#well its not hubris if you think too low probably

[hubristicassholefight]

Hubristic Assholes Tourney Round 1 Part 4a

Light Yagami (Death Note) vs Icarus (Greek Mythology)

Propaganda Below Cut (Beware Spoilers)

Light

Thinks he can rule the world single-handedly through fear and a magic notebook. It Does Not End Well.

He kills people for years thinking he's serving justice but really he just ends up serving himself and his ego. Gets so sure of himself that he thinks he's untouchable and that no one could possibly outsmart him (spoiler alert: someone does). Literally thinks he's a god. Spoiler: Gets killed by an actual god because said god just couldn’t be bothered to wait around for him to die anymore.

He decides he should be the God of the New World and that justifies killing whoever he likes for the 'greater good'. This eventually leads to his downfall; Light my baby my skrunkly my most awfulest man ever. If you've been on the internet for more than five minutes you probably already know why he's here but like. He is mister hubris. He is nothing but hubris. He kills people and its okay! Because he's god :) Haven't you heard :) God doesn't have to follow laws. Or rules. Or be a decent human being. And if you say he's wrong then well. You're evil! The way he thinks is so fucked up i want to put him in a jar.

mr thinks he knows everything & is better than everyone gets a magic notebook that lets him kill people from any distance as long as he knows their face and name. decides that means he's god now and kills criminals and people he decides are criminals (including people who were given verdicts of "not guilty"). when someone goes on tv and says he's evil his first instinct is to kill that person instead of, like, taking five seconds to go "is this bait?" (it was bait). he ends the series pathetic and bleeding out because it turns out god isn't immune to bullets.

Icarus

The OG

Most of you know the drill. He and his dad Daedalus get locked up for suspected conspiring against the king of Crete, but Daedalus, clever bastard that he is, builds wings for them to fly away on. Daedalus warns Icarus not to fly too high or the sun will melt his wings, and not too low or his wings will get wet from the sea mist. But Icarus gets basically caught up in an adrenaline high, and enraptured by the beauty and light of the Sun, tries to fly even higher. His wings melt and he, unfortunately, falls to his death. C'mon he's literally The Guy

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Dear Rafal:

As some spirit swans shapeshifter angel possession thingy do you create souls and ship them off to the real world?

I have a case where I know someone very well and he just seems to be very similar to you. (cough cough)

Also if Rhian was a girl (or some genderbend AU) would you let me be her gf?

Rafal: [peers down at you from the sky through slitted eyes] I'm not a "thingy" as you claim. Nor am I possessed, and if you'd like to see a man possessed, turn no further than downwards, at my aging mirror image. He's bound to die eventually and I doubt he'll be joining me. [He grins.]

As for your query, the answer is no. Not currently. When I did involve myself in... low, earthly affairs, every mortal soul I had a part in creating was apparently deficient in some way or another. Always, it was: [said in a mocking tone] this one's imbued with an excess of "spite" or "hubris," that one is just plagued with "instability," and a third was impacted by a so-called "disregard for its own species" and a "malcontent temperament"—why should I care?

Amid those general issues, the few souls of mine that had been placed in the Woods were reported to be "cursed," what we call our failed projects, those who can't descend to the Woods and live "ordinary lives." They had to be reworked by my colleagues, who discovered that many of those restless mortals held unconscious, fully-formed vendettas against pirates, Seers, and blond men. Don't ask.

All of my creations have been scrapped thus far, including a potential distant relative I devised for my Stymphs: the razor-beaked, flesh-eating sparrow. It was marvelous, and I'm sure my living students would've found it just lovely. Unfortunately, Heaven didn't approve of my vision for a new and greater Woods, which is pointless, seeing as the Blue Forest is already populated with killer, puffball rabbits. My Woods would've been built upon cautionary tales, to whittle away at the simpletons who believe that as long as they're Good, they "deserve the world" as they're constantly told. The Evers were always entitled as they always received the benefit of the doubt automatically, a privilege my Nevers will never live to get for themselves. It's why they must take what the world deprives them of, which I can understand to an extent. [resentment creeps into his voice.] After all, I nearly got what I wanted, only for it to slip through my fingers. So, instead, my Nevers are trapped with a daft leader and just languish under a losing streak, as far as I can tell.

Besides, my title isn't "guardian angel." Heaven wanted to assign me to a post as a patron of travelers and physicians, but I declined, and took up record-keeping duties since, for the time being, I don't wish to see anyone. I'm not content with menial tasks, but there haven't been any other offerings worth my time, aside from staging a coup, whether it be a coup d'état or coup de grâce for a certain someone, well... I haven't decided yet.

However, I do hope that my brother's still around when the Second Coming rolls around. I'd be all too satisfied to see the dire look on his face as he trembles when I tap him on the shoulder. Then, I'd drag him to a punishment equal to his worldly crimes in whichever circle of Hell happens to be his final destination, all while the rest of the apocalypse roars around us... Something to look forward to, I suppose. The other angels tell me not to be so sure, or that I won't want justice by that point. But however long it takes, I'll be here. Waiting for my moment in that dying sun.

[Rafal likes to think he's moved past earthly proceedings, but in reality, he's still probably bitter, begrudging, and unforgiving (so far), and would prefer to think of himself as beyond trifles like mortal lives that aren't his. He probably just needs time to settle and accept his death. Eventually, he'll reform further though, and grow into his Goodness.]

Rafal: Who is this case of yours? [You don't have to elaborate if you don't want to.]

Do whatever you'd like with Rhian. I'm not his protector any longer, and he’s more than capable of "defending" himself. Just let me take his soul once he dies, and we'll have a deal. [He extends a hand pulsing with sorcery to you to shake.] A contractually-sealed deal.

[impetusofadream]

You ever just wish you could go ACTUALLY feral and just bite people when you need to?

Yeah, I'm sure normal, happy, well-adjusted people think I'm nuts, but some people's hubris could use a little biting. Brings them back down on the level of us plebs.

Also I just feel like crap and day a bad day and its raining at 1:30am and im really fucking tired of the one thing I give a shit about (like there is a whole as degree from an overpriced university gathering dust in closet for this) also being the absolute WORST environment for people with depression and self-worth related issues/trauma.

Real talk I probably am insane for being very mentally unwell and actively asking for people to subjectively judge and evaluate me, as a person pretending to be other people, as the thing I thought I could make a career out of.

*Definitely did not used to have to go hide where I wouldn't be bothered so I could cry in peace every time I didn't get cast in something. Now there's mostly just low simmering rage at seeing the same 12 people in every show in town and a sad, quiet resignation that I really had no idea what I doing at 18 picking theater as a major. I just wanted to be happy. (Narrator's Voiceover: Unsurprisingly, this did not in fact make her happy. But part of that was probably the undiagnosed/untreated depression.)

Point being, I'm in my feelings, and they are yucky and biting someone who deserves it just sounds really satisfying right now.

...I have only just realized how this might sound. To clarify, I want to bite people the way a threatened animal does: To cause damage and make the biteé fear for their life. Not in a sexy kinky way.

Yeah I've been up too long and the nsaids for the cramps haven't kicked in yet. Please ignore.

[primalspice]

Ivy: A2, A6, A8, A10, A16, A24, B8, B13, C2, C7, D3, E4, E6, F2, F4, F9, F11, G1, G4, H1, H2, H7, I2, I6, J3, J5, J7, L1, L9

Ivy

A2: What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…

probably something like neutral good leaning towards chaotic good. somewhat more mild than her Friends but definitely more willing to lean into the unhingedness later in her life....

A6: Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

She's pretty confident in her interpretation of things in most situations but willing to politely entertain the possibility of being wrong (PERHAPS just to double up on the No, Youre Still Wrong factor. don't worry about it)

A8: Is your OC a martyr?

dont worry about it

A10: Does your OC compromise easily? Too easily?

i think she compromises an almost-healthy amount usually LOL example: not enough to not tell faust to fuck off and feel the hatred but enough to not stop speaking to him altogether. BAD example: fuck you military men you'll never take me and my office's 10 bottles of low dose painkillers alive.

A16: Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

ugh LOL i mean evidently she's learned a lot on this entire region zero experience of hers and paid with her life </3 she has a relatively good head on her shoulders and usually doesn't need to be told a lesson more than once, but she does have an excess of confidence and eagerness to do things that're out of her scope (only one way to find out if its REALLY out of her scope right?)... just her and her hubris-i-mean-humanitarianism against the world.

A24: What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it?

she struggles far more than she typically lets on. next-level homesickness, ambivalence towards faust, daily reminders of her impending failure (politically and professionally)..... all on top of the typical troubles and stresses of living in region zero LOL. she's trying her best every day but shes quite depressed.

B8: Is your OC considered funny? Do they believe they’re funny?

shes not particularly funny and doesnt believe herself to be, but i think shes the type of person who's accidentally funny and catches everyone off guard.

B13: Do they have a large or small group of friends?

i think she gets a lot of attention from her commie doctor peer circle for her Unique Perspective As An Outsider and gets approached by a lot of people, but her actual friend circle is pretty much limited to selma and leslie + maybe a few others as more distant friends. shes quite a private and introverted person on a personal level and selma and leslie are....protective LOL

C2: Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

earlier on Yes she'd feel bad, later on No. Sacrifices must be made right??? *grits teeth so hard*

C7: Do they believe people change over time? If so, is it a natural process or does it take effort? 

She believes its a process that takes effort, yes. does she think most people are willing to make that effort? well.....

D3: How comfortable are they with the idea of death?

Not particularly comfortable but i suppose she knows how to approach the topic with others considering her career. in terms of her own death i think she begrudgingly accepted somewhat early on in her time in region zero that she was going to die there (for her career basically but HOPEFULLY something bigger than that), but as conditions worsened i think that realization scared her more than anything. i think that fear made her more serious about Arming Herself despite the controversy of it all, and clearly she was not afraid to use said arm. she'd think that the way she died was really stupid and useless though. i think anyone who makes such an ordeal of going where No Canadian Has Ever Gone Before and doing What No One Would Dare To So Selflessly Do would wish for anything but such a QUIET and sudden death. well heres for hoping the other twin has some luck with that :)

E4: Did they enjoy school if they went to it?

Yea absolutely. definitely the studious type. type of person who's said shes wanted to be a doctor since she was like 10 and then actually went and did it.

E6: Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education?

Absolutely, she was more into school for the learning than the social part after all. she's a big reader and was also into research once she got into her career/later college years as well. if anything, region zero is her biggest task in self-education yet.

F2: What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

unfortunately she too preferred canada LOL she'd move back there, probably in a house somewhere near where she'd lived before either in toronto or london, maybe in a quiet suburb or somethin but not too far away from a job or other opportunities. if she could take selma nd leslie back with her she would but shes really ok with living alone too. she's not too picky about house styles, just something practical and well-kept.

F4: How clean are they overall with home upkeep?

much neater than her housemates <3 doesn't like cleaning but does it anyway. very organized tho.

F9: Are they homebodies and enjoy being home?

100%..... selma has it hard being the only true extrovert of the household </3 she goes out a healthy amount tho. to thee comrade events and such.

F11: What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most?

she hasnt had much free time in years LOL so not much. she enjoys reading, always has. enjoys.......... going to commie community activities....SOMETIMES.

G1: Is your OC close to their family?

moreso before anything went down region zero-ly but pretty close, yea. she never had any issue with anyone besides them being sad she was always so absorbed in her work LOL. nowadays i mean she has faust still but its complicated. YES he is a goddam traitor, BUT who else really understands this exact kind of misery the way he would.

G4: What kind of childhood did your OC have?

like faust's, pretty normal and happy. she was the Good Twin so she had even less issue than he did LOL not as many friends but always relatively well-adjusted. she strikes me as a band/orchestra kid but like....the least annoying one.

H1: What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation?

lesbian in the had-bfs-but-obviously-it-didnt-work-out way. so somewhat stressful when she was actually dating long ago but it became less of a source of stress when she became CLEARLY too girlboss and busy for such things. and also apparently everyone is really conveniently faggy in region zero anyway. who woulda thought.

H2: Is your OC a thoughtful partner, in whatever aspect of that you want to cover?

pretty average-ly thoughtful. again i think if she wasnt so busy she might be a little better but its a good thing her Girl Friend is also average-ly thoughtful and too busy LOLL.

H7: What do they look for in partners? (Emotionally, mentally, physically..)

i dont think shes ever actively looking for anything, just someone kinda on the same Level as her and that can respect her space and what she does no matter how..unconventional. someone as low-maintenance as she is LOL. someone who GETS it

I2: Do they have any eating requirements or preferences? Allergies, vegetarian, organic-only, religious restrictions…

i think she takes what she can get </3

I6: Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

she might get bored of it but i think its often just a Survival Task for her to do rather than something she REALLY enjoys nowadays unless its a good day. BUT back in canada im sure she enjoyed a lot of variety.

J3: How politically active are they?

just as active as selma and leslie are. i think her being an outsider makes this especially dangerous but also especially impactful. it took her a while to really get a grip on wtf was going on politically-speaking in region zero but ofc those two informed her very quickly :) she does care very much about the health crisis and the environmental horrors and the careless government allowing it all and etc tho. she was relatively active in canada too, definitely not like this tho <3

J5: Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about?

Yes, more through actions than like Demonstrations but she has done both.

J7: How much interest in environmental health do they have?

very much interested, its part of why she moved to region zero WHICH SOUNDS BAD BCZ WHO WOULD SUBJECT THEMSELF TO THAT BUT. health crises and environmental crises go hand in hand it must be studied and remedied!!!!!

L1: How have your characters changed since you created them?

not a ton at all really but i certainly have a clearer idea of what her deal is + her relationships with everyone else..... looking back thru the chat apparently i did not originally have her nd faust being outsiders.....? at least for a little while until i figured out what their deal was. but. thats a pretty major change LOL

L9: How did you come up with your OC?

the early phases of making anyone for this book is a mystery to me..... ik i designed her during inktober tho. i think i wanted someone to be selmas mentor/colleague. despite being more minor of a character she existed in my brain before faust did....

