#the dark artifices snippets

[wikitpowers]

[culiehua]

Imagine: our beloved shadowhunters in a vampire diaries S4x22/23 type of scenario where the veil between the living and the dead falls and chaos ensues

angry dead people are back for unifinished business with the mcs, you name it, they face it

(hint hint it's terrible)

magnus & co. are looking for a way to bring it back up but it's difficult enough without the now corporeal walking dead terrorists

the veil separates the living and the ghosts of those who are not ready to move on but also other supernatural whatnots

meaning that demons frequently infiltrate the other side bc it's a parallel dimensional death realm but usually rarely find weaknesses in the veil to cross over (and be killed by "stupid hot people")

but the whole thing is gone so demons are flooding everywhere and it is not that great

because the dead can now become tangible again (if they want to that is), they do that, e.g. Valentine and his posse go for Clary, and there are just so many

(we'll get back to them)

Meanwhile in London, Yanluo has crawled his way into Cirenworth because demons can hold grudges forever and he still has quite the bone to pick with Wenyu, Yiwen and Elias' blood (i.e. Jem holds the #1 spot in his deathnote (yes yanluo has a deathnote in canon myth even though it works a bit differently))

and why give up such ample opportunity for petty revenge?

nobody at the Carstairs home knows what is going on however (Tessa is with Magnus in New York)

so Mina is ripped out of her cradle in the middle of the night and held hostage until Jem hears her cry

listen. my chinese violin man has seen some shit

in his long (but not as long as it could have been) life he has spent more time flirting with his death than most and seems practically unflappable atp

but this is a nightmare he's never been able to completely get over (because watching your parents die while being tortured is traumatic™)

so jem is restrained and absolutely terrified to his core bc this cannot be happening again

fate has a really fucked up sense of humor, he thinks

history repeating itself was not on his bingo card and he is not sure if it's him or his sweet sweet baby girl that is going to croak. After all that effort to stay alive

and he prays to the angel it's him. Anyone but little love Mina, and he wonders, distantly, if his mother had felt the same way when she died

(The anguish and agony forever carved into his memory and onto her face tell him she would have)

Yanluo's ready to strike and poison him again but instead get's flung to the other side of the hall

(no minas were harmed in this scene)

things are moving too fast for him to see but in his injury induced haze he swears he hallucinates the image of his mother reaching for him before passing out

when he wakes up again it's to a destroyed foyer and his crying baby in his Kit's arms who looks a lot worse for wear

so the fight had been real. he definitely didn't imagine that

But he soon comes to the realization that he must have imagined his mother in someone else's stead, coming to protect him. How pathetic of him. He'd have to thank them later.

He hasn't spotted the unsheathed Jian coverd in ichor on the left side of the room yet.

For a couple of minutes he takes deep breaths. It was over.

He's as calm as he could get under his circumstamces

But it's Kit's disgruntled throwaway comment that shatters all semblance of peace he's found

"What the heck? Wenyu never told me she could fight like that!"

(amidst it all, young brown eyes and golden ones meet over Kit's shoulder)

Back in New York, a desperate redheaded girl was surprised to see another pair of green eyes joining the chaos and helping her fight off Valentine

and maybe, though she'll never admit it to anyone but herself, a long standing heavy weight was now off her shoulders after this day

(and if she felt lighter than she has in a long time, nobody had to know.)

[clockworkbee]

when touching helps in fantasy books?

Lord of Shadows // Chain of Thorns

you can't tell me that's not a parallel between ghostwriter/blackdale and blackstairs, because it is!

[tmisource]

May Newsletter Recap: 'Sword Catcher' art, snippets and more!

May Newsletter Recap: 'Sword Catcher' art, snippets and more!

Buckle up, guys. I’ve got the May newsletter recap for you and it’s a long one! We’ve got Sword Catcher art, snippets, pre-order links and more. Let’s start with the art, here we have “Sasha Coleman’s art of Conor along with a few of his favorite things: wine, jewelry, books, money and secret letters.” Hello, handsome. I’m intrigued how important that dagger is going to be. Prince Conor Aurelian…

[mariskila]

Okay heres my 2 cents of what I expect of TWP (The Wicked Powers) be:

01: Janus will join the Cohort. He is the perfect person to be the head example of the movement. He is literally Jace (and Jace being a all time hero as is), but one that lived in a world full of demons controlled by Sebastian. The one who "suffered" in Sebastian hands. The same Sebastian that everybody believes that his evil came because of the demon blood Valentine put in him. He will make a story of his suffering, about how tragic his life is, about how everybody died because of demon blood. And that will make him quickly rise thru the Cohort. BUT he doesn't believe in the movement as is, his only goal is the benefits he can have, the power he can have (for then, completing his other plans)

02: Ash will be on Janus side for a while. After all, Janus was the only person in Ash's life who didn't treat him as shitty.

03: Janus will kidnap Clary. Being locked in Idris would be a perfect location to put Clary. Nobody can enter there. Nobody has information about what is happening inside. Nobody but Livvy. As we seen in "Ghosts of the Shadow Market" ("The Lost World" story) we can see that she has some powers. And she could hear inside Idris wards. Her power may grow.

04: Ty will be in a investigation and needs Kit help. As we know, Kit is the only other person who can see Livvy. And if Livvy is the key for a investigation, it can be only something Livvy can do. And Ty needing Kit help in a investigation is already confirmed by the author.

05: Double church! That's it. If we have 2 Jaces, why not 2 Churchs?

06: All Princes of Hell will be united. As we seen also in "The Lost Book of the White", Sammael call all the Princes of Hell to a meeting, for then to united to a common goal. And this goal may be putting a end in the war between Angels and Demons all together. To finale try to work together for their win.

07: The book tittles is NOT what you expect! The already announced tittles are "The Last King of Faerie","The Last Prince of Hell" and "The Last Shadowhunter". The saga name being "The Wicked Powers". When we see all this information, the first thing that come to mind is who is the most powerful Faerie, Prince of Hell and Shadowhunter; and what will happen to then. But in reality I believe that those tittles are about power-play in political ambiance. The first being about Ash-Kit (Seelie Queen-King Kieran) and all political mess that is Faerie courts is in the moment. The second is about all Prince of Hell united and all the drama is in the middle of that (as for example, if some warlocks will join then? In what side vampires and werewolves will be? Lucifer?). And the third, all the situation about Cohort and the Clave being out of Idris and all that mess being solved, at same time that Seelie/Unseelie is as mess, all Princes of Hell are together and as usual, Shadowhunters without any other help from the Angels.

