#wayward son spoilers

[makedonsgriva]

I’m like 200% certain luo binghe has no hand in huan hua palace deaths but sqq just KEEPS ON ACCUSING HIM INSTEAD OF LISTENING TO HIM FOR ONCE AND CANT THEY JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER LIKE HOLY SHIT

[captainswan618]

Ok so I just reread Carry On, and I’m (finally!) reading Wayward Son for the first time, and this might be disproven later, but so far, there have been moments in both books that have really convinced me...

“I just don’t love Simon enough. I don’t love him the right way. Maybe I don’t have that sort of love in me—maybe I’m defective.”

—Carry On

“I could have kissed her. (I still wish sometimes that I wanted to.) (That would feel like an answer to…the question of me. Then I could say, “Oh, that’s who I am. That’s why I’ve been so confused.”)

—Wayward Son

Anyway,

aroace Agatha

thank you for your time

[abzania]

Why do The Gays never talk??

Why do The Gays never talk???

[paper-beats-writers-block]

thinking about how the mage (may he rest in pain) was Simon’s father and he had a mustache meaning Simon theoretically has the potential to grow a mustache????????

[pinkestpurple]

Orym is so dean winchester coded. My god!

I have all the faith of the world in you. But i thought about kill you if i need it.

Comfort food being pie

Soldiers with a soldier father

[crookshanks23]

Season 1, Episode 48: Carry On My Wayward Son

Favorite moment: Glenn's choice

General thoughts:

Firstly, the whole mechanic with the jury is so cool. I love it. It's a shame that they rolled so poorly. What a what if. Who knows where this show would've gone if Glenn had been found not guilty. Just another way the dice tell the story they want to tell.

The courtroom "fight" is less of a fight and more of a rush to get the gavel and gavel coaster and book it. But it's still a fun combat with clever moves. And we get a two dimensional dragon out of it.

And then we get to Glenn's choice. Which is just beautiful. The cast jokes a lot about people saying that Glenn doesn't have an arc. But he changes more and sacrifices more than the other dads. They all grow in their own way, but Glenn makes a pretty lasting and important decision here. And I love it. But this poor family.

Next time... Jodie Foster.

[farawaylynn]

Actually you know what ok I had a realization and made this little connection/comparison in my head and gonna drop a bit of a controversial take here but tl;Dr is this: I hope Neil Gaiman really does know what he's doing because Rainbow Rowell didn't.

Spoilers for Good Omens 2 and Carry On series ahead.

My silly terrible brain just connected these two things together, Good Omens 2 and Simon Snow/Wayward Son.

What do these have in common? A LOT.

Both are sequels which were improbable and yet happened.

Both are in this weird after place where the main characters saved the day/averted end of the world and now they don't know what to do with themselves. They are slightly broken, want to fall into some routine, but they can't.

Therefore, 3, everything is a mess. A big mess. Chaos is brewing all around them from outside forces they don't understand. They don't know what to do but keep carrying on, keep moving forward.

When I first read Wayward Son I thought it was a chaotic mess. It didn't answer any of the true questions and address any real loose ends. I reread it, and thought, wait maybe, just MAYBE, it's on purpose! It's a mess on purpose and then in the next installment we'll get the real answers, SIMON WILL. FIND OUT SOMEHOW SOMEHOW HE'S ROSEBUD BOY! He'll "get his magic back", or rather, get real magic once the literal dead zone inside him heals because the ones he made do so why not in himself? He'll deal with the aftermath of The Mage's estate. ALL THE THINGS! Guess what? NONE OF THAT HAPPENED IN ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS.

All this to say, dear God, don't let me down, Neil.

[wvlfbreath]

i will never forgive supernatural for Cas and Dean. i refuse to accept it. but the rest… the rest is okay.

[sha-brytols]

spoiler free DAII party quest guide

when my friends @fadeling and @vampbeast first got into dragon age i made them a guide for which companions to bring to which quest because i'm a freak and i've played this game so many times i swear i've brought every* possible combination of party members to every quest. the purpose of this guide isn't necessarily an approval guide (though i focused more on the quest dynamics that garner approval rather than rivalry because my friends were doing friendship routes) but rather a guide to who you should take with you on which quest to maximize character content

* full disclosure when i first made this guide i hadn't yet played exiled prince because i was an xbox girlie when the game came out so sebastian's involvement is very minimal, but i Will try my best. if anyone has recommendations as far as sebastian goes feel free to comment them and I will update it with credit!

bolded means i feel like their involvement is particularly strong to the quest (whether it be for a completely different route, character development, or they're just particularly active in it)

italicized means their input is rather minimal but i still feel it's notable enough to be worth mentioning (either because it's funny, they share a reaction that's worth seeing, or there's a unique interaction between them and another npc)

non-formatted names are just my personal recs based on the quest (for example i recommended bringing merrill to a lot of elf/mage related quests regardless of whether or not she has any input on the situation)

this is all just from my personal experience. if anyone has their own recommendations feel free to let me know and i'll include it in the guide!

