years of 'high school is for high school, and college is for college' the lad's high school and current girlfriend has come over to see him. Third head likes to stalk and lurk such matters, but central has poetry to right... after the report of fire session 2 of the 130 or so planned before March Madness.

More of course would get tacked on if they were really getting a good roasting in their souls.

The team captain just hollered something about requisitioning wingparts, but Big C is off to his quill and pays no mind to it.

"So. How'd it go? Could you roast marshmellows with Grot leading the charge? Or would you be tasting ash?"

He sullenly smirks,"Well we could still smash them into paste. Grot would like that. But as for flames... No nothing. You'd think we'd have a better showing even with me in there. I man Grot just ashed everything in high school."

"When handed the reigns of an inferno even I could scorch something. Yes even a witch could blaze IF handed a ragin inferno. Otherwise..."

"We bring the thunder!" he said into an imaginary microphone.

She play pushed him then,"It's not a boxing match."

'Do you think humans are getting soft?' he asked kind of out of the blue. Something he worried about all the time. He'd never asked her, but finally it seemed the right time.

"You? Nightmares about tentacles?"

'Not that. Just. In history we covered how boxing came from duels. And how step by step it went from blades to cushioned gloves. Some boxers would get cut to ribbons in a knife fight... that sort of thing.'

"Well we still have March Madness to put the fear into anything out there. And failing FIRE EVERYWHERE, we have witches and warlocks and our lightning. We show krakens what for regularly. And we haven't seen a flying tentacle cloud in years. Might have snuffed them all out."

"Hmm..."

"And so if we're a bit softer," she kissed him,"Maybe we've earned it?"

"I'm just worried about the horizon."

"Fire, humanity," she ticks off with her hands," lighting, and force... also humanity," she grins," Ice, the drakes. Most sea beasts are mindless enough to tear into anything thrown at them... or thrown at... so water. I think we're covered for elements."

"Fire humanity."

"You have no trouble with assistance. Maybe you just need more practice."

"I don't know if my heart can take all that. All the fear... the worry... So many dragons imagined coming for my face."

"To crunch you down,"she paused for emphasis,"to make flames,"she made as if to climb a pulpit -or mountaintop,"to sear the world," she got all spooky hand wavey before bursting out laughing.

"Yeah," he shared the laugh at the old school texts.

On point, but also so over the top melodramatic. After a few of those old texts you had no problem thinking every shadow was after you and poof. Mageblade. Some classes brought in a witch or warlock to make the shadows 'actually come at you' for the holdouts. But by 5 years old. Poof. Mageblade. Then when you were older, history told you why they pushed it so young. And combat training told you just how capable a blade manifest from your desire to not die to put up a fight to your last breath can do.

Like pierce and carve dragonscale. SHED dragonscale. For living scales cannot be made art. Shed ones are dead and will not wither further.

/And wear a face mask when carving... and/ his mind was everywhere. But here. With the love of his life.

"So," he started coming out of his reverie about past lessons.

"Oh?" she looked at his face. She noted the determination and faint whiff of fear,"Ah! Practice makes perfect?"

"Yeah. Sorry. But I think I'm in the zone. I felt the spark in others. So maybe."

"No! Go go gogo go I know how dear this is to you. Team sheam. You have to do this for you. I'll catch up with you later." Her smile. It was his world.

And so... on half remembered trumpeting from the captain he went to get a tube of dragonwing. Rolled up it did not do much more than try to grow itself flat, but it didn't have the growth force to burst the fire forged 'volcanic' glass.

In a way it was also... content? That's all he could think. It was warm with the trace embers of the fire magic in the glass walls. When his mother was first out of college and swept up by the Guard Elite she made things like this in her internship. Sometimes she'd wake up, she had said, with tubes and tubes and plates and glasses made all about her from a near all-nighter crafting. Due to her power her internship had been short.

Once again he was on the wrong parts of his history. He needed to concentrate on say... his mother's power. Not that he was himself unfit for the Guard Elite.

Also if he was to think of his father's meteoric sports career -before the tragedy- he needed to focus not on how he was a raging void of disapppointment, but again on his father's power. Howhe could feel -and the whole stadium as well- the fire his father commanded when he took up the captains mantle when the team captain caught a rogue winggust into a plinth and died. First death in a decade.

No fire. Power. Fear and flame.

The wing flexed and pulsed. It could sense him. But then as it was regenerating it was not dead flesh. The dragon's spirit was there. Waiting to pounce and consume. Maybe teach him and the rest of humanity how to live in a little tube as a scrap of flesh. Or dozens of tubes. He had no idea.

You requested, and if all was right with your transcript and your request. Poof. A bit of wing. from wing it would take months for a full dragon to regenerate. In fact it would be a lethal meat brain dumb beast at first. Then it would get its first kill... and in no time at all that stupid brain would grow crafty, capable of speech. Capable of relentless mountains of hate.

In a way hate powered their regeneration. A ice way of keeping the fear and worry right at the tip of your brain.

"This tiny little thing wants me dead," he said in the quiet of the lockerroom. Just as fireproof as a classroom and less likely to set a class back a week if there was an inferno. The showers would be better but no surface to set the wing on but the floor and that's ill advised.

No this place would do. An alarm klaxon was just steps away, and medical care only a minute away from that. He could end up lighting his face on fire after all. Maybe not through the bone or anything... but...

He was stalling. He popped the metal stopper, and slid it out on the bench.

In seconds it unfolded as if waiting for the right moment. Patient as a glacier. It could wait that month out with the patience of winter's chill.

/Melt that chill./ he thought. /Become the inferno./

He reached into himself for the spark that he could slightly feel answering the embers contained in the tube. Those embers wanted to be an inferno, so too did his spark.

and he projected that onto the wingbit when he could hold it no longer...and...

A few damage streaks was all he had garnered. Sears or tears that it regenerated away. Not even enough to stick. He imagined even Grot doing this could slowly char it by himself. Grot could gather and magnify, but he couldn't light a candle.

"I can melt wax what is wrong with me!" the tube went flying. He didn't remember throwing it... but he could feel the warm in his hand. He'd just been holding it in a death grip.

'Typical failure.'

"Who's a failure now?" she had returned. Probably looking for him. He'd been gathering spark for... yikes... a full hour? Another two and the janitors would have some words.