[whumpster-fire]

aaaand Darkness of Dragons Thoughts:

Man I already low-key shipped Qinter before this book but the number of "Qibli you're bi" moments is just insane. Not that either of them have zero chemistry with Moonwatcher but Qibli and Winter just have so much chemistry. Also I am not one of those Qinter shippers who dislikes Moon. I like Moon, but I feel like she would not be an obstacle to Qinter being canon at all because she does not seem particularly into either of them in a romantic way.

Winter was 100% right for calling out Qibli on the "I'd use a spell to make you like me" comment. One on hand this is, like... a central part of Qibli's character arc. Being so dependent on approval and validation from others that he'd consider doing some questionable things to get it + "No but I'd only use Animus power for good things by being very smart and careful" are the main flaws that his arc is about overcoming. On the other hand, I don't think the narrative did quite enough to back this up.

The ending of this book was definitely a weak point in the arc. In Arc 1 I felt like the actual "ending the war" part of the arc was rushed because so much of the book was spent on Sunny's personal stuff: in this book it was kind of the opposite and it felt like 2 books crammed into one, even with the extra length it felt like Qibli's backstory stuff was kind of cut short: the plot with Vulture and Onyx could have been its own book but then it got sidelined.

Darkstalker's ending in particular... eesh. I don't think "give the villain a second chance at life where he doesn't have powers he's tempted to use for evil" is inherently a bad plot, but literally a core theme of this arc has been that using magic to violate someone's free will is evil and Darkstalker being willing to do it is the reason he's one of the worst most dangerous dragons in history, so having the ending be "Anyway we literally brainwashed him, erased all his memories, and turned him into a totally different dragon" does not fit with the rest of the plot. Also, there's no real redemption / rehabilitation / any kind of healing for Darkstalker so he might as well be dead. Plus the fact that they had to hide this shit from Winter, the character whose brother was brainwashed and turned into a different dragon for 2 years, is kind of a hint about the morality of this move. I do like the idea of him being defeated by his own magic + his own hubris, but I don't think there's any good way of resolving his arc other than his death.

Also Winter just got screwed over on his ending in general.

Anyway I didn't add to the "ways Carnelian being alive would improve the narrative" list for Talons of Power because the book is almost all either Turtle and Qibli or Turtle on his own. Darkness of Dragons is kind of similar because I don't think Qibli and Winter's epic road trip needs a third dragon along. Uhh... so trying to catch back up on how her plotline could go:

I have no idea if Carnelian would know enough about Darkstalker to be as strongly in opposition to bringing him back as Winter but I think she'd not be a fan of the idea of Qibli getting the scroll based on the angle of it giving whichever tribe had it too much power + probably being from the tribe that kills Animus dragons at birth would give her a culturally ingrained distrust of animus shenanigans and I don't think she'd entertain the idea of using it herself or giving it to Ruby for that reason alone. I can see her either being on team "Destroy the thing" with Peril or going for something completely differently like advocating for giving it to Turtle since he's already refused to use the magic he already had to win the war, and/or giving it to Turtle so he can use magic to hide the thing so thoroughly it can never be found again.

When The Big D comes back I don't know if he'd see her as enough of a threat for whatever extra strong spell he put on Winter, but she absolutely couldn't be in on Qibli and Winter's plans until Qibli figured out the earring. Then I think it's a 50-50 on whether she's relatively easy to get to wear an earring or she's resistant to it because No Animus-Touched Jewelry Ever. After that... YKW, maybe she goes to the rainforest with Tsunami or something, or volunteers to get an earring to Ruby.

This is so annoying because this book doesn't have much room for Carnelian to actually participate in the plot, and it's really annoying because I really want her to interact with Qibli more, because from what little we know about her I have a sneaking suspicion that her relationship with Ruby has more than a little bit in common with Qibli's relationship with Thorn. Both her and Kinkajou definitely deserve their own POV but I also don't know how they could get their own books with the way everything else in the arc fits together.

Other than, like... I guess happening simultaneously with portions of Winter Turning and Escaping Peril or stuffing some more time in between when Peril and Winter show up in Possibility and when Peril meets Soar? Which would be really, really messy if sticking to the "one POV per book" convention but on the other hand the second arc's pretty interwoven already.

Further moment of inspiration: since I don't like Kinkajou just being in a coma for two entire books anyway, and Wings of Fire books almost always split the party... the objectively funniest way for it to get split up would be Carnelian's main quest partner being... Kinkajou. Please make the two roommates who absolutely do not get along go on a road trip together.

So yeah uh, my ideal wishful thinking AU of Arc 2 is:

Carnelian and Kinkajou don't get fridge'd and we get a 7 book series.

Kinkajou is only fully out of action for, like, 1 book because and wakes up midway through Escaping Peril.

Carnelian's book is after Escaping Peril, it starts midway after Escaping Peril after Peril flies off by herself. She and Kinkajou have some sort of adventure together IDK what but maybe something involving trying to investigate the dragons selling explosive cacti in the market, and/or she meets someone from her backstory in Possibility and gets dragged into something. This causes them to miss everything with Scarlet's attempted return, Ruby's challenge duel, and Darkstalker coming back. I think it would have to end with them splitting up and Carnelian returning to the school while Kinkajou goes to the rainforest, possibly to deliver some important message or warning or something to Glory.

If Kinkajou's not in a coma IDK how Turtle pulls off the whole immunity spell for her being covered up with Anemone's healing spell but they do it somehow. Possibly she runs into those Nightwing/Sandwing assassins and gets seriously injured again, and Darkstalker "rescues" her but decides not to heal her because he sees a future where she screws him over, and also she's put under a more aggressive mind control spell like Winter was so Turtle has to do the "healing + Darkstalker immunity + Darkstalker stops seeing her as a threat" combo while she's asleep.

All of what I said above about Anemone's arc still applies.

Book 6 is Qibli's book but it's more devoted to the Vulture arc and he, like, causes serious problems. Darkstalker makes his offer of power to Qibli in the Lost City of Night instead, and Qibli is tempted in no small part because Vulture is still out there and a threat instead of just getting summoned and used as a puppet by Darkstalker. Also he rejects it because he realizes that no seriously, he could fall into the same trap of manipulating dragons to try to get the "best future" and that he can't trust himself with that kind of power. And, like, he apologizes to Winter and they make up and kiss

Kinkajou gets the POV for the finale. Seriously the love spell on her plus unresolved under the surface Nightwing related trauma would make things so interesting. I want her to struggle with having possibly-feelings for Turtle but not being able to tell if they're even real or not. I also want to see her struggle between wanting really badly to forgive the nightwings for what they did to her tribe and move on, and watching so many of the very same dragons who she wanted to believe were willing to change almost immediately sign up for committing genocide again as soon as a charismatic leader showed up and promised to give them the power and superiority they'd been pretending to have.

Also Kinkajou having to make the decision to kill Darkstalker or erase his whole identity is kind of a big deal and it sucks that that all happened offscreen.

Something else I'd have liked to see is a bit more acknowledgement that the Nightwing tribe kind of needs supervision and deradicalization, but also that Nightwings wanting independence and a home is legitimate, and that even if they all stop being racist that doesn't mean the whole tribe being permanent refugees / effectively a vassal tribe of the Rainwings isn't going to continue to cause problems.

Winter's participation in the Jade Mountain Throwdown could have been handled so much better by having it be the moment that Winter stands up to his family and tries to stop the fighting, plus explicitly brings up his and Hailstorm's own experiences being brainwashed by mind control magic to Snowfall's face. Also he can get banned from the Ice Kingdom for decking a fellow Icewing who tries to kill Moon, and not get teleported because Anemone made her spell target "All Icewings in the battle allied with Queen Snowfall" specifically because not only was Winter there but there were three other Icewing students trying to evacuate.

Winter should stay at Jade Mountain in the epilogue, if for no other reason than so he can make a joke about Peril proving that it is possible to get a single room and he just needs to be more annoying and use his frost breath to make the room uninhabitable for Qibli. Meanwhile they're dating and everyone knows it. Winter can work on researching scavengers and planning his research project for the off season.

Moon + Kinkajou + Carnelian roommate trio remains intact because I think if Carnelian was actually alive for the whole series the core of her arc would be realizing that being in Queen Ruby's squadron is not her whole identity and it's okay to do other things with her life and Ruby is going to do just fine as Queen without this one specific child soldier. Peril could go in Gold Winglet maybe because Flame is probably dropping out. Also Gold Winglet is so, so cursed, literally Tamarin and Pike are the only friggin' students in it who didn't leave the school or die for one reason or another.

Wings of Fire thoughts continued: Talons Of Power Edition

I've heard that Arc 3 has Animus magic get totally shut down for everyone and I can kind of see why? I think giving it basically no limits on its functionality other than "If you use it too much you might go crazy but we're not sure" and who gets their cheesy counteraction spell on another animus off first was probably a mistake, as was the "Actually you can totally just directly put a spell on another dragon" thing. I think the general idea of a magic system where everything has to work off an object is a good idea, but I'd like to see things like Darkstalker needing to social-engineer his way into getting other dragons to accept items that have Trojan Spells and doing obnoxious things like enchanting items to be invisible while worn so everyone has a headache trying to figure out how he's doing it. Make him a threat because his prophecy makes him really good at anticipating the countermeasures to his magic, not just "I have a blanket Charm spell up at all times."

I'm also not a huge fan of the "Turtle made Anemone an Animus" thing. I think it's more impactful if he can never know the truth. Also cool: if Turtle was sure it was his fault she was an Animus for a while because "What are the odds that after centuries of zero Seawing animus dragons, suddenly TWO dragons turn out to have the power?" and then after everyone found out Orca was also an Animus it was like, if there were two there's no reason why there couldn't be three.

...Anemone is certainly a case study in why encouraging 2-year-old dragonets to use magic is a bad idea. Poor kid's going through it. I think her having a Villain Arc out of pure intoxication-of-power plus thinking it's inevitable and deciding to kill her whole family is one of the less interesting things that could've been done with the premise, though. I would have rather seen her cause serious damage with a well-intentioned spell because she worded it wrong or didn't think through what it would do, or Darkstalker fed her phrasing that would make her spell do something horrible, and then Turtle was forced to out himself as an Animus to stop her / tell her how to deactivate a spell, and Anemone lost it at him and him specifically, because she realized that her entire life her older brother could have prevented so much of what she went through, or done something about so many of her unborn sisters being murdered, but chose not to.

Horrible fucked up thought: imagine if Darkstalker tricked Anemone into casting his Icewing Genocide Plague spell for him because he foresaw that if he cast it himself it would be countered pretty quickly. Like what if he gave her instructions for a spell to make "All those who are sworn enemies of the Nightwing Tribe" sick as a "practical joke" and a "test of her powers," and worded it in a way that she didn't have the medical knowledge to know the symptoms he described could be fatal or made her word the spell to replicate some disease she hadn't heard of? And this eventually still fails because Darkstalker forgot Anemone existed so he couldn't anticipate a future where she turned it off. He did detect her casting the counterspell but he knew that some random Sandwing showed up for about a second when he cast the "Summon every animus dragon" spell so he was like "well I caught the missing rogue Animus (Turtle), I bet I scared that random sandwing so much she put up a protection spell, which is a problem for later."

[kiki-shortsnout]

Are you still accepting prompt? Maybe 48 offering the other a coat for strangfrost? >///<

The impact sent jolts of pain shuddering into his shins, his foot falling forward to stop his momentum, unwilling to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him fall on his face. Loki spun in a circle, tossing his head to try and clear the hair from his face, the pelting rain insistent on sticking it to his skin.

‘Brother, you’ve gone too far this time,’ Loki growled, ripping his boot free of the squelching mud holding it captive. One of these days he would be successful in his endeavor to win a bet against Thor, but luck was not smiling on him today. His punishment was to spend an allocated amount of time in a place of the victors choosing, and despite Loki spinning the most beautiful of lies to convince Thor he detested the magnificent forests of the Vanir, his brother had seen through them.

He was stuck on the repugnant planet of Midgard, filled with its beings of monotony, unrefined creatures who held the same stature in Loki’s mind of the cattle they ate on Asgard. Needed, but imbecilic.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself, looking around for a shelter of some sort. Freeing his foot, he plodded forwards, swearing profusely at the low-lying branches swatting him across his face, spiky foliage catching on his cape and clothes, cutting into the skin of his hand and leaving paper-thin lines of fire.

What a wretched planet. He’d never understood why others held it in such regard, why they were fascinated by these absurd Midgardians.

Despite his muttered curses directed at Thor and the incessant howling of the wind chilling him to the bone, Loki stopped as he thought he heard a sound, straining his ears as he tried to hear it again.

Nothing.

‘It’s a trick of the wind,’ Loki muttered, wrapping his cape tight around himself as he glared up at the stormy sky. As he lifted his foot free again, he heard the same noise, the unmistakable sound of sorrow. Changing course, he only needed to take a few more steps before he saw what it was making the sounds.

It was a child.

Huddled against the cold, his soaking wet hair was plastered to his skull, frail, bare arms wrapped around his knees.

It is of no consequence to me, Loki thought, turning to leave.

A feeling held him still, a wrenching beneath his breastbone. There was a familiarity in the posture, a recognition as he stared through the deluge at him. It was as though he was looking at a reflection of himself, huddled against the wall in his chambers, lonely and sobbing.

The child flinched as he drew close, and Loki lifted his hands, showing he was unarmed and honorable.

‘Are you injured?’ Loki asked, taking a few cautious steps closer to the tree the boy sat beneath, noticing it offered some shelter from the rainstorm.