ACT 1

Blackpowder Promise - Fenris, Isabela

Act of Mercy - Anders

Enemies Among Us - Anders, Fenris, Bethany/Carver

Shepherding Wolves - Aveline, Bethany

Wayward Son - Varric, Merrill

Finders Keepers - Isabela, Merrill has a very humorous moment should Hawke choose to bluff

Loose Ends - Carver/Bethany

Magistrate's Orders - Fenris

The First Sacrifice - Isabela (to rack up friendship with her just say no to the quest at first and then come back to accept), Bethany and Carver have a humorous moment should Hawke proposition the prostiute

The Unbidden Rescue - Aveline

The Deep Roads Expedition - This is one of those quests where every companion has something to say, but personal favorites to bring are: Anders, Bethany/Carver, and Merrill

[neunhofferart]

Happy 1 week anniversary of Jurassic World Chaos Theory Season 2!

It's once again time for my personal curated playlist of songs I listened to while storyboarding or thinking about this season, in episode order!

Scroll down for the song to episode breakdown (a couple episodes have more than one song). Also naturally, spoilers ahoy:

Once again, some songs I feel are character specific, others can also work for multiple episodes or the season overall.

I had to open the playlist with Carry On Wayward Son after seeing we opened with a season recap (if you know you know). But also kinda fitting actually LOL

Mansana Blues and Dioungo are songs from a Senegalese/blues fusion album I discovered and I honestly recommend the entire album, it's fantastic (It's just called Mansana Blues)

A Forest is actually a song I almost included in my season 1 playlist, but I just couldn't find a place where it flowed with the other songs (without giving some episodes like 3 different songs) so I moved it here instead haha

Pretty Lies :)

I listened to the Starcrawler cover of Pet Semetary on loop so much while thinking about Brooklynn

Burning Down the House was actually temp music that used to play in the scene with the DLN where Brooklynn is talking to Ronnie in the car

Her Red Right Hand :)

I think I listened to Body a million times on loop while working on the hippo vs. sucho episode and thinking about Kenji

I also switched back and forth a lot between the Reanimator Theme (Dr. Sarr haha), Fiction (poor Kenji and Darius), and Inferno Galore while working on 19- there was always definite tone shift when they get down into the lab in my mind

Numb - saved the best Brooklynn song this season for last

Overall my favorite songs on this list are Pet Semetary, Body, Numb, Pretty Lies, and Red Right Hand.

[starlicca]

(Wayward Son spoilers – Rainbow Rowell and please don’t tell me the ending)

GUYS I WAS READING WAYWARD SON AND I'M AT THE PART WHERE AGATHA DISCUSSES WITH BRADEN ABOUT HIM KNOWING SHE'S A WITCH AND I THINK SHEPARD IS WANTING TO KNOW ABOUT WIZARDS (he is questioning Penny and Baz about it) JUST TO TELL THE TRUTH TO THE VAMPIRES OF LAS VEGAS

God, I think I'm going crazy

[mechazushi]

Calm Before The Storm {A Kn8 short story} [Directly inspired by Ch. 117] soooooo...spoilers

Kneeling on a pillow before a low peach wood desk, settled a man. A powerful man with a powerful presence, having long hair and dressed in dark purple robes with woven black silk and kaiju armor, fitting for a high ranking kaiju killer. He continued to write, unbothered by the audience before him. Standing at attention beside the official was a soldier in full regalia, his face obscured into anonymity.

"If that is everything, then everyone is dismised." Soshiro Hoshina, leader of the Hoshina clan, commanded to the squad leaders he had summoned to his personal office.

While the rest had bowed graciously and filed out in-sync, one had decidedly stayed behind against orders. Konomi Okonogi, an lower ranked advisor to the clan had stood unshaken before the forth son of the Hoshinas. She was waiting quietly for him to acknowledge her on his own. A small moment passed, filled with the quiet swishing and slicing of a stiff brush gliding over paper. The soldier, noticing that the advisor hadn't left had also noticed his commander refusing to acknowledge the wayward interloper. The soldier let out a muffled cough as a cover for him to disguise a nudge to his higher officer with his foot. Being jarred from his concentration on official paperwork, Soshiro finally decided to address the nosy advisor in the room.