"I lost track of time. I was spark gathering."

"And?" she was so much more excited than he felt.

"And... healed the sears away. More like tears really. Like I was trying to cut it to pieces."

She held her hand up and concentrated,"There is only fire here. No changing major for you."

"Can you sense where the tube went?"

She paused before answering,"Yes. But later. You have a live... specimen there to dispose of. We can triumphantly muddle about in the dark later."

"Even if it is just more of the same?"

"Shred it then," she said smiling.

He concentrated, gathering his own sparks, and poof just more regenerated shredding. She produce a notebook sheet, and they wrapped the wing in it... but now it didn't seem threatening.

It burst its cage. Threat renewed. With a gusto.

He tried again she bid him to wait and hold it... maybe rub them on each other?

"That's electrical. These aren't firesticks or matches," he said while concentrating. He could concentrate all year, and amidst all sorts of distractions. Passed the 'pan trials' with ease.

"Point. But hang onto it anyway... try to squeeze more sparks out." She herself was catching the mood. Lie many witches her was electrical to start... she didn't have to make the switch like a warlock... like a warlock while some THING in a tank was menacingly sliding closer and all the fire in the world won't seem to save you. Well unless you can catalyze a bonfire.

A catalyst! She felt for the tube, but it was in the shower... it's last embers snuffed, in that watery domain. /The little bullied bastard of glass./ she fumed to herself. The water was very active in there. Too bad they didn't need any.

A catalyst... she calmed herself and thought about it. Searing, burning, cutting. "Cutting!"

"What's that then?" he was still working on his spark gathering.

'You need a catalyst.'

"I'm not a..."

"Well aware but you need a catalyst. Something to grab a hold of. Just like if you were passing fire around as a team. But I can't give you the right spark and while my spark makes a flame it is a mundane flame. The reaction of electricity and... say paper. All the mundane fire in the world won't help. So concentrate on the cutting aspect. Hold your blade. the symbol of not wanting to die... and " she waved her hands about. "Cut it up."

Sure she was fishing for more bridging the gap terms, but when she was discovered to be a witch she got advanced placement and never had anymore fire courses. It was considered a waste. Both of them wished that were different. And while the chemistry refresher was useless, he could always try to ignite the bench.

But it was worth a shot. His knife was sharper than most... maybe she was on to something. Maybe that was the sparkle. A little bit more of himself in the blade. A little bit more panic, fire and fear. Yes. Some strongholds use lenses and light to burn dragon-parts. Maybe just maybe all his parents raw power was in him focused.

A fine straw indeed worthy of pride.

His knife came readily and without flare as always. Some pifted in some blazed their lives into existence. His was just there in an instant. "Since this is concentration it'll probably start spinning."

"Still? You're not 10 anymore," she chuckled standing further away. He motioned towards the alarm. She nodded. Spinning knives? What could go wrong. Many things. You often hurt yourself the most...

He started concentrating again... almost picking up where he'd left off. Most of his gathered sparks were still within. There were so many differences they were rarely cataloged.

Some had a roaring fire within and it allowed a kindling spark to be taken from it... like pulling a log from a campfire to make a torch, or in reverse to set several torches down to create a campfire.

Still others like reaching into a sotty oven for a warm coal. They often make good captains as all the spark light that... brickette... into a true brandishable blaze.

Speaking of differences if she had her blade out and spun it on her finger she'd be using her hand to maintain the spin. Later on she'd use her power as a witch to even spin the blade in the air. She could shear a wing off with that. Size immaterial until there's just too thick a size... and then the size helps tear it off.

But still all the differences can't explain why he's been messing up. So he concentrates. Blade spinning round his finger. Faster and faster it goes.

She'd tell him to slow it down but she can feel his fire gathering. She was starting to catch that primordial excitement humans get around fire. There was something a tad off in what she was picking up. Maybe more worry than fear for his life?

The wing bit was now the size of a dinner plate. This was kinda the last attempt before fire-team work. She needed to reassure him and help his focus.

"Do you feel the fire?"

"Yes... I think I do!"

"Then imagine that dragon there... dead!" she instructed like one of her teachers... minus the pointing knife.

It was over very quickly. There was a blinding flash. But no smell of burning dragon flesh. His knife had stopped spinning. Something seemed off to her but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"It'll be okay..." he said out of the blue.

she looked at his face. he looked strained... in... pain? she cast her glance back. pommel in hand... curved blade like all others... the ring the closest thing to a hilt. All ten inches... accounted... for? Her eyes went wide.

"It... flashed out... to the wing... I heard cutting and searing... spinning all the while..."

The knife was plunged in his side. It had come back, but in the light dazzle he hadn't caught it right... and stabbed himself? She pulled the alarm.

In anger she looked around for the wing-bit to zap it. Cook it with lightning till it twitched no more. Til it withered and died.

"I think... it came back with it..." and he slumped to the floor. the blade fell away clattering only once.

No blood to be seen. The wing had mended... no covered the hole... and likely was trying to... He convulsed mightily. Yes it was trying to consume him.

The next hour was tense. He drifted in and out of consciousness. White robes here and there ordering red and white robes around by the cartload.

"I've told you five times sir."

"Again then! I'll not tolerate cheaters in my school."

"He was just practicing."

A new voice chimed in. "If this were the Cooper lad you'd be onto something. And again if it were the Cooper lad he'd not do it until Finals. This is the Stone boy. Power and failure follow him everywhere."

The boy heard the stern voice pan and shift... even shift gears,"Well then this is a powerful failure. If he lives he may not wish to continue to do so."

"He's been a pariah, sir."

"Oh Miss Everdale. This is far beyond pariah. A Pariah is shunned, ostracized and kicked out. Exiled. This. If he lives is... yes a social outcast... under permanent house arrest. e'll not even be allowed to take his own life if... his new nature will let him."

He was fading out of consciousness again as she asked,"Will let him?"

"Dragon blood broaches no longing for death. It wants to live live live!"

And young Stone dreamed... or saw the future.

Looking in the mirror at the tender tiny scales covering his face, he brushed what signs and evidence he could from them of the previous night. The soft glow remained. This time he was sure it was his eyes... glowing. Perhaps he had blushed his last.

"Don't forget your class."