08: Emma dies. Based on this snippet, I believe that is about Emma dying. It could have been in the original "The Dark Artifices" saga, after all, is a post from 10 years ago. But there is another snippet from 10 years ago that is accepted being a Kitty one. So who knows (link here, kitty one)

09: Tessa dies. I got the spidey sense from this part at "Clockwork Princess". It would be a good resource to be Ithuriel to fight some Prince of Hell.

Also this part of "Wedding" an extra from The Mortal Instruments:

[rinwellisathing]

Tagged again for WIP Whenever by @vialae but actually that's good because now I have more random snippets of my WIPs: Papa Bhaal's House of Horrors is disrupted by the arrival of a business associate, Orin is not happy to have big brother's attention stolen:

Orin grimaced and rolled her eyes, making a gagging noise as she watched her brother scamper to the door of the shed and throw it open, rushing out the door, waving eagerly as the deep emerald green convertible parked on the long dusty drive of the 'manor'. Polished black shoes, far too nice for this bumblefuck of a place, stepped from the car, followed by designer black slacks with gold embroidery and then a matching jacket over a deep green button down, the top five or so buttons undone revealing gold chains resting against a next of dark chest hair, a glimmering obsidian pendant in the shape of a clawed hand hanging from one. The man had deep tan skin, a few scars at his chin and cheeks, a nose that had never quite healed right after being broken more than a few times, and unkempt stubble. He wore a pair of stylish dark glasses and his messy black hair was just barely brushed. Still, Sentry fawned over this guy like he was a rock star. “Envyyyyy” Sentry grinned as he made his way over to the newcomer, swaying his hips as he did, unable to keep his tail from wagging like an excited puppy. “ Is this a social call or d'you have a job for us?” The tiefling asked, standing practically up against the human, one long nailed finger tracing that magnificent chest hair absently. “I'm afraid I'm here on business, dear Sentry, but then again, a bit of pleasure wouldn't go amiss, I suppose....if you aren't busy.” Enver's eyes cast towards the shed even as his hands rested on Sentry's hips. Those tacky, tattered denim shorts certainly made the younger tiefling a tempting little distraction. “Well he IS busy, oil-slick interloper.” Orin frowned, folding her arms across her thin chest, eyes narrowed. “We were just in the middle of a project!” “Interloper, hmm? That's a big word for such a little girl.” Enver chuckled. “And also inaccurate, you know I have an understanding with your family, I provide my services in the procurement of victims, I make sure they don't leave the county, and in return, I acquire information, valuables, et cetera that you have no use for. I am a perfectly welcome guest, why, one could call me part of the family almost.” He ran a hand down Sentry's bare thigh, earning a gentle purr from the tiefling. “What ever you say, lickspittle. But my brother and I were in the middle of creating art! You can't simply pull him away.” The little girl huffed, her expression murderous. “Aww, Orin, don't worry, I'll come back in a bit...Can't be a poor host, though, can I?” Sentry chuckled, grabbing Enver by the hand and leading towards the house, hips swaying as he did.

And a new one I just started, which will be a sequel to Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh, This one is Believing In Justice:

“Teela, dear! The ship to Baldur's Gate will be leaving soon, are you nearly ready?” Teela knew what her mother would say next before she even said it, she could practically mouth the words 'Because if you've changed your mind, that's completely fine, your father and I are always glad to have you at home'. She supposed she shouldn't be annoyed. A young tiefling, orphaned by the tragic death of her famous father, could hardly have asked for better parents than Esmeralda and Carlo Popsprocket, kindly Gondian artificers who kept a little shop in Waterdeep. She had grown up hearing stories of her birth father's fascinating innovations, his amazing army of mechanical men and the technological wonders he had brought to his home. Her adoptive parents often lamented having been unable to make the long journey to Baldur's Gate at the time to join the call for Gondians to help achieve this paradise of innovation, but they had always assured her that adopting her and raising her to become an artificer who could one day measure up to the illustrious Lord Enver Gortash, had been an even greater privilege, if an unexpected one. Teela examined her face one more time in the mirror, her high, sharp cheek bones, the severe curve of her nose. Her mother called it elegant, regal. Teela called it an eagle's beak. Of course then father would always argue that eagles were the proudest and most beautiful of birds. Her pale gold skin was always sprinkled with copper freckles and she swore there were more every day. She liked her eyes, at least. One was pale electric blue, the other a deep dark emerald that almost looked black in most light. Her tall curving golden horns, she supposed, were also fairly impressive. Skittering and mechanical chirps and chitters pulled her from her thoughts as he turned around and saw a small mechanical creature, made in bands of silver and black, scratching her bag as if trying to work its way in. “Oh Trashcan, of course you're going.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head as she made her way over to the bag and slowly hoisted it onto her back, the round clockwork raccoon that had been trying to paw inside, readjusting itself to peek out of the top of the bag. With that, Teela supposed she should make her way down to the docks.

As before, anyone who wants to do this WIP whenever is welcome to!

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 24: Xiasis

(This is the first snippet I've actually written for MSS, so just ignore the worldbuilding holes that still exist lol)

Xiasis rapped three times on the door, then stood back to wait.

A few moments later, Kageki opened the door. To anybody else, he probably looked ridiculously put together for how early it was, but Xiasis could see tangles in his dark hair and the sparkle of what was probably some illusion magic fading from his fingertips.

Kageki blinked a few times, then stepped aside to let Xiasis into his room.

“Good morning,” Xiasis said as they entered.

Kageki closed the door behind them, and Xiasis immediately saw the shift from his perfectly poised persona to the person he was in private. Which, at this time of morning, was sleepy and grumpy. “Awake with the sun I see,” he grumbled.

“Of course.” Xiasis couldn’t contain a grin. “Can’t waste the light, after all.”

Kageki grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, combing out the tangles but leaving it messier than before. “Why are you here so early?” he asked. “I know it’s our first day back but classes still don’t start until midmorning.”

“Which is why,” Xiasis said, reaching into their jacket and removing a book, “I thought you might want to spend the time until breakfast working on your personal projects.”

Kageki’s gaze immediately sharpened as he narrowed in on the book. “Is that…”

“I asked my mother, and she talked with a few reputable artificers that she knows, and they recommended a few books for Light runes specifically,” Xiasis explained. “Unfortunately, this was the only one I was able to find before the end of break.”

Kageki grabbed Xiasis’s free hand and kissed the back of it. “I knew there was a reason I liked you best.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted on behalf of our classmates,” Xiasis said, though they let Kageki take the book from their grip.

Kageki waved a hand carelessly, already flipping through the pages. “Take it as a compliment sunshine,” he said. “You mind helping me out with a few of these?”