"Is there something to be left said, Miss Okonogi? As you can see, everyone else had left."

"Yes, there is." The locally stationed advisor stated, "It's about your continued decision to employ someone with... lackluster talents as your personal guard. Your family remains ever concern about such choices."

"And they will continue to worry as they are prone to do so as blood relatives." Hoshina finally looked up from his work and looked at the advisor fully, "They may question it all they like, but it will not change the fact that I have made it." He looked back down dismissively to begin again on his paperwork.

"Since the fourth son of a somewhat prominent family is not in that high of demand, my guard's skills are sufficient enough for his task which, need I remind you, is escorting me across town to my family's manor and back. Nothing more." He resumed the meditative writing as a way of making his point clear and matter resolved.

Okonogi sniffed stiffly as she took the transgression silently. She bowed nonetheless and shuffled herself out the office door. After closing it behind her, the soldier let out a low sigh of relief. Hoshina chuckled to himself, somehow finding all of it funny.

"Ya know, for a group of people ya hardly see, they sure like to press on personal matters." The soldier finally spoke when he felt the sudden tension leave his shoulders.

"They're not pressing the matter, she is." Soshiro sighed as he started the process of cleaning up his brush, "She's being paid to question any decision I make that doesn't sound like any my family would make themselves." Hanging the brush on a rack and shuffling some items on his desk around for cleanliness sake, the commander eventually lifted himself from his kneeling position and let out a long and low groan as he stretched, satisfied.

"Come along, darling. After leading training and all of that paperwork, I feel a deep need for a cleansing." Soshiro said as he slid his hands into his oversized sleeves.

"I've told you not to call me that." The soldier's warning was muffled through the clay face mask he wore.

"Oh please, we're the only people on his side of the manor now. And in a few minutes, I get to call you whatever I want." Hoshina retaliated with a hint of joy undercutting the mocking statement.

The two of them filed out of the small office, the commander in front and his loyal body guard never far behind. It was well past sunset and the sky made it clear it was reaching late dusk. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the paper doors that lined the long hallway to the natural hot spring located on premises. Once they entered the outdoor bath and had closed the door, making sure it couldn't be opened easily, only then did the energy in the air begin to waver. It changed from official and stale, to feeling charged, almost teetering on playful or mischievous.

Soshiro found a lit candle on a nearby stool and followed his guard as they walked the stone path that lined the edge of the spring. Kafka did his part of unhooking metal lanterns that hung from tall wooden post high in the air and brought them down to chest level for Soshiro to light them. After making certain that any night breeze wouldn't extinguish the little flame easily, did Kafka hang the lantern back up and move on. They made a full lap around the spring and walked back to the front of the bath. Soshiro tugged on one end of a strip of leather that held back most of the glossy locks that draped from his regal head and sighed as its weight shifted.

"Well, are you going to help me or not?" The commander tittered playfully as he stoked his hair over his shoulder. He watched his soldier tug at the strings holding his face mask in place. A hand came up to rub away the thin sheen of sweat that had built up under it as the other placed the mask on a table.

"One of these days' we're gonna get caught because of your impatience" The soldier said as he made himself see clearly again.

Dropping the mask revealed the man underneath to be Kafka Hibino, once a lowly foot soldier in the Monkey squad, now currently having the coveted position of being Soshiro Hoshina's personal escort and body guard. A position he wasn't aiming for, but with how his relationship with the fourth son of the Hoshina's was going, it wasn't one he minded terribly. While it was blatant favoritism that earned him the position, it was clear to the both of them that it could never be trusted to anyone else. He began to walk over to where Soshiro was waiting patiently to have help removing the heavy Kaiju-leather plates that make up a hunter's armor.

"If you keep talking about it, eventually you'll make it so. I almost wonder if you want it to happen." Soshiro sang with a honeyed tone.

"It will happen if you don't fix the problem of not being able to keep your hands to yourself." Kafka stated as he began to mess with the ties holding the pauldrons to his shoulders. He smirked as he chuckled in his mind, thinking about all the times he had to stop his commander from launching himself across tables at people, from starting duels in the street, or making sure he didn't get caught with his hand snaking their way onto his body guard's... person.

"I haven't ever heard you complain about it before." His commander said with mock admonishment. He held onto the discarded pauldrons as Kafka began to work on the belts holding the chest piece in place. "Maybe it just means we're both rotten to the core." Hoshina continued to tease as he leaned back closer to Kafka's chest.

