#the bridge is going to tie it all together and make it make sense but i need to figure out how to convey why these things are connected

[emilys-bangs]

The last thing you reblogged gave me an idea !

Touch starved Emily who is friends with you but would never dare ask you for unnecessary hugs etc., you two are close but she doesn’t want to cross that bridge since she definitely likes you a lot more than just a friend and also she’s scared of being so open and vulnerable that she admits she needs a hug and a cuddle.

You two are on a case once again, end up rooming together and there’s only one bed. You both don't really mind and go to sleep, each one on their respective side of the bed - except when you wake up in the middle of the night, Emily is cuddled around you, having subconsciously seeked your touch while she’s asleep.

You can decide how to go from there if this idea is any good to you, no worries if not and I hope you have a great week 😘😘

Tysm for requesting, I hope you have a great week as well! I sincerely thank that one post about touch starved Emily that made us all go insane <3

----

Midas touch | emily prentiss x reader

Tags: touch starved Emily, room sharing, bed sharing, fluff, a ridiculous amount of yearning

Word count: 2.5k

You’d have to be blind not to notice Emily’s affinity for touch.

It’s something you’ve picked up on after a mere week in the BAU, and honestly, you’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like she craves touch, physically needs the added comfort of hands wrapping around elbows, arms slung across shoulders and casual side-hugs. In the more lax confines of Rossi’s living room or o’keefe’s, it’s not unusual to see her wrapped around somebody, or at least closely sharing what’s meant to be personal space. 

At work, however, it’s different; a bit more subtle, but still palpably flowing with love—the way she sneaks behind Garcia’s chair and wraps her arms around her neck in hello, Emily’s cheek pressing against the analyst’s. How she runs her fingers through Spencer’s messy curls, and how—despite his protests—he lets her, almost imperceptibly leaning into her hand before she pulls away. Her hip is frequently attached to JJ’s, their temples touching as she slides her palm into the back pocket of JJ’s jeans. Rossi is given paternal kisses on the cheek, Morgan dragged around with his hand in hers, their fingers interlocking in a weave of pale and dark. Even Hotch gets his fair share of physical affection from her, though more subtle but no less loving; a tugging at his belt loops, a nimble fixing of his tie, the brush of her fingers along his elbow.

Everyone gets a piece of Emily’s attention. 

Everyone except you.

It upsets you in ways you can’t fully explain—at least not without admitting to yourself that you’re falling deeply and helplessly in love with her. None of it remotely makes sense; despite her very deliberately withholding her touch from you, she’s been nothing but lovely, always having your back and gently correcting you when you slip up. 

But still, when an overbooked hotel forces Hotch to relay the unfortunate news of doubling up and she turns to you, surprise renders you silent. 

“Me and you?” Emily asks, paying no mind to JJ next to her.

You speak through your dry throat, “Um—yeah, sure.”

Hotch places the key in your hand, glad to have one pair down. You dig it into the flesh of your palm.

“I’ll take that one, thank you.” Rossi plucks a key from Hotch’s hand and turns away, leisurely walking to the elevator as protests rise behind him.

Hotch shakes his head, exasperated. You almost feel sorry for him. “Morgan?” He says, looking at him. Morgan nods, which leaves JJ with Reid.

Reid looks pleased; JJ less so, but she doesn’t protest as she takes the key from Hotch.

“Aww, good luck, pretty girl.” Emily coos, cupping JJ’s cheek and tapping it playfully. Jealousy stirs in your stomach, hot and acidic as JJ shrugs off her hand with an eye roll, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

The key is in your hand so you turn on your heel, a bad taste in your mouth as Reid starts to protest, the sound getting lost somewhere between Emily’s soft laughs.

She knows them longer than she knows you, you think as you take the stairs two at a time, trying to outrun the beating of your heart. Your somewhat blurry eyes pick out the door with the matching number on your key. Your legs take you to it, almost on autopilot.

“Hey, wait up,” Emily’s voice carries, reaching you in a cloud of spun silk. There’s a rush of air behind you and you feel her creeping over your shoulder, the scent of her perfume choking you sweetly. “You don’t want me to sleep in the hall, do you?”

You can’t bring yourself to rise to the teasing in her voice. Fitting the key in the lock with unsteady fingers, you mumble, “Would’a let you in if you’d knocked.”

But trying to keep your distance doesn’t work, because the one bed in the room glares at you as soon as you push the door open.

Your throat goes dry. 

Emily hovers impatiently at your back and you swallow as you take a step into the threshold of the room, wondering how the hell she’d share a bed with you when she seems reluctant to touch you in the first place.

Panicked, you take your bag and head into the bathroom before Emily can say anything, desperately needing a moment to compose yourself. It’s safe to say you spend more time in there than you usually would, lengthening your short routine to busy yourself.

Only when you’ve semi-calmed down do you go out, finding her perched on the edge of the large—king sized, at least—bed.

“Hey. Are you okay with this?” Emily’s eyes are wide and dark, shining with concern. 

There’s no place for you to sleep anyway if you said no, but somehow you get the feeling she’d make it work if you were uncomfortable. A confused rush of emotion runs hot under your skin; lingering jealousy and ever present bitterness and confusing pleasure at her concern.

God, you need to go to bed.

“I’m fine with it,” you force a smile. It must not be very convincing, because Emily frowns, a delicate pull drawing her brows together. Just before she says something, you speak. “Are you okay with it?”

That snaps her out of it. “Yeah,” Emily murmurs, a dimple winking at you as she gives you a small smile, “as long as you don’t kick.”

You didn’t expect her to agree so easily. Some part of you wonders if she’s lying, but you can’t look at her eyes long enough to decipher that—you’re mildly afraid if you sunk into their depths you’d never be able to claw your way out.

“I haven’t had any complaints,” you try to shrug casually. “Do you prefer a side?”

“No, go ahead. It doesn’t matter what side I sleep on, I always somehow find my way in the middle.”

That makes you crack a smile.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind her and you press your knuckles into your eyes, wondering if you can possibly get through this night without losing your already delicate composure.

It’s just a bed, you tell yourself as you take out a pair of sweatpants to serve as pajamas. And it’s just for one night. It’s fine.

It’s fine. Sure it is.

You’re already in bed and beneath the sheets when Emily walks out of the bathroom. It’s a mistake to look at her, because you think you’ve just fallen deeper in love.

She’s shaking her hair out from the confines of its ponytail and it falls in soft waves around her shoulders, curling at the ends where the water sprayed it. A cotton tank top gently hugs her body, and pale blue shorts skim the tops of her thighs.

She’s not wearing a bra.

You’re staring.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to share tonight,” Emily smiles sheepishly as she lifts the covers and climbs into the bed. A lump is lodged in your throat at the sight of her bare legs slipping through the sheets, shimmering softly from her lotion. It smells sweet, she smells sweet—like warm cocoa butter—and it takes everything in you not to inhale deeply like a creep.

“Neither was I.” You croak. Emily settles her head on her pillow and you try not to stare at her lashes, so naturally long and thick even without her usual mascara.

She’s literally going to be the death of you.

“G’night,” you mumble and turn away before she can answer. The heat in your cheeks burns, and you dig them into the pillow in hopes of cooling them down.

“Night,” Emily whispers back. The sheets rustle as she presumably turns, too.

Needless to say, it takes a while for you to fall asleep. 

