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emiewritesthings · 4 years ago

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little miss cupid - jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n tries to introduce jay to the world of online dating.

requested?: nope (but requests are open :))

warnings: unedited, gif not mine

masterlist

“okay, now we need to pick some pictures for your profile.” y/n was sure that jay had stopped listening ages ago, but the man besides her had not moved from his position looking over her shoulder. his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his body.

strangely, this wasn’t unusual for a friday night. at least for them anyways.

it wasn’t a secret that y/n was known as the cupid in her friendship group. she had been the one to introduce mouch to trudy, the one to track down donna when boden had expressed interest in the teacher and she had been the one to nudge kim and adam to pursue their relationship (not one she bragged about considering the way they had ended not so long ago).

but the one person she couldn’t crack happened to be her best friend. ever since they had met 11 years ago, y/n could only recall jay ever having one real girlfriend. even that had ended after a couple of months due to the two having a row about jay not giving her enough attention.

y/n had tried setting him up with old friends, new friends, even people she had gone to the academy with. but it was no use, jay always found an excuse not to go or why they ‘weren’t the one’. beginning to doubt her own cupid-like abilities, she had resorted to the pat possible option besides from him being alone forever: online dating.

“okay what we working with here, big boy?” y/n’s finger was steady as she scrolled through his photo library. smiling briefly at how the majority of his photos were of the pair. whether they were silly pictures she had taken whilst they were in the way to a crime scene, or snaps of nights they’d spent watching classics, or even drunk pictures that y/n had hoped never to see again.

“what about that one?” jay pointed towards the corner picture, drawing y/n’s attention to the man. she took in the way his eyes had lightened a whole three shades, but his eyes were not on the phone, instead they were studying each intricate detail of her face.

he loved the way part of her eyebrow missed a few strands of hair due to a small scar based on a work injury. he loved the way her lips were a bright shade of pink due to the way she would bit her bottom lip while concentrating. he loved her.

“jay you can’t use that one, i’m in it.” y/n giggled, the picture had been taken on jay’s birthday a couple of months back. unlike his normal attire, he was dressed out in a nice shirt that he only brought out for special events and occasions. his arms held the woman that was perched upon his lap, arms around his neck as she smiled widely.

“why not? you look beautiful.” jay argued back, making a blush appear on the cheeks of them both. a strange sensation filling her stomach and spreading warmth through her veins.

“uh-thank you.” eyes wide, jay seemed to realise his slip up. bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, y/n had half expected for him to release her from their close proximity, but neither of them dared breaking contact. “-but your future girlfriend doesn’t want to see you holding some other woman, they want to see you shirtless, or you with a puppy. something that speaks for itself about what you are like, you know?”

the look of thought covered his face for no more than a second, his finger slowly tracing down her arm calmly. y/n tried not to melt into his touch, not knowing why she felt so vulnerable, so weak.

"well this photo tells them about the woman i love the most.”

it wasn’t that y/n didn’t know this. jay was the most important man in her life. he was the only one that had always been there since the age of just 17. she was not sure if it was possible to care more about a person than the affection she shared for jay. yet hearing it out loud felt euphoric.

“i think i am beginning to see why you are so single.” the pair laughed along, as y/n took the initiative to take over creating the man’s profile. jay had switched his attention over to the netflix series they had been watching, yet his thoughts circulated around his girl.

a little over an hour went by, before y/n handed jay his phone back. a proud smile on her face, as she leant her chin against his chest, watching his reaction to what she considered a masterpiece. jay’s eyebrows raised in surprise, as his thumb ran over the screen studying her work.

“wow,” he let out a deep breath, his hot breath gracing over her face. “you’re good.” it was true, jay knew that if he had ever tried to do this, he would have given up at the first hurdle. y/n hummed in agreement, leaning over to press something on his screen.

the pair began making their way through the different profiles, y/n let jay take the lead, seeing as he would have to be the one talking to the women. except it seemed that jay had picked something wrong out with every woman he saw, swiping left over and over and over again.

“jay.” she whined, throwing her head back in annoyance.

“y/n.” he mirrored her tone. rolling her eyes, she took the phone back.

“there are not going to be any women left if you don’t give any of them a chance,” her finger swiping right on every profile she believed would match the man she knew. “do you know how many women would die for a hot detective?” y/n continued to giggle, not realising the seriousness that possessed jay’s face.

“but not you.” jay mumbled absentmindedly. snapping her head in his direction, y/n frowned.

“huh?”

“nothing.” jay felt stupid, incredibly stupid. the thoughts he had kept in the depth of his mind had found themselves on the tip of his tongue. unfortunately, he knew that he had not friended the woman over her passiveness, no she was direct and would not allow him to get away with such a pass away comment.

“come on, what do you mean not me?” the room became smaller the more jay let the silence lay. his breath shaking, considering that this might be the moment he had been dreading. the moment he told the truth.

“you know i still remember the first time we met,” the change in direction of conversation caught y/n off guard, but she didn’t dare interrupt, as he watched him with glossy eyes. “i still remember the floral dress that you walked in old man chambers’ english class. it was your first day and everyone was talking about the pretty girl. ryan roscoe tried to grab your ass and you kicked him in the balls. it was in that moment that i knew i would fall in love with you.” an unreadable emotion washed over y/n’s face, as jay strived through the courage thriving through his body. “i tried for years to get you to look at me in a way that wasn’t your ‘best friend’, but you never did.”

y/n didn’t know at what point that they had begin to lean in, but the two soon recognised how close their faces had become. y/n didn’t know how she was feeling, except the fact she had not desire to pull away. instead, she brought her hand up to rest on his jaw, the pad of her thumb running down his cheek.

“you never told me any of this until now, why?” it was a valid question, 11 years of friendship, 11 years of unspoken feelings, why now?

“things feel... different now.” it was undeniable, something in the air suffocated them with something that made them feel alive, a feeling the pair had only felt in the presence of the other.

jay’s eyes didn’t pull up from her lips, the feeling of her touch on his face was unexplainable. he wasn’t sure if it was possible to feel this was with anyone other than y/n y/l/n. jay didn’t know how he had gained so much bravery in such a short space of time, but he didn’t dare ponder on it. using it to his advantage.

“can i- can i kiss you?” jay didn’t receive the verbal response he was waiting for. instead in a flash moment, the plump lips he had been examining pressed against his own. the first kiss was soft, passionate, allowing every feeling they had ever considered flood through their action, reminding the other how long this had been building up. by the second kiss, the sentimentality had been replaced by lust, pulling the other close, as though they were waiting for the moment they woke from this dream.

when her breath had ran out, y/n hesitantly pulled away from jay. the stinging in her lips and erratic beating of her heart was addicting. her mind remained foggy, until a thought passed her mind.

“i wish you would have told me this before i spent an hour creating your tinder profile, think about all the hearts you have just broken!” she giggled, swatting his chest lightly, watching as he chuckled deeply.

“shut up and come here.” jay teased, flipping them over and pushing his lips against her own. drowning in the middling of their heartbeats and body heats. and for the first time, the infamous matchmaker of the 21st precinct had found her match.

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anotheraceofbooks · 3 years ago

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book review: kafka on the shore by haruki murakami

genres: fiction, fantasy

my rating: ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✧

notes: i originally started this about a year ago and never finished it. my friend recommended that i read it again, so i did. the beginning of the book moved pretty slowly for me (maybe that's why i put it down for so long) but it finally started to pick up after the halfway point. much of the plot is driven by unseen outside forces acting on characters, which i usually might chalk up to lazy development but for this book i can tell it's very intentional and adds to the overall magical aspect of the story. the way that murakami weaves every minute detail and event together into this intricate world is amazing and i honestly wish i had his brain haha. for all the questions that the book raised, i think the ending was very satisfactory. there was closure but still enough room for the reader to speculate. i still have so many questions about the book, so i'll be trying to figure everything out for the next ten years to absolutely no avail because sometimes things exist to be unexplainable. i feel like that message is very prevalent in this book. i really can't put all my thoughts about this book into words because i don't even know which words to use, but this was such a wonderful read and i'm glad i gave it a second chance.

#book review #four stars #fiction #fantasy #kafka on the shore #haruki murakami

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luhvelight · 5 years ago

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🍄✨🍂Cottage Core for the Signs✨🍂🍄

~attempted doodles by me & embroidery by my sister

(this can also be witchy, homey or cozy symbols that remind me of each sign)

aries; fireplace

like a fireplace, aries’ are symbols of strength, perseverance, and resilience. fireplaces provide security and comfort just as an aries does. they are natural born leaders and people will gather around them to reflect or come together in times of need

taurus; mushrooms

mushrooms come in all shapes, sizes, colors and are used in a variety of ways. either for medicinal purposes, ingredients in a meal or concoctions. taurus’ are extremely versatile, they can do or be anything. just like mushrooms, taurus’ are an important gift from nature and we must cherish them

gemini; flowers

gemini is famous for having two sides. flowers do aswell. the roots secure all of geminis emotionals thoughts and spring them out beautifully, showcasing them to the world & hoping they dont get plucked

cancer; cats

like cats, cancers are mystical and magical. they are able to swiftly move between the veil of life and death. not only do they have a deep connection with their environment but a strong relationship with their own intuition

leo; baked goods or sweets

leos are the kind of people that give your belly the warmiest and toasty-est of feelings. they are natural cooks at heart. they know how to provide for themselves and yet make their loved ones feel immensely secure and cared for. they are genuinely good hearted people (& ever notice how snuggly leos tend to be?)

virgo; teacup, teapot, teabag

you put water in the teapot, then when it boils, you pour the water into a teacup with a teabag inside. virgo has many steps and overall many ‘ways’ to them. like tea, virgos soothe others and are strong symbols of hope that “everything will be alright, just have a cup of tea”. but like a tea kettle they could become easily overwhelmed or stressed. like tea bags, they are constantly absorbing and dispensing information about their environment to ease themselves

libra; scarf, mittens, hat

libras not only make sure they are cozy, but that their loved ones are kept warm aswell; both inside and out. libras would take their own scarf off their neck (even though they are freezing!) just to make sure someone has one. they are truly selfless and may break their internal scale by being so

scorpio; cauldron

like cauldrons, scorpios symbolize immense power, transformation and creativity. a scorpios strength lies in their ability to be vessels for the most unexplainable parts of nature and life as we think we know it

sagittarius; birdie

like birds, sagittarius’ are victorious, elegant, powerful, and seek out opportunities. they are intelligent and fast on their feet. sagittarius’ each have their own unique tune in which they use to help illuminate the world

capricorn; books

capricorns symbolize divine knowledge. like books, capricorns take inner truth and judgement to heart. they are never too careful to think that they have all the information they need. they are subject to change and can adapt overtime to carry thousands of literature that impacts lives

aquarius; little critters

aquarius make their own path throughout this world and are capable of discovering such nooks & cranies that only a bug would be able to. just like bugs, aquarius’ are intensely intune with their environment and are essential to the cycle of life

pisces; watering can/gardening tools

pisces are better than they think they are at maintaining. stereotypically described as naive, pisces are just innocent and soulful. they are intricate, notice details and they are extremely conscious. i do believe mother nature herself could retire her job to a pisces

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1800gotspook · 5 years ago

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The Death of a Millionaire

Summary: "If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there." A young resident of Amity park digs into Urban Legends and discovers the greatest mystery surrounding the town.