“You’re going to test them now?” Xiasis asked. “You’ve had that book for all of five seconds—”

“And there is no progress without experimentation,” Kageki said, cutting them off. He set the book down on his desk, open on a specific page, then crossed the room to his trunk and withdrew one of his automatons. “Plus, I’m going to start out with the easy runes. Mother would have me cleaning every square inch of her shop by hand if I had something explode on me cause I rushed into complicated runework.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” Xiasis said dryly. “What do you need my help with anyways?”

“Powering the runes.” Kageki set the automaton down on his desk and started unscrewing one of the metal plates. Xiasis knew from hours of watching Kageki that he inscribed the runes on a removable plate, so he could easily try out different runes without building a whole new automaton every time. “I can power the Dark ones just fine, obviously, but from my understanding, Light runes will need Light magic to power them.”

“So what’s the point if you can’t even power the runes yourself?” Xiasis asked.

“Again, progress sunshine.” Kageki flashed them a smirk as he finished removing the old rune plate. He set it aside and grabbed a blank sheet of metal to replace it. “Finding somebody willing to power different runes for me is a non-issue in the long run. What could be an issue is…” He trailed off, moving various parts around on his desk as he searched for something.

Xiasis sighed, but grabbed the engraving pen they could see on the corner of his desk and handed it to him. “The whole “could potentially blow up on you” bit?” they finished.

“The usual dangers I could run into with experimentation,” Kageki corrected. “Not always explosions. Thanks.”

“Often explosions, according to our professor,” Xiasis countered, crossing their arms.

“Depends,” Kageki said, even as he focused on copying the rune from the book Xiasis had given him. “If you’re experimenting with Fire, nine times out of ten you’re probably going to get an explosion. My mother has caused a few implosions but nothing on the scale of some of the Fire artificer disasters I’ve heard of. Which is one of the reasons why I’m experimenting with Light runes first rather than any other.”

“Plus then you’d have to ask one of the others for rune books,” Xiasis teased.

“Oh no.” Kageki raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Can you imagine? I think Hali would give it enough thought, maybe Cyra, but Noelani would definitely forget I asked until two days before the end of break and just grab whatever book she could find first. And don’t get me started on Sylvain.”

“What do you have against him?” Xiasis asked. “You’ve had a grudge since we first started school.”

Kageki bit his lip and didn’t speak for a moment. He finished copying the rune, and quickly went to work carving a rune that Xiasis had seen on several other test plates.

“Sunshine,” he said, “how much competition was there for you to get into this school?”

Xiasis frowned, but they knew Kageki wouldn’t outright avoid a question, so they answered him. “Plenty.”

“We’ve both worked hard to be here,” Kageki said, glancing at Xiasis. They nodded in confirmation. “And, I think it’s pretty safe to say that the majority of our classmates have done the same,” he continued. “Except for Sylvain. It… irked me that I spent years proving myself worthy of one of these spots, and he walked in, admitted to putting in no effort, and proceeded to continue not putting in any effort.”

“Effort by your standards,” Xiasis pointed out. Kageki’s standards were much higher than anybody else’s, although he usually didn’t hold anybody else up to them.

“Did it look like he was trying much to you?” Kageki asked. Xiasis had to admit that he had a point there.

“He has gotten better,” Kageki continued. “Still not up to the standard I try to keep for our other classmates, but better than that first year. But, as Father always says, first impressions are everything.”

Kageki finished attaching the new rune plate to the automaton, then placed his hand over the Dark rune. “So, Earth runes are probably going to be the last ones I experiment with, if all goes well with this one. Ready to help?”

Xiasis was beginning to regret encouraging Kageki, but they moved to his side. “Alright.”

[aamaranthiine]

OOC: well this got a lil bit outta hand.. Just a drabble AU of Amalthea and Mihawk meeting in Cross Guild.. @seaoftales here you are my friend, put it under a cut because it got long xD

Working for Cross Guild certainly is one of the strangest contracts she's had, given its flamboyant themes and lively employees. Admittedly those descriptors might be too kind but the artificer tries to give them some grace, even if the noise and crowds are often way too much for her. Going from independent freelance work to the organized chaos of a Guild is a tough transition for someone as reclusive as she.

It didnt help that several dozen of the lot had become smitten with her. Either she was under the scrutiny of the higher ups while drawing maps and helping them navigate, or she was being tailed by a handful of woefully lovesick (enchanted) men that kept trying to win her favor. The near constant state of being perceived quickly wore down her mental and emotional limits.

There werent enough places to hide in this gods forsaken place. She longed for dense forests and cool, damp caverns where the shadows could veil her from sight entirely.

She found a little reprieve in the vexing but not unwelcome camaraderie forged with Dracule Mihawk, of all people in Cross Guild. She couldnt help but be drawn to his steady, unaffected demeanor when everything else is discord and noise. The brief moments of mutual silence, whether over morning coffee or evening wine are small but meaningful blessings. Though Thea never said as much aloud, she did show her appreciation by gifting him a rare blend of wine from her own private cache.

Thea was always careful not to impose or crowd Mihawk, even when he gradually began to speak to her of his own volition. Quiet conversations late into the nights, his cool aplomb ever present but she got to experience his intelligence and snippets of his life. He expressed curiosity in her Pose Artificery and other projects, which she was happy to share without giving away too many secrets.

It was a friendship she thought felt easy, natural even. Despite the swordsman's reputation and severe manners, he felt trustworthy to her and Thea rarely encountered others who made her feel so calm.

What Thea also doesnt say out loud is how Mihawk's company deters her 'suitors' but she's certain he noticed. Certain he even purposefully stands between her and whoever tries to garner her attention that isnt Guild work related. He invites her to sit beside him in the meeting room or lounge, and she's only further endeared to him for the consideration. At one point he calmly makes an unveiled threat to several subordinates about pestering her further and watching them scurry away in abject terror was very satisfying.

It's a notable privilege for Hawkeyes to regard anyone with favor or esteem, that he actively sought the mapmaker out on the daily does bring quite a bit of gossip amongst the Guild's members.

Thea can only imagine the shock if they knew Mihawk offered her his private quarters to sleep in. Hell, she'd been caught off guard by the offer when he'd evidently picked up on her lack of sleep. How often she napped in strange, out of the way places and had no qualms staying up til the witching hour frequently, only to rise at dawn shortly thereafter. She didnt sleep in the common crew spaces, deeply uncomfortable at the lack of privacy and sharing with so many strangers.

Clearly she's earned his trust enough for him to share his private room, though she very sparingly invites herself to take advantage of the offer. And when she does? He is courteous enough to leave her be, finding a different area to lounge in when the whim arises for a nap.