It must happen at some point, though, because something wakes you. You open your eyes to the darkness of the room, unsure what it is. You just know that you’re abnormally warm and trapped beneath something smelling like cocoa butter.

Emily.

Your sluggish brain slowly puts the pieces together. Her arm is around your neck, cutting across your chest; her thigh is hitched over your hip. Cold fingertips are hooked into the collar of your t-shirt and you shiver despite the warmth of your own body. Slow breaths puff across your neck, warm and even.

Briefly, you think you’re dreaming, but just as quickly that thought dissipates. She’s too real, too warm—and anyway your imagination could never come up with something as divine as this.

You’re not completely innocent either. Your arm is hooked around her waist, your skin directly touching the warm skin of her waist. Her tank top has risen up and your blurry eyes catch a tattoo on her hipbone; a faded butterfly.

You should let her go. 

It’s an internal battle, because she fits there, perfectly, and even though you know it’s wrong, you close your eyes and continue holding her. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. She doesn’t want your touch. She’s made that perfectly clear, but her warm body, the soft tickle of her hair, they cloud your senses, fog your brain and hide all traces of reason or sensibility.

But still, half asleep or not, you can’t betray her trust like this.

You’re just about to force yourself to let go when Emily snuggles closer, a long sigh escaping through her nose. Her lashes tickle your skin, wispy and light across your neck as she nestles into your collarbone.

Fuck.

You hold still and wait for her to move again. She doesn’t, other than the steady rise and fall of her chest, so you close your eyes too. You would’ve thought it would be difficult to fall asleep with almost every inch of her body touching every inch of yours, but you’re encompassed in warmth and softness and the scent of cocoa butter. 

Really, it only takes a minute before you’re asleep again.

———

She’s still in your arms when you wake up. Your alarm didn’t ring yet—it must’ve been a combination of Emily’s warmth and your internal clock that woke you up.

Her head is now on your pillow, one of her knees slotted between yours and her arm around your waist. She’s like a clingy koala, even in her sleep, and it only makes your heart ache.

Through the blurriness in your vision you see the small freckles that dot her cheeks. They’re tiny, almost unnoticeable, scattered over the bridge of her nose and under her swooping lashes. Her fingers tighten in your shirt and again the guilt surfaces, but it’s so slow to rise in the pale morning light, when you’re sluggish with sleep.

Emily’s eyes flutter open. 

Shit, you freeze, your muscles stiffening. 

You’re caught.

Suddenly you’re staring into dark chips of obsidian, clouds of sleep swirling through them. At first Emily gives no reaction, but then her brain evidently catches up and her eyes widen, her fingers letting go of your shirt.

Just before you apologize, she does.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. Her voice is raspy and you fight the shiver before it travels down your spine. “I get really—”

“Clingy,” you mumble. “Yeah, I know. It’s obvious.” Your voice is soft, mainly because you’re too tired to fight with your own demons so early in the morning.

“I’m really sorry,” Emily whispers again, mortified. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she retracts her arm and her leg, curling back into her side of the bed. The sheets she leaves behind are warm, and you fight the urge to place your hand where she once was.

“S’okay. You do it with everyone, I know that.” Then, because it’s the morning and your brain is half asleep and still fogged from holding her, you ask, “Why not with me, though?”

Her teeth chew down on her lip. “Why not you, what?” She mumbles.

“Emily,” you sigh, “it’s too early for you to mess with my head. You know what.”

Emily gives a sigh of her own. She doesn’t look at you as she fiddles with the hem of her tank top and drags it back down, hiding the exposed sliver of her torso. It doesn’t help that your eyes follow her movements, because her shorts have ridden up her thighs.

“It means…more when it’s you.” She eventually says, her voice quiet. Your breath hitches and she continues looking down, frowning at the hem of her tank top. “Everything does. Can’t touch you like that and pretend it means nothing.”

The slight slur to her voice makes her confession all the more intimate. As does her bed head, the red sleep lines on the underside of her arm. This is a soft Emily, a vulnerable one, and she’s laying herself bare for you in the morning light while sleep still lingers in both your eyes.

It only confirms your love for her.

Your relief is palpable; it quickly shifts to affection, something flowery crowding the back of your throat and making it hard to swallow. She doesn’t hate you, she doesn’t think you’re disgusting or repulsive. 

She couldn’t touch you because it would give her away. Because it’s the most genuine aspect of her, one she can’t dampen or hide any more than she can stop her heart from beating.

It seems almost too big a revelation for this small hotel room bathed in morning light. Still, your hand reaches for hers. You wrap your fingers around her own, both of them now resting gently on her stomach.

“It doesn’t have to mean nothing.” You whisper.

Emily’s eyes snap to yours. They’re like the black, bitter coffee you have no choice but knock back in precincts all over the country. They make your heart race, because they come closer—she comes closer—until both your heads are resting on the same pillow again. Emily cups your joint hands with her free one, reverently protecting the tenderness of your touch.

“You’re…” Her breath hitches and she falters, then sucks in a breath, “You’re telling me you want this?”

You squeeze her fingers. “More than anything.”

Emily blows out a low sigh. You bring your free hand up to trace the curve of her brow; she leans into it. “I do, too.” She confesses. “More than anything.”

Your thumb travels down to the corner of her mouth. “Then there’s nothing stopping us. Is there?” You ask gently.

“No.” Emily sighs. “Nothing.”

She tilts her head, lets you continue exploring her face with your fingertips. Her features are gently traced; the bridge of her nose and the outline of her lips and the shape of her brows. Slowly, her knee worms its way between both of yours.

You smile and Emily smiles back, a shy dimple in her cheek. 

“Be clingy. With me,” you murmur, keeping your voice low because you’re afraid love already spills from it, “I want you to be.”

Her nose nuzzles into your cheek. “You’ll soon regret saying that.” Emily mumbles, the vibration of her voice reverberating through your skin. It fills you with strange peace.

“Never.” You whisper.

Until the alarm rings, the two of you spend your time erasing away the boundaries, learning the lines of each other’s bodies with your fingertips with slow confidence.

Because now, you have all the time in the world.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[magentagalaxies]

oh this song i'm writing absolutely outs me as someone whose music writing was influenced by will wood jfc

[rafecameroninterlude]

୨ৎ omg i need pogue!sweetheart!reader meeting ward and the family

warnings: rafe and ward have a good relationship, both reader and ward are a nervous mess lol, playful banter, found family

a/n: you could consider this a continuation of the fic i did w/ pogue!sweetheart!reader and rafe’s first time together!

“do you think i should’ve made blueberry instead?” rafe looked down at the freshly baked pie in his hands, both of you waiting for someone to open the front door. rafe could sense you were nervous by the way you were fiddling with your necklace. “apple is perfect.” he leaned down, pecking your temple. smiling down at you, rafe muttered a ‘don’t worry, they’re gonna love you.’ before rose appeared behind the door.

“y/n!” she squealed excitedly, briefly looking over at rafe before raising her eyebrows at him, “well, she’s absolutely beautiful, but we knew that already.” she laughed, welcoming both of you inside. “oh, god, your dad has been out on that grill all day, he insisted on making his ‘famous’ burgers since you mentioned y/n hasn’t found her favorite yet.” you nearly cried at the sentiment, a pout forming on your lips.