For the DannyMay2020 prompt “horror” although it’s probably more “creepypasta” esque.

[Read on AO3]

If you drive south down Grimme Road you'll eventually reach the end of the street. Past the City Hall, past Casper High, past the power plant. At the end of the road, turn left and keep driving. You will eventually find a road that borders the woods. Follow that road. It slowly becomes less and less structured, lacking maintenance. Cracked by the roots of trees. Littered with potholes and chunks of concrete. Any street lights left are no longer powered by the city. You will regret if you came at dark.

Driving far enough down that battered road, the trees will thin out. Ahead on the right you will find a wide open property. A tall, intricate, wrought iron fence circling a vast, overgrown yard. Rolling hills of what was probably once lush green grass, now covered in unkempt bushes and weeds, stretching over a brick driveway, even more crumbled than the road you entered on. Weeds and vines peeking up through the cracks. No sign of human intervention in at least thirty years.

Keeping you from trespassing is nothing more than a pointy steel gate. Large enough for vehicles to pass through. The chains holding it shut are probably easy to pull apart. Break the rusty links and force the long-dormant hinges to whine. But you have no interest stepping on this property.

Looking up the drive, you can see the stone path just barely through the weeds. Winding up and around the land to reach its focal point: the house. You could even call it a mansion. Elegant brick laid outside. Once expensive drapery, now bleached a sickly yellow by the sun, sits in the windows. Even the front door, although dusty and rotted, exhibits an air of refinement.

If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there. No matter how peculiar, entertaining, or sensible the stories become, they never quite answer my question:

Why would a person like this, with so much class and so much money, choose to live in Amity Park?

During my research into Amity Park records, I discovered that the house actually belonged to a once renowned millionaire by the name of Vlad Masters. For most of his adult life, he resided in an even larger home. Not just a mansion, but a castle, you could say. This original home was in Madison, Wisconsin. In 2006,he suddenly decided to move to Amity Park, shortly after his election as mayor. That's right. A completely unrelated millionaire from Wisconsin, despite never stepping foot in Amity Park, was elected mayor. This brings up some questionable thoughts, doesn't it? Was he really, legitimately elected?

After his election, it appears he took no real action for the betterment of Amity, except to establish a myriad of anti-ghost protection measures. Long after his death, he was discovered to be involved in many scandals. All the more proving that his election wasn't short of the same. But how he could pull that off? That may never be known.

Investigators never uncovered his true intentions for becoming mayor. Was he just crazy? Power hungry? Was this all a part of some big plan?

The most baffling mystery, however, is what brought Masters to his death.

He lived alone. His body was only found after his several absences from mayoral duties. Nobody was able to contact him. A poor secretary found him eighteen hours later. She said he was covered in burns all up and down his body. Face barely recognizable.

Along with those injuries, scorch marks were peppered all over the study where he was. Investigators said each burn in the room showed signs of explosion on impact, as if someone had accidentally set off a batch of fireworks indoors. However, there were no signs of combustible material anywhere. No scraps or gunpowder. No ashes, no paper shavings. No chemical traces. No debris or fuel at all. The source of the explosions entirely a mystery. If Vlad Masters was attacked, the assailant's trails were expertly covered.

It must have been deliberate. Investigators were sure of that. Despite the scorch marks all over the room, his body was most prominently burned. He was clearly the target of the explosions.

Yet the burns aren't what killed him. According to autopsy reports, his heart had stopped, independent of the little fireworks. There were also no signs of Vlad Masters having previous heart conditions, yet arrhythmia was most likely the cause.

Some detectives in the papers considered the possibility that Masters was electrocuted. It could explain some of the burn marks on his body. But that fell through, as other damages to his body and room went unexplained.

Months after the electrocution theory, more information was uncovered. Because of his bodily reaction to the injuries, they were actually discovered to be chemical burns. They still couldn't figure out what exactly had burned him, as there was no sign of residue or foreign substances to be found.

Further investigation of his injuries was cut short. Curiously, the body could no longer be studied after the initial autopsy. For some reason, each time they tried, results grew more and more inconsistent than the last. Certain burns on his body from previous tests could no longer be found. Each time they tried to study his body, there was less and less to examine. It was almost like he was reverting back. Like his body was healing.

Some say that his body was completely back to a perfect condition by the end of the week. Some say that his funeral was open casket. They say if you went to the funeral, you could walk up and feel his ice cold skin. Not a sign of the burns. If you looked at his face, you could see the hint of a smirk, forever plastered there. Unable to be broken. Unable to be moved by his muscles. They no longer carried blood. No longer kept warm by a beating heart. Stuck grinning about his own mysterious fate.

They searched his house thoroughly in an attempt to uncover anything about his death. Any hint of a struggle. Signs of an ex-friendship. A piece of hate mail. Something to give them a lead. They couldn't even find evidence of an intruder in his house. Masters had security cameras surveying the yard, yet not a single one picked up another being. Not the day of the incident, nor for weeks leading up to it.

Despite all of this security, Masters only ever monitored the outside of his home. He was clearly a secretive man if he was willing to sacrifice safety for privacy.

Investigators searched for alternative entrances to his home and made a shocking discovery. A lever in the study. When pulled, the bookcase made a click, then slowly opened inward. Behind this new doorway, a staircase to the basement. With no other apparent entrances. Some old laboratory. Banged up equipment that once had various uses. Syringes and test tubes, all sterile and unused. Large contraptions with several sleek levers and buttons, never labelled. Investigators peeled the contraptions apart to discover each one empty. Core identifying structures like computer chips and motors were removed, leaving only a shell behind. Horrifyingly, some of these shells resembled guns. But they weren't quite guns. Some resembled household appliances. One looked like a high-end toaster. Its sleek exterior in porcelain white. No power cord, but a hole in the side where a charger might go.

There were also strange containment pods and large glass boxes, fit for an aquarium. They lined the walls at one end of the spacious room, also missing any identifying features.

At the other end of the room, a gaping cavern, easily twelve feet long. Lined with steel, and a few holes at the entrance. But once again, nothing could be derived but more confusion and open-ended theories.

Computer system: destroyed. File cabinet: empty. Fingerprints: besides Master's? Nonexistent.

Acidic substances littered the floor. Broken vials and common chemicals corroding away at the sleek tile. Some substances were entirely unrecognizable.

One common theory: Masters experimented with chemicals, and got carried away, getting himself killed in the process.

But I refuse to believe that after all his misdeeds there wouldn't be someone after him. Somebody to kill him. Somebody who learned the ins and outs of his mansion, and took every precaution. Someone who wanted to destroy his lab. Whatever work he was doing, it was unlikely to be for a good cause.

The police asked Amity for help. If someone knew anything about this case, they would be grateful.

Living in what was once the most haunted town, many people wondered if ghosts were involved in the incident. Local ghost experts who were old friends of Masters decided to help. After obtaining plentiful details and performing endless studies, the ghost experts concluded that spectral entities were not involved in the incident. It wasn't possible. Ghosts always announced their misdeeds. If ghosts were the cause, Amity would have known of Masters' death instantly, and exactly who was to blame. The ghost experts could not identify the unknown substances.

Is it possible that because these ghost experts knew Masters personally, that they chose to withhold information. Yes, it is a considerable theory. But still, why would a ghost target Masters specifically? Because he conducted anti-ghost measures for the city? Even so, it's no question that Vlad Master had a ghost shield on his property. It simply isn't plausible to assume a ghost could attack him that easily.

Some argue Masters' death was his own doing, whether an accident or not. Others claim the government, or a secretive organization, chose to eliminate him. Remove Amity Park from his clutches. Would the government really be involved but create such a baffling mystery? Why would the police beg the town for answers? Yet another addition to this elaborate mystery.

Angela,

Let me know how this essay reads for you. I've been studying urban legends of the town for a while now, and I compiled a lot of stuff to write this. I want to release it to the entirety of Amity (and the world) but I don't know where to post it and if it will be taken seriously. You know how much I love this kind of stuff. I trust you. So please please please do not share.

Riley

#Danny Phantom #Vlad Masters #horror #dannymay2020 #urban legend #warning: death #future au #next gen au #guess which lemon demon song this is inspired by :)

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theaurorfileshq · 4 years ago

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– The Case of the Killer Ink

CASE LEVEL: Two

POINTS REQUIRED: Two Hundred

OVERVIEW:

CW: Suffocation

Killer Ink is a tattoo shop in Port Steward that opened about a year ago to much excitement, due to the fact that famous wixen tattoo artist Zofia Santos, known for her work tattooing celebrities including Myron Wagtail, the lead singer of the famous British punk band The Weird Sisters, was rumored to be working at the stop. Santos’ tattoos are detailed and charmed with an unusually intricate level of magic in their ink, making them very expensive and causing the wait time for a tattoo from Santos to sometimes be up to years.

Since Killer Ink opened, no one has seen Santos at the shop, though many people have reported being tattooed by her in her private room in the back of the shop. Those unwilling to wait years for a single tattoo expensive enough to bankrupt the average wix have settled for tattoos by the shop’s proprietor, Caprice Maddox, or apprentice, Vivienne East, both capable artists with moderate prices.