A late afternoon finds Amalthea sprawled on the dark duvet and matching silk-cased pillows of Mihawk's bed, dozing in the simple comfort of somewhere quiet and safe to sleep in. It helped too, that everything smelled like him; smooth hints of cologne and sharp steel are ever present. She's quite stark against the wine-red and coal black tones, the long coils of her braided white hair hanging off the edge of the mattress.

She rouses from hazy promised dreams at the slightest disturbance, in time to catch Mihawk step over the threshold and close the door behind him upon entry. Meeting his acknowledging gaze but saying nothing, the brief eye contact enough as he strides across the chamber to peruse whatever it is he needed at the time.

Except when he passes by the bed, Thea reaches out to loosely grasp his sleeve to get him to halt.

"You should stay," she says quietly, "for a nap, that is." And before he could decline she adds, "I know you tend to find other places but you dont need to deprive yourself comfort for my sake. It's your bed after all, we can share."

Even in the lowlight she can see the subtle change in his otherwise impassive expression, "I wouldnt want to disturb you." It's not a flat out rejection but she recognizes the attempt to deflect politely.

"I think I'd sleep better with you here, actually."

A lull of silence and Thea swears the swordsman's face softens just a tiny bit, his acquiescence being the hum of Yoru being pulled from his back and hooked on the nearby wall. She cant help but smile as Mihawk removes his hat, coat and boots before stretching out on the opposite side of the bed. She rolls onto her side to watch him settle comfortably, and feels bold enough to wiggle closer to him afterwards.

"Thea-" he mumbles her name in half hearted warning, the glint of yellow as he observed her in his periphery.

A muted huff of laughter, "M'not doing anything, wake me up in a few hours, Hawkeyes." She curls up a little and oh so slowly out stretches an arm over the duvet, until her hand brushes his and when he doesnt pull away? Loosely tangles their fingers together, the gentle contact seems to both perplex and strangely soothe him for how he tenses and then relaxes in the span of a breath.

Content, the artificer hums and nestles into her pillow to let sleep drag her down into dreams again.

[thesinglesjukebox]

YOASOBI - "IDOL"

Not a Jocelyn cover -- though there are parallels...

[7.79]

Ryo Miyauchi: You can call "idols," in particular the human exchanges and the parasocial relationships built around them, a lot of things. Using the words of Ai Hoshina from the manga-turned-anime Oshi no Ko, Ayase and Ikuta Lilas call it a lie. A performance would have neutralized, artifice would have made the critique more academic, and maybe fake would have softened the blow. A lie digs deep because it implies that I, the fan, am partly complicit in believing what I'm convinced to be true, whether or not I am aware of being sold to. And YOASOBI say the quiet parts fucking loud, starting from the most bombastic production they've made: a monstrous blast of brass, a blinding flash of synths, a trap-pop breakdown, and a gothic choir singing "you're my savior, you're my saving grace." But as "IDOL" places the onus also on the idol herself for knowingly selling a lie to her beloved fans, how could anyone resist buying into the spectacle? Ikuta embodies the superhuman ability of Ai Hoshina via her vocal performance: not only does she seamlessly maneuver through the trickiest melodies and a demanding production, she inspires in us the feeling that we can recreate the magic, too, as evident from the countless TikTok dance snippets and YouTube vocal covers uploaded this year. She fakes it until she makes it, fabricating her value before her reputation catches up to the level of work put in. But she also convinces herself this is how to love until her little fib starts to feel true. In a macabre, perfectly meta way, it's the idol's own dying words that give the song its most validating, emotionally moving moment, as she finally speaks her love into actual being: "I, I said it at last/I know it's not a lie as I'm voicing these words/I love you." I, for one, know all this is a lie, though it doesn't make the feelings any less real. [10]

Crystal Leww: Structurally and sonically, "IDOL" borrows elements that I associate with the two major, somewhat external-facing Asian pop music scenes -- the racing feeling and sweet vocal of J-pop and the cut-and-paste nature, especially second-verse half-time rap, of K-pop. It's been fun to observe this cross over into both -- on TikTok you can see not only J-pop idols covering the dance but a big contingent of K-pop idols doing the same. Ironically, all these idols are doing the little dance with a smile to a song about the dark side of the idol industry, which I guess is something that all idols from all countries can agree on after all. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: There's too much going on here! Which, frankly, I love. Every single second of "Idol" feels stuffed to the gills with sonic ideas, burning through riffs and hooks like they've got an infinite supply. Some of it is more familiar to YOASOBI's earlier work (those mathy guitar-synth-piano passages, some of the more bombastic orchestral touches), while other parts feel more novel (those cadences on the verses call to mind J.I.D and Ski Mask; the "Heys" at the end are so very Mustard-coded; someone please tell me where those choral touches are drawn from). But it all comes together mostly by virtue of the raw power of juxtaposition. If you slowed this down and tried to dissect the individual parts of "Idol" I'm not sure it would all hang together, but why would you want to do that? The sick thrill of "Idol" -- both in sound and in lyrical message -- is in the rush and overwhelm of Big Pop Moments TM, of the joy of each individual detail as it wears you down in turn. [8]

Dorian Sinclair: Ayase is a hell of a writer and producer, and on "IDOL" he makes something that feels new for Yoasobi, even if he falls back on a few of his favourite tricks (that busy keyboard line does not feel meaningfully different from the one in "Yoru ni Kakeru" or a half-dozen songs since, even if there's a lot more around it to distract you). But if there was any doubt that Lilas Ikuta is as essential, "IDOL" should conclusively lay that to rest. It's two, or even three, unrelated songs that have been glued together, asking completely different things from the singer and doing little to ease the transition between sections. She navigates the transitions effortlessly, skipping between registers and delivery styles and making the whole thing cohere with her performance. The song's about a fictional character, but it's Ikuta's coronation. [9]