“aww, that’s so sweet of him..” rose led you two outside to the back, rafe squeezing your hand once his father came into view. “ward? she’s here, honey.” rafe laughed at the sight of his dad scrambling to clean his hands, his head shooting up in your direction. “hey, there!” he walked up to you, taking your hand in his. “hi, mr. cameron.” you smiled, your heart beating in your ears. “oh- please, call me ward.” rafe watched you two introduce yourselves with a grin on his face.

after you and rafe got settled in your seats and wheezie practically tackled you with a hug, your nerves melted away and you couldn’t help but feel ridiculous for feeling nervous at all. “wow, this looks amazing.” you laughed as ward placed your plate in front of you. “alright, moment of truth, tell me what you think.” all eyes were on you as you took a bite. “it’s not that good..” you watched ward’s smile fall, “because it’s amazing!”

everyone yelled, ward sighing in relief as you took another bite. “did i get you?” you got up, embracing ward’s back before you patted his shoulder. “uh, yeah! i was one second away from just ordering pizza.” he laughed. rafe’s heart felt full as he watched you get comfortable with his family. once everyone was seated and in smooth conversation, the evening went by quicker than you expected. “shall we cut this pie? i’ve had my eye on it since you two got here.”

you nodded, rose motioning you to follow her inside for a knife. ward waited until you were out of earshot before he got his son’s attention. “she’s lovely, rafe. very funny too.” rafe smiled, leaning forward in his seat. “yeah, i don’t know what she see’s in you.” sarah joked. rafe moved his attention towards you and rose in the kitchen. “you should’ve seen how nervous she was coming here.” rafe shook his head. at this, ward scoffed.

“y/n was nervous? this is the first girl you bring home, i mean- i was the nervous one. rose had to stop me from changing my outfit for the third time this morning.” rafe stifled a laugh. “and you thought a suit and tie was appropriate for some burgers in the backyard?” ward took a sip from the beer in his hand. “don’t be a smart ass.”

you, rose, and wheezie came back out with a cake knife and some paper plates in your hands, rafe smiling at you as you cut into the pie. “anyone wanna take a guess at what flavor it is?” you looked around. “i say cherry!” wheezie adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “blueberry is my favorite so i’ll go with that.” at wards’s words, your eyes widened in rafe’s direction. “i knew i should’ve made that one!”

[writingquestionsanswered]

I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?

Details Planned But Unable to Write

If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...

1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.

2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again

3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.

4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.

5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[willbyersabyss]

The big thump of '83

There's so much talk about head thumping that it feels like there's something bigger going on here. I think El thumped Will's head in 1983 when she opened the gate.

We obviously have Angela who got whacked in the head with a roller skate. Grade 2 concussions usually result in amnesia (memory loss). Hmm.

Steve talks about how he crawled backwards and thumped his head. Crawled backwards... through time? The Upside Down is stuck in the past. He can change. Amnesia... memory loss... personality change. Reminds me of a certain someone who was losing himself and his memories.

Then there's the Phineas Gage references. Phineas Gage, who had a rod go through his head, is compared to Will. But what exactly is the rod for Will? The Mind Flayer?

Mr. Clarke puts an emphasis on it being a rod, not a crowbar. The Mind Flayer's smoke arms look kind of similar to a crowbar, so the rod isn't that. They want us to think it's the MF, but it's a trick, a misconception, just like how Gage's case often gets confused.

The rod that impaled Gage was a tamping rod, something used to contain explosions. I would say that the gates to the UD are quite explosive, but these gates are also contained and precise.

Then both El and Will are indirectly brought up in relation to the earthquake. Rod imagery comes back to haunt Will here. This is linking Will's "rod" with the gates opening, gates that have a magnitude that add up to eleven. El caused this rod.

These gates also meet at the library where Will died and had a rod-like object in his throat.

Coming back to Angela, Argyle said they don't make wheels out of metal because it would hurt more when people get smacked. Metal like an iron rod? Then ice skates are brought up. Ice is cold like the Upside Down. And this ice would have sliced that nose off! Who doesn't have a nose? Vecna. The gate to the Upside Down sliced his nose off.

Even more interesting when you consider that Angela was originally supposed to be hit with a golf club. This would have been yet another instance of rod imagery! But they still subtly snuck it in there by joking about metal wheels and ice skates after.

Oh and the Angela head whack incident gives El flashbacks the 1979 gate. So there's that.

More rod stuff here! The tightrope (and the pen Mr. Clarke uses), the pencil, and the straw are all rod shaped. They represent the Upside Down. The Upside Down is a transition between the real world and Dimension X. It's the side of the tightrope. You would have to walk through it to reach the other dimension.

Brenner compared the UD to a dam, while Owens compared Will's trauma to floodgates. Not just any old floodgates, neurological ones. Upside Down, gates, neurological, heads! Head thump!

The rod for Will is the Upside Down, not just in a metaphorical sense, in a literal sense. It's going through his head. Literally. The Upside Down is Will's mindscape. When El opened the gate in s1, she basically thumped Will's head. That thump linked Will's mindscape to Dimension X, allowing the monsters to roam free. This is why Will's rod trauma is compared to the gates opening. Will's mindscape is a bridge between dimensions.

It would be really nice if we had some sort of reenactment of this event to tie this all together... oh wait, we do!

Lucas accuses El of making them run around like headless chickens. Headless? Already starting with a head injury mention.

The rest of this scene is basically what happened when El opened the gate. Lucas exclaims that they're looking for a monster, the lab was literally making El look for a monster. El flings Lucas across the junkyard and thumps his head. Then she disappears into the woods. After El opened the gate, she ran away from the lab through the woods. This junkyard scene is so spot on that El regains her memories of the 1983 gate mishap because of it.

These uncovered memories reveal that the demogorgon was eating an egg when El touched it. This egg was found outside of Castle Byers in the UD. Maybe when El opened the 1983 gate, her mind travel slipped a bit, accidentally landing on Will who was sitting in Castle Byers. That slip connected the land of the demogorgon and Will's mindscape, creating the Upside Down we see.

In the VR game, Vecna is told that El is reaching out to him when El visited Will in Castle Byers. Interesting that this was the moment they chose instead of, you know, the scene of El opening the gate via the demogorgon. Time shenanigans?

When Will is hiding out in Castle Byers in the UD, he hears the demogorgon walking outside, but then it suddenly screams and gets quiet. This is just like when El killed the demodog in s2 before entering the Byers house. Parallels. That also parallels the latch unlocking before Will disappeared.

Now this is where it gets really crazy. Something breaks through Castle Byers and the scream sounds nearly identical to El's scream when she opens the gate. What the actual hell? Is there crazy time weirdness going on here and we actually see the exact moment she tapped into Will's mindscape? We hear clock ticking sounds before El touches the demogorgon. This was the moment!

And Vecna had to be there too. He took Will to the library after, the place the s4 gates met up. Both gates caused this (in a time loopy paradox way). Vecna broke Castle Byers, but so did El.

There's also white smokey stuff outside of Castle Byers once it's broken. This looks very similar to the smoke El sees in the void when people disappear. She was in his mindscape. She had to be. Was this Vecna/El disappearing after the gate opened?

So yeah. El linked Will's mind to Dimension X and that's the big mysterious head thump they keep hinting at. It caused Will to have memory loss, personality changes, made his mind stuck in time, put a rod through his head to another dimension, and even sliced Vecna's nose off along the way.