He /was/ trying to lose himself in the moment. Trying to enjoy his gilded cage existence. Every enjoyable scrap. But with that announcement the Guard would be coming to escort him to the same.

He dreaded the classes most. Because every student that respected him was someone who would be yelled at later. Everyone who smiled while sickened would be reminded later. Reminded by their pals that Stoneman could incinerate you to ash with a snap of his fingers or a secretive glance.

Which reminded him of the same. Of course remembering things was all too easy now.

"Glowing eyes. I like it."

"Most won't."

"Well /I/ like it," she grinned her melting grin,"Rest of you isn't so bad either."

She brushed his chin. His scales never snubbed or caught on her skin. To her he was as smooth as a fish... but he had trouble using towels. He had only the barest hint of twin horns on his head, and a beard that he had to use his mage-blade to trim, as little else would do, so all in all he was far better off then the odd idiot who ate dragon for fame, glory, power or all three.

But they already were at their worst. He till didn't know if he was done. Well not physically. Mentally was always his worry. He was still the older version of the orphaned Stone child... mostly called Stoneman now due to his rough teaching style.

At least he had a teaching style. At least he had a job. He could still help humanity. Unlike some with dragon blood who have to be chained down and experimented on to try to undo... just too much damage.

Even if you reverted the physical like one lady... the mental. Oh that was another mess. And of course much like himself... she actually does have scales. Hers are just even smaller still. She had to be cut down as she faked her mental recovery. Some can't make up her mind if she should be called cannibal or not.

To Stone? She was a monster. Monsters have no species.

He kinda wished he wasn't now a walking catalog of human folly with dragon-flesh. But he'd heard it all now.

She pulled his hood all the way down.

"What in the..."

"You're worried about the eyes. Right?"

"And a /horde/ of other things," he said trying to be punny. Whether he'll get horde tendencies always a worry.

"Then hood down. Show off that resplendent mane."

Lithe and with good hair is how the process left him for now. Granted it was not hair per se. But it acted and looked like hair. Was it micro-fine horns? He'd like to not think about waking up with a pillow attached to his head.

She felt their arrival a second before he did. "Show all the mercy you can."

"They need all the encouragement I can muster. I know."

"Then you'll be great as usual. Off you go."

And as usual right before they knocked on his door he opened it, tried to smile, waved inside once and closed it again. Then they walked together the six of them out of the labyrinth that was built around his current home/dwelling/cell/micro-vault. It was not a stronghold. None had tried yet to go in very far.

And they'd still have to contend with his wife. A title she'd never expected to have. Quite the scene forging that title for herself when she was told she could never see him again, and she was thrown out bodily to find two mage-blades hovering at the throat of the man who ordered her removed. Her own and /her/ Stone.

In fact that was when he actually fully regained consciousness. "Please don't hurt her. This is a show of force."

"... Yes a show of force." the air crackled around her even as the Guard closed in from elsewhere on the floor.

Backing away from the blades, expertly moving forward following his every move and darted escape attempt, not cutting him even as he gulped and spoke,"You aren't perhaps..."

"For all you care I'm pregnant! I am going to see him! Whenever I want!" maybe she sounded a little petulant and childish, but she got the point across.

At this point there was only one blade. And a very embarrassed boy getting over a fatal case of dragon-poisoning.

But that was then and a memory. A time capsule permanently preserved in his mind

This, however, is a bland walk under guard through courtyards, under more scrutiny than a known traitor. Mainly because there are those just watching for the second he goes rogue.

Somehow he always beats his class to the learning trees. A copse grown back daily if needed. Trees that so long ago Cerebus held primary sway over. Now he was afforded the luxury of other classes to better help explore the minds of dragon-kind. Considering-the-new-development.

But still it is the best place to shed and rub on good bark so Stoneman and Cerebus exchange a nod. Central, and First head glowed forth with a solid smile happy to see him continue to be well. Third head now gave a baffled expression, as was the usual lately. But with neither allowed enough time in even semi-privacy to talk, letters were the only way. Big C just had to find the right turn of phrase to grasp all it's nuances... with two heads interrupting. In any event a new letter was nailed to a tree, and then the Three-headed Drake was off to teach his favorite new class: Poetry. The other two heads just had to suffer, and heckle. The heckling was also on the test.

Not a second after the guards spread out, and the students arrived the class began,"Do you feel the fire. You should a dragon was just here. Depending on who you know you might think a dragon stands before you. So. Do you feel the fire?"

Several affirmatives. He immolated his own hands and passed the sensation of immolation around to all of them kindling their inner fire. At that very moment they'd have all made it into the Guard Elite. They were kind of getting used to this. "I said do you feel the flame!"

"Yes Sir!"

With a point of his finger he put the smallest fire in front of the nail damaged tree. "That is now a dragon. Imagine its hatred. It knows your fear. It delights in it. You feel the fire instead! The fire to survive!"

"We feel it sir."

"Then immolate the dragon."

The captain gathered the fire from them all directing it at the tree and the tree was bare cinders... the burnt shed scales a reminder of the smell of burning dragon. Stone rather felt Big C would like this method. Maybe missing the clarity of tearing his own heads off, and then poetry corner but... they didn't struggle for months. And all schools that sent students to train with him felt the flame. And in no time at all they were the flame.

"Wow sir I must say. Always impressive."

He grunted and quirked an eyebrow.

"It's just so impressive to not have to learn from a dragon and... sir... sir?"

But he'd already grown distracted by the need to prepare for the next class and wandered to the refreshments table. And there was always one that gushed and dismissed learning from a dragon. Not knowing even the kindest of them might show you the greatest kindness and use you as an example to show the other students how to have the edge to victory.

He'd been tempted once or twice. Never know when you have to defend yourself or something you love... and you might have to

At a moments notice.

And the dream faded he was on a table, instruments all about him. Roes of every sort arrayed at the monitors. He heard a crash it was familiar. H heard a girl's voice. Saying something so...

familiar, and out his blade came and danced and followed.

He knew what to say from the dream... within a dream? Any way he looked at it it seemed as real as yesterday... or tomorrow? The words came... demanded... anything else might break the tension... poorly.

"Please don't hurt her. This is a show of force."

"... Yes a show of force."

~fin~

This was from a dream... I've been going through a mess of fate grand order, and at some point Monty Python crept in. young Stone there's name might as well be Tim... it ISN'T but might as well be. For he can throw fire like Tim the Enchanter.