"It's not hard to be influenced by you when you make yourself so inviting." Kafka hummed as he leaned in closer to Soshiro's ear, "I just consider myself lucky that I'm the only one my commander had decided to make himself a completely vulnerable fool in front of." He whispered as his hands traveled southward, past the belt that held up the lower portion of armor and unexpectedly squeezed his partner's upper thigh.

Soshiro jabbed him with his elbow in retaliation, causing the two of them to giggle and make Kafka lose his grip on the belt. He finished with his task and helped remove the chest plate afterward. Once he gathered all the removed armor and set them on the table, did he offer himself up to his commander for the same courtesy. Kafka let him pull at the strings holding his helmet in place, the both of them knowing full well that he could do it himself. They knew as well that Soshiro liked the opportunity to hold his lover's face in his hands.

After taking off the helmet, Kafka took it out of Soshiro's hands so his could be free to caress his. A face marked with long healed scars and patchy scruff, it was a face he found only his commander seemed to truly love. Fingertips traced the edges of its rough details while eyes drank in its softer ones. The small maze of wrinkles that lined his lips and brow, those gem-like blue-green eyes that could melt snow capped mountains or freeze them solid, and that warmth of a good soul that seemed to seep from every piece of contact his lover's hands could make on his face. These details were expressed to him, time and time again, but he never believed them until he heard it straight from his commander's honest lips.

One hand removed itself from the helmet it was holding so it could trap Hoshina's and bring it closer to his lips, allowing a moment where Kafka could drink in the other's essence as well. Savoring the cool skin on his and smelling the ink and leather oil sunk deep into Soshiro's natural perfume, permanently etching his presence onto the ridges of Kafka's mind. He sniffed and sighed and kissed it lightly before he let it go. Kafka liked to watch intently as those same hands roamed his body, giving him the same care and attention to his armor that he gave to his commander. It wasn't long before he was stripped of his armor as well. He took it from Soshiro as laid it to rest next to the other pile on the table.

Hoshina began to busy himself with removing the cloth robes that remained, not giving them any loving courtesy like the armor was given. They were quickly shed onto the stones before Soshiro stepped foot into the searing warmth of the spring water. Dunking his head in, he resurfaced swiftly and smoothed away some errant strands of hair from his vision. He began to tug on the last of the leather strip that held the rest of his hair back as he watched Kafka from the borders of the spring. As it all fell down heavily, Soshiro busied his hands with sweeping it behind his shoulders while he continued to rudely gawk at his partner undressing.

He had seen that man naked more times than he had seen himself, and he never tired from the view. Strong muscle wrapped and coiled around the soldier's arms while his torso held a softer image. Hoshina knew better than to doubt that rounded appearance, having seen and certainly felt what that upper body was capable of. His tongue darted out and swiped across his lips in reaction to seeing the top shirt being removed fully and folded onto the table. He moved closer to the rounded stone skirting of the small pool and saddled up to the edge in quiet anticipation. As Kafka's hands reached to waist of his pants, they stilled as he developed the familiar sensation of being watched.

"Do you really have to stare at me every time I undress?" Kafka called back, not bothering to turn around to confirm his suspicions.

"Do you have to act like a bashful maiden every time I do?" Soshiro teased as he stayed rooted to his spot.

Hoshina found himself biting his lip as Kafka just sighed and removed the rest of his clothing. He moved out of the way as Kafka strode over and began to act as if he was about to enter the pool, only to sweep the discarded robes off the floor and smirked coyly at Soshiro as he walked away with them

"I don't know why it bothers you so much. It's not like I haven't had you under me or anything." Soshiro teased back as he watched Kafka continue to put away the discarded attire.

"You start up that kind of attitude this early and I'm leaving." Kafka grumbled as his cheeks flushed bright red.

"If you're not in the mood, just say so." His commander pouted as he turned away from him in slacking scorn.

"Only because I'd like a chance to actually relax first." Kafka said with easy-going indignance. He returned to the pool holding the jade comb they used whenever they came to the spring together. Soshiro scoffed, but shifted himself into position anyway as his partner carefully splashed his way in.

"It would work that way as well. Hell's, I'd like to think that you would end up more relaxed by the time I was done." he joked as he leaned back into Kafka's awaiting lap, propping himself up between his knees.

"You're incorrigible." Kafka sighed as he shook his head.