Taylor Alatorre: "IDOL" serves as an interesting companion piece to another viral Japanese smash of 2023, "INTERNET YAMERO" from the game Needy Streamer Overload. Both tread similar thematic ground: the tyranny of the public image, the codependency of entertainer and audience, the desperate search for a "savior" or "angel" in the wreckage of a mediated age. The latter, however, due to its origin in an indie visual novel, is able to shed all concerns of good taste and indulge its most ear-piercing denpa fantasies, of the kind that would be unbecoming for the theme to a Doga Kobo anime. The constraints placed upon "IDOL"'s composition may be necessary, and even beneficial to the franchise as a whole, but they are palpable throughout. It stretches against its need to serve as both a credible idol song and as a fashionably cynical take on idols, and as a portent of dark events to come -- a tough mandate indeed. Even with all of its trap interludes, wotagei chanting, and Square Enix gospel choirs, Oshi no Ko's theme ends up sounding not all that different than any random OP on the MyAnimeList top 200. Which is to say, it still pretty much bangs. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Blurbing Stray Kids' "LALALALA" last month, I wrote: "I'm a complete mark for any pop song that sounds like its true spiritual home is on a Warcraft soundtrack." Nothing has changed, nor will it. Other things I'm a complete mark for: orchestra hits, key changes, faux harpsichord. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The half-time, militaristic reprise of the intro sequence got a chuckle out of me, as did the swiftness with which it abandons the idea. I've heard countless songs that have given me constant sonic whiplash, but "IDOL" is the rare one where you can envision that everyone involved was full-on grinning, excited to see what they could get away with. [6]

Brad Shoup: The audacity! My favorite bit is Ikura's swiping the "HUMBLE." flow for funsies: just one tool furiously, cartoonishly tossed out of YOASOBI's bag. It's like watching someone solve a Rubik's Cube while setting off a series of controlled demolitions. [9]

Nortey Dowuona: The hammering of the rap parts is so deafening; the rapping, filtered and compressed to the nth degree, has to be left alone to capture your attention. The piano line emerges at the pre-chorus but is quickly squashed by the drum programming that lightens the farther it stretches away from rap, leaving the voice to settle into the song instead of battling the synth horns stolen off a Southside beat from 2014. The theme rewards you with a brief piano line and the overly processed voice singing in the comfortable center of their range, allowing you to appreciate the creative excitement with which the producer and composer combined all these stylish sounds. But next time the production team composes a song like this, either find a vocalist who can comfortably handle the heavy-handed hammers of the rap verses, or tamp down to let this light uwu cutesy vocal shine. [8]

Michael Hong: YOASOBI's songs often sound like they could afford to be a touch faster than they are, and it's no different here. The topline of "IDOL" comes off as stiff, particularly across the opening clangs and the jumps of the chorus. As the duo race through all these ideas, Ikura stalls into a moment of exhaustion, as if the track's punch has started to weigh heavy on her. [4]

Ian Mathers: This one is genuinely baffling to me. I can't really parse out why some parts of it make my brain feel like it's fizzing pleasurably, while other parts trigger the avoidant feelings I get with certain strains of prog rock. Even worse, I'm not sure I can keep track of which parts are which from one listen to another. I love/don't love when it gets more measured and stompy. I love/don't love when it gets quieter, or when it just fully goes for it. Depending on which way this resolves in my brain, I'm either never going to seek out "IDOL" again, or going to start playing it on a loop. Hard to score that! [7]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: After reading up on Oshi no Ko, the anime for which "Idol" is the theme, this song made sense in a new way. It sounds like an idol group song shoved backward through a hedge at SMTown Tokyo in 2013, or a Dempagumi.inc song that was written by Yoo Young-jin and then performed with way more fervor than required. While I don't think it's required to enjoy this song, being familiar with the format of the titular idol, a profession with a decent amount of regional variation across Asia but entirely distinct from the Western boy/girl group, makes "Idol" more effective to me. The song really captures the troubling parasocial aspects of the idol industrial complex, issues that I feel a duty to grapple with as a long-time idol group fan. Parasocial attachment is by no means exclusive to idols, but the heady mix of accessibility, human as allegory, and physical beauty increases the likelihood of issues, sometimes with serious consequences for the idols themselves. This is all without even mentioning "Idol" being the runaway megahit of the year in a particular niche, which doesn't really demonstrate anything other than the song's wide appeal. Hey, a good song is a good song, and it's nice when that trumps everything. [9]

Leah Isobel: "IDOL" is so literal, and so garish, and so much, in a way that doesn't normally work for me. Its rapid consecutive U-turns, its pileup of shiny baubles, makes me feel like Yoasobi is playing a trick -- like they're using these techniques to gussy up what is, at heart, a relatively familiar story about the underbelly of fame. And then the final key change-into-chorus transition happens and, yeah, okay, I get it. The shifts in mood and mode raise the stakes so high that the last turnaround feels like squeezing an ocean through an arrow slit: for one person to hold the attention of millions is, after all, an impossible virtuosity. [7]

Tara Hillegeist: To love a piece of art is not, by necessity, to identify myself with the work involved in its making or feel any precious defensiveness about its merits. Indeed, when appreciating art for what it is and what it can be, it is often a richer form of love to come to that feeling through studiously antagonistic critique instead of immediately sincere affection. I already know all the work's faults, the reasons it's a failed work; and yet I still find it worth your time. There is a chasm of difference -- the kind that runs down the vein of this discourse, more often than it cuts across -- between loving art and loving "an artist," in the singular, as the bespoke creature/object/entity/producer/"person" that makes the art in question. There are many ways to prevent myself, as a critic, from falling into that trap, as many ways as there are critics. And with so many of these ways of putting distance between myself and my subjects of choice, it's easy to grow jaded and callous, to forget that these performances began as people, to make light of this business -- for it is a business, for what it does to the lives at its forefront. To crack jokes about the strain it puts on them to be the wick at the center of the candle, while we watch them flicker, flare out, and fade. Distance renders my protections as perverse as the alternative.

To find myself in love with "the artist" that makes the art I love, though -- there is no escape from the parasocial realignment of one's approach that follows. A part of me has already accepted it will betray the sensible ethics of the arrangement between that art's creator and its consumer, on behalf of a belief in the righteousness, the decency, the fundamental moral worthiness, of this image I've chosen to perceive within the actions of an otherwise total stranger -- a betrayal all the more dangerously stupid on my end for the obvious awareness that this is the image they want to sell me on. As an appreciator of art, as a fair critic, the worst mistake I can make is to take that performative sincerity at its word. It's even worse when that collapse of situational awareness leaves me with a sense of entitlement, in either direction -- a sense that the transaction involved is anything more than the exchange of the pleasure of creating for the pleasure of consuming, that in return for the joy I take in their ability to synthesize "truth" into "performance," I now owe them a debt in the form of devotion ... or, worse, that they owe me anything in kind. No matter how chaste or compassionate or self-effacing the gesture may feel, it remains a trap. I'm in love with being lied to. They're in love with lying to me. At best, it only leads to the tragedy of heartbreak -- a tragedy all the more cruel if one of us really meant it. It's enough to send one screaming to the madhouse, thinking about it seriously. Maybe that's why we all try not to. But sometimes, we let ourselves forget. It's so easy to do -- as easy as we say it is not to do it.