Last week, however, the shop, which utilizes both no-maj and wixen tech, received a strange telephone call, on the other end of which was a desperate plea for help, followed by a prolonged scream and a strangled noise. Local aurors traced the phone call to a nearby household, where the victim was found: a recent client of Santos’, who had recently received a large octopus tattoo across their back, was found dead, seemingly strangled by their moving tentacles of their new tattoo. In the week since, local aurors have connected Santos to two other unexplainable deaths, now apparently caused by the victim’s magical tattoos, and have thus turned the case over to the Central Squad.

PERSONS OF INTEREST:

Caprice Maddox and Vivienne East: The shop’s owner and apprentice, respectively, Maddox and East work together in the front room of the shop, and rarely see Santos. Thus far they have both been open to cooperating with local aurors on the investigation, but neither seems to know much about Santos. Caprice has granted local aurors entry into Santos’ private studio in the back of the shop and offered to help in any other way she can, concerned about her shop’s reputation.

Sycamore Maddox: Caprice’s no-maj wife, who works as a receptionist and assistant at Killer Ink, Sycamore is the one who received the phone call and made the original report to the local aurors.

Zofia Santos: The famous wixen tattoo artist, Santos has not been seen nor heard from since two weeks before the first victim was found. Prior to that, few if any people reported actually seeing Santos in Killer Ink, as she primarily kept to her private studio in the back of the shop and only saw scheduled clients.

Abraxas Jones: The victim with the octopus tattoo who initially called the shop, Jones had received thirty four other magical tattoos in his lifetime and none of them had ever killed him before.

CHIEF’S NOTES:

Darn it! I had an appointment with Santos scheduled for November.

- Chief Ben Eames

So there are multiple aspects of this case that you’ll need to try to solve. First, there is the mystery behind Zofia Santos. As of now she’s considered a missing person, as no one has even seen her in at least two weeks. Second, we have the murders tied to these cursed tattoos. All of this compiled together makes this case especially difficult. Please be careful out there and let me know if you need any assistance.

- Deputy Chief Langer

CASE STATUS: TAKEN

#casex

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southeastasianists · 5 years ago

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Immediately to the north-west of Australia, occupying an area somewhat larger than our island-continent, are the heartlands of the pre-modern world’s most accomplished and farthest-ranging oceanic explorers, migrant settlers and traders. Today they occupy much of Southeast Asia, while their outlying settlements stretch from Madagascar to Easter Island and Hawai’i. Active and afloat across the Asian and Indian Ocean region for millennia, their maritime mercantile ventures reached northern Australia in pre-colonial centuries.

They are the diverse but culturally and linguistically related people who are collectively called Austronesians.

Both the term ‘Austronesian’ and these people’s identity as a distinct grouping are, it’s safe to say, very little recognised by most Australians or the wider world, except among specialist historians, archaeologists, ethnographers and linguists. Author Philip Bowring wants to change that with this book that is a detailed, multidisciplinary account of these quintessential seafaring and trading societies, from their prehistoric origins until now.

In particular Bowring wants the ‘general reader and public’, at whom this book is aimed, to appreciate their dynamic role in the networks of oceanic trading that stretched from Asia across the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean for thousands of years… networks that led directly to the last half millennium of European expansion, and that were the forerunners of today’s globalised economy.

Austronesians comprise most of the populations of modern Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines, speaking hundreds of different but related languages. There are also minority Austronesian populations in Indochina, Burma, Thailand and Taiwan. Ethnic Thais, Cambodians, Laos, Vietnamese and Burmese of mainland South-East Asia are not Austronesians, nor were they primarily seafaring societies – the thing that most defines deep Austronesian heritage.

So to avoid confusion Bowring has coined a new term, Nusantaria, to describe Austronesian homelands on the islands and coasts of South-East Asia, from where they sailed and traded much more widely. The term comes from the Sanskrit-derived, Malay-Indonesian nusantara (‘the islands between’), referring to the archipelagos that stretch from China and South-East Asia towards Australasia. (In English this was sometimes ‘the Malay archipelago’, the title of Alfred Russell Wallace’s magnificent magnum opus published precisely 150 years ago.)

The Nusantaria concept keeps the focus on this vital maritime mercantile heartland, whereas some of the Austronesian family sailed so far away – to Micronesia, Polynesia and Madagascar – that they eventually lost contact with the ancestral sail-trading network.

The major defining feature of Nusantarian societies was their mastery of navigation with ingenious vessel technologies, which included outriggers, unique fore-and-aft sailing rigs and hull-construction techniques that distinguished them from the Arab, Persian, Indian, Chinese and (much later) European ships that also plied these seas. This was the key to their expansion and settlement of maritime Southeast Asia over the last four or five millennia, displacing or absorbing earlier migrants. Other original features of Nusantarian societies included ancestral cults and shamanism, headhunting, and the independence and high standing of their women.

Bowring takes an even-handed approach to the fascinating question of Nusantarian origins. He acknowledges the well-accepted ‘out of China via Taiwan’, north-to-south thesis of Peter Bellwood et.al., but seemingly gives equal credence to alternative, south-to-north theories of migrations that were forced by the last inter-glacial flooding of the Sundaland basin (Stephen Oppenheimer, William Sondheim).

From ancient times the islands of Nusantaria supplied key trade commodities including the rarest and most costly spices – cloves, nutmeg and mace – exported in its own ocean-going ships. But more crucially, these home waters were the cross-roads of all the extensive sea trade between East Asia and the Indian Ocean.

Controlling these sea lanes led to the rise of diverse Nusantarian trading centres and entrepôts, kingdoms and empires in Sumatra, Java, Malaya and elsewhere in their region. Bowring vividly depicts a cosmopolitan trading world exchanging ceramics, metals, gems, silks and other textiles, spices, forest products, slaves – the vast majority shipped by sea.

‘A Persian writing in Arabic in the tenth century,’ he tells us, ‘noted that parrots in Palembang [the Sumatran centre of the Srivijaya empire] could speak many languages including Arabic, Persian and Greek.’ Those polylingual parrots would certainly also have spoken Malay, the Austronesian language native to both shores of the Straits of Malacca – the narrow funnel through which most of this trade passed. It became the lingua-franca of the region’s sailors and traders well over a thousand years ago, and is the basis of the modern Indonesian national language.

The major religions of Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam entered the region from the Indian Ocean, spread peaceably by maritime trade and adopted through influence and prestige. Nusantarian societies transformed these religions, as much as they transformed Nusantaria. Rare seaborne invasions such as that of the Tamil-Indian Cholas in 1025, and later Mongol and Ming interventions, made no lasting impacts due to the dispersal of the islands and the skills of its sailors and traders.

European and Christian incursions began more forcibly five centuries ago, lured by the fabulous wealth of the ‘Spice Islands’ and advantaged by the superior gunnery of these aggressive newcomers. The shock is well expressed in the famous words of 17th-century Makassan Sultan Alauddin, refusing monopolist Dutch demands to exclude their rivals: ‘God made the land and the sea. The land he divided among men and the sea he gave in common. It has never been heard that anyone should be forbidden to sail the seas.’

This new era would lead eventually to a severe downturn of Nusantarian fortunes and a loss of common identity as they were fragmented into the post-colonial states we know today. Bowring makes the valuable point, however, that it’s easy to exaggerate the effect of the first few centuries of European activity, as disruptive as it was. It was not until ‘a final land-grabbing spasm around the turn of the 20th century that European imperialism reached its final apogee’, drawing Nusantaria’s modern borders.

Journalist, author and yachtsman Philip Bowring has lived in Asia for decades as a correspondent for leading financial and international newspapers, and was editor of the prestigious Far Eastern Economic Review. His earlier history book was about a distant ancestor, Sir John Bowring, who as Plenipotentiary in China in 1856 precipitated the Second Opium War, and who negotiated a key trade treaty between Britain and King Mongkut of Anna and the King of Siam fame.

Having read history at Cambridge and, during his working life, absorbed himself in the history and economy of maritime Asia, Philip Bowring is well placed to attempt this ambitious synthesis of vast amounts of scholarship and primary sources for a non-specialist readership. Its magnitude is attested by a nine-page bibliography. Given the breadth and depth of material consulted, errors (in this reviewer’s fields, at least) were few and minor.

At times the work suffers from the formidable weight of historical detail that it encompasses. There are occasions where condensing complex events and multiple players creates sentences that are rather too opaque, unless you’re already well-versed in that history. Places, people or processes can sometimes flash by, for the first and last time, unexplained.

This is less criticism than acknowledgement of the dilemma of treating an intricate subject encompassing so very many cultures, eras and episodes in a single volume – as best I know, for the first time. You could push the book out by an extra hundred or two pages – but then, good luck finding a publisher. Or do you simplify the story by sacrificing some of the richness and texture of complex events and processes? Any reader finding themselves a bit lost in the detail might return to the contents list, which has been well constructed with snappy chapter titles and a clever 30-word synopsis for each. This can usefully be returned to as a summary or a road map.

The attractive illustrations in both colour and mono have been very well selected for variety and quality, with many outstanding works of art, artefacts or historical sources. It might have been helpful to reference them more in the text, however, to make their relevance clearer to readers unfamiliar with the subject.

This hardcover book is handsomely produced with a beautiful dust jacket showing fine Nusantarian galleys in the Moluccas, recorded during the Louis de Freycinet expedition of 1817–20. It’s a volume that offers readers a deeper understanding of the vibrant maritime peoples and events that unfolded literally on Australia’s tropical northern doorstep, to better appreciate the complex development of the human, political and economic region that we inhabit.

#Southeast Asia #Austronesia #History #Resources #Empire of the Winds

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halcyon-travesty-blog · 6 years ago

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I HAVE SEEN THE NEW DRAGONS MOVIE!!!

I’ve just seen what might be the best movie ever (I don’t live in the States so earlier release!!) and need to process my emotions and discuss discussable points through this rant post, so fairly obvious warning:

SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING

Alright, you have been warned.