The small boy shook his head, sniffling and rubbing his nose against his sleeve, smearing mucus.

Delightful.

‘Are you lost? Do you need help?’ Loki tried instead, standing beside the boy, clasping his hands behind his back.

He didn’t receive an answer, the child burrowing his head closer to his knees. Leaning against the tree, the rough fibers of the bark biting against his palms, Loki looked up at the raindrops catching on the vibrant green leaves above, before looking at the ruffling of the grass at his feet.

‘Well, I suppose there are worse places to spend a lost bet. My brother and I, we are forever playing pranks on each other, and I have yet to win. Do you have any siblings?’

Silence.

‘It drives our parents mad, especially our father, although, I excel at making father angry,’ Loki encouraged, watching the child subtly for any outward reaction.

‘I hate him,’ the boy whispered finally.

‘Ah, he speaks,’ Loki teased, unclasping his cape from his neck and draping it over the boy, offering some protection. ‘What is your name young one?’

‘Stephen.’

He peeked up then, his eyes striking Loki straight in the gut, making him crouch down to see better. They were magnificent, appearing to be aquamarine from a first glance, but looking now they appeared to be the pale blue of ice, a ring of green fire around the pupil.

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Loki, God of Mischief,’ he told Stephen, offering his hand. It was taken by the tiny hand, his touch chilled, the edges of his lips blue. ‘Do you need help getting back home?’

‘No, I know how to get home, I just…I don’t want to be near him,’ Stephen spat, tugging Loki’s cape closer, shivering.

‘Are you in danger? Who is it you speak of?’ Loki asked, stretching his hands forward. When no resistance was met, he ran them up and down Stephen’s arms, creating warmth through the friction between their skin.

‘My dad, we had a fight,’ Stephen said.

‘Ah, fathers are complicated creatures,’ Loki said in understanding.

‘You don’t like yours either?’ Stephen asked, looking up with him with a child’s naivety, no hint of scorn or distrust as Loki was so used to seeing.

‘More like he does not like me,’ he answered.

‘I want to become a doctor, so that means I have to work hard at school. I placed first in my class during the last test we had, but he… got mad when I showed him, told me to forget it, that I’m going to be taking over the farm. He said I was arrogant, that I acted like I was too good for my family.’ Stephen turned his head and Loki saw the hint of red on his cheek, recognized the sting of a father’s slap.

Loki didn’t know how much longer he had on this planet, how he could reassure Stephen in such a short space of time, but he also knew he couldn’t allow the child to continue thinking those thoughts.

‘Becoming a healer is a worthy goal. Just because your father has envisioned a particular path for you does not mean you have to follow it. It will not be easy, and you will need to grasp hold of your courage, especially in your darkest days, but you can do it.’

‘How do you know? I’m not an adult yet,’ Stephen challenged, making Loki bite down a smile.

‘Ah, but I am, and I’m a great judge of character. You can do this, believe in yourself, because at times, nobody else will.’

Loki looked over his shoulder at the familiar energy of the Bifrost crackling.

‘I need to leave now I’m afraid.’ He considered suppressing Stephen’s memory of their meeting, but didn’t have the heart to as he saw the wonderment in this young mortal’s eyes at the rainbow-colored beam waiting. Stephen reached up to take the cape off, and Loki stopped him, his hand engulfing Stephen’s as he clasped it.

‘Take care, Stephen. I hope our paths cross again someday,’ Loki told him, knowing he would probably never see this young mortal again, but he still felt a connection, an understanding between one disappointing son to another.

***

Loki found a secluded part of the building to hide in, not wanting to draw attention to himself, especially after his last run in with the sorcerer had left him falling in some unknown dimension for thirty minutes.

He hadn’t known places like this existed on Midgard. Thor had returned after their father had left them, wanting advice from the sorcerer regarding the sister they never knew they had.

Loki found an unobtrusive corner, away from the artifacts exuding an interesting magical signature, away from the mortal in the blue robes who wouldn’t stop staring at him.

I love you, my sons.

After everything, everything Loki had done, invading Midgard, banishing Odin to New York, the part he had to play in his mother’s death, after all of that, Odin had told him the words he’d always been desperate to hear.

Anger, sadness, rage, grief, love, they writhed and twisted within him, misshapen intertwined emotions that he couldn’t make sense of, leaving him numb and empty.

Warmth settled on his shoulders, and he looked up, a ruby sentient cloak now waving at him as it kept him warm. Glancing up, he saw legs in his vision, and suddenly the face of the Midgardian second rate sorcerer was in his eye line.

‘What are you doing?’ Loki spat, trying to peel the cloak from his shoulders.

‘A long time ago, a God of Mischief offered a young boy his cape and some words of encouragement. They might have only been offhand, but they helped that child through a lot of his life, so today, he’s returning the favor.’

It couldn’t be.

Loki had been too angry to notice the mortal’s appearance before, but eyes didn’t lie, they never did, and as he gazed into Stephen’s eyes, he knew them to be the same of the small boy he’d met decades ago.

‘You’re…Stephen? Did you become a healer?’ Loki questioned, sitting straighter. Those eyes were still as beautiful as they had been in his youth, and now he took the time to appreciate the body he’d grown into, the slim muscles, the beautiful, chiseled face.

The Midgardian was gorgeous.

His appreciation wasn’t as subtle as he’d hoped. Stephen broke eye contact with a self-conscious cough, the barest hint of color on his cheeks.

‘I did, much to my father’s disappointment,’ Stephen told him, a wry twist to his lips.

‘How did you…’ he trailed off, gesturing to Stephen and then the building they were in, the magic thrumming around them.

‘An accident, the conclusion of my hubris,’ Stephen answered, offering his hands for Loki’s gaze, the grooves of painful jagged scars making him reach out to touch. Again, just like it had been all those years ago, an understanding was formed between them with very few words being said.

‘You left me falling for thirty minutes,’ Loki said, suddenly at a loss for words, taking Stephen’s hand in his.

‘I remembered a God of Mischief liked pranks, but it seems he mistook my playful tease as malicious intent,’ Stephen said with a crooked smile, stealing the breath from Loki’s lungs.

‘After this is over, after we stop our sister, I would like to get to know you better,’ Loki asked, already hearing Thor calling him to action.

‘I look forward to it,’ Stephen told him with a wink, his hand lingering in Loki’s. Before he could take it away, Loki brought it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, enamored by the blush on Stephen’s cheekbones.

‘Until we meet again then, Stephen.’

[orangerosebush]

Out in the fields

Wicklow has often been referred to as the garden of Ireland. The founder of St. Bartleby’s had assumed that the sprawling landscapes and fresh air would do the young gentlemen of Ireland’s high society some good — and he wasn’t wholly wrong. There was certainly a great deal less trouble to get into in the middle of a field than there was in the more populated towns.

However, those who are determined to find trouble will inevitably make do, and such is the case on this night, with the overcast spring sky providing ample opportunity to lurk if one so desires. And, let it be said, Jack Lovett was nothing if not a professional troublemaker, in the unfortunate way that sheltered rich teenagers are.

It is true that Wicklow is the garden of Ireland, but even so, there is a smattering of abandoned lots and crumbling alleys. Tonight, Jack had picked out one of the abandoned car parks that he’d evaluated to be the best of the lots, and he currently had parked himself on top of a stack of old wooden crates. His adventuring partner for the night, a first-year university student he’d met at a rather bad concert back in the autumn, was none too happy with their predicament.

However, they’d already argued about the risk factor of skulking about in empty lots on the way over, and both thought it best to save some energy for arguing about the activity later into the night.

There isn’t much to do in Wicklow if you’re a private school student.

***

Jack flicked his lighter on and off, admiring the way it spat out sparks.

“You’re going to break that,” his companion sighed, their mouth pulled into a disapproving, thin line.

Rolling his eyes, Jack made a show of flicking the lighter shut before shoving it in his blazer’s pocket.

Ozzy smiled, leaning their weight against the almost-slick bricks of the old building. “Thanks.”

Scoffing, Jack drummed his fingers against the box on which he was sitting, the noise making a slight echo. After a moment, he looked back at Ozzy. They raised an eyebrow, and he took that as an invitation.

“What do you want to do?”

“What do I want to do?” they snorted. “You’re the one who wanted to poke around weird holes in the wall.”

“It’s not like there would’ve been anything to do on campus,” he said, frowning defensively.

“So you should’ve come up to Dublin instead of making me take a taxi down here.”

“Yeah, true, Ozzy,” Jack admitted. “Ozzy — what’s your name from, anyway?” he asked, swinging his legs lazily from his perch.

Ozzy shrugged. “Poem.”

“What?” he furrowed his brow. “I thought the name was from that rocker bloke.”

“Why’d you even ask, then?”

“Dunno. Although I do admit it seemed like a weird choice and all, considering you don’t even listen to heavy metal. ”

“Well, there you go. That’s a bit stupid.”

“Eh, can’t win ‘em all.”

“Fair,” Ozzy exhaled, rolling their shoulders as they gazed out towards the empty car park. “The story I have isn’t that interesting, to be honest.”

Jack shot them a look. “We’re lurking in an abandoned lot so that I can smoke without one of the head boys giving me grief about cigs. Please, regale me with your poem.”

“Prick.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Fine. It’s basically about the narrator meeting a traveler from a faraway land, and they talk about there being this huge statue of the king Ozymandias out in the desert. The king had it engraved to say things such as that he was ‘the king of kings’ and that his enemies should fear even the sight of one of his monuments. All real braggadocio-type shit. But here’s the thing — the statue is the only thing that remains in that desert since his kingdom is now in ruins. It’s about arrogance and hubris. I can text it to you.”

“Huh,” Jack took a puff from what remained of his cigarette. At this point, the thing was almost only the orange filtration zone. Not that that gave him pause, though. “Cool.”

“I liked the themes,” they shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever, even the powerful die eventually, be careful with where you invest in real estate. Basic stuff.”

“Well, I’m gonna read it,” Jack declared, waving his hand. “So I don’t want any more spoilers.” Tiny trails of smoke formed as he gestured, with the mist making the lit end of the cigarette splutter and hiss intermittently.

“It is cool. Plus, my name makes whoever is talking to me sound like they’re buzzing.”

“The consonants are wicked, yeah,” Jack agreed, grinning. Ozzy grinned back.

Suddenly, Jack froze up. “Shit,” He hissed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and hurriedly grinding it into the wet dirt. Jack hopped off the empty boxes, fanning the air unsuccessfully in an attempt to disperse the smell of smoke.

“Do you have any Axe in your work bag?” he asked, cursing.

“It’s a research program. I’m not really doing any heavy physical labor,” Ozzy snorted. “I don’t bring stuff like Axe to work. That’d be weird.”

“Whatever,” Jack grimaced, and Ozzy craned their neck to see what he was looking at.

Across the gloom of the dusky car park, Ozzy could just about see the silhouette of a sleek, black Bentley. One of the older models, probably. They looked at Jack quizzically, taking a step back.

“Jack,” they began slowly. “There’s a car.”

“Yeah,” he said dismissively, still waving at the air. “Got any mints, at least?” he tried, hopeful.

“Dude, there’s a fecking car parked over there,” Ozzy stressed, eyes darting back to Jack. “No one ever comes out here. I think we should leg it. Now.”

“’S probably why he drove out here, the creep,” Jack muttered under his breath, moving to riffle through Ozzy’s bag anyway. They squawked, moving to kick his hand away from the bag, but he batted their boot away.

“Gross. Orange tic tacs?” he looked up, making a face.

Ozzy shoved their hands into their pockets. “They were out of the tea-flavored ones.”

Jack rolled his eyes as he crunched on the mints. “You should take one, too.”

“ I wasn’t smoking.”

“So? It’ll look weird if only one of us has mints. Take some!”

“What? No, it won’t. You’re mental — look, do you recognize that car?”

“Unfortunately. My classmate’s bodyguard has one just like it.”

Ozzy boggled. “Your classmate’s… bodyguard’s… car.”

Jack huffed. “Shut up. They’re practically inseparable. And my classmate is always blowing off school to do God knows what, so it adds up that he’d try to invade our car park behind the abandoned Foot Locker.”

“The Foot Locker lot isn’t really ours, though. It’s not really anybody’s. That’s a bit of the point of it being our haunt.”

“Yeah, technically — we still got here first, though,” Jack sent a glare off into the gloom. “If Butler comes over here and tells me to knock off smoking again, I’m fighting him.”

"His bodyguard's name is Butler — never mind.  Please don’t get into a fight with someone whose job is being able to fight.”

“Fight professionally, maybe. I never learned karate or that MMA type stuff. I learned to fight on the streets. We’ve the advantage here.”

“There… is nothing going on between your ears. Just empty air, blowing around your thick skull,” Ozzy decided, finally cautiously taking a step closer to look at the car.

“Piss off.”

“You piss off,” they muttered back, poking their head around the rusting dumpster.

That was apparently a mistake, as they found themselves making eye contact with the gigantic man stepping out of the driver’s seat of the Bentley. He was incredibly still, like the calm ocean — barely tamed strength that had been forced into a moment of inertia.

Slowly, they felt themself raise up a hand in a small wave.

“Why are you interacting with them?” they heard Jack splutter from behind them.

“They already saw us,” Ozzy said, voice low.

The passenger door to the car swung up and out stepped another figure. He was pale enough that he seemed to glow a bit under the busted streetlight, and he was dressed in a smart, black suit. He must be the classmate, then, Ozzy decided, gaze flickering between the two. He didn’t seem like any secondary schooler they’d ever seen — but money was wont to have a funny effect on teenagers who’d never known its absence. For Jack, it’d convinced him that the world was a lot smaller and a great deal more simple than it truly was. For this other fellow, Ozzy frowned, it had seemed to do the opposite. He had the gait and demeanor of someone who knew the world was all too willing to knock him down, and he had thus decided to steel himself against any future threats preemptively.