[fanficapologist]

So many things going on plotwise! I’m glad Maera is somehow recovering both from childbirth and her harrowing ordeal at Alys’ hands. I’ve missed Maera sparring too!

And despite her initial apprehension or disdain, I think she and Vaegon have a lot more in common than she’d care to admit. I also love their united front at the small council.

Special mention to Cedric! I love how he sensed the vibes were off with Penrose and I hope he can be a source of guidance for Maera.

As for Wynni, I hope she won’t cause problems for Maera but I don’t quite like how she seems brainwashed to believe Maera would be so cruel. This makes me wonder how her in-laws had treated her back when she was still married.

And Helaena!’ Oh, it’s so good to hear from her again. I wonder if she somehow alternates between the past, present, and future because she mentioned the twins and Maelor. Or is she kept in the dark and is made to believe all her children are alive and well? I can see this is going to be shaping up for very interesting future chapters and this is just sort of laying the foundations.

That said, I’ve been going over the previous chapters and wanted to note the prophecies. I’m not sure if I left anything out but So far, here’s my list.

As of the moment, I feel like a clueless student who’s gathered bits of reference books and journals for a thesis or research paper but I don’t know yet how to tie it all together 🤣

“An eye will close, a dragon will emerge” and “Dragron's flames and maelstrom's roar, a battle of fire and sea”. - The Price

Aemond loses his eye and in the process, a friendship in Maera.

“Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea.” - The Proposition

Likely when Aemond proposed sparring with Maera. This was when they were forming a truce of sorts, not enough for Maera to consider Aemond a love interest but they were moving past antagonizing one another.

“The blood of Old Valyria reveals itself through midnight. An egg will hatch in the rivers” - Revelations

Around the time Maera first spotted Ebrion on the beach. And this was also the time Aemond slept with Alys, stupidly not thinking something would come out of that union.

“Two feathers to be set ablaze by dragonfire” - The Hunt

Ser Reginald Penrose gegs his ass burnt. I know this isn’t really significant in the grand scheme of things but it felt wrong to leave it haha

“The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon.” - Poison

I’m not sure if this particular prophecy is meant to predict something about Maera and Aemond or if it is something like a reaffirmation that they are fated to be together. Because it is saying they find home or comfort in one another.

“Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom.” - Nerves

Looking back, and thanks to Aemond’s POV Chapters, made me realize Alys' pregnancy was really early. No wonder she used the excuse she was about to give birth soon. I had an inkling Alys was going to be present in the story when I read the word rivers. As far as I was concerned she was the only person with a connection to it.

“The hatchling will be scorched by dragon fire in the castle of the old Kings Curse” - Demise

Oh gosh, we really should listen to Helaena more. She also predicted the assassination attempt early on.

“One flower to bloom, two buds cut down, one seedling unearthed.”

This is where it gets pretty dicey for me because I can’t settle on one angle. Could Maera possibly miscarry or lose children? The buds make me think whether she’ll be pregnant thrice but only one will survive or whether it applies to Rhaenyra’s children Aegon and Viserys or even Jaehaera.

As for the seedling, well, this is just me but I was thinking they could also refer to dragonseeds. Seeds are often buried and dragonseeds are in hiding. But now that they’re “unearthed” it could mean their possible rise or demise. This got me thinking of Hugh or Ulf and the role they’ll have in the Dance.

And despite the apprehension of what will happen next seeing as we are now deep in the war, I am also looking forward to how Aemond and Maera will navigate their arrangement seeing as she’s already declared safe for baby-making. Will Aemond be a smug little shit? Will he tease her? Will it be awkward? 👀👀👀

Xoxo!!

I feel so sorry for Helaena, oh my god, my sweet angel baby. Because she must be going through it! I think her brain is so muddled she’s forgotten where she is in the timeline, past, present and future blending together.

I feel like this chapter not only mentioned a lot of things from the past but was also the planting of seeds for what is to come. We’re about two-thirds of the way there now.

Maera will get the closure from Vaegon she needs. Not an excuse but a reason for his actions.

Interesting analyses of the prophecies 🖤 that very last one will become clearer as we come towards the end.

And Aemond and Maera next chapter, well… 👀

[td-frog]

thoughts on dcas e9

elimination (& cyan team)

tess is just hands-down the best person on this show. as soon as they revealed the joint elimination i was pretty sure she was going home bc it made sense for gabby to join the villains and tess was the most likely candidate

that said she was so mature and genuine throughout this episode and is maybe the only person who just refuses to get caught up in the drama. i'm so curious to see ally's reaction and how it compares to hunter's elimination.

i do think this guarantee's cyan team can't lose again before the merge, although merge is probably soon so that doesn't necessarily matter. tom and aiden is an interesting alliance in this game bc they're so close but really only with each other, and i think might have a hard time building bridges post merge as well.

also i get why gabby is the way she is but she is very much a type of person i find very frustrating irl (specifically the "how can you expect me to not take ellie's elimination as a personal attack?" stuff) which i think is why i'm not enjoying her character as much as i'd like

tomjake (& magenta team)

kudos to aiden for calling tom out on the boyfriend lie so they could actually talk about it and maybe work through something

i do think it's funny how tom finally got to be like "okay i should actually address this" but jake is at the point of "the only reason you'd be bringing that up in the middle of a challenge is to distract me." miscommunication kings

also i would like to see jake and ally become friends. i think they could do it. idk if they will.

yulgrett (& yellow team)

god i need this man out of the team. actually i think i really need grett on a better team. i totally get why she's not standing up for herself but she needs better support- riya telling her yul's a shithead was good but she was so mean about it :( give grett a friend!

alec being a comically bad father tho is so funny "oh i couldn't enjoy the beach bc my son got badly injured in a sandbox and i didn't notice or care bc i was busy reading. so sad for me :("

predictions

i'm thinking maybe one more challenge before the merge, that i'd expect yellow team to lose. i don't think cyan or magenta can lose again now, cyan bc they'd boot gabby which kills her narrative too early, and magenta bc jake and ally both have Stuff going on (love triangle and tess leaving) that feel like they need to play out more (and ashley wouldn't go home).

(i guess cyan could lose if gabby had immunity, but i doubt that)

reason i'm not expecting the merge next episode: with gabby joining the villains it'd be a 5v5 split of villains/non-villains, and i just don't see tom/jake/aiden working together this soon, especially if the best they can do is tie. it makes more sense to me that they'd cut out one of yellow team (probably yul, if grett can finally stand up to him) so that post-merge it's 4v5 and they have the drama of "non-villains have to ALL work together to win"

i think villain drama will blow up completely next episode regardless, and most likely yul goes home. there may also be something with the bit at the end about rule breaking, which i'm guessing was emily helping yul? but idk how that'll play into it.

i think ally will be way more torn up about tess leaving than she was about hunter (that's been my prediction since hunter got out). they could do something interesting with her and jake's respective relationship drama.

[dio-icarticaae]

Recently rewatched Star Wars Resistance Season 2 Episode 3, "Live Fire", and it's such a good demonstration of all the various kinds of pilots in Resistance and how good the show is at illustrating the difference between them. There's subtle difference between all of the pilots of course, but there's two main really glaring distinctions: First Order vs Resistance/non First Order pilots, and Yeager & Kaz vs the Aces.