PS: an edited, spoiler-free version may be posted later

THE HIDDEN WORLD IS AMAZING! Such a beautiful story, a more-than-fitting conclusion to the epic tale of dragons, vikings, love, loss, leadership, growing up, acceptance, strength, becoming who you were always meant to be, and, perhaps most importantly, learning to let go and stand on your own.

I’ll try and sort aspects of the movie by paragraph but this is pretty much just a therapeutic emotional outpouring so here we go.

First cab off the rank (although it may be obvious), the animation was incredible. The village, the Hidden World, every island and ship and dragon and outfit enriched with vivid colour and intricate detail. The outfits were a particular highlight for me (a la my post a few months ago about their battle suits - they look even better on the big screen); even the updates for characters like Valka and Eret were great. The obvious question I guess is: was the Hidden World itself worth it? A HUGE YES. I thought maybe it would remind me of another other-worldly movie (e.g. James Cameron’s Avatar), but it didn’t; all I could think about was how beautiful the world’s design was, with all the colours and lights, waterfalls and chasms and crystals and, of course, dragons.

Grimmel was a good villain, nothing ridiculously ground-breaking or whatever, but not a bad bad guy by any means in my opinion. There were also three warlords who had employed him whose roles were very minor and pretty much just a way for him to discover that (prank!) he hadn’t killed all the Night Furies after all. The movie isn’t really about the villain though, he’s more of a plot advancer, a catalyst if you will.

The Stoick and lil baby Hiccup flashbacks are gorgeous and serve almost as a form of conscience and inspiration for Hiccup: a monologue on love (sparked by a cute “are you gonna get us a new mom?”) that Hiccup recalls when considering letting Toothless go be with his love, the Light Fury, is particularly poignant.

The Dragon Riders are wonderful and hilarious once again, and a particular highlight of the movie for me was how they were learning to work together more, a la Race to the Edge, especially (sobs) without their dragons. Astrid and Hiccup have many great moments together once again. For those wondering who won between Rufflout and Rufflegs: Ruffnut says she can’t choose between Snotlout’s ego (“I don’t know if he’ll ever love me more than he’ll love himself) and Fishlegs’s meek nerdiness, but at the Hiccstrid wedding says (or maybe jokes) that she chooses Fishlegs because she “likes sensitive guys.” The replacement of TJ Miller is nothing to worry about: it’s noticeable if you listen closely, but definitely not a problem. Ruffnut’s prisoner monologue is a comedic highlight, Tuffnut’s “boy talks” in regard to marriage! (more on that later) are also great, Fishlegs is pretty much just Fishlegs and Snotlout’s banter with Eret and Valka are fun. Our teenage adventurers have grown up, and with growing up comes responsibility, something I’ll explore more in...

Mature Chief Issues (TM)! Hiccup is a young chief with many balls to juggle: raiding trapper ships and rescuing dragons, a dragon overpopulation crisis on Berk, managing viking and dragon priorities, his relationship with Astrid (and the possibility of marriage), threats from enemies across the seas (and the target he has inadvertently made Berk), the legacy of his father (considered one of the greatest chiefs of all time), and (perhaps most importantly) his own self-esteem, acceptance and self-worth, fundamentally the question of his worth without Toothless. This is one of the reasons why I (and many others I suspect) love this franchise so: it deals with mature issues like responsibility and leadership in a meaningful and realistic way. When Hiccup says they’re all going to pack up and leave in search of the Hidden World, he faces opposition and doubt, and as the film progresses he must further contend with the conflict with Grimmel (and events such as Ruffnut getting left behind at the base) and Toothless’s budding relationship with the Light Fury.

A lot of people have been complaining that the Light Fury has been ‘feminised’, and that she shouldn’t look like she does from a zoological standpoint. I read a particularly good post a while ago by a tumblr user who was a zoologist or something like that (no disrespect intended, just can’t remember exactly); if you can find it I recommend the read. I agree with the points made in those arguments, but can’t help thinking that her design is beautiful, and her personality is definitely not weakened. She glistens in the moonlight and fights with incredible strength and can turn invisible at will for goodness sake. Their love is sweet and wholesome and makes for a breathtaking flight sequence and a funny scene reminiscent of the Hiccup-Toothless bonding and drawing scene in HTTYD1. The dragon babies are cute (although I don’t understand why they’re each blotchy black and white when Night and Light Furies are apparently the same species, so therefore based on gender the kids should be one or the other, but anyway) and the Light Fury provides Toothless with someone to spend his life with in the Hidden World when the dragons go away.

Yes, it happens. We knew it would. “There were dragons when I was a boy” sent me into a flurry of tears, and Hiccup and Toothless’s reunion with their kids at the end of the movie was...I don’t really know what to say. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. The dragons go because, as Hiccup says, “The world doesn’t deserve you”. More enemies would rise to fill Grimmel’s place, and dragons will never be truly safe unless they disappear. I think most movie-goers will know deep down that humans and dragons aren’t going to end up living in the Hidden World together like Hiccup suggests; it is, quite simply, not meant to be. Toothless leaving allows him to complete his journey of becoming, in terms of being an alpha and literally standing (flying) on his own (with a self-functioning prosthetic tail). Toothless leaving is also the final step in Hiccup’s becoming, as he learns that he is strong, can stand on his own and lead, even without his faithful dragon by his side. It is hard, as Astrid says, but he can do it, because he has always been a great viking, and has the support of his friends and family. Letting go takes courage and maturity, but can sometimes be the only way you can become who you are meant to be. Hiccup and Toothless’s parallel journeys are truly something to behold. There is a lot more I would like to say on this, but at the current moment I believe I lack the eloquence to do so. In summary, the moment is beautiful and everything you don’t want it to be.

On a happier note, THERE’S A HICCSTRID WEDDING!!!!!!! Following much jest and uncertainty (aka foreshadowing) throughout the film, Hiccup and Astrid have a beautiful winter wedding with the whole village present. Gobber cries, Snotlout cries, Fishlegs cries, I cry, you cry, everyone cries. Astrid’s hair is left down, the bride and groom wear white (don’t think vikings actually did wear white but they look awesome so whatever), there’s a couple of traditional viking things and then comes love then comes marriage then comes BABY IN A BABY CARRIAGE!!!!

The auburn-haired girl, perhaps 7 or 8 years old, and the blond-haired boy, maybe 5 or 6, joined their mother and (bearded!) father on an unexplained boat journey to the entrance to the Hidden World, where they meet up with Toothless, the Light Fury and their children and we come full circle, with the kids holding out their hands and Toothless leaning in, an image we know and love all too well. They fly together, we the audience are promised that dragons did exist and may return someday when the world is worthy of them, and the movie ends.

One of my favourite things about this franchise will always be its maturity and the beauty in simplicity (aka a story of growing up and letting go). I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that this is one of the most beautiful movies I have ever seen and I literally feel privileged to have experienced this story. I cannot recommend it enough and intend to see it again sometime in the next week. More posts and analysis and etcetera will come (apologies for the hiatus - exams and Christmas and yes hectic), especially after it is released in more countries, and I hope everyone loves this film as much as I did.

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diveronarpg · 6 years ago

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Congratulations, TRIS! You’ve been accepted for the role of TITANIA. Admin Jen: Trish, your app was absolutely astonishing. I loved how deeply you unveiled Theodora, from your intricate analysis as you explained what drew you to them, to the detailed points you made in the future plots. You seem to have a grasp on infinite directions that you could take them in and it served as the best kind of prelude to the interview where they really bloomed to life before our very eyes. Your passion for them really shines through and it’s made your application very impactful to us overall. We can’t wait to see our beloved Titania on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Tris

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | he/him/his

Activity Level | 8; I’m itching to write in this universe, and barring any inconveniences, I plan to spend as much time as I can doing just that ♥ I’m waiting to hear about a job, also, but until then I can get online daily

Timezone | CST

Current/Past RP Accounts | here is my most recent account & here is my account from the first round of DV

In Character

Character | Theodora Moreau “Titania” & could I change their age to 27/their FC to Medalion Rahimi, please?

“A name is just a name,” Theodora drawls, almost sleepily and with a quiet sadness, but their eyes are wide awake and their lips are curled upwards. “Call out for your God and skin your knees, or summon the devil and bleed yourself dry. It doesn’t matter which.”They inch closer, their breath all at once so bitter and so sweet. Intoxicating. They’ve studied the vices of man for so long that they’ve learned how to become one themselves.“I’ll still arrive.” Death and life are the same being; it’s just comforting to think of them as sisters at war. Theodora knows that you have to take a breath to have it stripped from your lungs, and that you first have to be hollow if you ever wish to be whole. You have to be everything. Never limit yourself to a singular title. “Sing me your dreams, and whisper your fears. I can give you both.”

What drew you to this character? | There’s a strange sort of magic present in Theodora’s biography, something that kept drawing me back to them no matter how far I strayed while reading the rest of the cast. I spent a long time looking for that perfect muse, for that one character that was going to grip my imagination and refuse to let go, and through a process of restlessly running back and forth — I realized, without a doubt, that Titania was the endpoint of my search. Their hold on me was soft, lingering, so much so that I hardly noticed it at first; but they buried themselves in my thoughts and before long I found myself envisioning my application for them coming to life, thinking of all the metaphors I could write and the development I could experience and how I’d have the opportunity to breathe life into such a fantastic, unexplainable creature.

Titania enchants me because that’s exactly what they are — a divine figure, the closest thing to a modern deity. Their status hadn’t been hoisted upwards on the shoulders of an ancient surname, and their influence wasn’t purchased with blood-stained money; those things were as much thrust upon them as they were fairly earned. That’s how the legends go, do they not? A babe in the woods, raised by a witch to speak in riddles and trained by the wolves to never hide their teeth. Perhaps they were a faerie changeling, left in a crib overnight and unable to adapt to human society. Maybe they drove their mother mad. Regardless of the tale, regardless of the tragedy, a child is always left alone in Verona. Hungry and abandoned and shackled by a mortality that does not suit them. Theodora knows their truth. How they bleed just the same as anyone else, how their stomach growls just as loud. What it means to be unloved and unwanted and to dig through trash. There was a never a forest, no mystical flowers in their hair.