Jack had been exaggerating their rivalry. Ozzy was sure of that.

If his classmate had seen Jack as anything more aggravating than a nuisance, it was more than likely that one day, Jack would have simply stopped showing up at the lot to hang out. In fact, it was more than likely that Ozzy would have stopped seeing Jack altogether.

Feeling a presence at their side, Ozzy turned to face Jack, who was lingering nearby. He grimaced, slinging their bag over his shoulder.

“If they've already seen us, then sprinting off will look suspicious,” he explained, hoisting the bag higher. Ozzy shot him a withering look.

“I thought you wanted to fight his bodyguard, Jack. Are you telling me you’re afraid that what, we’ll get chased?”

“Uh, yes, actually?” Jack said slowly, as though explaining something to an infant. “Neither of them understand the concept of fun.”

Their petty squabbling petered out as the two people from the car made their way over.

“Artemis,” Jack said, pursing his lips at the dark-haired young man.

Ozzy made a note of that, furrowing their brow. Artemis. Interesting.

“Hello, Jack. I must say, it’s a bit of surprise to see you out here,” Artemis remarked, tone light. Turning to face Ozzy, he appraised them.

“I’m Ozzy,” they offered.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your acquaintance before, Ozzy,” Artemis quirked his head, extending a hand in greeting.

“You’ve definitely never met,” Jack confirmed, tone somewhat brusque. “They’re a fresher at Trinity.”

Shaking Artemis’ hand, Ozzy harrumphed. “I can introduce myself, thanks. But no, we wouldn’t have met before, I don’t think.”

“Trinity?” Artemis smiled, nodding approvingly. “I gave a lecture on Balkan politics there.”

“Really? Maybe one of my friends saw it. When was it?”

Artemis waved a hand. “I was thirteen. It was some time ago.”

“Oh,” Ozzy blinked. “Good for you.”

“Quite. I must say that you’ve piqued my interest with Trinity. If I might ask: what is your focus on?”

“Classics,” Jack interjected before Ozzy could respond, puffing up slightly with pride at the mention of his friend’s work. “They’re beyond smart. Actually, you should tell Artemis about some of your papers, Ozzy. Lethal stuff.”

“Maybe some other time,” Butler announced, his voice firm, and he looked at his employer pointedly. Artemis must have picked up on whatever he was implying, as the pale young man nodded apologetically.

“I’m afraid it is time for us to part ways with you two,” Artemis explained.

Jack crossed his arms.

Ozzy put a firm hand on his shoulder before he could say something. He scowled at the strange duo in front of them but turning to look at Ozzy, his face softened.

“Enjoy your stupid car park,” Jack muttered, allowing Ozzy to maneuver them both back towards the path that led to the main foot road. He was no doubt thinking he’d got the last word in, Ozzy sighed mentally.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you smoking when we pulled into the lot, Jack Lovett,” Ozzy heard Butler call after the two of them from out in the gloom. They winced, continuing to push Jack forward.

“He’s threatened to tell my mum a few times, “ Jack remarked miserably, no doubt disappointed at his grand exit being ruined. “He knows her from some damn book club group, apparently.”

Ozzy laughed, and he gave them a hurt look.

“I’m living like a hunted man, you know! It’s not funny, Ozzy,” he sulked, and they shook their head fondly.

“You really ought to quit, Jack,” they sighed, inhaling the cool night air. It smelled vaguely of roses, with the pungent smell of tobacco beginning to fade as they walked farther and farther from the lot. It was always worth coming down from Central Dublin to visit Jack in Wicklow, they shot him a glance. Despite how much Jack might complain that St. Bartleby’s was located in the middle of absolute nowhere, Ozzy knew that deep down, he liked being away from the city. Not that Dublin was in any way as busy as some of the cities they’d seen back in London, Ozzy conceded. But even Dublin was too much for someone like Jack. He needed growing room, even at the precipice of adulthood.

“Hm. I might,” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Jack .”

“No, I really think I might! It’s getting to the point where my mum would realize when I come home for the holidays, and the last thing I want is to get chewed out for using ‘her money to buy cigs when I should be learning',” he pitched his voice into a breathy falsetto at the end.

Ozzy chuckled. “You’ve already gotten caught, then.”

“Mum found a few I’d stuffed in my bag when I came home for Christmas. You should’ve seen her — she was huffing and red in the face for about an hour. I really got the business for that.”

“Good. Your dumbass should have realized that bringing cigs home was a monumentally stupid idea.”

“You’re mean tonight, you know that, Ozzy?” Jack grinned widely, shaking his head and knocking his shoulder into theirs.

“Whatever,” Ozzy rolled their eyes. Slowing slightly in their stride, they glanced backward, eyes narrowing to try to make out the silhouettes of Artemis and Butler.

“It… is a bit weird, you know,” they began, voice faltering. “That those two were at the car park.”

Jack snorted. “Weird is on-brand for Artemis. Besides, he wasn’t there for the car park, probably.”

“What?”

“You’d never guess it if you’d just met him, but he’s bonkers for all that like….,” Jack made a vague gesture with his hands. “Ancient aliens type shite. At least, he used to be when we were roommates. He’s gotten more normal since he was 10, but you never know, y’know?”

Ozzy stared at him, stopping in their tracks. “So that’s… a haunted car park, then?”

“Good idea for a band name — ‘haunted car park’,” Jack extended his arm, pantomiming putting it up across a poster. “But no, more like haunted hillfort.”

“There are fairy mounds in the parking lot?”

“Sometimes I forget you’re painfully British. Yeah, there are a bunch all over Wicklow. There’s one in the field behind the car park, but it’s so small you’d never see it on a touristy type guide.”

“Huh,” Ozzy said thoughtfully, looking out at the dimly lit concrete island.

“Huh?”

“Just ‘huh’,” Ozzy confirmed, turning back to continue walking.

Jack shrugged. “Fine by me.”

[venalier]

while she's lost, drowning in her own recollection, andrei fills in the silence that threatens to swallow them both. ( haven't they done this before? staved off horror with talk? there was a forest trail . . . and kinshi. )

the heartening words lift her eyes that had fallen to some dusty corner of the dining hall, coax a choking smile out of her: fleeting, but genuine. leave it to andrei to know just what to say. " . . . you're right."

caeldori sits up a little straighter, remembering now not only the dread she'd felt at the beginning of the fight, but the strength too that'd seized her during it, how the elation of power had electrified her like a north wind — overwhelming; nauseatingly vindicating — when the sword in her hand had effortlessly severed the titan from life and toppled it, silently, like a tower of cards. even if it had only been a training illusion, which did, she has to admit, take some of the achievement out of it, it's still true that she'd overcome it. not any weaker than it'd first been when they had faced it for real, in that city beneath the earth, but she had been stronger.

and this time too, she'd be stronger. of that she's sure. ( sure? ) she'd trained hard the last year, mastered countless new techniques — maybe all for this.

' become so strong you need no aid, ' professor rafal had urged. and she thought, yes, if she could reach that pinnacle of perfection, then she would be ready for anything. she'd have to live no more nightmares.

( . . . but would it be enough? a voice, quiet, still whispers. still wonders. would she be strong enough? )

coral-colored irises rest on andrei's, whose voice, she thinks, falters a little with an uncertainty of its own when it speaks again. and she is seized with the urge to reach out, 　　　— and she doesn't — but to reach out and reassure him. about what? . . . she's not sure. it's this recognition of her hubris that stops her, blessedly. ( how embarrassing that'd be, if she just touched his hand for no reason. )

instead, she clears her throat, pushes down the quickening behind her ribs. already the worst of the grey clouds have been dispelled by his confidence and comfort, and it's only right to give some of it back. "how horrible." a low remark to the idea of the illusory arena drawing inspiration somehow from their collective memories . . .

but then, a smile: like the unfurling of a camellia.

"well, i hope the next time it happens, real or in training, that you're there with me again."

a beat. "if nothing else, belle would probably be happy to see you."

" . . . . . . alligator monster was new, though. it had to be the toughest enemy i've ever faced yet, at least. but there was a trick to it. as soon as that was clear, the rest wasn't so bad."

she'd looked for andrei almost as soon as everything was over, second only to looking for sir— er, kent. ( and mostly out of shyness, if she's to be honest. but seeing that he hadn't run her off when she'd found him was enough to make her feel better about talking to him. her heart beats just a little quicker. )

"anyway, i just wanted to find you and tell you . . . because," voice quiets, " . . . you were there, that time. so, you know how it went."

the titanus. its greatsword, the size and heft of mountains. its crushing force, the oppressive weight of the limitless space around them. unconsciously, caeldori's fingers tighten in the fabric of her sleeve, recalling the cycles upon cycles she's been back there in her dreams, geometric, brilliant blue lines running perpedicular across her periphery. " . . . do you still remember all that? tagzig? that strange machine we fought in the caves together?" a soft, pinched laugh, though not entirely humorless — if only because there was little else to greet the memory with save that and despair. and maybe to be sure she wasn't the only one. to be sure she wasn't crazy.

"i wondered. well, this ' arena ' was gifted to the school by the elementals. but where do they get these monsters, these ones we've only met in nightmares and fairytales? i heard some of the others even encountered the cervid . . . "

"...I do remember."

Too well, sometimes. In those dark, sleepless nights where his past plays out in the darkness, he recalls their fight together within the cavern, yes, but then, inevitably...

(A pegasus and a brave knight of the sky, cut down from the air by one swing of a great, shadowed sword. An archer, powerless to save the life of the first person he had come to call a friend.)

And yet, just as he had been, she too is given a chance to overturn the hands of fate. The curse and blessing of this land, to repeat their battles again and again and again, and perhaps, given fortitude, to find a different outcome. Andrei's voice is quiet, tremulous beneath the weight of the emotion pressing upon his words as he speaks next.

"But you've now emerged victorious. You faced the same peril, and you've overcome, this time."

He's struck, then, with the mad urge to reach out, to place his hand upon hers, as though to remind her, to remind himself, that she is still here. That what had happened in the past in this strange land is capable of being overturned, that their memories were all that's left of that time. That yes, they had faced it together, and that they would continue to face what comes in the future.

Except... no. The thought recoils from his mind nearly as soon as it enters. Caeldori is not Edain, not family for him to childishly cling to when his weakness dictates it. She is not even Lady Deirdre, to whom the trappings of etiquette seem all but meaningless. Caeldori is also of noble upbringing, and the thought of such an action will always be an absurd one. Has a few short years in Fódlan stripped him even of the propriety that he'd once taken such pride in?

The other topic she brings up is much safer (and truly, why did he not stick with this to begin with?), and after an unsteady pause, he latches onto it with the haste of one struggling to find solid ground to stand upon.

"The— the enemies that we fought were all unfamiliar to me," he says, "Though it is certainly possible they were conjured from the memories of another in our team. This arena must have been powered by our minds to some extent." After all, unlike the Projectionist's version within the storybook, they'd emerged from these trials without a single physical wound to show for it, despite how real the sensation of weaponry and spells had felt in the moment.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ���hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.17

Lind A: bring me lunch!

It was after eleven. She should be getting up and opening the dojo. This argument wasn’t quite enough to compel her legs to move from the bed, however, so Nairi lifted her phone and answered the text instead.

What do you want?

Lind A: idk get something you like and we can share Lind A: im at my studio!!

k

The ‘a’ button on her keyboard was sticking something fierce, and the black coating was worn away on the space bar and surrounding keys. Maybe she should get a new phone. She let the blackberry slip back down to rest on her chest as she went back to staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. The blanket was too hot where it was wrapped around her legs, and her shoulder was starting to ache where it had been pressed into her pillow and mattress for too long.

What did she like to eat? What did she like to eat that Linden also liked? Or, well, what was between here and Linden’s studio that had vegetarian options and food Linden liked, was probably the better question.

It was another ten minutes before she could make herself stand up and find a pair of jeans.

Almost an hour after that she’d made it to Linden’s studio, coffee and pastries in hand. Loud music was pumping out the propped-open door, grungier rock floating past the concrete paint can in sharp opposition to the cheerful pop from the last time she’d been here. Nairi stepped inside with her offerings, looking around for Linden.

“Oh hey, I thought you’d abandoned me,” said Linden cheerfully, and Nairi tracked her gaze down to see her sprawled on the floor. She was grinning up at her, hips twisted with one knee folded over her thigh, back pressed to the ground.

Nairi held up the paper bag by way of explanation. “Never. There was just a queue. Are you okay?”

Linden nodded sagely and shut her eyes, rolling her hips back down and shaking out her leg. “I had to pick up a box of glue off the craft shop floor this morning and I foolishly bent with my back instead of my knees, so now I must pay for my hubris.” She groaned as she sat up, taking a coffee from the proffered tray and grinning at Nairi. “Twenty-seven is way too young to even be having these issues, I swear to god.”

“Maybe your back’s just advanced for its age,” said Nairi, setting her tea and the pastries down on an unoccupied stretch of counter space.

Linden got to her feet and laughed brightly as she leaned over to her beat up ipod where it was sitting in a dock on the sill, spinning the volume almost all the way down. She straightened to grin at her head on as she reached out for Nairi’s hand. “Dad always said I was precocious. Come on, I made something for you!”

“Oh, what?” said Nairi, feeling the corner of her mouth twitch up as she let Linden tug her across the studio. “I only just figured out how to hang the last thing you painted me.”

Linden laughed again, letting go of her hand to reach up and pull down one of the two jackets from a hook on the back of the far door. “Well, this one hangs in a wardrobe, so I’m sure you’ll figure that out on your own.”

Nairi looked at the leather being offered to her, then back up at Linden, who jiggled the coat hanger at her.