The difference between Yeager & Kaz and the Aces is really fascinating and also officially spells out one of the best subtle details in Resistance - Kaz is not as good at racing because of his combat pilot background that he still uses. Kaz struggles with racing flying throughout the show because he isn't a racer or thinking like a racing pilot - he's a combat pilot and he flies like one and thinks like one. And in reverse, the Aces aren't good in combat because In a race, every ace is capable of beating him handily. In a combat scenario? Kaz and Yeager pick them off effortlessly because that the kind of piloting they are best at and have been taught. Kaz loses races all the time, but in situations like in the first season fighting the sea monster? Kaz is clearly far more at ease with flying in that situation than the Aces. And the race later in the season 2? Kaz wins that not only because of the knowledge gained about the course through watching the Aces fail to go through it, but also because what with the mines, being shot at, etc., it's more of a combat situation and that's what Kaz is good at.

Sidenote - I always find it fun that Griff is the one who is most apprehensive about their chances in the training exercise. It makes sense; having been in the Empire he's well aware of what Rebellion pilots were capable of working together and he knows this will not end well for the Aces.

A minor addition to that is the difference between Yeager and Kaz as pilots is one of experience and leadership skills. Yeager's a Rebellion veteran, and you can tell - he's comfortable with being in command and giving orders to his fellow pilots in a way that Kaz isn't. He's also a little more adaptable to strange circumstances such as a giant creature trying to eat them - he saw a lot of wild things during the Rebellion so he's (less) phased than Kaz. Yeager as a pilot is who Kaz could be in the future.

The other main difference in pilots is, of course, the difference in how the First Order treats its pilots in training and how the Resistance/literally everyone else does and "Live Fire" does a great job of showing those. Yeager is so matter of fact when says of course they're not going to use live fire on each other. For the Aces, it's a given that they wouldn't be practicing with live fire because why would they? One of them could get hurt/their ship could get destroyed and that would not be good. And what's really to be gained from it?

In contrast, the First Order doesn't care if they lose a trainee in an exercise because of "friendly" fire - in fact that's preferable through some kind of "survival of the fittest" mindset. Tam preventing Rucklin's TIE from crashing into the Star Destroyer bridge also prevents a possible catastrophe and shows that she's a good pilot with good leadership skills - but because she shows compassion she loses squad leader.

Tam doesn't fit in the First Order survival of the fittest mold and it's a very early indication that Tam will leave the First Order - she's not like them and she could never be because her first instinct is to help her fellow pilots instead of leave them for dead, and that makes her a better person and pilot than any of them could ever be.

"Live Fire" does a great job of showing all of this and that's definitely a part of why it's one of my favorite Resistance episodes!

[trickstarbrave]

WIP Whenever

hiiiii i got tagged by @boethiahspillowbook

this is what i got so far on the azura and nerevar piece. not much further bc im still trying to figure out shading and how i want it to be. oof. also unsure abt azura's halo fsr it just looks.... off on her. and i think i wanna make some of the blood a brighter red to tie in together with all the rest of the red. lots of things im considering...

also for written wips. uh.

unfortunately i only have the. fucking cursed omegaverse nerevoryn im working on. once again never consider anything as like a joke or ironically that is the devil talking and you will start doing things for real.

in my defense though omegaverse is such a wild concept that trying to go "okay but seriously how would this work in a society and why would it be this way" is actually entertaining. very fun to go "yes, and...." over and over. oh, fated mates exist? what if they weren't just a cheesy soulmates thing but had a logical explanation. how would these dynamics effect various social classes? how would different cultures be effected? i have world builder's disease clearly

ALSO i tag anyone who hasnt been tagged yet and wants to :> i cant keep up with which of my mutuals have been tagged or not.... let me see ur ideas pls

--

“... In all honesty,” The healer began, sounding exacerbated, “I have never seen a case like this in all my years. But there is only one answer I can come to based on everything else.”

“Go on.” Nerevar tried to keep his voice level rather than annoyed. Azura knows how terrified most people got when he was angry. 

The healer pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“How familiar are you with fated mates?” At her question, Nerevar froze, stunned, before he gave a loud bark of laughter. The healer, however, did not laugh or smile back, and instead only looked more resolute. 

“... Be serious with me.” 

“I am being serious, Lord Nerevar.” 

“Are you--are you seriously trying to say Voryn is my--”

“I understand how strange it sounds at first.” The healer cut him off. “Typically when someone meets their fated mate they determine it quickly. It only takes a few heat or rut cycles before the draw is undeniable.” She sighed once again. “I can only assume because you knew Lord Dagoth before either of you presented, the draw was less noticeable.” 

It kind of made sense, to a degree. When people wrote about fated mates it was usually that they had a scent that was undeniable. Even passing by them on the street, you couldn’t get the scent out of your head for days on end, trying to find it again and again. Even those who tried to deny it couldn’t refuse the pull forever; heats and ruts were unbearable, the longing overwhelming the pair. No one had ever recorded an account of a fated pair who knew each other prior to presenting though; fated mates were absurdly rare, after all. They were more common in fiction than real life, and only the most hopeless of romantics ever went out actually looking for one. Most people just found a mate they liked rather than chase after some destined person, and why fated mates even existed was a mystery. Did everyone have one but distance kept them from finding one? That didn’t seem likely; the most common belief was that some people were born with them--not many members of the population, anyways--and even fewer actually found their ‘other half’. Someone meeting a fated mate before presenting, when you were children not off exploring the wider world yet, was even more unlikely. How would you react if you could constantly smell and see them before either of you presented?

Dumac told him the dwemer scholars believed it had something to do with ‘reproductive compatibility’. Not that it was a mystical, god given connection like some believed, but rather those with a fated partner were less compatible with most of the population, so when they did find someone they could produce children with easily, the desire to mate was enhanced strongly. Nerevar didn’t know if he liked that explanation either though. He found the ideas the gods made destined partners to love each other forever as too romantic of an idea for reality yes, but presuming there must be something wrong with them wasn’t much better. 

It didn’t seem likely that he and Voryn could just ignore the draw for decades though, right? Surely that wouldn’t be possible. The draw was supposed to be strong, impossible to deny past a certain point.

Sure, when he was younger and Voryn was in a rut he always came by to check on him before he was shooed away, but that was just boredom. And when he was in heat Voryn would pass him notes under the door from time to time that he’d bury in the nests he made, but that was just because being in heat made him feel sensitive and sappy. Nothing more. And shouldn’t there be something more if they were a fated pair?

“Your other symptoms make me more certain of it.” The healer continued, pulling him from his thoughts.

“How so?” Nerevar raised an eyebrow. 

“It isn’t healthy for an unmated omega to be around an alpha in rut.” She replied, a fact that always made Nerevar roll his eyes. “It causes excess stress, even if it doesn’t trigger a heat. Unless you are drawn to the alpha in question as a potential partner, usually a rut is off putting, distressing, or nauseating for an unmated omega.”

“They’ve never bothered me to that extent.” Nerevar snarked.

“Precisely.” She locked eyes with him. “You handle it more akin to an omega who’s already been mated, despite not having the scent of one.” Nerevar tensed at that. He hadn’t thought of it like that in the slightest; why would he? He wasn’t mated. Anyone could smell on him that he wasn’t. “Those who have met a fated partner experience mated behaviors before the bond is even set. Rejecting other suitors, unbothered by others in a heat or rut,” She sighed. “Lord Vivec even explained you are giving off the same scent as a bonded omega whose mate is absent.” Nerevar’s cheeks flushed at that. 