There was this ... girl, I liked, on the come-up in the entertainment world. She'd started as a wrestler, and I'd been what you might call a fan of her mother, a well-established name in the industry. So I was already paying attention when her mother introduced her in the ring to say she'd be pursuing the family business. I was already a fan of hers when it was announced she too would step back from wrestling to pursue a career in the wider entertainment industry. I thought she deserved the limelight, that she was made for it, that anyone could see how hard-working she was and how much she'd earned their adoration. In turn, I felt entitled to following her personal Twitter, because seeing her messages on my timeline -- whether upon waking or before bed -- and giving them the occasional like made me feel like I was supporting her in her pursuits, whatever she did. As a wrestling fan, seeing her succeed felt like its own reward, "one of ours" making good, one step at a time. In K-pop terms, you could've said she was one of my biases; in Japan, an "oshi," from the verb for "support."

Maybe you've already guessed how this story ends. It made international news, after all. They changed laws because of it. Her mother made sure they did. But for me, the volcanic upheaval that resulted was on a much more personal and unavoidable scale. All I saw, at first, was someone struggling to put her best foot forward and finally getting what looked to be her big break -- on a reality show, but one of the most popular reality shows on television at the time, where thousands of people could see her! I'd wake up every morning, eager to see whether she'd say anything new about it. So I was already awake and alert, locked down in COVID quarantine on that cold morning in the spring of 2020, when she tweeted out her suicide note for all her friends and followers to see, and followed it up with picture proof of how deeply serious she meant her attempt to be. I sat there, a helpless voyeur, those pictures a constant companion. I waited, one of the lucky few, to learn whether what my "support" had led me to witness being done "live" could be undone, or whether I'd have to live the rest of my life knowing my last memories of someone I thought I'd valued as a person would be those bloody images, all because I "cared" so much to keep tabs on her social media on the regular.

Within the hour, we all knew the answer. Her friends and family were able to at least get Twitter to take the images down before they had to put out any further statements themselves. By the time the wider world awoke to learn the news, the pronouncement of her death was a matter of recorded, impersonal fact, accompanied by photographs of her alive in the ring and on set, rather than the catastrophic tableau of judgmental violence that the internet and the television crew drove her to inflict upon herself. The price I would pay for my mistake, in thinking my support of her entitled me to knowing as much about her as was publicly knowable, would be that my witness was as much my own fault as my worthlessness. I could only live with what I'd seen and damn myself for why.

I threw myself into other spheres of my interest -- "virtual YouTubers" -- in the vain hope that my awareness of the failings of the genre would cushion me from such a tragic mistake another time. I was no stranger to the cynical mode in which the subculture operated, using surreal motion-tracked avatars as a means by which tech startups could showcase and sell their proprietary apps. I was hardly uninformed on its casually abusive handling of their talent and lax management policies. Before I'd ever started engaging with any of the talent responsible, I'd heard about managers needing to be fired for power-harassment who went on to stalk and threaten their former clients. I already knew about performers needing to go on hiatus because their audiences turned violent over the sound of their mic accidentally picking up a roommate's presence. I already knew about performers needing to reveal their own behind-the-scenes identities to prevent themselves from being replaced as the voice of the model they'd made famous.

Naturally, the artists I grew to appreciate most in the scene were the ones most aware, if not outright forceful, about reminding their audience where the boundaries were between the audience, the audience's perception of themselves, and themselves, the person putting those perceptions and boundaries in place. One of those artists mentioned that one of her favorite manga was this niche series that she felt was the most relatable and compelling depiction of the ins and outs of being, at once, both a performer and someone who had performers she loved in turn: a series called Oshi no ko. I jotted it down as something to look into, later -- it sounded like a pretty out-there title, so I didn't expect I'd find many, if any, translations of it; there certainly weren't any being published legally at that time.

But she kept bringing it up, and soon I started hearing other VTubers doing the same, so I took the curiosity more seriously. Two or three volumes in, a strange horror overtook me. The events that led to what I was reading were anything but events that I had any connection to, although I'd noticed similarities between them and real events in the industry. But now the characters in the manga had been roped into performing on a reality show, one of the most-watched television shows at that time ... and there it was. Ripped from reality, turned into performative art: the same events that I could never forget happening, had never really forgiven myself for putting myself in the position of being a helpless witness to. They had been turned into a cathartic lie -- because in the fictional tale of Oshi no ko, the protagonists, who had become her friends, were able to prevent her story from ending the same way: the way, in the fiction, that they hadn't been able to prevent their mother's ... and the way, in reality, that they couldn't have prevented their inspiration's. Through the artists' efforts, I realized I wasn't suffering that heartache alone. I, too, didn't deserve to regret having lied to myself enough about what I loved that I turned that love into a lie, that I loved a lie that can never be true. Maybe that, too, is a lie, but it's no less a lie than the belief that as an audience, our personal responsibilities should ever matter to anyone but ourselves. Cut to the spring of 2023: Oshi no ko, shocking me to the core, receives an animated adaptation. Tapped for the opening theme is YOASOBI, a group comprised of a former idol and a former Vocaloid producer, mostly known for moody, emotional rock songs. The song they make for it is this one: "IDOL"; the charts make the rest into obvious history, and the lyrics speak for themselves. So now that lie belongs to the rest of you. For what it's worth, I hope you love it as much as I did. [10]

[wikitpowers]

cassie after posting kit's letter really be like:

[fademirrored]

alpha: Shieldsman of the Inquisitor

“I’ve yet to find your rambling particularly impressive, but you’re welcome to carry on. We all have our own hobbies.”

Aneirin Cadoc Trevelyan (‘Eerie’ if you’re Owain, Nye if you’re anyone else) Lord Trevelyan. Shieldsman to the Inquisitor. Eventual Red Jenny. Human noble.

Male. He/Him/His. Pansexual. 13 Justinian, 9:14 Dragon. Ostwick, Free Marches. Rogue; archer, artificer.

Eyes: Pale amber/champagne-colored. Hair: Black, medium-long, generally done in braids and tied back. Skin: Dark, reddish undertones. A bit weathered, and palms and fingers are calloused as all get out. Height: 6'2". Build: Tall, long-legged, lean and fit. Bendy. Very impressive arms and shoulders. Notable Details: Nose has been broken a few times, faint scar across the bridge. Long scar from the back of his jaw down to the middle/side of his chin on the left. Voice: British male Inquisitor’s voice.