She took it. It was a heavy, white motorcycle jacket, with two crisp stripes running the full length of the sleeves in red and green. The cuffs were zipped with sturdy silver tabs, and the pockets looked to fall just under the ribs with the same zips as closures. It was high-necked and padded in a way she instinctively approved of, with extra buckles at the neck and waist over the front zip. On the back Linden had painted an ourobouros of a dragon in green and black, its eye the same bright red as the stripe on the sleeves.

“Try it on,” said Linden eagerly, nodding at her. “I snooped in your drawers before I bought the jacket, so it should be the right size.”

Nairi felt her mouth twitch again, and she slipped the jacket on over her shoulders. It was comfortably snug around her arms, and heavy in a way that made it feel like it belonged there. The leather was a little stiff, not yet worn in, and the zip sufficiently toothy so that it took a second try to tug it down again. “It’s great,” she said, looking up and smiling back at Linden. “Thank you, you didn’t have to get me this.”

Linden was reaching up bring down its twin, and she glanced back over her shoulder at Nairi as she pulled it on. “Look, I saw them as I was walking past and I wanted one for me, and then I saw the white and I just hadto.” Hers was dark, crimson like her favourite wine-red lipstick, with thick, soft, elasticated fabric around the cuffs and waist hem. The painted embellishments were little lines of matchstick fires around the wide pockets, and a cherry tree in full blossom on the back, with a vintage style painting of a pair of cherries over one shoulder like a fake patch. “It gave me an excuse to break out the good paints too, the ones I haven’t used since I was a student. I had a lot of friends who did costume shit for theatre, the hardcore kind, it was nice to use them again! And like, I know it’s totally the wrong time of year for warm jackets and I should’ve held out for your birthday ‘cause it would’ve been perfect, but I got excited when I finished them and it’s been hard enough keeping my trap shut while I waited for them to dry.”

“It’s totally fine,” said Nairi, watching Linden give a little spin to show off her jacket before she shrugged it off again. “It’s just an early birthday present. Very early—preparatory, so I don’t have to wait for my birthday once it starts getting cold, and now you don’t have to worry about getting something for the day as well.”

Linden laughed again, ushering her back across the studio towards the pastries. “Oh, nice try, but you’re not escaping the birthday fun that easy,” she teased, picking up her coffee and nudging her broken chair towards Nairi with one foot. “Come on, sit, eat, give me the good goss, tell me how you and Aggy are going.”

“There’s not a lot happening, really,” said Nairi blandly, taking her tea back from Linden and sitting gingerly. The chair held, thankfully, if with a little more bounce than she’d been expecting. “You know, everything’s just kind of… fine.”

Linden pouted over her coffee before proceeding to loot the pastry bag. “Oh, that’s boring though! You two never do anything exciting, and you’ve been dating for like, months now. Seriously, nothing new?”

The impulse to laugh bubbled high in Nairi’s throat, and she swallowed it, wondering briefly where it had come from. “I think I’m okay with boring, honestly. Is your dating life not exciting enough?”

That got a snort as Linden resettled herself to lean back against the counter, raspberry crown in hand. “It’s a little cooled down at the moment, I won’t lie. Like, Simon and I are technically still ‘on’,you know, we’re just not, doing as much.”

“Tapering off, or just laying low from Nicholas?” asked Nairi with a small grin, catching the pastry bag as Linden tossed it to her.

Linden rolled her eyes, taking a drink from her coffee. “Si’s a big boy, he doesn’t need Nick barging in to tell him how to live his life. He’s still fun, it’s just, you know, reaching the point where people start making comments about taking him home to meet Dad and it’s definitelynot that kind of relationship.”

“Because you’re not expecting a ring or because he’s not up to scratch?” asked Nairi, tearing at a croissant.

“Yes,” said Linden, laughing. “Fuck, jesus, I’m nowhere near thinking about that, much less with Si’! That and Dad would eat him alive, he’s got an English degree—the only thing worse would be fine art.”

She hadn’t said it with any malice, so it was probably a normal sort of joke to make? “High expectations to meet?”

Linden grinned wolfishly. “Any partner I nail down better be ready to jump,” she joked with a darkly amused tone to it. “Dad’s good at what he does so he has high standards—typical lawyer shit, you know?”

Nairi shrugged. “Most of the lawyers I’ve met have just been dicks, but I think it’s different when you’re working with them as opposed to like, being raised by one. Is he defence or attack?”

Linden laughed loudly at that, hiding her grin behind her coffee cup again before answering. “Prosecutor, he’s a DA,” she said, sounding a little lighter. “Highest conviction rate in the state, only the best efforts for his job.”

“Damn, alright,” said Nairi, raising an eyebrow. “Kind of a bigshot?”

Linden nodded, setting her cup down. “Yeah, he gets kinda high profile sometimes—I don’t know if you remember a couple of years back, uh, Maxim Bailey? That guy?”

Oh yeah, she’d heard he’d been arrested. Nairi nodded, making a general noise of affirmation, and Linden nodded along with her.

“Yeah, he’s still salty he didn’t manage to get him on the murder charge, despite getting the other convictions,” said Linden, still nodding like a bobble-head. “Caught a little bit of media at the time, too.”

“Hell of a job,” said Nairi. Her thigh vibrated and she set her tea down to tug her phone out of her pocket.

“Stressful, he’s been talking about changing up careers for a couple months now,” said Linden, finally stopping the motion of her head.

Aga D: How’s your day? Any students for the first couple of classes?

She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek as her thumbs hovered over the buttons.

“Is that your giiirl-friend?” asked Linden, her drawl long and amused, and she lifted a leg to prod Nairi’s knee with her toe, making the chair spin a little.

Nairi glanced back at her phone, tapping out a response quickly. “Yeah, she’s just checking in.”

A couple yeah. Just having a quiet day.

Aga D: I’m glad! I’ll let you get back to teaching and stop distracting you :)

She tucked her phone away and picked up her tea again, suddenly not feeling much like eating anything.

Linden’s eyes were unreadable over her coffee, but she was smiling when Nairi looked at her. “That’s nice of her,” she said with a funny note in her voice. “I’m really happy for you two, you know that right?”

“Thanks,” said Nairi, shuffling her unappetising croissant back into its bag to avoid Linden’s piercing eyes. “I’m, um. I’m glad you both, sort of, uh, adopted me? Even if it’s in different ways. It’s been good. Really good.”

She covered her expression with her tea, not really tasting it as she drank. Why had that been hard to say?

Linden’s mouth twitched at the corner, just a hint of her normal dimples. “I’m glad you let us,” she said warmly, and suddenly her eyes were back to normal. “You looked like you could use a couple of friends when we met, and god only knows Agatha needed a relationship that actually worked out after her streak.”

“Yeah?” said Nairi, leaning to set the pastry bag back on the counter.

Linden nodded, giving her a rueful look. “Yeah, I mean, she told you how we met, right? Her boyfriend of like, ten years or some shit was one of my regulars, and when she found that out she showed up on my doorstep in tears, it was kind of fucking rough.”

“Oh, damn,” said Nairi, for lack of anything better. Ten years?Agatha had left that out.

“Yeah,” said Linden with an exaggerated grimace. “I mean, fuck, I’m pretty mercenary when it comes to cheating and the job, but even I felt bad. I helped her do some vandalism on him, and then I introduced her to Flo and some nice single people who helped her figure out she was into women, so like, it all worked out eventually, but it was kind of a rough time for her, you know?”

“Yeah,” echoed Nairi, feeling the pastry sink to the bottom of her stomach. “I’m glad it worked out, in the end.”

“Like I said,” said Linden, nudging her again with a wink and a smile, “she just needed someone like you to swoop in and be the good, stable girlfriend for her.”

Her tone was light and teasing, and Nairi made herself swallow more tea before she answered. “Right, yeah. I don’t know how ‘good’ I am at the whole, Prince Charming thing.”

She’d been trying for a joke, but it fell flat between them.

“You’re doing fine,” said Linden, her tone softening a little, and she looked at Nairi with earnestness in her eyes. “Seriously, Princess. You’re doing fine.”

End of book 1.

[lindwur-fr]

First Impressions

In which Poe meets someone in need on his way to the yearly festivities

The Scarred Wasteland never failed to feel like home, to Poe.

The small Fae dragon soared over the twisted landscape, the multitude of eyes that dotted his wings scanned the terrain far below. To any outside dragon, this would look like a hellscape. Pockmarked with strange pools of sickly, bubbling liquid, ground pierced with bonelike spires, and the pervasive stench of death.

But this was his home, and its magic flowed in Poe’s veins. It was as much a part of him as the eyes on his wings.

He never truly agreed with the mentality of some Plague dragons. To leave the weak to their fate. Adapt, survive, overcome. That’s why he chose to stay with the Light clan named Vagrilux. His adoptive father, Rubrik, was his family, even if they weren’t of the same Flight.

Poe alighted on a tall, bony spire that arched over a pool of what looked like fetid, liquid rot. It steamed in the cool dawn air, and drew creatures of the Plaguelands to it. He wasn’t too deep into the Scarred Wasteland- behind him, he could hear the Sea of a Thousand Currents crash against the shore.

He wound his tail around the bony arch, and laid down. The Riot Hazebeacon that had accompanied Poe for the duration of the trip to the Scarred Wasteland came to perch beside him, its lantern hanging from its beak. It trilled and warbled a few times, as if anxious to continue their journey into the depths of the Plague Flight’s domain.

“I’ve been flying since midnight,” Poe informed it as he rolled his shoulders, “Let me rest for a bit.”

The vulture-like creature trilled again and roused its feathers, before tucking its neck in and resting its head over its back, the lantern now hooked on its spine-like tail.

Poe made himself comfortable on the wide surface of the riblike growth he rested on. It was certainly wide enough for a Fae to lay down comfortably. 

I’ll rest until after dawn, Poe decided, looking up at the sky in an attempt to judge the time through the miasma that always seemed to hang over this part of the Scarred Wasteland. Then I’ll continue to the Wyrmwound.

Poe let his eyes flutter closed, listening to the quiet bubbling of the pool below him. It lulled him into a gentle sleep.

As the sun crawled higher in the sky, Poe could feel it in his sleep. His scales warmed, the aches melting from his tired muscles. He barely stirred the entire time. The only reason he woke up so soon was because of the noise he heard below.

It started as a rumbling sound. Something else was by the pool of rot. Poe was already on his feet, knowing the dangers of being caught unawares in a place like this. The Hazebeacon noticed as its draconic companion rose to his feet, and the bird took wing.

Cautiously, Poe peeked over the edge of his perch, his fans pressed as thin as they could go against the sides of his head and neck. Below him, a Gaoler hauled itself near the pool and collapsed by it, its head resting just short of the fetid liquid. Seeing it wasn’t water, the Gaoler let out a low growl and pushed itself away from the edge of the pool.

It wasn’t healthy. Poe could see that- anyone could, really. Its fur was falling out in clumps, and what was left on its body was greasy and matted. Boils bubbled up around its eyes and nose, which were slick with greenish-brown discharge. Its eyes were the crystalline colour indicative of the Ice Flight. This poor creature must have walked too far, and underestimated the power of the Plague Flight. Even if Ice Flight dragons were naturally resistant to the contaminating magic of this place, they were not immune to it. 

To be so harshly punished for your hubris. A pity, Poe thought. 

The Gaoler was not alone. Following behind it, a Nocturne approached the pool as well. Or at least, Poe thought she was a Nocturne. She wore so much armor and coverings that he could barely tell. But her wings had two long, pointed fingers with membranes that reached her tail and back legs. She had to be a Nocturne, or a very strange looking Ridgeback.

“You said we’d find shelter here,” The Gaoler’s voice came out as a gurgle, and it coughed, spraying mucous all over the ground. “You liar!”

The Nocturne lifted her armored head slightly, defiant. “I did not,” she replied evenly, “We’re in one of the safest places of the Wasteland. We will wait for you to recover here.”

“I won’t recover from this!” The Gaoler’s voice pitched with fear. “You filthy Shade-born scavenger, you’re playing the long game, aren’t you? You’re just stringing me along and you’ll use my body for… For food! Or my bones as weapons! That’s how you work, isn’t it? You savage!”

The Nocturne remained amazingly steely as she fanned her wings, staring down the sickened Gaoler without a trace of fear. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have taken you this far.” She said reasonably. 

“You would have!” The Gaoler snapped back. “To separate me from the others- you conniving monster, I’ll kill you!”

The Nocturne snapped to readiness as the Gaoler took in a huge breath. As the Ice Flight Ancient exhaled a deadly blast of rhime, the Nocturne winged into the air, narrowly avoiding it. The Gaoler roared furiously, baring its yellowed teeth and blackened gums as it wheeled around to follow the Nocturne. 

The Nocturne swept over Poe, barely taking notice as she dove towards the Gaoler. Plague Magic wound over her claws as she readied a strike at the much larger foe.

Poe watched, transfixed, as the Nocturne slammed her whole body onto the Gaoler’s face, digging all available claws into flesh, before launching off again. The Gaoler howled in pain, steam rising from its face as new abscesses burst from its skin, rupturing one of its eyes. In a fit, the Gaoler let out a wild blast of ice magic, coating most of the nearby area with rime. Poe felt the underside of his perch grow cold, but he dared not move. The range on this monster was immense, and he didn’t want to chance getting blasted in a getaway.

The Nocturne weaved and dodged, but one of her wings was clipped by the vicious ice. Poe could hear her swear, and she turned her course to the Gaoler once more. Folding her wings, she pitched into another dive, straight at the dragon’s face.

Anticipating a second strike, the Gaoler opened its maw, and the Nocturne didn’t have time to stop before teeth closed around her with a crunch. She was held in the Gaoler’s mouth, sideways, one of her wings pierced and shattered by the stunning power of the Gaoler’s jaws.