But they’ve managed to cast an illusion on the people of Verona, their godhood is self-made, and that’s why I’m so drawn to them. Because someone that the city would have once eaten alive managed to switch the script, they were able to seduce Lady Luck and swindle her for all that she was worth; and now Titania is a myth. Now they sleep and only dream — of maidens that could breathe underwater and how their ability was shared with a kiss, of a man in the sky who plucked Theodora from the ground because he thought one of his stars had fallen. There are no more night terrors. No memories of clutching to the leg of someone who was destined to walk away, of crying in the crimson streets, of having to beg for help. Begging to be wanted and treasured and feared. I want to write Titania, not simply because there’s so much that I want to help them discover, but because I know that there’s so much for me to learn about myself while writing them. Wouldn’t it be grand? To be a god-emperor.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | — I definitely want to explore their relationship with Orpheus, to flesh it out and discover their dynamic alongside Stass. There’s so much potential there, something that is all at once so mythical and so human; so beautiful and so tainted. Their love is not sweet, but it is not necessarily cruel. Not always. There’s respect there, a bond that sings of destiny, but there’s also a rift between them and I want to get to the bottom of it. I want to understand their similarities and confront their differences. Why does Orpheus always come back to them, as if he has a lack of meals to sate his appetite, and why does Titania allow him to creep beneath their skin and their sheets? Why do they want to kiss him as much as they want to devour him? I know this is an expected plot, and it’s not all that exciting to discuss, but it’s something that I’m so excited for. Zeus and Hera have a connection that has stood the test of time; I wonder if Theodora and Orpheus will prove to be deathless in their own right.

— What if their creations fail to deliver, what if their position backfires on them? What if they lose their divinity? I’d love to see Titania struggle with their humanity, for their many glamours to be broken. At the core of themselves, they are mortal. Try as they might to prove otherwise, they know the reality of their situation. They’re as clever as they are manipulative, equally cunning and inventive, and the people of Verona have always been quick to throne new rulers. All they had to do was bewitch their minds, embracing the mystery that surrounded their origins and playing those beneath them like the fine strings of a lute. And the music that thrums around them is soft, a melody that sinks deep and spreads through your bones, but all faerie magic has a weakness. An iron sword to their throat and salt in their wounds, and one should always remember that Verona is just as prone to dethroning their kings. Theodora can’t be useful forever, they know that their legend will someday become a petrified tree in an evergreen forest, and that inevitable fate is what terrifies them most. They don’t want to relive their abandonment again.

— Their hands are more calloused than many would believe, a rough touch that’s apt to break fragile things. Titania’s relationship with Catherine is soft, almost gentle, a warped reflection of how Lavinia had raised them; but the difference is that Theodora is nothing like their mentor. Not really. Whereas they had been sheltered behind silk drapes and fed honey, Titania wants to protect Catherine in a more savage way. And it’s not that they want the young girl to wilt her petals, to remove her skin and reveal the thorns beneath, but they would hate for her to spend an eternity trapped in a tower of her own making. Always looking down at a cruel and hungry world. While it’s true that Theodora found the blessing within their upbringing, how to wield all the shadows and splendor and to create something sharp from both, Catherine is not fit for godhood. To be a saint is not to be the backbone of an empire. Not like Theodora has become, with their magic and their mythos. They will do all that it takes to keep Catherine safe, to keep her heart from being stolen and shattered and replaced with something cold. Not like theirs had been all those years ago. Even if it that means being the thief.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! Break my heart & I’ll break yours.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

— What is your favorite place in Verona? ⦁ “My own mind.” They say it without pausing to think about their answer, not bothering to look over their shoulder and meet the gaze of the man that had asked the question. He has yet to realize that midnight affairs are meant to end before daybreak. Theodora watches as the early morning sun rises over Verona, as the shades between gold and silver blur until nothing is distinguishable, and they laugh. Turning away from the window, a soft halo of light breaking through the waves of their hair, they flash their teeth.

“Don’t mistake me. The city has many wonders, places that mean a great deal to me.” They close the distance between themselves and their lover, curling a finger beneath his chin and forcing him to stare upwards. Like he should be begging for mercy. Like he’s only just realized that he entered the chambers of a god. “Memories are fickle. Some remain, and some fade; but they’re always a part of who we are.” Theodora presses their fingers to his lips, smiling as he kisses the scarred and scented flesh. One bite of faerie food is all it takes to never hunger for anything more.

“Verona, I believe, has a mind of its own. And those buildings and all these soldiers and this war are all memories, some new and some ancient and some that have long been forgotten.” They pull away, walking backwards to where they had been standing and lifting their arms to grip the drapes that flow around them. “We have to share these things with each other. All the beauty and all the terror. And I’ve always been selfish.” They release the curtains and ward off the sunlight, plunging their room into darkness. “I don’t care about the landmarks and the gardens and all the places where blood has been shed. I want something that’s all my own.”

They tap a finger against their temple, smirking playfully. “I’m in Verona, am I not? And my thoughts are so wonderful. Why go to a museum when I can paint a masterpiece behind my eyelids? Why visit the symphony when I can conduct my own music?” They’re at his side before he realizes that they’ve been inching towards him, their arms wrapped around his torso and their lips brushing his throat. “Why spend my money at a brothel when boys like you are lining up to be eaten.” They tuck a stray lock of blonde behind his ear, moving to kiss his forehead. “I’m going to forget you, but Verona will always have your skeleton in its closet.”

— What does your typical day look like? ⦁ They scoff, rolling their eyes and disregarding the absurd question. “There’s nothing typical about me.” It’s blasphemy to assume anything about them could ever follow a routine, let alone be boring. After all, the Moreau heir has never experienced the same story twice. Yesterday they made love to a woman who sang the sweetest opera, a natural talent, but not quite; a bird had made its nest in her rib cage and she was cursed with its song. And tomorrow Theodora plans to kill a man who was born without eyes, who instead looks with his heart. He won’t even see them coming.

The mundane offends them, the thought that someone could ever relate to them and how they spend their time. Only Hera and the wolves have the right to say that they are familiar with Theodora. “I can’t answer.” They stalk off, disappearing within a matter of seconds and making their way through the shadows of Verona. There’s a bag of faerie blood in their pocket, a deal is waiting to be made around the corner; and it’s only then that they realize the one constant in their life. Outside of a particularly dangerous man and his dangerous smile, of course, but that’s a tale for another day. Zeus knows them, this is true, but he is nothing like them. (Right?)

Lucifer is always hard at work, but Theodora works harder. They invest pieces of themselves in every hour of each day, waiting until sunset to snatch them back and be complete once more. They are a true business-person, simple as that. They wear a silken dress in place of a suit, they hold their meetings in bars and kiss investors with liquor in their mouth, but the men of Wall Street could learn a thing or two from them. If anything about Theodora was going to be called average, something to be expected, it would be both their determination and their many enchantments. You can always find Theodora trying to bewitch someone.

— What has been your biggest mistake thus far? ⦁ “Loving.” Theodora says it quietly, a soft break in their voice, and they rise up to their feet and prepare to take flight. Courage and pride are two different beasts to tame. “I regret allowing myself to love.” They don’t tell the old woman who, exactly, but their eyes betray them. The way they glance away, how the dark brown depths begin to sparkle just barely. This is the stare of an abandoned child, and the way their fists clench proves that the abandonment followed them into adulthood.

Conversing with elders on park benches is a strange hobby, but something about the act brings Theodora comfort. They’re so terrified of old age that they prefer to confront the possibility at close range. That one day their hair will grey and their shoulders will hunch, that their bed will grow cold and empty and they’ll cease to be a god and become more of a witch. Still powerful, still feared, but a caricature of themselves; a little less divine. They gather their belongings and stand.

They wonder, often, what became of their mother. Of the father they never knew. They have no memories left of the woman beyond the one that haunts them, of a hoarse voice begging her to stay and a dead gaze that refused to look down. And then Theodora thinks of Lavinia, who abandoned them a different way, but a wound is still there nonetheless. How cruel it is, to mother something in the place of another and then to make the same departure. Orpheus crosses their mind, too, but just for a moment. They never promised each other to stay faithful.

“I must go.”

— What has been the most difficult task asked of you? ⦁ They clean their face of cosmetics and stare at the plainness of their features in a vanity mirror. There’s a note-card in their hand with a series of questions, silly things that shouldn’t require much thought, but the only way to control yourself is to know all the facets of your being. They’re caught off-guard for a moment, but they quickly find their resolve and clench their jaw. “To become a god.” And they’re looking straight at their reflection when they say it, making a metaphor out of themselves like they love to do so fondly, but the tone of their voice is more aggressive than dreamy.

Theodora lifts an elixir and massages their neck with the scent of lavender. For balance and peace of mind. It’s not regret they feel, not really, but more of a heavy burden. Something akin to what Atlas has been forced to endure for centuries. And they have to wonder if he had been a mortal boy with a hunger to be special, lifting the world to prove that he could and forced to carry it for an eternity. Maybe they’re more like him than Hera, or maybe there are too many gods living in their soul for there to ever be any serenity. They clawed their way to the top of Mt. Olympus and now they have the gall to complain about the view.

No, they’d never rid themselves of their divinity, but having to always be clever and sharp and magical can be tiring; and whereas many individuals of similar standing refuse to consider their mortality, that once they had simply been alone and afraid and starving, Theodora never allows themselves to forget. Maybe because they’re not ready to reveal their true potential, to rise through the clouds and hold lightning in their palms. Are they Zeus, too? Never satisfied and always ready to lash out? Perhaps. But they’re also just a person, living in a city of blood and brick. They’re not allowed to feel weak, to cry. Otherwise they’d flood the world. “I think I cursed myself.”

— What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? ⦁ Theodora chuckles, almost blindsided by the question, but it’s hardly one that requires any thought. They lick their fingers clean and finish swallowing the remnants of their dessert, looking up at their companion and smirking with all their teeth on display. “Let them eat cake, I say.” It’s as simple as that. Regardless of their role in the chaos, how they’ve chosen a side, it’s the least of their concerns. The city of Verona will always be at war, and two men will always fight over control. It’s in the blindness of their rage, however, that the true rulers rise.