He spent the passing time slowly raking the comb through the long silken strands of Soshiro's hair, taking care to brush slowly and chip away at any knots going from bottom to top. After making sure it was free of tangles, did he take more of their time combing through it all in long passes, just to savor the feeling. Soshiro reveled in the attention, never not once hating the feeling of being attended to like this. Sure, he had servants help him dress in the morning and even do his hair, but none of it felt the same as when it was done by someone he loved. Every few passes of the comb, he would feel short nails caress and scritch as his scalp, removing an itch that he didn't realize was even there. On windless nights, Soshiro could hear a deep, reverberating hum from the depths of Kafka's chest, usually a marching chant or a drinking hymn. The repeated, loving motions, the all-encompassing blanket of warmth, paired with the harmony of the wind and leaves matching the water and waves lapping at the stone beat for beat. Hoshina would willingly go penny-less and destitute, sick and infirm, if it meant he got to keep these moments forever.

Deep in the cavern of his blissfully silent mind, it took a while for Soshiro to notice that Kafka had stopped brushing and took up plaiting the infinite length. To be honest, he wasn't a fan of it. Leaving in the braid too long usually bent it into weak crimps and he could already hear the judging murmurs of his servants who had to deal with it in the morning. He was aware that Kafka was just the type of person who always felt the need to keep his hands busy. A trait that benefited him when it came to squad relations. Rarely was there ever an idle task when Kafka was released from his body guard duties. It was just how he spent his time relaxing, but did Kafka really have to take it out on his hair?

"You're doing it again." Soshiro muttered lazily, not bothering to stop his lover.

"I know." Kafka responded simply, the smile unmistakable in his soft voice.

"You know everyone hates it when you do that." The commander sighed. He heard a puffy chuckle before Kafka responded.

"Do you know why I do it anyway?" he said as he held his hand out for the leather hair tie.

"Mmm... Humor me." Soshiro softly moaned and he began to feel those gentle hands move again.

"Because no one knows it's me." He whispered, "Because it makes your hair do a fun little dance for me as I follow you around. It's something I do to you that lets me remember that I'm yours." He finished curling the long braid around itself into a snug bun and cinched it up with the leather cord

"And you're mine." Kafka tacked on tenderly, along with a quick peck to an unsuspecting commander's forehead.

"Well then... I guess I can't bring myself to hate it as well." Soshiro declared as he lifted himself to a higher sitting position.

"Especially after hearing something so sweet." He scooted himself more fully into Kafka's lap and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

Their lips touched and moved languidly against each other. No need to rush or to stop was felt when they started, and there wouldn't be for the rest of all their night together. Such was the case when two lovers fell into a wanting dance. Kafka softly sighed as his partner's hand tugged at the hairs of his nape and soothingly massaged the back of his neck. Soshiro beamed as he felt his soldier's sharp teeth and pointed canines pull teasingly at his lower lip, causing a breathy giggle. Hibino broke away from the dance first, deciding to slowly lavish a trail of wet kissed down the taut plains of Hoshina's neck. He tasted the sulfur of the water and the salt of the sweat as he savored the journey to the hard edges of his bath-mate's bare shoulder.

It was there that Kafka decided to stop his conquest and inhale his lover's scent once again. Breathing deep and slow, he made his mind expand and bask in all that he could feel, all he could sense. His arms unconsciously tightened around Soshiro's waist as a wisp of melancholy seeped into his heart. His nose nuzzling its way back up the path he made on the neck felt very much different from the moments they were making before. Hoshina dug deep into his will to separate their chests from each other so he could look his love in the eyes. He felt his smile carry a hint of the melancholy that had seemed to enter Kafka's heart as well as invaded the sanctity of his expressive face. A hand traveled from Kafka's broad chest to tease the corner of his lips into a happier expression.

"Your mind is very loud again. It's practically coming out of your eyes." Soshiro huffed quietly as he continued to watch the other's face shift through different shades of the same emotion.

"It's just... this... the world... something's been feeling off lately. Like this isn't going to last forever." Kafka's voice rumbled with the weight that he had been feeling on his shoulders.

"You're manifesting again." Soshiro called back, thinking a joke would help lighten the mood.

"It doesn't feel like that. More so like a... premonition. A gut feeling that's arrived and hasn't left." Kafka brought his face closer, rubbing his nose against Soshiro's and sought comfort and warmth in their closeness, "I keep waking up in the morning, thinking that it's going to be the last time I get to see you. It scares me."