This has been the most coherent my dreams have been... and of course there's bit more on the page than what was DIRECTLY dreamt. I always have back and forward fill so... yeah.

Some crystal ball Q&A:

>dragons as icy things? In this setting they are natively cold blooded. "True" dragons have undergone a metamorphosis to produce some heat internally... by eating people.

>man was gifted the spark of fire? like Prometheus without Prometheus. it's not quite the same fire as lighting a match. because that's a chemical fire and doesn't itself generate 'ember' in the magical sense.

>so everyone has this ember? unless they're a witch -born with a lodestone- or learn to convert it, a warlock. The terms are gender neutral in this setting. You would say Bob is a witch if he was born with it or Sara is a Warlock if she had some menace aimed at her or a family member of the watery and covered-in-tentacles persuasion.

>does any fire generate fire? any at all? none before man came with their interpretation of 'fire'. blizzards make lightning strikes and that made fire but nothing in the world /produces/ 'fire'.

>what made man? damned good question. I'll have to think on it.

>what made the dragons? The Shapers of The Void. they reignited the star, and set the planets in motion. it was the perfect dead system. they used most everything extra-system as fuel for the new paradigm.

>so some remnant of this extra-solar whatzit made man? maybe `-` sounds like a legit good idea to go with.

>it's not Earth. Nope.

>And yet... Some things just happen the same when you have humans. Some end up the same but got there differently. here and there a term is draconic in origin. example. if the dragons had a dragon to blame for humanity they'd call that one Pandora. They gave the story of Icarus and Daedalus... drakes of a wingless type using eating humans to fly. Daedalus would have rather plummeted than exploded, and exhaled a brilliant green and indigo trail. Icarus would not. Icarus savored too long. Boom. They were consumed for daring to rise above their station. Now where the dragons got them. who knows `-`

>Consumed Else they'd have been reborn and who knows what else they'd get up to.

>So wait. That stronghold was put to ash. Yes.

>So if any parts that got ashed... were /all/ of a given dragon... then that dragon would be reborn? Yes.

>Dragons come in categories? From runts and drakes which run the gamut, to true which can consume humans safely and produce fire... up to continent threateners. Think Shooting Star from Lodoss. Some smaller beasts are big threats too depending on lung and stomach capacity. and inhale exhale rate. Drakes even have to check their eggs for trues being reborn in them. Or almost true dragons. they have poorer capacities... until they get bigger @.@

>Is there more? dunno `-`v

>seriously? Often once I start I can muddle at an idea almost forever. Then in time I get that next big inspiration and fire it into 7th gear. Then back to idling. Mostly I wanted this out of my head. `-`v

[zecretsanta]

To: @chessanator

From: @billyweird

Notes: Happy Holidays! I got really into your “Left clone learns about Christmas” prompt and hope you enjoy this fic.

Ao3

Decades before his death, Brother described a sacred object: a living figure who thought and spoke but served like the golems of ancient lore, made in the image of the Dolorosa. The one who found and returned her to Free the Soul would be a hero.

E-10, tenth of the fifth generation of Myrmidons (and he felt lucky to be so as he shared a number with the previous hero who returned the Dolorosa doll and vanquished a great enemy), had the privilege of caring for her. Or luck, as one brother put it snidely before immediately taking it back to avoid recrimination for jealousy, though he was right. E-10 was the most gifted with machines and the beastly tower that kept the Dolorosa doll alive and thinking was complex as could be.