“That’s--” Nerevar tensed slightly, “I wouldn’t go that far.” Surely Nerevar wasn’t. He wasn’t fucking bonded, why would he be throwing out the same scent as an omega who went into heat, begging for their mate to come tend to them? 

“You are.” She asserted, though she did have some sympathy in her gaze at least. “Unfortunately, the best I can do is, if you truly don’t want the bond, I can give you suppressants. They won’t actively stop it given you already went into heat, but they should calm some of the worst side effects.” Nerevar already knew what she was going to say next though. “But your next one will be much of the same. The side effects will continue to worsen.” Short of running away to the other side of the continent and burning anything he owned that Voryn had ever so much as touched, he would be able to smell Voryn faintly, after all. In the palace, on his belongings, anywhere Voryn had been might trigger the worst of the symptoms all over again now that he had a heat triggered by his rut no doubt. 

“At the very least, Lord Dagoth is in control of his emotions.” Voryn’s eyebrow twitched at that, his arms tightening. “You can spent ruts and heats together without actually mating, until you come to a decision on how to proceed. It should alleviate both of your struggles.” 

Shit, Nerevar hadn’t even considered what Voryn must be going through. Was his irritation and lack of eating because he subconsciously knew Nerevar was supposed to be his but wasn’t there by his side? When he was younger was that out of character, violent rage because he knew, right there in the stronghold, his mate was being kept from him? No doubt the next rut Voryn would be uncontrollable; before he could hold back because he wasn’t consciously aware of what he wanted, but now that he knew it was Nerevar… 

[animehouse-moe]

Heavenly Delusion Opening: Innocent Arrogance

Yes yes, I know. Late to the party. But I wasn't really feeling it before and I've been watching it a good bit over the last few days so I figured now or never since I've not got much else going on today. A wonderful opening, incredibly expressive and fluid and ridiculously dense, it centers around a few key aspects and themes. Religion, connection, branching and reaching out. There's a lot to get into with it so I guess I'll just get started.

As soon as the opening starts, the symbolism and story does too. Two birds circling above, one white, one black. It's easy to see the Yin and Yang association as they go around each other, but beneath it we get a character who puts their hand over their eyes to transition to the next scene. You might be able to say that it's saying something about death in that regard, but it's a rather large stretch considering the more apt symbolism that precedes it.

Next up is this incredibly well animated spider's web. While it does set the tone for the overall style of ethereal animation that seems to almost escape you, it also begins to chip away at that theme of connections. A literal spider's web of them, to be exact. Though of course, it doubles up to symbolize the danger of the story, how Kiruko and Maru are prey rather than predator of the world.

Following that up, we have this two step shot of background shifting to foreground. The background objects being pillars of a bridge that survived into the post era of the apocalypse, while the foreground is a cutout of a young boy sporting a similar uniform to the ones that the children wear at the institution. The former image of course making use of the pillars to compare them to Tori gates (based on their shapes), while the cutout is meant to link that religious symbol towards the institution. It's a very quick and aesthetically pleasing one-two punch that leaves viewers with a vague sense of something.

We transfer very smoothly over to a shot of overhead powerlines in the next scene, which flows very well in terms of repetition, as it has a similar appeal as the "tori gate" pillars. What we see with the power lines though is the connections made between them, what brings them into contact with one another. It's a rather fluffy and vague use of the symbolism to liken it to the overall theme, but with follow-up shots it works well in establishing the overall explicit story of the opening.

With the follow-up scenes to this cut, we get a grasp of what this opening is. The journey of Kiruko and Maru. The two are trekking across Japan in search of Heaven in this opening. Not exactly a revelation, but it serves to be a great way to tie together the vague and sometimes loose pieces within.

Also, I love the approach to line art within the opening, which you can really see in scenes like this. The characters don't have that hard outline, they're not well defined in the slightest. Incredibly fluid and open, it's a really unique and beautiful style that they make full use of through all sorts of pieces. Even take the pieces of paper fluttering in the wind, they're rather transparent and don't feel incredibly well defined.

After this, we get a breakdown that matches the timing of the song. There's not really much to say? It's almost sort of self-explanatory. An explosion of creativity at almost random, with a strong line on literal "misdirection". Maps and signs that twist and turn and become undecipherable. It's cool, though maybe a bit out of touch compared to other sequences, but gets the point across about how difficult and winding and confusing the path of the story is. All the foreshadowing and mishaps and challenges that occur, they're all summed up in one messy billboard.

What's really impressive is how much is going on. There's scenes and layouts you'll completely miss if you're not playing the opening back over and over again and slowing things down and pausing in the right spots. Ridiculous how densely animated and detailed this opening is.

Now, for the keen eyed anime-onlies I'll leave a single hint within this sequence: order of events. Have fun haha.

Now, one last blink and you'll miss it bit, this one. The text says "welcome to hell!", as the sun shines above and countless hands make a peace sign at the bottom. Interestingly enough, a dog or some other similar animal paw appears at the top of the screen. What's most interesting here is the sun, which I think viewers of episode 3 will associate with a certain scene.

So, following that we get the title card and some scenes of the pair wandering around on their journey. Very well animated, very well expressed. Lovely little bits that add to it. But, we get some nice foreshadowing. Some yet to come, others that have appeared. Obviously, I'll only talk about the latter. First though, this frame of Maru kicking a can. The direction does wonders in these literal scenes to stay true to Hirotaka's vision of a more voyeuristic and outside-looking-in style.

Anyways, onto the first foreshadowing/symbolism: Maru's ability. It's a very strong sequence that speaks to a lot about what anime viewers suspect and understand about Hiruko. His ability starts as a flower that blossoms into a technological branch that reaches out, before transforming into an actual one. The best I can describe it is almost something like "human intervention". Something natural is intervened with, changed, altered by humanity, before returning to a natural state.

Following that we've got this breathtaking sequence for Kiruko. I was stunned when I first saw it in episode 2, knowing where the anime was headed for the third episode. Incredible work to show the separation between mind and body as Kiruko's outline lags behind their actual body. And then there's the whole out of focus piece that blurs the lines between Kiruko's outline and their actual body to even further the symbolism. Really, really incredible work for such an important detail in the opening that ties in with the early foreshadowing of the reveal.

And that's about where the opening ends. It's very intense, and has an incredibly strong vision that brings it all together. The opening is a story of Kiruko and Maru, but runs deeper and wider than just their journey to Heaven. It's stippled by references to religion and restriction, expression and evolution, and confusion and misdirection. It branches out and changes shape and form to find the perfect ways to tell its stories, to show viewers what lies ahead and what's to come, dropping subtle and not-so-subtle hints and bits of foreshadowing.

Just all around incredible work that essentially puts it neck and neck with MAD's OP for this season. I can, and have, picked a favorite between them just because of expectations placed upon both, but from an objective viewpoint there's no way you can call either "better" than the other. It's just incredible work that sets the bar painfully high for the rest of the year. Endlessly impressive that between this and MAD we're looking at not only the OPs of the season, but damn near shoe-ins for the year at large. Beautiful, beautiful work done on them.