"I would rather be stabbed through the heart before I let things stay that way between us." His lover affirmed solidly as he brought both of his hands to cage Kafka's face, "This isn't coming from what Miss Okonogi said earlier about my family, is it?"

"I wish its origins were that simple. I've had this feeling for a while now." Kafka's gaze softened even more as he basked in their continued embrace.

"If that feeling gets worse, I want you to remind yourself of one thing." Soshiro spoke softly, treating each word like a fragile feather.

"And what's that?" Kafka whispered back, a flicker of hope sparkling in the shape of his lips twitching into a smile.

"No matter what comes, no matter what happens, may it be something trivial, or the ending of the world, I will be yours." Soshiro placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of Kafka's nose as he continued to promise, "And I will find you no matter where, no matter when, and tell you that, over and over again. In as many different ways as needed until you never feel like this again."

They continued to indulge in each other's comforting presence until their tired minds couldn't take being awake anymore. Even as Kafka felt his mind be overtaken with the inescapable need for sleep, his mind echoed his partner's sentiment over and over again. He knew those words were true, and knew better than to doubt a promise from his commander and lover, but it affected little to the growing fear that leeched onto the fibers of his emotions. One thing he said did seep in however. He knew, really and truly knew, that they would find each other. Again and again.

No matter what.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #6: Promise

Prompt: halcyon || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers for Dawntrail.

---

There are days when Gulool Ja Ja misses when his children were small, precocious things.

Zoraal Ja had had a solemnity about him from a young age, even then the pressure of the court’s expectations hanging heavy on the shoulders of the son of Blessing Siblings. But he had still smiled, rare, precious things, every small tilt of his lips and crinkling of his eyes a treasure to Gulool Ja Ja, as he treasured, too, the little trinkets Zoraal Ja brought back for him from his adventures. His eldest thrived most in the training arena and both Resolve had delighted in teaching Zoraal Ja to wield twin blades, gently guiding him through his first practice motions with wooden practice swords as a hatchling, sparring with him as a stripling when he was finally old enough for live steel. Zoraal Ja had beamed with pride in those days with every word of praise from Resolve or Reason or every congratulatory pat on the head or shoulder.

But despite Gulool Ja Ja’s love, and praise, and the assurances that Zoraal Ja needed to be nothing save himself, the expectations continued to pile on his son’s shoulders, that he needed to be more.

Those had been the days where Tural had been as newborn as Zoraal Ja, too, and Gulool Ja Ja regrets the time taken away from his son that being Dawnservant demanded. Now Zoraal Ja is a young man whose smiles had long since vanished and whose compassion had seemingly withered away, and Gulool Ja Ja can only hope the reserved but happy little boy, the one who had proudly handed him a rock shaped like a wivre, still lives within him.

Koana had also been a reserved little boy, almost painfully shy when he first came home to the palace. He had been Gulool Ja Ja’s faithful shadow, the unspoken fear that he would be left behind once more lurking in his big purple eyes. Teaching him to read and write had seen Koana begin to blossom, however, and Reason had never hesitated to reach for a scroll or book just out of range of the little boy’s chubby arms or answer any question Koana had about what he had read or learned from a tutor or heard around the palace. Always Koana had questions—though never about his people among the Hhetsarro.

It wasn’t until even Reason struggled to keep with Koana’s voracious appetite for learning that Gulool Ja Ja was faced with the knowledge he would need to let his son leave the nest in order for him to thrive. Resolve had fretted, and Reason had soothed, and he had sent many a letter to his old friend Galuf to assess the Studium as an adequate institution for his brilliant boy. But he had seen Koana off to Sharlayan at the docks with pride and an enthusiastic wave and known he would be fine.

His son had brought home many wondrous things to improve Tural, and Gulool Ja Ja is as awed as any of his people by dirigibles and steam engines. Koana had gained confidence in his time away, but Gulool Ja Ja worries his son was blinded by the newness of technological and magical wonders and had lost sight of the brilliance Tural’s own people, that he had not done enough to impart the belief that the past still has wisdom aplenty to guide the present into the future.

Wuk Lamat—his sweet, big-hearted Lamaty’i—had come to be his daughter in secret sorrow, entrusted to him by an old friend. And even as a full grown woman, he would never forget how small she had been as a kitten, nestled in the palm of his hand. She had been such a happy child, and that happiness had followed her into adulthood. Rambunctious, energetic, the terror of the palace; if it hadn’t been himself chasing after his wayward daughter through the halls as she shrieked with laughter, it had been Namikka. Lamaty’i had been a bright ball of sunshine, dragging her older brothers and Cahcuia’s quiet little boy into her games whenever she could.