The Capulet emissary is much the same, playing their part to the best of their abilities, but only enough to keep the production going. What does it hurt if they’re a member of another cast? That they’re wearing enough masks to fund an entire masquerade ball out of only their likeness? Theodora laughs once more, caressing the cheek of the girl across from them and lifting a cherry to her lips. “Don’t you agree, darling?” A stream of red trickles down a pale chin. “Let them grow fat and complacent. Let their gluttony be the end of them.”

Let another pair of kings take their place; let Theodora continue their reign.

#accepted: titania #accepted

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storiescanberewritten · 6 years ago

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#7 Cat's Cradle: Witch Mark

SPOILERS OF OBSCURE 25 YEAR OLD BOOKS MAY BE PRESENT IN THIS BLOG

Strange things are afoot in the sleepy rural village of Llanfer Ceirog, Wales. Unexplained sightings of mythical creatures such as unicorns and centaurs are being covered up by the local authorities with even less explanation as to why. As Torchwood is a concept yet to be invented in the real world at the time of this books publication (1992), I guess the Doctor and Ace are going to have to visit Wales...

Cat's Cradle: Witch Mark completes the Cat's Cradle trilogy of books with a story that is once again almost completely separate to anything that came before it. Here the focus is unusually high fantasy for Doctor Who at this point, delving into a conflict between centaurs, trolls, unicorns and humanoids on the planet of Tir na n-Óg. There happens to be a gateway to the planet within a stone circle close to Llanfer Ceirog and with the sun of Tir na n-Óg having being suddenly extinguished, the humanoid rulers of the planet plan to evacuate to Earth, leaving behind the other species due to them not fitting in very subtly with the life already present on our world. The book does a fairly good job of detailing the intricate infrastructure of the alien world but is perhaps a little convoluted, tying in many extra characters and plot threads that really don't need to be present. This isn't helped by the need to resolve the 'TARDIS is damaged/dying' plot of the Cat's Cradle trilogy, adding an extra wrinkle to the story and further complicating matters. A couple of these storylines even seem to end suddenly with no further explanation - a friendly old couple who take in the Doctor and Ace near the start of the book are later brutally murdered by two shape shifting demons who escape to Earth and take the form of our heroes. The Doctor and Ace never even find out about this, too busy upon their own return to Earth at the end of the book to go and check in on poor Hugh and Janet, meaning there must still be evil doppelgangers of the Doctor and Ace roaming around somewhere once the book ends. Weird!

This appears to be Andrew Hunt's only novel, hinting at him being more of a fan writer than a career author. Certainly he seems to be a big fan of the show, referencing many different TV stories from the Third Doctor's Planet of the Spiders to Seven's own Dragonfire. The characterisation of the protagonists meanwhile is a lot lighter than we have become used to in the New Adventures range so far. The Doctor is quite happy making jokes about spam and traffic wardens. Ace is immature enough to think that playing rock music at 2am in Hugh and Janet's house is OK. It doesn't gel with the previous novels, especially coming off Warhead in which the Doctor was particularly calculating and ruthless and Ace straight up had to murder a guy (admittedly in self defence). The New Adventures is somewhat infamous for the drastic changes forced upon Ace's character in future novels so it is odd to have her be so childish here, although interestingly she does tap into some deep primal instincts at one point, referencing her time as a Cheetah Person in Survival (the final broadcast story of the original run of Doctor Who). We shall have to see if the lingering effects of that transformation have any further bearing on her behaviour in these novels.

Happily the TARDIS is indeed repaired at the end of the novel, using some sciencey technobabble that restores it's link to the Eye of Harmony on Gallifrey, the power source for all TARDISES. Unfortunately it seems as if some speck of a demon particle has infected the TARDIS in the process, unbeknownst to the Doctor for now. The TARDIS really just can't seem to catch a break in these books.

Next time I'll be taking a slight detour from the regular New Adventures schedule to look at the new Class audio boxset released by Big Finish, which interestingly features a cross-over with Ace and the Daleks. Can it live up to the fantastic legacy of Remembrance of the Daleks? Well, probably not but it should be a bit of fun at least!

#doctor who #dr who #seventh doctor #7th doctor #sylvester mccoy #ace #sophie aldred #andrew hunt #new adventures #the doctor

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koganeirou · 6 years ago

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I remember a few years ago I volunteered at a festival in my town’s local J-town and there was a cosplay contest and one of the winners was a Cardia cosplay. At the time, I only knew Code Realize by name, but I thought that the cosplayer was beautiful beyond words. And I think fate’s finally run it’s course now LMFAO.

Anyway I’m done this game! and what can I say. this game is incredible. It definitely lives up to all the hype and praise it got and I think this game is one of my favourite otomes I’ve ever played. It just sounds like I’m riding the hype train because this game is treated like the holy grail but I think this game is probably my second favourite, closely behind Nightshade. I’m not really sure what more I can say other than I loved everything about this game from the bottom of my heart and I enjoyed every minute of it. anyyyyhoo more of my thoughts underneath the cut because it’s become sort of like a ritual for me to share my obnoxious opinions every time I finish a game!

**SPOILERS**

okay I actually feel kind of bad for saying it but I kind of felt Lupin’s route to be a tad bit underwhelming?? I really enjoyed how Lupin’s route tied up all the other routes and gave all the boys satisfying conclusions if only Seven’s route was like that but idk the whole climax of wrecking Isaac with something as simple as bombs that he somehow didn’t figure out were there, and just magically getting rid of Cardia’s poison by letting Isaac suck all the energy out of her boobs just felt a tad bit trippy for my tastes?? The whole shebang on the Nautilus seemed to just drag on and on, especially with the whole Aleister and Sholmes business like I’m sorry I don’t care for any of these dudes.

**END SPOILERS**

Moving along, I didn’t like…. the majority of the villains. With the exception of Victoria (who is an amazing side character btw. Amazing villain in Fran’s route, amazing supporting character in Lupin’s route. what a woman), I felt like a lot of the antagonists were either really one note, shallow, or just flat out annoying. **SPOILERS** And that’s what made Lupin’s route that much more of a slog because you have alllll these annoying ass villains herded into literally one spot. Like I’m sorry to any Finis fans out there, but his Kaji Yuki screaming and five billion Naruto clones just started getting really annoying really fast and my annoyance with Finis ultimately triumphed my sympathy for him lmao. Still, he did deserve a better ending than just flying off the ship to his death like wtf?? Isn’t he alive in the Silver Miracles fandisc?? did he just magically come back to life??? **END SPOILERS**

My second biggest complaint is that I felt like a lot of the romance sort of depends on the common route? It’s driven by the character-center scenarios in the common route where Cardia gets to know the boys and bond with them because once you’re booted in a route Cardia’s immediately like “I think I’m in love!” and it just sometimes feels like it comes out of left field without taking the common route into consideration. and idk I just wish the routes were a little more independent and detached.

BUUUUT MOVING ALONG. Each route had their strengths and flaws, and while Lupin’s route is obviously the “true” one, I actually didn’t feel like Lupin really overshadowed the other boys? I’m glad that writers didn’t give the other boys lukewarm stories and lazily written routes because they all got the love they deserved, imo. I felt like every route offered a piece of the main puzzle; Lupin’s route was simply the route that unearthed the final piece. Each boy’s route dealt with a separate piece of the overarching plot line/conflict, which just made the world building of Steel London so much stronger. And I loved every last bit of it. I loved the steam punk aesthetic, the historical European setting; I loved all the political drama, with the terrorists plots, government corruption, hints of mystery, thriller, cringy shoujo romance etc. It was an adventure story through and through and boy did it reel me in.

Cgs are gorgeous, backgrounds are detailed, ost is amazing and really made the scenes that much more emotional. Also kudos to the damn voice actors/actresses because boy this game has some damn good voice work. Maybe I can stop associating Daisuke Hirakawa with his creepy Laito-Bitch-chan-voice and start associating him with the beautiful man that is San now LOL.

The writing in this game is A+++. Absolutely solid. Finally, an otome game with a overly convoluted and complicated plot but no noticeable plot holes or unexplained loop holes! What an accomplishment! Jokes aside, I usually have a lot of writing complaints when it comes to otome games because I’m a critical bitch, but aside from minor gripes I mentioned earlier, I did really enjoy the game’s story and it had so many incredibly powerful moments that just made me had to walk around and take a quick break because of how shook it made me lmao. I loved the themes about atonement, forgiveness, humanity, the whole “humanity versus god” conflict, and I think in terms of complexity and depth of narrative, this game is def up there. I loved all the historical, literary, and religious references this game made and while it may not hold the integrity of the original source, it still made the story that much more fun and complex.

In terms of main characters… haha, I loved them all. They’re all precious children who deserve happiness and the world and I ended up getting attached to every last one of them.

Cardia tho? She makes this game, 100%. She truly lived up to her role as protagonist because she was the damn star. I’m very open about my appreciation for otome heroines and am very against heroine hate in general, but even still, this is the first game I’ve played where my favourite character was the heroine herself, not any of the boys. I love how kind hearted Cardia is. I love her strength, her bravery, how her character is so intricately woven into the story. But more than anything, I adored the character development she got. Code Realize truly is… her story, not any of the guy’s, not even everyone’s favourite man, Lupin’s. She’s so multi faceted and nuanced, maybe even more so than the guys. But I also loved the little quirks she had and those moments where she acts like a classic typical shoujo manga heroine made me smile like an idiot. She’s a fighter who hangs on until the very end and she’s the type of heroine that you just can’t help but pour your whole heart into rooting for. I really enjoyed how balanced her relationships with the guys were, it never felt like one out shined the other. Shout out to Fran and Lupin for having the most romantic kiss scenes ever LOL.

As for the guys themselves, my fave order is prob San > Fran > Lupin > Van > Impey. Though if you include all the characters , It’d prob be something like Cardia > San > Fran > Lupin > Victoria > Delly > Van > Impey.

Fran and San are really close because I loved them for different reasons and I think I enjoyed their relationships with Cardia the most. Fran and Cardia had really good chemistry and I loved watching them develop and grow together, where they both stood as equals who elevated each other, whereas San and Cardia had more of a tragic love that they both had to bend over backwards fighting for and it tickled my melodrama loving side //shot. I really adored all of the relationships Cardia had with the guys (and the friendships between the guys themselves) and while this game is mainly plot driven, I never felt like any of the character writing fell short. Everyone is just so memorable and multi faceted, you can’t help but love them.

anyway that’s enough ranting from me lmao. I regret only playing this game now since I’ve heard of it forever but better late than never. I really am glad to play this game and it’s def one of my top favourites. I’m done ranting and I’m gonna go cry now.