[agent-troi]

Borrowed Time (WIP Ask game)

ohhh boy this behemoth will never see the light of day but I'm so happy you asked about this one bc as complicated as it is I love thinking and talking about it lol

so this was meant to be a fix-it for the ending of the star trek novelverse. some important background info: the coda trilogy wrapped up the novelverse basically by retroactively wiping that timeline from existence to avert a threat to the entire multiverse, because apparently with all the new shows and tie-in novels people thought it would be too confusing to also keep the novelverse books going. well that made me pissed as hell so I wrote this short fic, The Forgotten Splinter, bringing back one of my favorite and criminally underused characters, Riker and Troi's daughter Tasha, and Borrowed Time was meant to be a follow up to that.

I have a partial outline complete with chapter titles and extensive notes on what I wanted to happen, but at some point the idea just got too complicated and overwhelming for me to contemplate lol. the short of it is that Tasha gets her memories back from the First Splinter Timeline as well as the other timeline branches that were erased, and she and the gang work together to restore that timeline while also eliminating the threat from the Devidians.

I ended up not writing very much of it except for a list of chapter titles (in rough chronological order) and one passage:

Weddings and Funerals

Sole Survivor

The Reflecting Game

Unsung Heroes

After the Silence

Out of the Silent Wormhole

We Seek the Paradox

What's Good for the Goose

Sound and Fury

More than Memory

There but for the Grace of God

Hail Mary Ex-Machina

Roll for Initiative

The Thousandth Knife

When the Dealing's Done

“The First Splinter Timeline.” Tasha laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what we did for you. What we sacrificed… and this timeline? This timeline is shit! Your version of the Federation literally banned an entire class of life-forms, and didn’t even bother to make an exception when the child of two Starfleet heroes’ life was at stake!” The Troi-Rikers visibly blanched. “And you!” Tasha exclaimed, swiveling toward Picard. “You’re a bloody admiral! Whatever happened to ‘don’t let them promote you, don’t let them transfer you, don’t let them do anything that takes you off the bridge of that ship, because while you’re there, you can make a difference’?” She paused to take a deep breath. “And why didn’t you tell Beverly you love her? She wanted you to go after her, fight for her, not let her go!” Picard was stunned speechless. Tasha continued her rant unabated. “Our timeline wasn’t perfect, but it was better than this! What kind of multiverse is this, where the timeline in which things go mostly right has to be erased from causation, while this shit timeline with all the unnecessary angst and dramatic tension gets to live on? It’s not fair, dammit!” By this point Tasha was nearly hysterical, and the tears poured in a seemingly endless flood down her cheeks. The multiple timelines’ worth of trauma she had been suppressing for six years had finally burst forth from the dam of her subconscious. Deanna’s soul cried out in pure and complete empathy. She had entertained similar thoughts ever since Thad’s diagnosis. Why did their timeline have to be the one where he died? The whole thing had made absolutely no sense, as if whoever was writing the story of their lives got a kick out of torturing their characters.

I came up with this after Picard season one aired but before two and three, so I didn't incorporate any of that into this idea lol, anyway I had some vague notion that this would be the first installment of an epic trilogy, but almost no one read my novelverse fic when I was actively writing and posting about it so I don't really have much motivation to make it happen

[denimsnake]

star wars stream-of-consciousness abandon hope ye who enter

the live action shows (namely the mandalorian s3 + ahsoka) establishing the beginning of the first order has me thinking about how they COULD have made a statement about fascism in the sequel trilogy wrt fascists idealizing a mythologized past that in reality sucked shit for almost everybody involved what with their use of shitty TIE fighters when the far superior TIE interceptors had been in use in the empire since episode 6. but instead for some reason (read: nostalgia bait) the resistance also uses old-ass starfighters (canonically the x-wings have been updated somehow but they look exactly the same) plus bombers that have been old as balls for decades (rebels saying y-wings were ready for the scrapheap 4[?] years before the battle of yavin) and i know that old in-universe explanation of "the new republic didnt take the first order seriously & demilitarized & the resistance couldnt get good ships yadda yadda" but 1) the movies could've chosen to show us literally any of the new republic aside from the capital getting blown to shit and 2) . i don't actually have a second point. my only point is maybe they could've shown cool new republic ships to contrast them with the relatively ill-equipped resistance? maybe? (also ahsoka shows us new republic pilots flying e-wings years and years before the sequel movies take place. those are from the EU so still a kind of nostalgia bait but at least they're evidence of some kind of progress).

anyway my main issue is actually that the first order is the only faction to progress technologically at all? despite being formed from imperial remnants that shouldn't have the resources to do this, they have a powerful manufacturing base churning out shitty little TIEs, but also actually innovative ships like the resurgent-class star destroyer, which fixes the glaring flaws of the imperial star destroyers (the command bridge being a giant target sticking straight out into space + not enough hangars providing starfighter support). episode 9 has the TIE whisper i think but i'm honestly not sure if that was mass-produced or just for kyle. my memories of that movie are..hazy. but if we take into account the resistance cartoon then they also innovated the TIE baron which vastly improves upon even the TIE interceptor.

they also managed to turn an entire planet into a weapon capable of destroying several planets at once right under the new republic's nose. but the planet was full of kyber crystals for storing/focusing energy and the empire already dug that giant trench so then it's, just, like, constructing the cannon and some other random shit i guess? only time checking wookieepedia for this whole post is because i forgot what starkiller base looked like. can i just say it's so funny that they managed some kind of an explanation for why it looked the way it did in the movie:

i love science fiction. anyway. can't believe i'm saying this but starkiller is one of the least far-fetched things about the sequels. i'm happy with the novelization's explanation of it i'm not a physicist i don't give a fuck. i think if this was, like, the only project they were working on then they could pull together the resources for it. i do wonder how they got materials there without being flagged by some kind of authority but ilum was in the unknown regions so if they just sourced that shit locally maybe it's feasible given the amount of time they had. it's not innovative because it's just the death star 3.0 but i'll grant it is maybe possible. i am going to ignore their apparent ability to manufacture a whole fleet of star destroyers with death star-level cannons because that was stupid LMAO. but i guess that happened also even though i forgot about it until literally just now. it supports my argument that the first order's manufacturing capacity doesn't make any sense but i'm honorable enough not to hinge my argument on it because of how stupid it is. i watched the sequel trilogy but i don't believe in its beliefs.

moving on. jj abram's quote about the inspiration for the first order being like "what if nazis who fled to argentina regrouped and rose to power again?" is SO telling because first of all he doesn't seem to understand that the empire of the original trilogy -- while aesthetically based on the nazis -- was substantially based on many imperial powers, including the united states of america. and second of all very clearly he believes the myth that the nazis were technologically superior to the allies, that the allies just barely won the war, etc. the fact that the first order are the only bitches doing anything even remotely new also tells me he & many other people who worked on the sequels don't understand fascism. or symbolism. but whatever. watch andor.

[potekosblog]

If you had to write for Crona's rescue from the moon by Maka,what would be your general thoughts and ideas?

oooh, good question so kinda random but I have been looping "The Red Means I Love You" song (in this case it should be black) and in my mind, Crona's rescue should feel something like that song. manic, and dramatic but with a lot of blood and love. Something with angel imagery and horror if that makes sense?

i just really like Cromaka visually cuz it has a lot going for it, religion, horror, queer subtext and etc

Even with the situation from the manga leaning into the doomed narrative, I can see it happening, Soul would have to open the path for Crona (I really don't like how little Soul did in the manga I need him to SET UP.) and the fact that the trio are kinda black blood bonded would help somehow.