She had taken to the axe with an enthusiasm that had almost made him leery. But for all her talent and hard work in the training yards, Lamaty’i did not rise to the same level of martial prowess as Zoraal Ja. She made friends easily, effortlessly charming many of the people she met, and she knew the names and families and histories of many of the citizens in Tuliyollal. But empathy and a willingness to listen paled before the intellectual brilliance of Koana.

Gulool Ja Ja should not have been so protective a father with his daughter, should have encouraged her to explore the wilds of their beautiful nation rather than keep her sheltered within the safety of Tuliyollal’s walls. Lamaty’i needs confidence and worldliness still, a deeper understanding of why the elders she listens to so love the Tural of today, of what Tural means.

Gulool Ja Ja misses being able to carry his children in his arms as if they were but little quetzals perched on his shoulders. But the future looms ever closer; age nips at his heels, and as Reason fades and fights with every part of his will to stay with his brother for just one more day, he knows he cannot hold onto the image of his sons and daughter as little innocents. And so he writes to his friends and their own children in Wachenpelo, and Ok’hanu, and Earthenshire, and Iq Br’aax, and Mamook, crafting a Rite to not just test his children—and whomever wins the contest he has planned—but to teach them. To guide them. To mold them.

Gulool Ja Ja is a father, but he is also a ruler, imperfect at both, and he cannot let down the people of Tural anymore than he can his children.

The Dawnservant’s children are called the Promises for a reason. The Promises for an ever better and brighter future.

(But that does not mean, late at night, hunched over the enormous desk in his office, as Reason fights growing weariness and Resolve shifts the stylus from his left hand to his right and moves the lamp closer to his side, that Gulool Ja Ja doesn’t wish he had a tiny, sleeping Lamaty’i  squished into his chair next to him on one side, Koana on the other with a book in his small hands, and Zoraal Ja leaning against his shins while tending to his new blades.)

[marchyfrommars]

Supernatural (2005-2020)

The Winchester Brothers’ Never-Ending Road Trip

So, you’ve heard about Supernatural, huh? The show that ran for 15 years, outlived several CW presidents and survived cast exhaustion. Strap in, because here’s the rundown of this legendary rollercoaster of a series.

Plot? Who Needs Plot When You’ve Got… More Plot. The premise is simple: Two ridiculously attractive brothers, Sam (Hair Goals) Winchester and Dean (I Eat Pie Like It’s My Job) Winchester, drive around in a sweet 1967 Chevy Impala hunting ghosts, demons, and things that go bump in the night. Sounds straightforward, right? Oh, you sweet summer child. By Season 15, they’re fighting God. Yes, the capital-G guy upstairs. And it totally makes sense… somehow.

The Bromance: Sam and Dean’s relationship is the emotional core of the show. One minute, they’re yelling, “You lied to me!” The next, they’re hugging and dramatically saying, “We’re all we’ve got.” Family therapy, who?

Monsters Galore: If it exists in folklore, Supernatural has hunted it. Vampires? Yep. Werewolves? Sure. Killer clowns? Obviously. That creepy thing you thought lived under your bed as a kid? Oh, that was definitely a Supernatural episode.

Humor That Slaps: The show knows it’s ridiculous and leans into it. Highlights include: Dean thinking he’s a literal dog for an episode. ("Look at my face. Do I look like I’m joking?"). A black-and-white monster movie tribute complete with campy Dracula. Sam getting possessed by a demon and going on a coffee bender (no one has ever looked happier about caffeine).

Guest Stars from Heaven (and Hell): Castiel, the socially awkward angel who doesn’t understand personal space, steals every scene he’s in(and we LOVE him). Crowley, the snarky demon king, delivers sass like he’s on a Bravo reality show. And let’s not forget Bobby Singer, the grumpy surrogate dad who made “Idjits” an iconic insult.

Fake Deaths Galore: If you got a dollar every time a Winchester died and came back, you’d have enough cash to buy your own haunted mansion. Death is basically their vacation spot.

The Apocalypse, Again?: By the time the third apocalypse rolls around, you’re like, “Can someone else save the world for once? The Avengers, maybe?”

Overtime Issues: Around Season 11, you might feel like the writers are spinning a roulette wheel labeled “Heaven,” “Hell,” and “Another Monster with Daddy Issues.” But you stick around, because you’re too invested in the Impala’s gas mileage at this point.

The Legacy, fifteen years later, Supernatural left us with:

- A lifetime’s worth of classic rock songs stuck in our heads.