Positive Traits: Calm, patient as hell, and good at handling stress; most people don’t even realize he is handling a stressful situation until after he’s already dealt with it, and he can put up with an astounding amount of bullshit before his patience starts to fray, so he steps in periodically when Owain’s diplomacy is failing. Willing to give second chances, as long as people prove they’re willing to improve; he won’t put up with endless shit, but he’ll also remove himself from a situation or person peaceably. Determined and generally able to see that determination through; he doesn’t want to be a ‘fair weather’ sort of person. Negative Traits: Frequently anxious and with a limited sense of self-esteem; he works under the assumption that his lot in life is never going to be great and assumes that asking for help means he’s failed. Good at socializing with people at arm’s length, but tends to dip once he realizes feelings are actually involved; defaults to assuming he’s more attached than the other party and wants to avoid being rejected. A perfectionist with regards to himself and what he does, which combines with his anxiety in not great ways; spends most of his time assuming that he’s doing something wrong and being judged for it, seems perpetually resigned to an unpleasant lot in life. Horrible at standing up for himself against people he likes; puts up with an outrageous amount of shit that by all rights he shouldn’t have to and lets Owain bully him without complaint. Has very limited self-preservation, since his lot in life is to be Owain’s meatshield. Relies on others to give himself purpose. Neutral Traits: Introvert; prefers socializing with just one or two people at a time. Good actor; can put on the nobleman mask when he needs to. Can ignore his own preferences for extended periods. Perpetually seems exhausted. Collects casual bed partners like Pokemon. Optimist vs. Pessimist: Pessimistic with regards to himself, more optimistic with regards to the rest of the world. Quirks: Reluctant to make promises if he has no definitive proof he can fulfill it. Sings or hums if he doesn’t think anyone is listening. Good at blending into the scenery. Practices archery when stressed; sometimes gets bad enough he can’t uncurl his fingers from his bow.

Religion: Atheist. Likes: Tinkering. Making new things, fixing things, being helpful/useful/productive. Music. Reading. Writing. Books in general. Pomegranates. Duck. Salmon. Really likes honey. Mead. Pomegranate wine. Dislikes: Being demeaned. Confrontation. People attempting to analyze his codependence on his brother. People who drone on and on and on. Favorite Colors: Tyrian purple. Hunter green. Alizarin crimson. Hobbies: Plays the harp and the lyre. Reads a lot. Writes a lot; journaling, snippets of poetry, random song verses. Reasonably good at leatherwork. Does consider archery to be a hobby, yes. Falconry. Works as a handyman around Skyhold.

Family: Nia Trevelyan (mother). Bran Trevelyan (father). Gwyneira Trevelyan (sister). Owain Trevelyan (twin brother). Ellis Trevelyan (brother). Steed: Ozone, sharp-tail dracolisk. Other Critters: Swifty, grey falcon. Romance: Iron Bull. Friends: Varric. Sera. Vivienne. (Handled most Red Jenny matters and Vivienne’s personal quest.) Casual friends with Dorian. Note: Remained wary of Cole, though more for ‘he reads minds’ reasons rather than ‘he’s a spirit’ reasons. Was civil with Cassandra, but not overly fond of her for encouraging Owain to think he was the Herald of Andraste. *everything in this sectioncan of course be tweaked or disregarded entirely for specific threads, if you’d rather.

[sagerxge]

work in progress novel snippet

I've been working on a novel for about two months now, and wanted to share a little snippet of it to see what people thought of it. It's about 2K words, not much, but hopefully enough to catch a general vibe.

It takes place in a world I've been creating for about 3 months for DND, but I think writing a fantasy novel based on some notable characters in the world would be really interesting. The working title is called "Soldier, Poet, King" and yes, it is influenced by the infamous "Oh Hellos" song.

Please keep in mind this is still a work in progress and things will be changed or refined.

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

The room was loud. People were shouting. There was the crinkling of maps. The early morning sunlight from the window was shining harshly into their eyes. Someone spilled a mug of ale, the clattering of the cup clanging against the stone piercing Riv's ears. An elf was tapping their blade against their chair at an annoyingly slow tempo. A wizard was humming a tune, seemingly oblivious to the chaos. It was too much. Someone pounded a fist on the war table and shouted Dwarvish curses. Riv jumped up from their seat.

"Silence!" Riv demanded, pressing a hand against his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut. The room instantly fell quiet, save for the ringing of rolling cup against the stone floor. Riv gritted their teeth and a deep breath. He rubbed his forehead, their fingertips brushing against the bead circlet on his head. "What do we know?" Riv asked in a quieter voice. He opened their eyes, glancing at the elf who was tapping their dagger against her chair. 

Ninmara Darkblade was a Dark Elf with cool grey skin, harsh blue eyes, and hip-length platinum hair styled in a singular thick braid down her back. They were clothed in all black and decorated with blades of all sizes and styles; most notably, a sword with a blade the size of her torso propped against the back of her chair. Ninmara gazed Riv a chilly glance before standing up, her ankle-length coat making her tall, lithe figure seem even taller and leaner. 

"Queen Dralynn died sometime in the night, presumably some type of poison. The medical staff are consulting with the witches to see if they can find out exactly what it was, but we suspect it was a toxin from a plant called Nightlock," Ninmara began, her dark voice helping to ease Riv's nerves. Riv always loved Ninmara's voice. Riv already knew this information, but he let Ninmara continue and hoped there was going to be new information. "Nightlock is not native here in Berthiercola, nor has it been sighted naturally in Eckdar or Rutam." 

"How did it get here if it's not naturally occurring?" The dwarf asked. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, his fluffy red beard pooling over his chest and his large eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes. Gramthrune Fireforge was the best artificer in Quelocand, but he has a strong interest in botany, so Riv decided he could sit in on the urgent meeting. Gramthrune glanced at Riv. "I've never heard of it either." 

"We suspect it was brought over by the Zhentarim," Ninmara answered. Riv gave Ninmara a harsh stare. 

"What do you mean it was brought over by the Zhentarim?" Riv demanded. Ninmara met Riv's glare with an even gaze. 

"That's what my street sources say. Eckdar and Rutam blame each other, as they always do. A few people even blame the new arrivals, trying to stir trouble." 

"If the Zhentarim are involved, it complicates things," The deep booming voice of Talon Autumnpelt sounded out. Riv turned his gaze to the leonin. Talon was standing with his arms crossed, his cat eyes resting calmly on Riv. "I have rumors that they're taking money from Rutam." 

"Fuck Rutam," Gramthrune grumbled. 

"Enough," Riv snapped. They sighed and shook their head slightly. "It doesn't really complicate things. The Zhentarim has always had deep pockets and money from everywhere in the Planes. The fact that they're dealing with Rutam isn't surprising." 

"Who's your source?" Ninmara asked Talon. 