Poe sprang into action without thinking. The Hazebeacon, circling high above, squawked in alarm as the Fae dragon flung himself at the Gaoler, bent on saving the strange Nocturne.

Poe let loose a torrent of Plague Magic, radiating from his core and pouring out as a concentrated beam of pestilence. 

The Gaoler barely had time to register that there was another combatant before the beam hit it square in the face with enough force to snap its head back. It opened its jaws wide in an agonized scream, and the Nocturne fell limply to the ground.

Poe chopped the air with his wings, the eyes on them squeezed shut against the force of the wind he stirred up. The Gaoler reeled and writhed, clawing at its face in an attempt to scrape off the contamination. 

But it was too late. The contamination that Poe had inflicted had intermingled with the Gaoler’s own flesh, and it only succeeded in shearing off swathes of its own face. Strips of hide fell to the ground, its antlers turning brittle and cracking off like ancient tree branches.

With one more vocalization- not a roar, not a scream, but some sort of primal utterance that Poe couldn’t describe, the Gaoler turned tail and ran deeper into the Plaguelands. It would not last long.

Sides heaving with the sudden exertion, Poe hurried to the Nocturne, who laid twisted on the ground.

“Are you awake?” Poe asked breathlessly. “Say anything if you can hear me- anything.”

The Nocturne twitched slightly at Poe’s voice, and let out a long, rattling sigh. 

That was enough for Poe. “Alright- Look, I’m going to help you. I’m a healer, I can help you.”

The dragon groaned something, but Poe couldn’t understand what she had said. Knowing Plague culture, probably something along the lines of: “No, leave me to my fate, if I’m a true survivor I need no help,”. Well, Poe didn’t abide by that sort of rhetoric. He bent his head to slip his bag over his neck and onto the ground where he could access his tools. He usually didn’t pack such things for festival trips, but the Riot of Rot was different. Sometimes having a doctor on-claw was a good idea.

The Nocturne was definitely hurt, but not nearly as bad as she would’ve been if not for the armour she wore. It was dented and even punctured in places, but her body was safe. Her wings were bent and pierced with her own bones, but it was nothing Poe couldn’t fix.

Spreading a wing so his eyes could get a better view of the damage, Poe started working on her wings with deft claws. Using the occasional tool or hook to gently arrange the broken pieces back into place, before weaving Plague magic through the appendage to knit the bones and bind the skin. Poe had articulated his magic in such a way for years now- to turn a magic of decay into something that could speed the healing process. It wasn’t perfect (It could never be, truly), but it worked.

He set the Nocturne’s wings as well as he could, before splinting them. Both wings were bad off, but the left was definitely worse. Some membrane was missing, presumably chewed off by the Gaoler when it had her in its mouth. And though the wings were mostly whole, it would be a long while until this Nocturne could fly again.

The Nocturne relaxed slightly when Poe stepped away from her damaged wings, now carefully wrapped. The coverings she wore were neatly folded and placed aside as Poe examined the armor for any means of removing it.

Strangely, Poe saw no clasps or buckles that would indicate how the Nocturne slipped the armor on. Frustratingly, this meant he would have to wait til she was awake to continue his healing art. This also meant he would have to figure out how to keep her sheltered. The midday sun in the Scarred Wasteland caught many creatures in its blaze, and it was not a pleasant death to experience. 

Placing his claws on the ground, Poe squeezed his eyes shut. Adapt to the environment. Or make it fit your needs.

With great effort, Poe raised his arms, dragging spires of bone buried deep beneath the ground to the surface, arching over himself and his patient. 

Keep us sheltered. Keep us safe. He brought his claws together, focusing on stretching the membranes that comprised most of the Wasteland over the skeletal structure he pulled from the ground. He could detect the area darkening through his eyelids, but he dared not open his them until he was sure the deed was complete.

Finally, his magic spent, Poe let out a breath he had been holding and looked around. The shelter he had summoned was, perhaps, too large. An Imperial could curl up in here, no problem. But at least they were safe. The large, domelike structure had very few openings into the sky. This was perfect for keeping them out of the sun. Though, no doubt, other dragons may seek to share the shelter. Poe would have to be on high alert, in case anyone approached him.

After giving the shelter a once-over, flying from one end to the other, Poe returned to the Nocturne. Her breathing had eased slightly, and her tail curled gently as if she were asleep. 

Poe lowered himself to the ground and rested his head on his claws. He wasn’t tired, but he was definitely fatigued after that entire ordeal. Raising this dome took the last bit of his energy out of him, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the heat anymore.

Making himself comfortable, Poe raised his head again to undo the chain clasp that held his personal tome to his coat. He flipped it open, pulling a quill out from between the pages, and began to write about the events that just transpired.

[mountain-jumper]

On starting wildfires

So I keep seeing a post about how starting a wildfire for a gender reveal is pretty dumb (which it is) so as someone who lives with wildfires every summer, I though I would share my two cents on fires.

1) yeah, a gender reveal bomb during peak fire season (especially after the same damn thing happened not too long ago) is dumb. Wildfires get started for all kinds of dumb reasons; Multnomah falls got torched after some kid was chucking fireworks into dry fuels. I've heard of fires stared by people parking their car in dry grass, people idling their car on dry grass, fires started by throwing away rags of linseed oil before they were dry, people burning an ex's love letters, people driving with brush caught in their undercarriage; no one intends to start a fire but that doesn't stop them once they get going.

2) yes, you can be held liable for the cost of containing a fire you start. No you are probably not going to pay it. When you hear about these astronomical fines after someone starts a wildfire, generally that's because fire management agencies want you to hear about it so hopefully you don't start the next one. Unless you are a power company or something similar, you are never going to actually pay the full cost. What it generally means is that the person responsible will have to pay a small portion of the fine (maybe a couple hundred dollars a month) for the rest of their lives. A painful reminder of that time you decided to do something stupid? Yes. Millions of dollars? No.

3) who caused a fire is a more complicated question than who caused the ignition. These destructive fires have a lot more to do with the conditions that have been created than the fact that they were started at all; the past century has seen massive fire suppression efforts and as a result fuel loads have built up to the point that suppressing further fires is incredibly difficult. There are some areas that I've been to that have more in common with a slash pile than a forest. Stories I've heard from a fairly recent, nasty fire include the fact that fire crews had to fight it road to road because there was too much downed wood to do anything else. As a result, any ignition source has the potential to spark a massive fire.

4) fires dictate forests and forests encourage fires. Fire ecology is a really interesting field and I would recommend anyone interested in fires to look into it. Suffice to say that every plant species (mainly talking about trees) has its own strategy for dealing with the fires it deals with. Ponderosa pines are adapted to frequent, low intensity fires, lodgepole pine forests are adapted to infrequent, high intensity fires. In turn, these forests encourage these fire regimes to a certain extent, such as lodgepole forests being prone to high severity fires that they can easily bounce back from. Heavy handed fire suppression efforts have thrown this out of wack causing high severity fires where forests are adapted to low severity fires and patches of juniper to be everywhere. This is why controlled burning and less draconian fire responses are being encouraged.

5) there are a lot more wildland fires than you think. In general, most people are only going to hear about large fires. These may happen a few times a season. I happen to listen to the radio frequencies that fires are called in on for my area and it isn't uncommon to hear a half dozen fires called in on a day following lightning.

6) home owners have a lot of influence on whether their house survives a fire. Now there are always factors that are out of your control, but if you live in the wildland urban interface fire preparedness needs to start a long time before smokes start popping up. For one, if a fire crew cannot safely defend an area, they will not defend that area. The presence of an open area at least nearby that a person could survive as the fire front passes is a make or break criteria for whether a fire crew will be anywhere near your house when a fire is threatening it. Beyond this you should maintain defensible space around your house, avoid flammable materials such as ceder shingles, avoid ember traps like attached wood decks, and buy into fire protection programs should they be available. Basically half of the features that make a regular appearance in cabin porn photos will do you zero favors in a fire. I would recommend doing your own research if you live in the wildland urban interface, and it's likely that your local forest service or dept. of forestry office can help you out.

7) this year I've been hearing a number of stories of homeowners remaining in the face of evacuation orders and successfully defending their home. I have mixed feelings about this, but one thing that I do know is that while success stories are picked up and interviewed, failure will just mean another tally mark in the "died after ignoring evacuation orders" column. Look up the definition of survivorship bias and engrave it on your heart.

8) wildland fire fighters are very different from structural firefighters. Structural fire fighters are renowned for their cooking, tend to accumulate qualifications like hoarders, usually act as emergency medical personal, and are frequently the subject of calenders. Wildland firefighters are known to eat basically whatever, are largely seasonal workers with minimal qualifications, act as an informal manual labor force in their downtime, and can be some of the grubbiest people you could ask for if they have been camping for a while.

9) convict crews are a thing. While prison labor itself is a full can of worms in its own right, I feel like it would be remiss not to point out the fact that the labor market can be fairly hostile to ex-cons and that an inmate fire crew position can act as a gateway to a private fire crew position if not a government one. While prison labor is far from a perfect institution, I feel that a crusade against a program which can provide a pathway to a fairly well paying job in the absence of any higher education does very little good without larger reforms aimed at allowing people who have served their time to re-enter the workforce.

10) wildfires aren't evil. If an area burns it will recover in time, particularly if the fire fits within the fire regime native to that area. While fire scars can be ugly, a forest that is suffering from a lack of fire is (imo) a far more depressing sight. After every high profile fire there are narratives that the area is destroyed; Yellowstone, Multnomah falls, ect. The forest is more than a bunch of trees that can get burnt and destroyed. Wildlands have cooexisted with fire since long before large scale fire suppression was possible and it is hubris to think that we can fully control them even if we wanted to.

Sorry for the long post, but fires are a big part of where I live and what I do. If there's a take home message here it's that you should follow the advice of your local fire management agencies and that fires and fire management are a lot more nuanced than you might think. Only you can prevent forest fires, but don't think that that means that fire isn't important to the landscape.

[bbq-hawks-wings]

If your interested, I also mentioned that Apollo was the god of oracles and prophecy. And there was that prophecy about Endeavor bringing everyone's demise in the form of Dabi :) even if he wasn't mentioned by name, we know he's the 'darkness' Endeavor's light will summon. And to fit in with that more, Dabi killing Endeavor will erase him from the narrative, which is like the dreams he was having.

(Continued) If Dabi = Apollo, and to Apollo, Hawks were his messenger birds then hmm whatdya think? *nudge nudge* He! Knows! The! Thing! Horikoshi is probably mixing a lot of stories. Someone once wrote that Icarus fell all the way down to Tartarus, but I can't find any source for that. We know he drowned at sea, but is there anything written on what happened after in detail or is that it? I'd also like to mention, while we're on the topic of myths.

(Continuing) Hawks' eyes are similar to the eyes of Horus/Ra are they not? His eyes are a big deal in the manga, and Ra is known as 'The Hidden One' Now we know Hawks is always hiding himself behind his feathers, there's at least three specific panels of him doing that. The MOST INTERESTING part is that Ra has many names, and one is secret, because knowing that would mean having power over him. (Applies to Dabi too in a way tbh.) but! We're thinking of Keigo Takami here ;)

(Last part) And Dabi held the power over him when he shouted it out and made Hawks lose his cool there. Bonus: Horus lost his left eye in a war with Set, and Dabi's foot was on Hawks' left eye and burned it. - anon from Foxy's tags.

I am VERY interested in the extended/multiple myth angle, particularly in regards to Hawks, Foxy anon. (Thanks for dropping by to talk, btw.) I've read everything over that you've sent, and if it's okay, I'd like to review your thoughts and chime in at the end with my own. I'm going to do it under the cut, though, because this is going to get long. Lol

I absolutely agree with you that Dabi is likely either a front-runner or the main agent of darkness summoned by Endeavor's light. The concept of the prophecy was introduced in canon, and I don't doubt Horikoshi plans to explicitly bring it up again. Considering Dabi's supposed dark connections to Endeavor's past he's a prime candidate to knock Endeavor out of the sky. When you combine this with the fact that Dabi's hair is black while Touya's appears to be snow white with the character for "light" spelled out in his name, it's hard to believe Dabi won't have some major role to play in this prophecy. The thematic idea that Apollo/Touya, as this more symbolic role than anything, in the background gives Hawks this prophecy to pass on about the incoming darkness is also not unlikely.

I'm not so sure the Hawks = Horus-Ra angle tracks as cleanly, though. Still, I'll follow your thought process first and give it the benefit of the doubt when discussing it before adding my thoughts. I'll be referring to Horus and Ra as the same entity as from my cursory research they were occasionally combined into the same deity and both share some nominal similarities with Hawks. Please also note Egyptian mythology is not my strong suit, and it has its own complexities I'm unfamiliar with. I'm only working with what I know and can research on the surface.

The note about his eyes are fascinating considering the fact that the Eye of Horus and the Eye of Ra are both major, destinct parts of the Egyptian mythology as well as having their own separate symbolic meanings and power - The right Eye of Ra representing the sun and having associations with aggression and destruction while the left Eye of Horus, representing the moon, was associated with healing, sacrifice, protection and wisdom - even being referred to as "the all-seeing eye."

Yet as potentially rich and interesting this angle is, I'm not entirely sure it's close enough to canon to stick.

My first objection starts with his proposed equivalence to Ra who is considered king of the gods and creator of all things as well as the personification of the sun itself. Imo, this is just too lofty of a position to accurately attribute to Hawks. Despite losing the sweet "bird of prey" aesthetic, I think Thoth would probably be a better fit as the god of the moon and writing, particularly as he restores the Eye of Horus. There's also the issue of which eye is burned and the significance of them - seeing as Hawks' left eye was burned, which according to this theory would be the Eye of Horus, it would make more sense for this to read as Hawks losing his motivation to work for those more selfless, positive qualities that up to this point have defined his character and leave only the Eye of Ra, the more destructive and violent tendencies, to reign unless some other character embodying Thoth restored it for him.