- Enough fan theories to fill an actual Bible.

- Destiel.

- A devoted fandom ready to argue whether Dean deserved that ending (spoiler: no pie in heaven?! Blasphemy!).

It’s not perfect—plot holes so big you could drive Baby through them—but it’s heartfelt, funny, and ridiculously addictive. Watching Supernatural is like hanging out with chaotic friends who always have a crazy story: you roll your eyes at their antics but wouldn’t miss it for the world.

And since it is my favourite series, of course I would recommend. But remember, when someone says, “It’s just one more episode,” they’re lying. You’ll be watching until you’re humming "Carry On Wayward Son" in your sleep.

The fullest Full Moon you’ll ever see 5/5 🌕

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

hello! for thedasweekend, how about "it's who we are." for Siobhan/Emmrich?

Thank you for your prompt @raptortier for the @thedasweekend !

I listened to the whole song before writing this and I have read so many different ways to analyse it, so I feel like I have derailed a little bit. But it fits so well with Emmrichs fears about romance and mortality and the emmrook romance in general. This is set right before Tearstone Island, so please beware the spoilers.

Please note that this has angst, mentions of mortality, death, and organs, a short description of a possible death situation, Hurt/no comfort, age gap.

Give the song a listen if you want to :

Death has followed Emmrich steps since he was a child. He thought it to be beckoning, laughing, mocking at first with how frightening it felt to him in the most darkest of hours.

Later in life, even as the fear stubbornly refused to live in his insides, he realized that death can be silent and solemn too. Gentle as a breath or as unyielding as a giants wrath. It cares not about your status or standing. It is natural and final, as everyone bows to death as its master.

Except for the Lich Lords of the Necropolis.

Soon his goal had been clear: Transcend beyond the veil of death and guard the living in its shadow. Never fear mortality again. Forever.

It had become his focus point, giving him direction when he felt lost. Alone he had walked the path. Until Manfred came along, a cheerful companion for the most rotten of hours.

Unexpectedly he also met her: Beautiful, strange Siobhan. Captivating him easily in just one exhilarating evening in one of Nevarras most beautiful gardens. When she was gone, sent away after the War of the Banners, as he learned later, he could not stop himself thinking of her every now and then.

When he met her again, as „Rook“ this time, he knew he wanted, no needed, to pull apart the facets of her. Unraveling her until he had her very essence in his hands. Yet he feared it.

Who was he shackle someone as young and wild to someone like him?

It took him by surprise, how effortlessly she made her way into his heart and how willing she was to let him close in return. Pulling him in until there was barely anything else he could think of. Unyielding, indomitable. She was a force to be reckoned with and he would do what was in his power to assist her, no matter what was asked.

To be close to her was mercy, yet a pain as sharp as a knife, as he yearned for her to be his.

Siobhan. He said her name like a prayer in the middle of the night. But in opposition to the gods they had to fell, she answered his pleas, coming to him; first in dreams, then in reality.

Soon they were intertwined. Her heart resting in his palm, gifted by her in one of the most divine of evenings. For safekeeping, she said. Emmrich swore he would.

Shortly after, he did unthinkable. Emmrich refused Lichdom, so Manfred could live.

Siobhan called him their son, what a beautiful yet terrifying word, a legacy beyond his death. Seeing him live was one of the greatest gifts he could have wished for.

Yet it stoked the painful horror nestled tightly beneath his heart. Without the promise of Lichdom, he would die. Before their friends, before Manfred, before Siobhan.

Life was trickling through his fingers with every passing minute and he was powerless to stop it.

He grew restless, frantic. There was no word for the terror he felt in the face of certain death. Mortality, now his final fate.

Tomorrow they would face Ghilan‘nain and Elgar‘nan. There was a high possibility that his life could end then and there.

Either through a wayward spell that fractured his bones and left him choking on blood or a blade to his soft skin, piercing his organs, cutting through arteries.

It may be different in execution, yet the result would be the same. Death.

But what if he did actually survive? Would one of his friends die? All of them? Would his darling Siobhan lose her life on the battlefield?

Or would all of them survive, a well earned victory, only for him to die years before his beloved does, leaving her shackled to a fading memory? A mourning widow at his grave, the price for his selfish wish for affection.

Emmrich took his quill and parchment like a soldier takes a sword and shield and went to battle. A will he could create, laying out his bequeathments.

And as soon as Siobhan would arrive in his room, he would offer her a way out.

Even if it meant that his heart would die, pierced by his own actions, many years before the rest of his body would.