It stood in the room like a massive tree in a fairytale-themed room. Armored knights bearing greatswords flanked her golden birdcage throne. Murals of sleeping princesses and brave, foolish shepards and goose girls and villagers and dragons surrounded her. One wall was covered with a bursting verdant garden of tangled vines, grasses, and flowers. The doll slept often; she never waned nor waxed, asked for water or medicine. She hadn’t aged since she arrived well before E-10’s creation. She put herself to sleep, usually. Useful information about the facility she’d been rescued (no, someone would say if they heard him, you retrieve an object, you rescue a person) from was extracted long ago, and now she was a living relic that only special people like Myrmidons could visit for worship. If powered on, she could speak and move, and because he understood her complex electric brain better than anyone (pride, he’d be chastised) he could speak with her anytime he wished. She came awake like a wind-up doll, to use a metaphor he’d read once and had to look up to understand, sitting upright slowly and blinking as she raised her head. “Tyltyl?” “Luna.” He pulled on a chain around his neck and her birdcage pendant emerged from his shirt. Her eyes brightened noticeably when she saw it. “I’m here for more information.” She frowned but her eyes never left the pendant, like E-10 when another of his brothers was chosen to light the ceremonial candles before a service. Brother knew all thoughts, but Brother passed shortly after the conquest of Rhizome-9 (an achievement D-10 could never top and rode for the rest of his brief cloned life) and was not here to reveal E-10’s constant little mental rebellions. “Of course.” “…If I play your music first, would you tell me more about your old life?” He wound it up before she could answer, and the tinkling melody made her touch her trembling mouth, eyes closing as the song brought back memories she only spoke of if ordered or tempted. She swayed in her seat and rested only when the last note faded. He came forward and knelt before her cage, touching the bars. “So?” “What would you like to know this time?” She would tell him about her facility, that she wasn’t the only thinking machine her creator made, her creator…but never anything of the rescue or D-10. “…Did you ever ask why you were created?” He squeezed his knees and looked up into her confused face. “Is it any easier to understand your purpose when you were handmade by man?” E-10 supposed he was as well, but to be a machine with programmed thoughts must be simpler. Luna (she loved that name) would never have doubts. “No. To both questions. I did have a purpose.” She touched the spot where her necklace once hung. “But it was taken from me and I’m not sure why I’m here now.” E-10 didn’t know why either, or why she’d never told anyone he was the one who stole her sacred relic. She played her music box all the time at first, and the melody enchanted him so that he slipped it off over her head during repairs. She couldn’t shed tears, but the only way to describe her reaction to losing it was “weeping.” “Because you’re holy. You told me once that it was enough to exist in a place where you were loved.” He hated her answer, honestly. She could admit she wanted and she needed. For E-10, it was supposed to be enough to exist in service. Devotion was fulfillment, shared identity was being whole. He couldn’t want, though he did. He wanted to have secrets like the music box and these stolen moments with Luna, the Dolorosa, the idol. She hugged herself and shook her head. “Idolization isn’t love. Everyone worships me, but nobody looks at me and asks me how I feel.” What an odd concept, the desire for individual acknowledgement. How he craved praise for his technological skill or his neatness or his knowledge of canon. When she asked him to call her “Luna,” he initially hadn’t understood, but he knew he liked it when she named him. “Why does that matter?” “Because…” She shook her head. “Do you want to understand? Or do you just want more stories?” “Stories. And not the bluebird one.” She told that one often, stressing its message that happiness wasn’t true unless shared. She called him Tyltyl from that story, saying only that she liked to distinguish him from the others when he asked why. “Alright…hm.” She pushed an askew lock of hair behind her ear. Once, he watched her re-braid it, fascinated that she cared about such things. “Have you ever heard of Christmas?” “No.” She never wanted to hear the stories he did know: the parables of Brother, the end of the old age, and the era of tranquility. “Who is he?” Every story had a central figure, and usually it was Brother. “It was a celebration on Earth. It started as a way to honor the birth of a religious figure, but I like its later meaning better: that it was a time for gratitude. Peace on Earth and good will toward men.” “That’s every day here.” She looked toward the wall full of greenery she couldn’t touch, even though it was meant for her honor and pleasure. “Certainly. But the spirit of Christmas was for anyone, not just the saved here.” She folded her hands on her lap. “One of my favorite stories is about relearning the meaning of Christmas. It’s called ‘A Christmas Carol…’” Her story was difficult to picture, full of things like families and money and ghosts and parties. Truly fanciful, but he was drawn in by the ghosts and the way, time and again, Scrooge isolated himself in pursuit of his goal, learning almost too late that his selfish pursuit of wealth had withered and killed his belonging in his community. There was something to be said for the message that the wellbeing of others was far greater than your own; remove the trappings about pleasure and it could make a fine lesson for sermons. “So Scrooge decided he cared about others more than money?” She smiled and nodded. “He realized that others’ happiness made him happy, and that was the meaning of Christmas.” She pulled herself up by the bars, and tried to poke her face between them to look at him closely. “You don’t have to wait for three ghosts to visit, Tyltyl. You can choose that now.” Her hopeful, earnest gaze brought him to his feet. He turned away from her and took a few steps toward the plants. Reaching up, he plucked a few flowers from the carnations she’d been looking at, then turned back to her and offered them. She gasped and took them with weak fingers, kissing the blossoms. “Thank you.” She savored them like they were relics only she was allowed to handle, gently clutching them to her chest. When the cage door swung open a moment later, she startled and nearly dropped them. “What…?” “I can’t let you go,” he said quietly. “That’s not in my power.” He held the music box in his palm, admiring the shine and saturation it held after two centuries. The tiny bluebird inside always about to fly away but never leaving its perch. “But nobody has to know if you walk around in here, right?” He offered her a hand, and when she tentatively took it she was soft and warm like a human, her tiny feet alighting on the floor just like a bird. She flitted from her plants to the murals to the tower that kept her running, stroking it with an unreadable expression. He couldn’t understand why she wanted freedom so badly, but knowing that she wanted it was reason enough to grant her this moment. He turned on her music again and she stepped to it, spinning so her skirt and apron lifted with her, arms flung out. “I didn’t know… You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting until you stand up. What’s the date Tyltyl?” She paused when he told her. “That long?” She clutched her apron and looked back at the plants. “No wonder something this small feels wonderful. How did I survive in there for so long?” She grabbed the nearest pot, overflowing with a delicate fern, and hugged it. “I wish I could smell you. What does this smell like?” Suddenly he was face-first in the pot, his vision totally green and brown. Moisture touched his lips and the fern tickled his cheeks. He sniffed, nose twitching at the tickle, and then inhaled deeper. “Like dirt?” He had to rub some off his nose when she withdrew the pot. “That’s it?” She seemed disappointed. “The Doctor loved his garden. He could describe every plant in a new way.” She pet the fern before putting it back on the shelf. “I know they’re delicate, but could you please bring me an orchid next time? I miss them. I can still remember the orchids the Doctor grew one year.” E-10 looked away. “I don’t grow the plants. I’m not sure what you’re even talking about.” “I’ll describe them to you! Just please. I want an orchid.” She nodded to his chest. “And in exchange you can keep my music box forever.” “Really?” “Yes! If it makes you happy, I can be happy for you.” He didn’t recognize her. She went from obedient doll to bouncing, happy woman just from stepping over a threshold. And all she demanded of him was a simple flower. “Okay. That’s the meaning of Christmas you talked about?” “I think so.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “When doing good for someone else brings you joy—that’s Christmas.” She took his hand when he offered it again, smiling even as he lead her back to the cage and closed the door behind her. “Thank you, Tyltyl.” When had someone ever said that to him? How did you respond again? “Oh.” “Goodbye then.” She waved as he stepped back. “You’ll remember my orchid?” “I’ll bring it.” Even though he had no idea what one was. Christmas was apparently about doing things you didn’t understand because they meant the world to others. To have someone look on you like you were special. “Goodbye, Luna.”

[wits-writing]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi movie review

Back in 2015, The Force Awakens brought Star Wars back to the big screen by introducing us to the new characters that would be carrying the saga into the future. It operated mainly on laying the groundwork for what was to come. Rey (Daisy Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), Poe (Oscar Isaac) and Kylo (Adam Driver) all showed the potential of this new story was vast, but whether it could all pay off was always down to whatever writer/director Rian Johnson managed to do with Episode VIII.

With The Last Jedi, he’s managed to craft a tale that goes beyond any expectations. This movie isn’t about any major plot twists, reveals or simply moving the overarching plot along, it’s about exploring the place these new characters are forging for themselves in the galaxy. It takes the legacy of Star Wars and makes exploring what legacy means one of its central themes. It’s about what The Resistance is fighting for in their struggle against The First Order. This is the most human movie to ever come out of Star Wars, a story that explores the importance of hope in the darkest of times. There’s so much going on in this movie that I barely know where to start, but it all comes together to form something uniquely its own.

[Full review under the cut.]