#ellie plays code realize terribly

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onewhoturns · 7 years ago

Text

pt 4 - Weakness

Another short section, but an important one. Credit to @kaldwinqueen for the Outsider. Part four of The Void Devours, feel free to leave it some love over on AO3. To start from the beginning on Tumblr.

Oliver's morning was filled with its usual occurrences, despite the night being so incredibly unusual. He sat at his desk after a fair amount of bickering with Billie and an entire bowl of porridge, plus some fruit and a few nuts. She had confronted him head on, but she typically did, barking at him about how he hadn't shown up, how the guards had gone searching for him, dragging her around the halls sniffing around for him like bloodhounds.

She stopped though, when she realized that something was off about him. Even after he'd eaten he wore an expression that she'd never seen on him before, eyes averted, lips dropped, not in a frown but in defeat. So she stopped prying and prodding because Billie Lurk knew far too well how annoying it could be to have someone shoving their nose where they didn't belong. That didn't mean she wasn't concerned, though -- or that she wouldn't be asking about it more later.

He appreciated her ability to read the mood; he appreciated her in every aspect. She was a wonder of a woman.

By the time he'd finished writing his letters there was an entire stack beside him. He'd received news back from the man in Karnaca, thanking him for his help, assuring him that the money would only be used for the good of the people, the rest would be donated to the Addermire Institute, where natural philosophers were now flocking after the incident with the Crown Killer had cleared up. He knew that things would get better there. It would take time, as all things did, but it brightened his mood a bit to know that his efforts weren't in vain.

He began sealing envelopes off with hot wax, using his own cufflink symbol. It was a diamond with small divots and a rather intricate inner design. He liked it, even if he never really understood why they were apart of the ensemble the Void had left him with.

It hadn’t been the simplest of negotiations, but it had be thorough. Emily had assured her father that nothing untoward had happened between herself and who Corvo was now calling Oliver (so she would as well, if she could remember it). It didn’t quite feel right on him, but she would learn to compromise. She explained that she’d made a conscious choice of her own free will, that he’d offered her plenty of chances to say no. He hadn’t coerced her, hadn’t tricked her; it had been a small consensual kiss. The aftermath was unexpected. She doubted the Outsider had had any clue what he’d been doing as it happened.

Corvo was calmed by her patient straightforward explanation. He shook his head with an exasperated sigh, dryly mentioning the unnecessary details the man had shared. Emily had winced. His words, she explained… He liked words. He may not be the best at using them plainly. She herself was still getting used to interpreting his prose.

She shamed her father for keeping the Outsider a secret from her. He explained his wariness over the risks the man may have posed, and sheepishly admitted to the recently received negative results from Dr. Hypatia, who seemed to think he was perfectly fine.

Emily noticed the way her father would refer to the Outsider as ‘the kid,’ and she found it disproportionately amusing.

He explained how Oliver (and Billie Lurk) had arrived at Dunwall Tower, and the work he intended to bring Oliver in on -- investigating the recent unexplained deaths around the Academy of Natural Philosophy.

She, in turn, explained the unsettling pull of the Void. Carefully. She had to remind him multiple times that it wasn’t the Outsider’s fault -- or, at least, not intentionally. She was only just starting to forgive him herself, now that she’d finally managed some rest and a brief respite from its endless hunger. Even as she explained she felt it on the edge of her mind. It was coming for her. She didn’t know how long it would take to return, but she knew it was coming. A thin ringing in her ears had begun about half an hour after the Outsider had left her side, and it remained a constant noise in her head, steadily growing louder throughout the day. His presence fended it off, but didn’t destroy it. She wondered if she ever could. Killing the Outsider was one thing. Killing the Void was laughable. They wouldn’t destroy it - they didn’t need to, didn’t want to - but there must be a way to sever her ties.

Finally, after long hours of discussing, explaining, and occasionally arguing, a resolution was reached. They would have tower staff help rearrange things in her bedroom, as inconvenient as it might be. Corvo himself set to arranging sleeping quarters closer to the door inside the safe room, placing a temporary cot in place of the current sofa. They would be close, but not quite rooming together. He wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t sleep in the room with them - it was her choice to interact with the man, and he grudgingly trusted her judgment, knowing she knew how important the man was as an ally - but he expected them to each have their own privacy. If Oliver ever got out of line, Emily knew what to do. She, meanwhile, was fairly sure it wouldn’t be an issue. His words could lash at her all he wanted, but he’d never strike her, never try to physically force her into anything she didn’t want. And if she fell to temptation it was her own damn fault. She didn’t say that to her father, however; he trusted her, but he didn’t need to know details.

The move had been rather simple, though he still didn't particularly feel "accepted" he at least felt just the slightest bit better than he had earlier. He tried to keep his mouth shut as he followed the guards, as he followed Corvo, but like a child his eyes wandered, taking everything in, counting all of the sensations he felt, analyzing every painting, every fiber of the carpet. It was jarring really, to be so educated on the history of most things but so very inexperienced simultaneously. He knew grass, he knew it was green, he knew it was cold on spring mornings and dried to a crisp on summer nights, but it'd been from the memories of others that he knew these things. Dim sensations as he remembered them when he was human.

His senses were buzzing now, which made him fidget, overwhelmed still. He wasn't sure he'd ever get use to being able to understand things so deeply. He was human but he still felt different, isolated.

An Outsider.

No one would truly understand him.

He glanced up at Corvo, the wisps of salt and pepper hair, hardened Serkonan features, piercing dark eyes. He promised himself he would draw the man later, not as he remembered seeing him in the Void, but as he saw him now. He found he enjoyed poring himself over quill and parchment, sketching the things he could see now, with his own eyes, his own perception. Him.

He avoided speaking much to Emily, found himself averting his gaze, tufts of wavy obsidian falling against his forehead each time he bowed his head. He listened, nodding along to instructions barked out by Corvo -- not that Corvo was yelling but mostly because his gravelly Protector tones were very demanding. But he understood, and he took note of the tone he used, the way he moved. He didn't seem angry anymore, only slightly irritated, inconvenienced and riddled with fatherly concern. Which seemed like progress. He couldn't help but wonder how their conversation went, now that he couldn't look back at the things he wasn't present for.

By the end of the night he was settled, equipped with several jars of ink (he very much enjoyed writing by quill rather than typewriter), many stacks of papers, envelopes, and a few other luxuries. He'd have a ring made for him later, which he wasn't very pleased with but he wasn't one to complain.

He was so very tired of wearing rings, especially those of silver.

There were a few candles lit in the royal safe room, flickers of light casting dancing shadows against the walls as they moved. He sat against the back of the chair, a glass cup at his side that was only half filled with dark, honey colored liquor. He liked the burn at the back of his throat and the sweet, spicy aftertaste. It helped him loosen up, which was something he direly needed after the day's events.

It was a new and heartening experience to actually look forward to sleeping. After a day of steadily growing Void noise, Emily found it a relief when she felt that the Outsider - Oliver - was near. The fading noise settled to a beautiful silence. She could even hear the sea outside. She actually got into bed with a smile on her face. She hadn’t gone to sleep this early in -- well, ever. No, probably since she was a child. But even her ten hours last night hadn’t made up for a week’s worth of missed sleep, and every moment spent with the Void’s maddening hum drilling into her ears was exhausting. It hadn’t been too bad early in the day, but around dinner time it had come back with a vengeance. But then - now - here she was, and she could hear the world around her once more. Her heart was free of ice, her mind free of clinging sludge.

She burrowed into the soft sheets, sighing, nightgown tangling around her thighs as she pulled the blankets from their neatly-tucked corners. Rolling onto her back, she let out another long sigh, letting the day hit her like a train all at once. Her carefully built structures, always holding her up, keeping her energy going, crumbled to dust and she let the exhaustion roll over her, sinking into slumber.

He spent the first hour or so with ink on paper, sketching out little things: the cats in Karnaca's damp, dingy alleyways; hounds in the pub; the beaks of bloodflies. But then he turned the page and he began to start on Emily's structure; the line of her jaw, the bow to her lips -- his attention to every intimate detail was unparalleled. He wished he had paints, a soft frown washing over him as he imagined the flecks of gold in her irises, the hues of pink playing across her tanned cheeks, the furrow of her bold, sharp brows.

He set it to the side when his head began to buzz. He needed to lay back on the brandy but the taste brought a certain bittersweet nostalgia that he inexplicably clung to. He needed air. He stood, perhaps a bit wobbly as he made his way out of the safe room back door, into the cluttered hallway, and finally onto one of the two symmetrical balconies overlooking the main street. The stars above blinked in and out like dots on a black canvas, clouds lingering a little ways off, signaling a coming storm.

He took a deep breath and leaned against the edge, hands gripping the stone loosely as he mumbled the words of a whaler's song under his raspy breath, letting his thoughts drift off, not realizing that he was most definitely just a tad bit out of radius.

Emily’s dreams had taken a turn. Or rather, she’d begun to dream.

It started in her throat, it always did: black claws crawling into her mouth, forcing their way down her throat, pumping her lungs full of smoke until she felt they might burst, ribs aching and cracking. From there it spread like disease, poisoning her blood. She felt the stab in her sternum as Daud’s blade pierced her as it had her mother -- a throwback from her old nightmares, made fresh by the way the blade curved out of her on the other side, wrapping around her, wrenching her open inch by excruciating inch, pulling skin tighter and tighter until it burned and split.

The Void seeped into her dreams with abandon - not just her dreams, but her whole body - reveling in its invasion.

If she'd been awake she would've grit her teeth and borne the pain. In her sleep, she whimpered.

Screams, echoes, shrieks, the screech of metal on metal as it grated on itself -- she felt her ears bleed black tar. And she sank, limbs weighed down like lead. She tried to free them, but her wrists stretched like dough, longer and longer, without her hands moving at all -- useless, just tangling around her, a sea of useless excess flesh that piled up around her, burying her, suffocating her. Her hips and legs became stone, trapping her inside, immobile, before chipping and flaking like shale, falling away like brittle bones as she withered and wasted away, each chip a chunk of flesh. Eyes bled black, trailing down her face, eating away at her skin, slicing fine stinging cuts into her neck, then her shoulders, her chest, until all of her burned and stung and itched like mad, invisible lacerations flaying her skin.