What was the point of giving them that ability and having it just appear once or twice? (and just use to push the soma narrative, when it should be all three!!) also, I just think it's the best way to tie everything together, the black blood once a hindrance turns to strength then a bridge to get the one that got away.

enjoy the doodle I made a while back but it gets the idea across.

[shock-micro]

god imagine a theme park that's literally just like, letting you walk/ride around a completely new and inspired landscape

i saw a video showing off a land from avatar, and that's cool and all, but like. imagine stepping through a door and suddenly being in the sky, a series of islands tethered together by bridges floating over the land below, with its own style of architecture and things to explore

or how about a water world? a ride taking you on a tour of a planet made almost completely from an ocean? showing all of the lifeforms you could find there, how people like us could potentially live, survive, and thrive there- even letting us walk through a human base/colony

or, just an alternate version of the surface, where it's very similar to our world, but with many more types of people to meet, and you're canonically there as like a cultural exchange type thing

or a land set in the vague future, on a planet almost like earth, where you find out that it's actually the planet venus, terraformed over the course of thousands of years

and all of these places could teach us a lesson about our own world, too, like the alternate surface / the future land showing the importance of coming together in spite of our differences and working for a better future together

n like, these environments would be perfect for all ages, i think, because for kids there's the sense of wonder and adventure coming from a new world that can be seen without even going on a ride

and for adults, well. there's still the thrill of exploration, but on a deeper level, it's an experience that lets you step away from reality and see what could have been, or what could be, even for a moment

...or maybe i'm rambling, and these wouldn't be possible to put in a theme park whatsoever. whatever! it's my escapist fantasy, and i get to choose to inflict it upon all of you.

but for real. disney is just going for "slap marvel on it until it works", and universal is making admittedly cool brand tie-ins that can stand outside of the context of it being made for a brand. but can we just have a world not tied to an existing brand for once?

i honestly would love if this "multiverse" park were a standalone thing, but if it HAD to be a tie-in to get enough funding, i think there are still some unique directions you could take existing IPs

like, subnautica is RIGHT THERE. boom, there's your water planet! tears of the kingdom! there's your sky islands! you could explore the culture of the zonai before they descended to the surface! the experience sells itself!

anyway i think i've said all that i can, like and subscribe or whatever

[its-the-val-pal]

Retrospection

Zheval laid in his newly furnished room with his newly furnished bed. It came complete with a newly furnished lounge, a newly furnished marbled tub, and a newly furnished kitchen. It was, as far as he could tell, probably one of the most lavish places he’d ever stayed in. Granted, he didn’t remember much about himself, and that probably accounted to how estranged he felt in such a place.

Had he stayed in a place like this before? Had he ever owned something so fancy? No, probably not. Someone would have recognized him by now, right? What if he was alone? What if he had no family? What if this was simply how he was? What if he’d never find out who he was? What if this is who he had always been?

Those without the complicated “gift” of family often find their own.

They had been simple enough words spoken by Vulgin, a.. friend? Maybe? That Zheval had met. And yet, they’d seemed familiar. Had he been alone before? Had he needed to find a family of his own? If so, what had set him on that path? What did he do? What did he lose? Was he happy?

Questions upon questions were all Zheval had, and very little answers for any of them. He’d had guidance, of course. Truly, Shadecross had done wonders to invite him into their gang of misfits and make him feel welcomed. Security--guard work--felt natural to him, after all, and they only worried that his past may impede his work with them. And so they endeavored to ensure to help him find it out and keep him from sleeping under the bridge. It was an offer too good to pass up.

He’d found his family. And it felt right. It felt natural to be a guard. It felt natural to be fighting. The fancy surroundings strangely felt familiar. And yet.. he knew not why.

“You are fresh off the boat, and the only vague things you have are recollections of concepts, ideas.  I would find a place to hunker down and create a board with all of your thoughts. Organize them, and see if you can find something common. Most likely, you had quite a bit of memories, but only enough to trigger them, and you need something to tie everything together,” Echo had said to him. 

So he had. He could see the fruits of his labor next to his bed; a newly furnished chalkboard that he’d procured and did his best to scribble down his thoughts. He couldn’t read or write particularly well, so he simply drew pictures in various corners and spots he thought that made sense.

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

Wedding Ring It was one of the few items he had on himself. Where did it come from? Who was F.C.? Was this ring his? Was he married? If so, why hadn’t they sought him out? Why couldn’t they find him? Daggers and a spear He found these on himself. And what's more, he found he was good with them. Scarred body, marred flesh His body was covered in scars. He didn't know why or how. Some were more prominent than others. A princess and a knight. Circled little stick figures. One had long, flowing hair and the other a sword. He was certain this was important. 

Tea and cakes and vanilla. Foods. Taste. Or scent? Either way, they all seemed to go well enough together. He knew these were important, but he wasn’t entirely sure how. The Shroud. Gridania. Flower fields. These all seemed to go well enough together. Gridania was in the Shroud and had fields of flowers. Fighting. Sparring? The bridge. Circled. He only knew of this because he saw it, himself. The vision of himself fighting and sparring next to the bridge, his recent home. It was familiar. Safe. And yet, also painful and sad. He knew not why. The Quicksand. A disembodied voice. Begging to be joined.  Circled. He was certain of this. It was the strongest reaction he’d had to date. Found family. Shadecross? Some place like them? He wasn’t entirely certain about this. Found family.. That rang a bell. He wasn’t sure about Shadecross, even if Nikklaus had been familiar. The fighting ring. The Fae? Il Mheg? These had a strike through them. He didn’t really think they had any weight, but Echo had seemed so very certain, so it was worth checking out. And there was some familiarity.  Unknown Woman The very center of the board. She seemed to be present in a handful of these images, so there must have been a greater purpose. It all revolved around her, but why? How?

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

And that was it. He could see the board from where he lay on the bed, those blue and gold eyes dancing over the surface, doing his best to tie any of it together.

Some parts were obvious. Tea, cakes, and vanilla.. that sounded like something one might find in Gridania. Or Il Mheg, as had been suggested by Echo. The spear was the weapon of a knight, but daggers? Not so much. The woman.. She was clearly in the Quicksand. She was there when he was fighting. She seemed to be taking care of him.

But where did everything else fit into place? She was, potentially, the princess. A princess? From where? And who was the knight? Was it him? Why did he have so many scars? Was it her wedding ring that he held? Were her initials F.C.? Had he failed her and kept it as a memento? But where did the daggers come from and why was he so good with them? Where did that boiling rage and anger erupt from deep down inside? Was he mad at himself or the world? Sometimes it felt like both. And where did the Fae fit into all of this?

Zheval's mind spun in circles until it could do no more. Fitting this together had certainly helped, but he only gained more questions. There was some clarity in the fog, but nothing that truly helped him find an answer. And besides, his head was beginning to hurt. It was a dull and throbbing pain, however. Nothing too serious, which must have meant he wasn't on to something.

"Fae.." the Viera muttered to himself over and over again as he peered at the stars through the skylight above. They addled minds. They had princesses and knights and stories, he had been told. But he was tired and he had work in the morning. It could wait until then.

"Faye.." the Miqo'te had tried to suggest from within, but he was tired and he was lonely. And so close, yet so very far that it hurt him to his core.