For the first time in Star Wars history, The Last Jedi picks up immediately where The Force Awakens left off. Even though The Resistance managed to destroy Star Killer Base last time, The First Order is still using their vast resources to go after them and snuff out the one obstacle keeping them from total galactic conquest. What’s left the Resistance fleet are running on what little power they have against First Order Star Destroyers capable of tracking them through lightspeed. General Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern) manage what little resources they have left until they find a way to signal for help. Meanwhile, Finn and Rose (Kelly Marie Tran), a Resistance maintenance operator, work together to find a way to stop the First Order from tracking them while Poe tries to buy them as much time as possible.

During all of this, in the far reaches of the galaxy, we also pick up with Rey as she’s meeting Luke Skywalker (Mark Hammill) and tries to convince him to return with her to the Resistance so they can save the galaxy. Rey’s journey in this movie mainly concerns her looking for someone to give her meaning so that she’ll finally know where she belongs after a lifetime of solitude. Luke’s more concerned in his own interrupted isolation than he is with defeating The First Order or showing Rey the ways of the Force. He’s grown to resent his own legend as a Jedi and is determined to die alone as the last of their kind. All he can think of while talking to Rey is how he failed Kylo Ren and that he never wants that to happen again. He doesn’t believe the Jedi should own the Force, because the Force is not a power that belongs to anyone but the thing that binds all life in the galaxy together. Hammill brings a strength to this performance that sheds new light on one of the iconic heroes of movie history.

Rey’s personal arc concerns her search for belonging. She wants to be shown who she is and what to do with that. Now that she’s discovered the Force as it exists in side her, she believes it must mean something greater that connects her to everything else going on. She wants a destiny, prophecy or anything to tell her the “why” of how she ended up where she is now. When Luke refuses to give her that, she starts to sense something she hadn’t before. A connection between Kylo Ren and herself start to develop and she takes that as a sign that there’s something they are meant to do together. They discuss their respective connections and experiences with the Force together and how they ended up where they are in life. The more they talk the more Rey believes there’s something more to Kylo and that he has a chance to be Ben Solo again, while Kylo believes Rey will eventually succumb to the call of the Dark. Eventually, she’s able to find her way towards understanding how to forge a path for herself without anyone needing to tell her about it. All she needs by the end is to know who she is as part of the Force and that will help her carry on the legacy of the Jedi in her own way.

The story of the Resistance fighters as they try to find a way to escape The First Order’s pursuit is a story of desperation. Poe, Finn and Rose are all looking for a way to win against all odds during The Resistance’s darkest hour. Poe Dameron was the least fleshed out of the new main cast during The Force Awakens, now The Last Jedi gives us insight into his approach to the fight and how that changes over the course of the movie. He’s willing to strike powerful blows against the enemy no matter the cost to The Resistance and early in the movie, that cost is heavy. His cocksureness puts him in immediate conflict with Admiral Holdo. She wants him out of the way to make sure his brazen attitude doesn’t cost them any more than it already has. Over the course of Poe’s conflict with her over this, he ends up seeing what these superior officers need to do to make sure the spark of hope can keep shining. Oscar Isaac does a lot with this material to bring new depth to who Poe is beyond “the best pilot in The Resistance.”

Finn and Rose’s story to find someone to help the Resistance escape takes them to a planet of gambling and drinking where the rich elites of the galaxy live in the lap of luxury with the privilege of not having to acknowledge the conflict going on or worry about the possibility of The First Order’s encroaching rule. Kelly Marie Tran as Rose brings an immediately compelling new perspective to the war going on in these movies. Rose grew up on a planet that was subjugated by The First Order and she sees the hedonism on display as an extension of the cruelty that she lived under growing up. The people on that planet grew rich by war profiteering, selling weapons to both sides and then drinking the night away without a care for the consequences. Finn sees through her perspective how war creates suffering beyond the immediate casualties of battle and understanding what The Resistance means aside from “the people who fight The First Order.”

On the other side of the conflict, Kylo finds that he’s lost his favor with Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis) after his defeat on Starkiller. Kylo’s getting further away from the dark master he aspires to become, and he blames Rey for it. He wants to rise above and become someone who strikes fear into everyone’s hearts the way Darth Vader did. There’s a desperation to destroy any remnants of who Ben Solo was so that he can find what he’s meant to become. While the movie let’s Adam Driver portray Kylo as a conflicted figure, especially as he explains why he’s chosen this path, it also never let’s us forget that he’s a villain and his actions are all well within his control.

Snoke’s presence in the movie is used as a marker of a constant threat, since his Star Destroyer is the main one tracking the Resistance fleet over the course of the story. He obviously serves a similar role to the Emperor in the original Star Wars trilogy as the grand master and manipulator behind the main bad guys our heroes are fighting. However, The Last Jedi finds a couple ways to subvert that archetype that’s exemplary of a motif in the movie flaunting of not letting the audience get too comfortable thinking they know exactly what’s going to happen in these new movies.

The Last Jedi plays around with audience expectations in a way that never feels like it’s trying to totally subvert what Star Wars is at its core. It starts doing this from the moment Luke takes back his lightsaber from Rey only to immediately throw it away behind him without saying a word to her. That’s early in the movie and exemplary of how the rest of it plays. The more the movie goes on, the more moments like this pile up and it’s all with a purpose. The theme of this movie is the necessity of new generations to learn from the old, but more importantly how it’s necessary to move passed that and forge something new. To paraphrase how one old character puts it, a master’s duty is to make sure the student grows beyond them. Tradition and dogma are only stepping stones to forging an identity or making a difference in life. All of this comes together especially well in some gorgeously composed final sequences, courtesy Johnson and Director of Photography Steve Yedlin.

Rian Johnson and the crew behind The Last Jedi craft a look for everything in the movie that expands what a Star Wars movie can be visually. The new creatures we meet, including the puffin-like porgs and some crystalline foxes, are well put together blends of CGI and practical effects with behaviors that breathe life into the settings where they’re found. The sets are put together to set the mood of their scenes well and serve as tableaus for some incredible moments, including the casino planet mentioned earlier, Snoke’s throne room and the planet where the final battle of the movie takes place, where bright red minerals are covered by a layer of white salt. This also allows the settings to operate as strong backdrops for some of the absolute best action sequences that have ever been in a Star Wars movie, including a stunningly choreographed lightsaber battle and what may be Luke Skywalker’s finest moment.