And her throat. Always her throat. She couldn’t breathe, she could never breathe -- now the tears of bile that filled her mouth hardened into small marbles, jarring her teeth, choking her as they slipped down her throat to sit like stones in her belly. No, not stones, eggs. Bloodfly larvae, making a home in her gut, their wings beating at her insides, burrowing out through her skin, making a hive of her body, or tunneling back up her throat again, papery wings tangible in her mouth, her teeth chattering in fear crunching on the exoskeletons and molted shells that seemed to endlessly pour from her lips. She would scream if she could, but she had no breath, and her mouth was full, overflowing with one horror or another, until choking on her own blood was the best possible option.

She woke with a start, hands flying to her arms, her chest, feeling holes where there were none, fingers briefly touching gore, stabbing her own viscera, before she realized it wasn’t real.

It felt so real.

She’d been so sure it was real.

Liquid slid down her cheeks and she wiped it away angrily, before looking back at her hand with shock. But no, it wasn’t black, she must have just imagined it, just clear -- just tears. She preferred tears.

Her vision swam with black fog, and she sat up, backing herself against the headboard until her head rested on the wall itself. She wrapped her shaking arms around legs that tremored violently. More tears.

She'd thought it was over.

She’d been so hopeful, so happy, so sure it had been over. She’d found the solution, she knew-

Emily slammed her head back against the wall behind her, the sharp pain in the real world cutting through the phantom sensations of the Void’s dreams. It made her dizzy, but at least it made her present.

The images from her dreams flashed before her eyes, back to just images, the sensations and then the details already slipping away. That was how it worked, the Void. Removing the memories so she could start it all over again another night. Why come up with new terrors when it could just stab her time and time again with-

No, it was gone. Just a lingering throb in her chest, a phantom pain.

He hadn't noticed it at first, senses dulled with faint intoxication, but his words fell short and his gaze wandered behind him as something stirred at his core. He felt it, a distraught something, his stomach churning faintly. He stepped back through the hall, returning to the safe room, feeling heavier than usual, a dull ache ringing in his temples. Maybe he would lay off of alcohol completely for a long while.

Dunwall was quiet at night, especially when you were rooming in the tower safe room, where noise didn't get in, or escape. But he heard it, the thud, a soft rustling from the room above -- breathing? He couldn't tell. But he felt wrong. He felt something weighing on his shoulders and the more he stood there wondering what the hells was wrong the heavier it got.

So he figured it was worth it to at least check. He clung to the rail, pushing himself up and even setting his hand on the wall as he felt himself get drowsier. Stairs never felt so difficult until now.

Once he'd finally reached the door, cracked open with a slight breeze brushing through, he peeked into the room. "... Emily?" he called out, not loudly, but within hearing range he hoped. He couldn't see her very well, his eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness of the room.

She felt his approach like a warm blanket for the frostbite left in the wake of the Void: kind enough, but a bit too little too late. She held her breath as he spoke her name, pushing down the angry sobs that burned in her. Her shoulders spasmed violently, unable to stop, but she stayed quiet. Her fingernails - still gloved, always gloved - dug into opposite wrists, holding herself together. She was trembling, and she hated it. She hated all of it. All the turmoil inside her, the fear, the anger, the complete and utter hopeless emptiness that echoed endlessly in every crevice of her being.

The Void was ravenous, and it had devoured her. Again.

And if she fell asleep again? What nameless torture would she be subjected to then?

She ducked her head, tucking her face into the cradle of her arms, teeth clamping down on trembling lips until blood filled her mouth. The sting was good. The pain was good. It gave her something to focus on.

Oliver stared for several moments, trying to gather what exactly had happened, but he was piecing the puzzle together rather quickly, especially considering he'd had about roughly four thousand years to work on his deductive skills. He stepped in and settled on the side of her bed. "... I am at fault," he spoke suddenly, his voice quieter than usual, mostly in his attempt to keep anyone from overhearing... Particularly a certain royal protector.

"I knew not the extent to which the kiss might harm you. Over and over I may say that. Though words are meaningless now, even as I string together a tapestry of apologies, even as I sit here and ponder all of the ways I could have not given in to temptation, how much happier you'd be now, without such a burden on your shoulders. I consider the way the Void felt as it stirred within me, torturing me, every moment was a blur, living in a perpetual state of drowning. Existing, but outside of time, seeing what was and what was not. I can offer you my tapestry, Emily, regardless of whether or not you take it. It would change nothing, it would not reverse what I have done. But instead of an apology I can, in place, make a promise. I will make it better." He nodded and glanced at her. "This won’t happen again, I'll be careful. I'll be considerate, I'll be patient. I promise you that," he said firmly, setting a hand over hers carefully.

She tried to keep her breathing even. Her inhales shook madly and she held them, as long as she could, before letting out trembling breaths. His words did comfort her. They hurt her, in a way, too; blaming herself just as much, and feeling sorry for him as well, only looking for a respite from the very pain she’d just been experiencing.

Emily had needed his promise, though she hadn’t realized it until it was given. She’d still been scared, part of her, that he would run. They didn’t know how to communicate with him. It wouldn’t be out of the question for him to just leave. Not particularly wise, but possible.

His hand on hers made her heart stop for the briefest moment. It was like dipping her hand in fresh sun-warmed water. So much more than his mere presence. It burned a tiny hole through the darkness surrounding her. She needed to keep that light. It was magic. It was ethereal and beautiful, and the relief of it caused a new rush of tears. But she needed more.

With a hard, sharp swallow, Emily cursed propriety, cursed her nerves, and lunged for him. She wrapped her arms around him, dragging herself into his lap, ducking her chin and resting her forehead against his chest, breathing deep, still shaking. Her fingers clenched fists in his clothes, desperately hanging onto him.

It was the best decision she’d ever made. It was as though she’d wrapped herself around a floodlight. Remnants of the Void bubbled off of her and disappeared into the night. She tried to hold it in, but she felt the cry of relief escape even as she fought to choke it back. The most noise she’d ever made during these nights, and it was almost silent. More blood in her mouth as she bit her lip again, holding back sobs. She hated being weak like this. Hated it. But she needed him. She needed him for these moments, when she was broken, to help hold her together. She was splinters and he was glue and if she held them together long enough, tight enough, she’d be whole again.

In that moment he thought of all of the times he could have looked away. All of the times he could have let her suffer. But he didn't. He had always wondered what it was back then, that drew him towards her. It had never been romantic, nor sexual, mostly because those were two complicated things he could never think to understand in his dulled, torturous existence. Perhaps it was familiarity; he understood her situation far too well and that human bit of him that he struggled to maintain reached out desperately to guide her, to lead her away from the exploitation. To preserve her childish innocence. That purity was begrudgingly taken away the moment she watched her mother die, so it couldn't have been that. He closed his eyes and focused on her warmth, trying not to think too much about it.

Thinking about things, what a dangerous pastime.

What he felt in the moment was not the tension from before, it was not primal lust, nor any perverse minded inclination. It was acceptance, it was contentment, satisfaction, among several other things. It was really something, to be needed -- he just hoped he was wanted.

His fingers stroked down the line of her back and rested there. He dragged them up and down in some attempt to soothe her, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, speaking no words for once, because he had none, he only had himself, hoping that would be good enough.

The scent of spices lingered on him mixed with the odd wildflowers that intermingled with his natural scent. He'd been drinking, and that was obvious by his breath. After several moments a noise rumbled from his chest, a hum, tunes of baritone escaping his slightly parted lips. The song he couldn't get out of his head. It was slowly paced, bittersweet. It was the only thing he could think to do in the moment. Void, he could hardly think at all.

It felt like hours she spent swallowing cries, even as a near constant stream of tears fell from her eyes. She hated tears. She hated crying. She cried in complete silence, every breath held til her throat burned and her chest might burst, hiding her shame, her weakness. She still shook.

Hands that had been wrapped around his back pulled inward as her whole body curled up, becoming small. She grabbed at the front of his shirt instead, nuzzling into him again, until his scent filled her lungs. He smelled beautiful. Not just pleasant, actually beautiful -- she could see the colors of every note of his scent.

Silent hiccups wracked her body. His hands on her back soothed her, melting away the tremors of horror that had shaken her so thoroughly as to give her a headache.

His silence was perfect. If he had spoken she would have needed to acknowledge her cries, her fears, would’ve needed to define what exactly was happening between them. His silence, like hers, let her pretend it wasn’t happening.

As his lips pressed gently against the crown of her head, she shifted again, pressing her body into him, bare skin against the fabric of his clothes. Her movements were lessening, silent sobs reduced to the occasional shiver. Her ear pressed to his chest as he hummed, sucking her wounded lip nervously, the last flow of the blood already stemmed, though it still remained swollen.

Another moment. And another.

The tension in her body gradually eased, leaving her exhausted again, eyes heavy and limbs loose and leaden. She found it hard to open her eyes, and not just from their puffy bloodshot state. She was so tired. So very tired.

For once he didn't care that his shirt would be wrinkled, that his hair might be disheveled. He rocked her back and forth at a slow pace, going quiet as he suddenly pulled her back, movements careful but swift. He laid her down and found that she wasn't very heavy at all, her lithe figure curled against his as he held her still, now laid beside her sprawled along the length of the bed. She needed to sleep. He also perhaps needed to sleep. It had been a few days.

His head was aching still.

He kept his eyes closed, reaching up to run a hand through her hair as he'd been dreaming to do in these past few months. It was as soft as he remembered, softer even, now that his senses were mostly back in order. But his hands moved at a rhythm, some kind of beat that only he knew privately, that replayed in his head over and over, never leaving him in his day to day life. He liked to think it was the music of his existence.

Even though he would have gladly remained here with her for the rest of his life, bodies intertwined, breaths quiet and faint, hearts synced together, his exhaustion was getting the better of him. Before he could do much besides heft a blanket partway up their bodies, he'd drifted off into unconsciousness.

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