This premise of the right and left eyes on its own is positively dope and has a Shonen series begging to be made of it. However, I find it too far removed from the proven inspiration of HeroAca so far to be much more than a neat thought exercise for our purposes today. At least for the moment it would make sense to stick closer to the Greco-Roman angle we have at the moment, especially considering how closely tied together Dabi, Endeavor, and Hawks canonically are. If the Icarus story is meant to be the case as well and we wanted to flesh out Hawks individually more, I could see an angle that keeps the bird motif as well as the consequences of Daedalus/Endeavor's hubris directly impacting him as well.

Nevertheless, with the Egyptian aspect set to the side for now and sticking to our speculation around the Icarus myth for the moment, I'd like to posit that if Horikoshi is actually intending to take the larger mythos around Daedalus to explain the dynamics of these characters Hawks will be playing the role of one or two myths outside of merely acting as Dabi/Icarus' tattered wings. It requires some creative liberties to work; but nothing I'd consider too outside the realm of reason to break it.

Long before the tower, and even the birth of Icarus himself, Daedalus had an apprentice - either Talos or Perdix depending on the source. This apprentice was brilliant - even more so than Daedalus himself - and looked up to him to emulate him in his admiration of him. Though in this myth Daedalus commits the upcoming crime himself out of jealousy of his apprentice, if we tweaked it to mean "due to Daedalus' jealousy, Talos/Perdix was pushed out of a tower to his demise" the angle still works depending on the direction the manga takes. Athena - goddess of wisdom, and interesting in the context of HeroAca, the clever, noble, and positive aspect of war - looked on Talos/Perdix with favor and before he could be killed by the fall was transformed into a partridge who, remembering his past life, never soared or climbed to high places again and only nests close to the ground.

Like the other roles it's a stretch, and we really don't have enough canon material to work with to prove it either way, but a couple of notes in particular gives this theory enough merit for me to keep tucked in the back of my head as we go on.

A more direct, cause and effect relationship with Endeavor should he actually be playing the role of Daedalus.

The specific note of admiration and subsequent betrayal leading to the younger's downfall due to the previously unknown envy of the older.

If this myth pertains to events that have already happened in the manga (i.e. the fall of Talos/Perdix was Hawks' "adoption" by the HPSC) the low-dwelling partridge transformation fits not only because of Hawks' humble and wary nature but because of the symbolic blessing of Athena in particular being the catalyst for the change.

If this is meant to be indicative of events that will happen in the future (Hawks' burned wings, the epiphany about Endeavor, etc) it still works whether Hawks gets his wings back or not. In the case he doesn't he will be a grounded bird, though far from useless and still radiant; and if he does it leaves open the opportunity to squeeze in another myth - that of the Phoenix - instead of the partridge which ties in much more strongly with the theme of transformation and rebirth while keeping with the bird motif as well as ties in Endeavor's personal trademark of fire. This second ending also has the potential to work thematically whether Hawks forgives Endeavor or not depending on the interpretation - the Phoenix rises again reborn despite the fire, or the fire itself gives the Phoenix new life to soar again.

In this case, both Perdix and Icarus fall from high towers due to Daedalus' hubris - the first lured there out of false pretense through no fault of his own and the second out of desperation and even mania to escape and live his own life; but notably, while Icarus loses his wings and falls to his doom, Perdix reaches the ground safely and continues on to live on transformed as a new being.

Again, this is all speculation, and Horikoshi can crush our dreams completely with a single chapter release, but the thought experiment is fun even if I wasn't sure every myth brought up quite works with the canon revealed to us so far, and I get the added bonus of learning about new mythologies I might otherwise not have looked into myself.

Thanks for dropping these in my inbox, anon! I know I may have shot down the Egyptian myth part a bit in regards to fitting with canon, but your points make for killer AU potential! Are there any other characters you see as having parallels to Egyptian gods - other AUs I’ve seen have given Dabi the role of Anubis, for example? I'd love to hear more!

[sykilik101]

A Traditional Farewell

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay over, Misty? It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Misty slung her bag over her shoulder, smiling warmly at the woman who had only ever shown her kindness since they’d met. “It’s fine, Ms. Ketchum. I really should be getting back to the gym anyway.”

By the time Misty’s adventures with Ash had come to a close, the Ketchum household had grown from a stopping point in their journey into a second home for her. The walls that held portraits of memories, the furniture that was perpetually devoid of dust, and a fireplace that constantly invited her to curl up before it; the living room was filled with a coziness that drew her back over and over. It was rife with comfort and love, and perhaps it was responsible for the earnestness that filled the heart of the boy who was currently sending her off.

“You sure you’ll be okay making it through Viridian Forest, Misty? A bug Pokémon might creep up on you.” Ash made a low “oooh” sound as he wiggled his fingers eerily.

Misty rolled her eyes, that smirk she reserved for him growing on her lips. “You could always escort me home if you’re so worried, Ash.”

Ash rested his hands behind his head, that notoriously gleeful chuckle of his giving way to a much-too-carefree grin. “Nah, I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you don’t get lost.”

“You mean like how you always did?” Misty rested her hand on her hip, savoring this back and forth knowing it would have to last her for a while. Given Ash’s predilection for adventure, it was likely that she probably wouldn’t see him in person again for about a year, if not longer.

As was the normal Ash Ketchum reaction to being reminded of his younger self’s incompetencies, his jubilance morphed into a sour pout as he looked up and away. “They were shortcuts, Misty.”

Consideration of his mom’s presence was likely the only reason he hadn’t retorted with further vehemence. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers; she knew that he knew that doing so would be a confession that he was in the wrong, and the pride of Pallet was never fond of doing so, especially to her of all people. She settled for giggling at his exasperation before turning back to Delia. “Thank you again for letting me stay here, Ms. Ketchum.”

As if on cue, her immediate response was the return of that tender smile. “You’re very welcome, Misty. Feel free to stop by anytime. Actually,” she began turning towards the kitchen, “why don’t I give you a basket of snacks for the road?”

“Oh, Ms. Ketchum, you don’t have-” Her words fell on deaf ears as Delia had already made her way to prepare the amenities. “Well, Ash, your mom is as generous as ever.”

“Yeah, she is.”

His voice had lost some of its vigor, and Misty noted a touch of pink working its way through his cheeks. “Ash, is something wrong?”

“Nothing, I was just...thinking about saying goodbye.” He glanced back at where his mom had been, as if conscious of her absence.

“But Ash, you already did.”

He went quiet, his arms lowering to his sides. His gaze met hers, and in it she could seem some of that familiar sense of resolution he was known to conjure at crucial moments. Before she could say anything further he took two steps towards her and kissed her on the cheek.

Her heart rate began quickening, an Ash-induced flush rushing to her ears in a way she hadn’t felt in ages. He backed up, unable to look her in the eyes as the floor suddenly seemed captivating to him. Misty took in a breath and swallowed, hoping to calm her vocal cords so they wouldn’t shake as she spoke.

“Ash, what was that for?”

To his credit Ash appeared to look just as awkward as she felt, though she guessed he wasn’t expecting to feel this way, as if his sudden discomfort wasn’t part of whatever plan he had in mind. Regardless of what was going through his mind, however, she waited for an explanation, as his action had caused old feelings that she’d considered tucked away to ignite back into her heart once more.

“Well…” Ash started, one hand on his side and another scratching the back of his head, “when I was in Kalos, Serena kissed me on the cheek, and so I-”

“Wait.” That familiar, unsettling irritation that only Ash seemed to summon settled itself in her chest. She had no business or right to feel possessive of him, especially after she’d spent years of not seeing him trying to come to terms with feelings she’d convinced herself would never come to fruition. However, in under two minutes he’d both reinstated the “I Love Ash” campaign and then immediately became its biggest opponent, and it was taking all of the patience she’d developed to control her festering outburst. “She kissed you on the cheek?”

Ash, best friend that he was, picked up on her harboring irritation, waving his hands defensively. “Well, she said that’s how people from Kalos say goodbye!”

“Well, we’re not FROM Kalos, are we?”

“Well, no, but…” Ash’s flare gave way to an uncharacteristic silence as he nibbled at his lip, his voice lowering almost to a whisper. Forced bravery was etched all over his face as he struggled to keep his gaze on hers. “I know Serena looked up to me a lot, and I figured that’s why she kissed my cheek when she left.”

Shapeshifting, swirling, his eyes now shone with a softness that was clearly covering up something he wasn’t able to say aloud. Of course, with Misty’s years of translating Ash’s mannerisms behind her, it was the embarrassment in how he shifted from foot to foot and the unconscious way he rubbed his shirt between his fingers that said everything she needed to hear. All of her old “stay calm in the presence of the Ash who makes your heart race” techniques were rusty and out of shape, so articulating the words Ash was failing to say was a challenge she wasn’t ready for.

“So...is that why you kissed my cheek? Because you look up to me?”

Even with their lengthy friendship behind them, it was impossible to say if Ash looked more surprised or sheepish at her deciphering of his unconscious language, but a goofy smile began working its way onto his face all the same. “Well, sure, Misty, there’s nobody I know who’s a better water Pokémon trainer!”

Romantic was the last word Misty would ever use to describe Ash, but even she knew when to give credit where it was due as fresh blood rushed to her face. It was that irresistible touch of awkwardness that blemished his otherwise cheerful expression and set her heart to overdrive. It was almost frustrating how easily Ash could revive her affections for him that she had practically discarded, but this left her with the realization that she now had a choice to make. She could walk away now and try to go back to how she felt before, or she could use this chance to try doing something with her feelings once and for all.

As if there was any other option.

She cleared her throat, pleading that her voice wouldn’t betray her. “You know, the people who live in Cerulean City have their own way of saying goodbye, too.” This was, of course, an absolute lie, but teasing Ash was in her blood at this point.

Ash tilted his head inquisitively. “They do?”

Misty nodded, at odds with the fact that the scenario she’d daydreamed of for years was finally in front of her. She found herself thinking back to the days when she watched Ash compete for a badge, wondering if this is how he felt during those moments. No matter who he was facing or what Pokémon they used, he was always fired up and determined to win. Magically he always came out on top more often than not, and as Misty grinned at the vision of him in her memories, she decided to borrow some of that hubris of his to achieve her own goal.

It was easy, then, for her to lean forward and touch her lips to his.

The kiss was warm, and the million nerve endings in her mouth picked up on the gentle quiver of his. She didn’t have the courage to open her eyes to see his reaction, but she willed herself to rest her hands on his shoulders, pressing harder into him as her heart began lodging itself into her throat. A soft hum escaped his nose, though she was unsure if it was one of contentment or discomfort. Her elation at having finally kissed him was inevitably outweighed by the pressure of not knowing what he was thinking, so with a great deal of hesitation she eased herself back, finally allowing herself to see his face.

If ruby could blush, it still wouldn’t match the utter blaze that was Ash’s face. In spite of his record-breaking shade of red, however, he seemed less surprised by her kiss than she anticipated. Words tried to escape him, but all that came out was something that sounded like a cough while trying to clear his throat. Ash was never one for words when stunned like this, but this was probably a new personal best for him, a thought that elicited a bubbly giggle from Misty.

Her amusement seemed to be enough to rescue Ash from his shell-shocked state, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “Misty, I mean, wasn’t that just a...kiss?”

In what should have been a serious and heartfelt moment, Misty felt a sudden compulsion to continue messing with Ash, and in her heart it meant that their constant teasing was naturally ingrained into their relationship, not just with her. “Well, in Cerulean City, we see it as two waves crashing together before parting, but pieces of the waves mix and stay with each other.”

“Staying with each other, huh…” Ash mumbled, processing her words before he bit the inside of his lip once again. “So do you only do that with people you look up to, like in Kalos?”

Misty looked up to the ceiling contemplatively, bringing a finger to her chin. “Mm, sort of,” she replied with a shrug before winking at him. “You’re only allowed to use that form of goodbye with one person.”

The deeper connotation of her words was clearly not lost on him as he smiled goofily, realization dawning in his eyes. The radiant pink that had bloomed on his cheeks was her reward for her bravery, and she decided that she’d take any opportunity to inspire it out of him that she could get. “Y’know, Ash, even though you’re not from Cerulean City, you…you can use that goodbye, too. I mean, if you want to.” The words were heavier on her tongue than she expected, realizing that despite her constant romantic daydreams, she had little idea of what to actually do now that her affections were no longer locked away in secret.

Fortunately, Ash always seemed to know what she needed to hear. “I think I’d really like to, as long as the one person I’d be saying goodbye to is okay with it.”

He had no business looking as cute as he did as he spoke, but Misty was in no position to argue otherwise as she was more focused on the gymnastics routine going on in her stomach. She was sure her ears and face were replicating her hair’s color, but Ash didn’t seem to mind at all. If anything, he seemed awkwardly content as he sheepishly rubbed his cheek with his finger. A swell of emotions bubbled within her and she prayed that her voice wouldn’t crack as she spoke. “Well, if...if the one person happens to be me, then I’d really lo-”

“Sorry that took so long, Misty, I simply couldn’t decide what you’d like to drink, so I put a few things in here.”

Delia’s voice obliterated any semblance of a moment the two were trying to create, sending both of them back with a jolt. The sight of Misty in all her fluster must have set off Delia’s internal alarms because she immediately set the basket down, pressing her hand to the redhead’s forehead. “Misty, are you okay? You don’t look well.”

“I-I’m fine, Ms. Ketchum. I just, uh…” Under normal circumstances Misty could have easily whipped up some excuse for her current condition, but leave it to Ash to put her in a not-so-normal circumstance. Well, it was partially her fault, too, but he was the one who kissed her cheek first, so he was more responsible. Accepting the internal victory, she racked her brain for anything she could say that would keep Delia from-

“Actually, mom, Misty decided that she’s gonna stay over after all.”