"Confidential," Talon responded crisply.

Ninmara smirked. "Confidential even to the intelligence officer?" 

Talon kept an even gaze on the Dark Elf, but Riv noticed his fur bristling slightly. 

"Do we know why the Zhentarim brought Nightlock over here and killed Queen Dralynn with it?" Riv asked Talon. 

"That's where the money from Rutam comes into play," Talon answered, turning his eyes back to Riv. "My sources say that Rutam officials were seen loading bags of gold from the palace onto a cart during changing of the guard a couple nights past."

"Did your source confirm who received the money?" Ninmara asked.

"No, but the gold bared Braggannin's crest." 

"One shady dealing does not mean that they are guilty," An elegant voice suggested. Riv glanced at Oni, the loxodon Church of the Light priest. She had her hands folding properly in her large lap. Even when seated she was still a full head taller than Riv, who was standing at full height. 

"One shady dealing and the death of our monarch seems pretty damning to me," Gramthrune growled. Riv recognized his rage as his eyes flashed. "I say we wage war on those Rutamish bags of- " 

"I think that will be all, Master Fireforge," Riv said, glaring at Gramthrune. "It is time for you to take your leave." Gramthrune gave Riv an obscene gesture but slumped out of his chair and stamped out of the war room, slamming the door behind him. Riv sighed. 

"I told you that you shouldn't have invited him," Ninmara mumbled in a sing-song voice. 

"I thought he would be helpful with his botany knowledge," Riv countered. "And I don't want to repeat this conversation." Ninmara gave Riv a cold look but nodded, turning her gaze back to Talon. 

"What about the deal that Rutam made? Do you know anything else? This is the first I'm hearing of it." 

"My source says it was a top-secret affair," Talon answered. "Only a handful of people close to Braggannin knew about it. It was a trade for roughly a thousand pieces of gold to a gnome waiting on a cart near the southern Sacred Pool of Rutmar. That's all the source knows." 

"So, your source is close to Braggannin," Ninmara hummed. Talon growled. Ninmara smirked. 

"With the Zhentarim," Riv spoke up, glaring at the two advisors. "Contact any inside sources you have and see if we can trace that gold, if it isn't smelted and rebranded already." Talon and Ninmara nodded. Riv bit their lip and sighed. 

"Has anyone heard from King Malcar?" Riv asked, trying to clear his throat. There was a small moment of silence before Oni spoke up. 

"He said he needed some space," The loxodon said in her gentle tone. Riv nodded. It was understandable. His wife of 30 years had just died, presumably murdered. It made sense that he wanted space. Riv's throat tightened. It made sense. 

"Have someone bring him food, if there hasn't been already," Riv said. "And tell him I need to see him when he gets the chance. We have the matters of beginning the Anointing process soon." 

"I will see to it," Leonin said. Riv nodded and turned to Ninmara. "See what you can find out about that gold deal Leonin mentioned with Rutam. You two work together and compile sources if you need to." Ninmara nodded. Riv turned their attention to Oni. "And I would like a word with you in private." The cleric bowed her head gently. "Everyone dismissed. Report back by dinner. I don't care what you do until then." The room emptied save for the two guards stationed by the door, Oni and Riv. 

"What is it you would like to discuss, Your Majesty?" Oni asked quietly. Riv fell to his chair, their throat tightening. He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

"My father is going to shut me out," Riv exhaled. "I need you to make sure that he doesn't shut out everyone completely. He won't listen to me, but he respects you, as both the Clergy and as an advisor." 

"You know how His Majesty is with these types of deals," Oni responded. "But I assure you, I will do my best." Riv nodded and cleared their throat. 

"How are you faring, Riv?" Oni asked. Riv fought back the tears stinging in his eyes. Mother was murdered last night, Father not here with him to sort out the stressful affairs. He needed his tactical mind. Dealing with Rutam is sticky business, especially if Leonin's sources are correct about the Rutamish working with the Zhentarim to assassinate Mother. Even if Eckdar knew something about the deal, Riv doubted they would say anything helpful. Riv rubbed their forehead, trying to ease their racing mind. 

"I'm all right, all things considered," Riv said evenly. He gave Oni a small smile. "Just make sure Father is ok. I can't have him shut down at a time like this. He needs to sign the papers to ensure a smooth transfer of power." Oni nodded, staying silent. "That is all. You are dismissed." Oni stood, bowed and left the room as gently as 9-foot tall loxodon could. Riv stayed in the war room, staring at the map of Quelocand painted onto the table. He enjoyed the silence of the empty war room, as well as the stacks of papers, scrolls, books and ink jars. They closed their eyes and inhaled, savoring the peace, quiet and calming smells of parchment and ink. They couldn't stop the tears that dripped from his eyes and quickly wiped them away. He cleared his throat and stood up, smoothing the skirt of his dress. Time for business. 

[floatinginthegenderfluid]

✨introduction post✨

hi, i'm cassie or cass, both names are fine

non-binary, so they/them pronouns please although she/her is also good.

i live in aotearoa

currently working through my first major writing project, will post snippets on occasion if i'm exceedingly proud of them but mostly i just reblog things i find funny.

fandoms i dabble in (subject to change, obviously, i also tend to fixate heavily on one thing at a time)

| a series of unfortunate events

| shadowhunters chronicles, particularly dark artifices

| young royals

| mortal engines (just the books though)

| just classic literature in general

| miraculous, particularly the adrienette storyline

if you get me started talking about revolutions i will not shut up for literal hours this has been a psa

also a massive eurofan despite the grievance of all around me

obviously, transphobia, homophobia, racism, sexism and other forms of bigotry aren't welcome

other than that enjoy your stay

[dark-artifices-only]

Daily TDA Quote or Snippet #45

Julian sighed. 

He wanted to relax into his older brother, let Mark hold him up the way he once had. But Mark was slighter than he was, fragile under his hands.

He would be holding Mark up from now on. It was not what he had imagined, dreamed of, but it was the reality. 

It was his brother. He tightened his hands on Mark and adjusted his heart to bear the new burden.

-Lady Midnight, The Dark Artifices #1 by Cassandra Clare [ @cassandraclare ]

[blackthorngrey]

fic snippet

"What are you going to do about it?" Ty asked.

"Well, last time we found out he was selling information, I told him that if he does it again then I'm going to burn down his house. I am nothing if not a man of my word, so I'm most definitely going to burn down his fucking house," Kit said, with delight.

Ty snorted.

dead men tell no tales, chapter 5 (hopefully uploaded soon)

[youngreckless]

Secrets of Blackthorn Hall: Snippet from Ty's Letter