The Last Jedi is a movie with so much going on that how much of it holds together would be impressive under normal circumstances. That it does all of this as a means of making Star Wars feel fresh again after 40 years as one of science fiction’s most enduring cinematic franchises makes it feels like a miracle. It’s enjoyable, thematically rich, and makes it clear that this trilogy is its own story beyond the legacy of the original three movies, while still carrying that legacy with pride.

Above all else, it’s the best goodbye to Carrie Fisher we could’ve asked for.

[hannahchronism]

OC Tag -- 25 Questions

Tagged by: nobody, I do what I want (but obviously taken from @tellingscarystories )

Let’s have some fun and talk about our OCs! If tagged, pick the best/most developed OC you have and fill this out!

Rules:

Post these rules.

Answer the questions about your OC below. Go ahead and give more info than just a one-word response!

Tag at least 5 people! (If you don’t have an OC, you should make one and then fill this out *winky face*). You don’t have to be tagged to do this, if you want to do it, tag me so I can see! :D

// I think Tech still stands as my most developed (but it’s only because I’ve had her the longest of any of my currently (semi)active characters.) I might do this again for Lu later?

Questions:

OC’s name: Madelyn Fae Magson / Techno Havoc (/ The Radio Ghost) Fandom (if any): Danger Days Age: Assuming current year as 2027, 22 [can you believe...she was 13(?) the first time I wrote her. My bby. All grown up :’)] Occupation: professional loudmouth Freelance hacker / Rebel

1: Any nicknames?

Oh god, so many. Madelyn naturally got shortened to "Maddy" a lot when she was younger, as well as "Mads" and occasionally (sometimes with negative connotations) “Mad Mags.” Some of Jack’s friends, because they were so used to calling each other by their surnames, just called her “Mags” for a diminutive.

When she first got out to the desert, she picked up the habit of picking up little odds and ends, and with it, the nickname/first callsign "Magpie." (She had always had the tendency to horde things, really, but in-city I feel like clutter is probably frowned upon (at least in higher class places) and then, she spent those years where nothing belonged to her, not even really her body, so I feel like it probably was way worse after she got out.) After that, she named herself Techno Havoc, and from that "Tech", "Techie", and the occasional "Havoc" were born. DK called her "Rusty" (or maybe "Sparky"? I forget. Somebody called her one, someone else called her the other.) Weasel sometimes calls her “Spyro” for? some reason, I don’t even know if I had a reason when he started that. Jack has been known to lovingly refer to her as "Miss Mess" and then Grave almost exclusively calls her "Lil Miss" because he enjoys testing her patience. Then there's the classics: "Firebug" "Spitfire" "Firefly" etc. (cause of her hair. And, y'know, that whole temper thing.)

And then there's the "Pretty Bird" "Little Bird" thing that Mouse took up (from Kobes & DesertMomMouse respectively) but I mean? Those are like those "exclusive" kind of nicknames she definitely wouldn't tolerate from anybody else. Also "Kitten" falls in this category [Try it. I dare you.] but that was technically me who did that.

2: What is ‘home’ to your OC?

The desert, in the very broad sense of the word. Yeah she's got her designated corner of the Haven, and she can drop into the Trade Station more or less anytime she wants, but she's got that thing where staying anywhere too long starts to make her feel trapped, and she sort of struggles with naming a location as "home" in general since her only real "home" she had fell apart so spectacularly, uprooted by her own dang mom. Which, then, you might think her the type to think of people as her home, and I guess that's not wrong? necessarily?? But she struggles with that too thanks to those massive trust issues and a nice (un)healthy dose of C-PTSD. Really, it mostly just boils down to knowing where she doesn't belong, and where she doesn't want to be: home (used just.../so loosely there) is anywhere that isn't those places.

3: Favorite food and drink?

I have said this before but her favorite food is cranberry sauce! (Er, I think it's technically called "jellied cranberry" but we've always called it cranberry sauce.) The canned kind, because it's probably the only kind she's ever had tbh. I don't think she has a favorite drink, though. She's always been sort of... neutral (?) about food/drink in general, to the point where she often considers it annoying/a hassle to take time out of her day to remember to eat & drink. When it comes to alcohol, she’s just as non-picky. (I mean, she’d prefer the kind of ‘shine that won’t leave you blind, but that’s just common sense.)

4: Any scars/birthmarks?

She's got a birthmark on the back of her left shoulder! Just a lil oval, nothing special. She used to have those crazy 'signature' scars on her chest and mouth, but she lost those in ReEducation- partly to reinforce the conditioning, and partly because of BLI's good 'ol "Everything has to be beautiful" obsession. Since hitting the sand for the second time, she's picked up a few scars here and there, mostly concentrated on her outer left thigh (those are self inflicted) and her knees (she cannot, for the life of her, keep them unscraped tbh) but nothing too notable - with the exclusion of a brand stinkin' new one on the back of her right arm. (It's gonna fade a little over time/as it finishes healing completely, but it's there forever now. She's gonna fuckin' treasure that scar, too.)

5: What does your OC do in his/her free time?

She likes to tinker with makking tiny little robots that don’t really do anything besides crawl around, and she’s also got this side hobby/fascination with insects (beetles are her favorite because “they have the most personality”) And y’know how they say “if you love what you do you never work a day in your life” and she does so love to dig and disorder, so she’s got that going on a lot of the time too. And, of course, there’s the matter of expanding her collection of junk, little hoarder that she is.

6: When does your OC think killing is ok?

I wouldn't say she ever thinks it's "okay" so much as "occasionally slightly justifiable." Queen of indecision that she is, I'm sure this fluctuates, but she generally frowns upon the deaths of 'innocents' or anyone otherwise "uninvolved." Directly/physically confronted, if you threaten her life she will fight back and she won't pull punches.

7: Biggest fear?

mmmmmmmmm I wanna say something like losing herself again or being used or people she loves turning on her, but I think all of those really and truly link back to a root fear of being imprisoned again, and all the pain/circumstances around it.

8: What does your OC think is his/her biggest accomplishment?

Not being dead? Most of her loud fronting is that, fronting, and while she knows she's good at hacking (and, to a lesser degree, her engineering) but she has never really assigned much significance to her accomplishments. It's just, all to keep living y'know?

9: How clean/tidy is your OC?

She's a mess honestly. She's got this "system" of "orginization" and it is something that works for her, she can find things, but it looks like/is just a frickin' big ol mess honestly. Things all over the floor, amassed into little piles just everywhere. Expect to get an earful if you move anything up, though.

10: Favorite smell?

Smoke smells of the cigarette and wood variety. It definitely has nothing to do with her brother smelling like those things a lot, obviously.

11: What does your OC smell like?

Sun-baked sand and copper and that weird plastic-rubber smell that hangs around places where there’s a lot of wiring; also maybe a little like a cat, because she’s never more than about two feet away from Glitch. Also sometimes (depending on the availibility & her stress level) cigarette smoke, because she does occasionally smoke+ she also just burns them for the smell. (Plot twist, she's been Neil Josten the whole time. No seriously, there's this post on her blog from way the fuck back where she was like "I burn them for the smell" and I tried so hard to find it in her archive but I can't or I'd link it.)

12: What kind of clothing is your OC the most comfortable in?

She's never really uncomfortable in clothes unless they're a particularly awful texture/stiffness (but I mean..how often does that happen in the desert? everything's old and ratty and worn) but also she's low key most comfortable just ... not wearing any. And this absolutely links back to that thing I talked about once how she kind of never grew out of certain "childish" mentalities. She doesn't generally give any thought to how put together her outward appearance is, and she sheds any "unecessary" garments at the first given opportunity. Sometimes even when she should be wearing them. And then she gets sunburned. ‘Cause she’s dumb.

When clothed, however, she gravitates towards shirts/tops that are too big (plus a few tank tops she basically uses as underwear), and then she has a minor preference for shorts for some reason, but she really won't object to any pair of bottoms that won't fall off her skinny little butt (though, to be honest, most of her pants/shorts end up at least slightly too big as well.) 

She's also a known clothing thief - all of your t-shirts are forfeit if she manages to get her hands on them.

13: What do your OC’s living quarters look like?

When she's not in full vagabond mode with the grey tarp, she's got her little unit at the Haven. It's not super super full of anything, because of tendency to flitter around, but she is amassing a bit of a collection in there, as messy and "organized" into chaos as it always is. Some day I’ll sit down and describe all of the occupied units in greater detail, but not right now.

14: Is your OC impulsive?

HAHAHAHAHA YEAH

15: Most treasured possession?

I wanna say the cat? Does the cat count? He's technically a living thing and not really a "possession" because he's got a bit of a feral streak, but .. ?

OH OR - that fuckin stupid silver hard drive/her mom's will. She will not let that thing go, she put it on a freaking string and wears it as a necklace and it makes me (and Jack) so mad. But, she's attached to it, it's so valuable to her.

16: What does your OC consider to be good entertainment?

A nice good shouting match, honestly. She's just... so contrary and  really loves to argue. 

She's also fond of, like I mentioned above, studying insects. Not from like, a scientific point of view, she doesn't pull them apart or anything, but sometimes she'll catch them and keep them in a little jar for awhile before turning them loose again. Also he doesn't do it much now, but Jack used to write a lot (stories, some songs) and she's always loved to listen to those.

General radio chatter doesn't necessarily always fall under "entertainment" but she does often enjoy it. At the very least, it staves off the silence, and really anything that does that is good.

17: Most noticeable physical characteristic?

Uhhh... used to be her scar(s) but obviously that's a non thing anymore so.....50/50 between her natural hair color (and I mean...I guess even her dyed colors are technically still a physical characteristic) and her slight stature, especially when compared to her brother & parents. She’s pretty damn short and verges on alarmingly thin, even for the desert.

18: You OC is going out somewhere. Where is he/she going and what time is it?

When is she not "out" honestly?

(But, if going somewhere with the thought of social contact in mind, probably Tess's sparring ring or, even more likely, some cozy sunning rock where you'll find a snake and the time of day or day of the week becomes completely and utterly irrelavent.)

19: Did your OC enjoy his/her childhood?

Depends on where, exactly, you want to say "childhood" cuts off. Pre 10-years-old, hell yeah. 10-14, well, not exactly. I don't have much to say about either section right this second though because I tned to spend a lot of time talking about it in relation to how she is now, so it feels unecessary right here.

20: What would your OC die for?

...Love? to be general about it? I can't really imagine her going down in the name of a cause, or.. much else, really? But, if it came to it, I feel like there's some people she loves she'd be willing to meet death in the mosh pit for.

21: What does it take to earn your OC’s respect?

She's got decent respect for anyone who treats people with basic respect to begin with, but the way to get really really high in her sights is most definitely grand gestures. Swallowing your pride and abandonning all you've worked for to bust her out? Great, so great. Doing a death-march into the heart of the city in the name of protecting someone you love? Incredible. Giving the middle finger to the afterlife/death deity for the sake of coming back to your brother? Hi, welcome to the top tier.

And maybe that's a bit more like admiration / love but those tend to blur together a bit in my opinion.

22: Pet peeves?

I'm not even gonna try, the list is so long and so dependent on her moods anyway. Biggest, probably, I guess, is being called rat (but that's...honestly a legitimate trigger rather than a pet peeve.)

23: How forgiving is your OC?

I won't lie, she's got a thing for grudges, and sometimes they can be really easy to invoke with her, but she's honestly just as likely to forget she was mad at you. Not that you were explicitly forgiven, but that she  just...forgot to remember.

If you betray her trust though you're done. For like, the rest of forever. (Also: fuck you she has so many trust issues don't make them worse???)

24: What does your OC sleep in?

A cuddle puddle with Vi & Foxy

Typically, just whatever she was wearing as clothes that day. That's part of why she gravitates towards large shirts and such. She's very prone to wearing the same clothes a few days in a row before cleaning/airing them out because of this.

When she’s out wandering, she might actually throw an extra layer on because of how cold it gets at night, and the fact that she’s not so big on blankets, for some reason?

25: Biggest secret?

You know for all her self-isolation and walls-of-defense, I can't really think of any actual secrets she keeps? Obviously she doesn't just dump all of her life on you and she's less inclined to talk about things that upset her, but she's really just an honest person.

Tagging: @jediiwrites @kenziecarrion @wiscowrites @azianxpersuasionwrites & @theichthyostegawrites (but zero pressure to actually do it yo)