Two sets of eyes locked onto Ash, who looked equal parts pleased and amused. Misty glanced back and forth between the two, wondering how Delia would respond to Ash’s sudden input. She was simply staring at him expectantly, and perhaps this was a custom Ash was used to because he quickly added to his response.

“She and I aren’t done saying goodbye yet.”

With a gentle turn of his head he shot her a sly wink, reminding her what a skipped heartbeat felt like. There was no way the clueless, dense Ash she'd traveled across numerous regions with knew how to be this charming, but she wasn’t allowed another chance to ponder this further as Delia picked the basket back up, her face awash in relief and satisfaction.

“In that case, I’ll go ahead and prepare the bath for you. Ash, tidy up your room for you two to sleep in.”

“Sure thing, mom.”

Delia headed back into the kitchen with the basket, leaving the pair standing in the entryway. With her mind still reeling from what had just transpired, Misty’s fingers laced together, waiting for Ash to say or do something, anything. Everything she could have hoped for ages ago was on the cusp of becoming real, and she was suddenly too scared to ruin the perfect. Her heart and lungs were conspiring towards asphyxiation from the tension, electricity and possibility surging through her entire body.

With a glance in her direction Ash grinned before tilting his head towards the hallway. “Do you wanna help me get the room ready?”

His outward nonchalance at what felt like a monumental occasion almost sent another shot of ire through Misty, but it was the creases in the corners of his eyes that gave away his own overpowering bliss. With a nod they made their way into Ash’s room, and as they stepped in a feeling of novelty overtook her. She’d just spent days here, but the Ash who’d snored away before wasn’t the same one she’d be rooming with tonight, and the notion was enough to leave her frozen in glee as the boy spread his makeshift bed on the floor.

“Hey, Misty?”

His voice broke her from her reverie, coming to her senses as he was putting the finishing touches on his comforter. “Yeah, Ash?”

“I just, uh...well…” The return of his shyness strangely put her at ease, processing that he was probably just as nervous about this as she was. He turned to her, glancing upwards at her with a bashful pout. “We...in Pallet Town, we have our own way of saying hello, too. And, well, it’s actually pretty similar to, y’know...how you say goodbye in Cerulean.”

Implication was a skill that she didn’t realize Ash had picked up in his travels, but she was more than grateful for his craftiness as she knelt beside him. The faint sound of Delia preparing the bath gave her the confidence that they’d have a few more minutes of privacy, but that’s all the time she’d need. “Can you show me how to do it, Ash?”

He blinked, cocking his head to the side. “But we aren’t saying hello right now, Misty.”

“I know. But I want to practice so I can greet you properly the next time we do. Besides,” she put her hand on top of his, curling her fingers under his palm, “you need to get better at saying goodbye, and I’m willing to show you how it’s done.”

Right on cue, that wonderful pink returned to his cheeks before he smiled at her. As he leaned in closer, her mind drifted to the many mixed feelings she’d had about their irregular time together. His dream wouldn’t wait for her, and she had begrudgingly gotten used to entering and leaving each other’s lives, but as they practiced their new routine together, just maybe, it wouldn’t be as painful from now on. He was her other wave; always crashing together, always coming apart, but she knew that a piece of her would stay with him, and in her own heart, his hellos and goodbyes would always be with her until the day the waters calmed and the waves could seamlessly meld into one.

xxxxx

This was written and revised in the span of about 10 days, so it doesn’t have the full polish, but I’m still pretty happy with it.

[duncanwrites]

All the books I read in 2020, reviewed in two sentences or less

My 2020 in reading was, naturally, a little strange. I had lots of long pauses, did a bad job of keeping track of everything I read, used an e-reader for the first time, and read more for work than I usually do.

So these may not be in strict chronological order as they usually are, and there may be a few missing, but here’s the list, as per tradition:

Rising Tide - John M. Barry: This history of the Mississippi floods of 1927 and the resulting changes in how the US deals with natural disasters is one of those stories about how politics and personality can become a part of the concrete world, and essential for understanding the racial dynamics of disaster response. Well-told, and worth reading. 

The Consultant's Calling - Geoffrey M. Bellman: A very useful recommendation from a trusted friend that now has a long-term spot in my office shelf. This book isn't only about consulting, it also offers great thoughts about finding your place and impact in organizations in general.

Range - John Epstein: I think Range is the nonfiction book that had the second- greatest impact on my thinking about myself this year (stay tuned for number 1!): I've always approached my professional and political work as a generalist, and for a long time I felt like that approach was leading me to a dead end. Reading this convinced me that I could be effective and even more useful with my fingers in a lot of different pies, and nudged me to keep searching for my most effective place in the movement.

The Accusation - Bandi: A harrowing work of realist fiction from North Korea that shows the toll authoritarian hero-worship takes on the soul.

The Underground Railroad - Colson Whitehead: I found that the quality of The Underground Railroad did not quite match its notoriety. It felt like two books awkwardly joined, where the more grounded approach to the emotional and interpersonal stakes of slavery and freedom was attached to a poorly-explored fantasy device.

Maus - Art Spiegelman: So much more than a book about the Holocaust, Maus is about parents and how pain is handed down between generations.

I Love Dick - Chris Kraus: After a long enough time, it becomes hard to evaluate books that are meant as a provocation as well as storytelling, but even 20 years on, it's not hard to see why I Love Dick brought us so much of the style and voice of feminist writing on the internet. A unique, itchy, sticky piece of work.

Bloodchild - Octavia Butler: Whenever I see an Octavia Butler book in a used book store, I buy it. This collection of short stories is a fantastic example for what transgressive, visionary speculative fiction should aspire to.

King Leopold's Ghost - Adam Hochschild: What I love about this book and the other I've read by Hochschild (Bury the Chains_ is that he very carefully merges deep explorations of systems of violence with the way that they can be undone by the people who participate in them. King Leopold's Ghost is as much about Belgium's murderous plunder of the Congo as it is about the successful global movement against it.

Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon: Priory of the Orange Tree is built on a strong foundation, melding Eastern and Western dragon stories into one universe, but couldn't seem to tie all of its threads together in a compelling way by the end.

Desiring the Kingdom - James K. A. Smith: Smith's point about meaning and desire being embedded in every day practices is a valuable one, but I think I may be just too far outside of his target audience of religious teachers and thinkers to get the most out of his explorations here.

City of Brass, Kingdom of Copper, Empire of Gold (The Daevabad Trilogy) - S. A. Chakraborty: This series is exceptional, and some of my favorite books of any kind that I read this year; I certainly think I recommended them more often than anything else I read in 2020. A high fantasy built on Islamic and Arab cultural iconography, the characters are insightfully developed, the world building grows with precise pacing, and the themes of intergenerational trauma, and sectarianism are handled with expert delicacy.

Leadership and the New Science - Meg Wheatley: While I appreciate the effort to apply metaphors developed from scientific paradigm shifts to provoke paradigm shifts of thinking in other areas of work, I think this book strains its chosen metaphors a bit too far to be useful.

The American Civil War: A Military History - John Keegan: I appreciate that there's a value to these kinds of military analyses of conflicts, but I found this book's neutral tone - and sometimes admiring takes - towards the Confederacy off-putting. Two things I did take from it: the outcome of the war was not certain at the beginning, and speed is truly a critical part of winning conflicts.

To Purge This Land with Blood - Stephen Oates: This was the first substantial reading I had ever done about John Brown, and Oates' book made it very clear why he is still one of the American historical figures most worth talking about today. The contradictions, complexities, and unimpeachable truths caught up in his raids are almost too many to name, but I think he is one of the people most worth thinking about when considering what actually changes the world.

Normal People - Sally Rooney: Anyone who denies that this book is anything less than a truly great novel is not telling the truth, or does not actually care about the feelings people feel. It is a work of keen emotional observation, and perfect, tender language, as well as a pleasingly dirty book -- and there is nothing I would change about it.

Conversations With Friends - Sally Rooney: Still a banger, I think Conversations with Friends struggles somewhat to get to its point, and has less of the pleasing depth and ambiguity of Normal People. Still worth your time and attention, I think.

The Glass Hotel - Emily St. John Mandel: I loved Station Eleven, and I can't imagine having to follow it up, and I unfortunately think The Glass Hotel doesn't quite accomplish all it set out to do. It wandered, hung up on a few strong images, but never progressed towards a point that needed to be made, and I finished it feeling underwhelmed.

The Water Dancer - Ta-Nehisi Coates: Coates is an essential nonfiction writer who can turn a phrase to make devastating, memorable points - but I thought his novel failed to do very many of the things that make his nonfiction great.

A Visit From The Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan: Someone once recommended this book to me as a way to study voice in character development - it is certainly that, as well as a brutally efficient window into hope, fame, and aging.

Trick Mirror - Jia Tolentino: The best parts of Trick Mirror show why Jia Tolentino is one of the writers most worth reading today: she knows how to find the experiences and people that wormhole you into dimensions of American culture that you might not otherwise think carefully about. While I think some of the essays in the book are weaker than her usual work, overall it is still terrific, and her essay on Houston rap, evangelical culture, and drugs is one of the best anythings I read all year.

My Dark Vanessa - Kate Elizabeth Russell: I feel like I'm on very shaky ground making any definitive takes about a book like this that is so fundamentally about gendered violence and what it means to be a victim of that violence. But I will say that I think it's important to recognize how power and charisma can be used to make you want something that actually hollows out your soul.

Prozac Nation - Elizabeth Wurtzel: Without a doubt, this is the nonfiction book that had the greatest personal impact on my life in 2020, and I have much longer things I've written about it that I will probably never share. While I've not ever been to the extremes she describes here, Wurtzel describes so many things that I clearly remember feeling that the shock of recognition still hasn't worn off.

The New Jim Crow - Michelle Alexander: In truth, we should all be shaking with rage at the American justice system every single day. This is certainly not the only book to explain why, but it does a particularly good job of explaining both the deep roots, and rapid expansion of the system we need to dismantle.

The Martians - Kim Stanley Robinson: Getting another little taste of the world Robinson built in the Mars Trilogy only made me want to drop everything and read them again. Well-made, but not stand-alone short stories that are worth reading if you've finished the novels and aren't ready to leave the formally-Red yet.

The Wind’s Twelve Quarters - Ursula K. Le Guin: One of the things that makes Le Guin so special is the sparseness of her prose and world building, and her genius is very much evident in her short stories.

Matter - Iain M. Banks: This is the second Culture series book I've read by Banks, and once again I thought it was inventive, satisfyingly plotted, but not so heady to be imposing. A very solid read.

Ogilvy On Advertising - David Ogilvy and Ogilvy On Advertising in the Digital Age - Miles Young: The original Ogilvy on Advertising is  frustratingly smug but at least delivers plain and persuasive versions of advertising first principles. Ogilvy on Advertising in the Digital Age is also frustratingly smug, but is mainly useful as an example of the hubris and narcissism of contemporary advertising executives.

Goodbye to the Low Profile - Herb Schmertz: Schmertz was the longtime public affairs director for Mobil Oil, and in this book he talks about how they worked to manage public debate about the oil industry, without realizing that he's writing a confession. Reading this it is abundantly clear how the oil industry's commitment to making deception respectable led to the collapse of the American public sphere.

The Lean Startup - Eric Ries: I was surprised by how much I liked this book, and wish more people who wanted to start political projects would read it. The Lean method is a way of building organizations that are ruthlessly focused on serving their base of supporters, and evaluate their work against real results - and I think we all could use more of those.

Zero To One - Peter Thiel: Another book that reads like a confession when perhaps not intended to, Zero To One's main point is that the point of building businesses should be to build monopolies, and that competition is actually bad. A great starting point for understanding what's gone wrong in America's tech economy.

The Mother of All Questions - Rebecca Solnit: Of the many things to cherish about Solnit as a writer, the one I needed most when I re-read this book is her ability to gently but doggedly show other ways of imagining the world, and ourselves in it.

Native Speaker - Chang-Rae Lee: I think this is the third time I've read this novel, and the time I've enjoyed it the least: somehow on re-re-reading, the core metaphors became overbearing and over-used, and the plot and characters thinner.

Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller: There are several excellent entries in the sub-genre of classic tales re-told from the perspective of silent women characters, but this is the first I've read re-told from a man's perspective - in this case, the likely-lover of Achilles in the Iliad, Patroclus. While not necessarily a groundbreaking work of literature, it is a very well-executed one that tells a compelling story about how violence can destroy men who carry it out.

Uprooted - Naomi Novik: What makes Uprooted so engrossing is that its magical world feels grounded, and political: magic has consequences for the individuals who use it, and further consequences based on their place in the world. What makes it frustrating is the overwhelming number of things the author has happening in the story, and the difficulty they have bringing them to a conclusion.

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine 44

Spoilers, obv.

I'm aware that this is either going to be a relatively short one or an epic one. The risk of the latter is that rather than just talking about the issue, for the first time I'm free to talk about the series as a whole, and so talk about some of those other choices. There'll be some of that, but it would warp the nature of the notes, and give some false perspective. I can talk about it being over now, sure, but talking about it all means I'm not talking about this element. Not least because I can't talk about it all – there's still the question of issue 45.

But still. There's a lot to talk about, and a lot of hard things in here to do. We knew where we going, but the devil is in the details. The devil's everywhere.

Jamie/Matt's Cover

Minerva finally gets her head-shot. I was a little worried that people would realise exactly what was happening to Minerva here, but I didn't see anyone realise she's falling, and speculate why. Of course, I knew what it was and couldn't not see it. That's how it works.

It's a striking last image though – this is an especially blank glance, in the middle of all the motion. Matt's pink/white nimbus is really powerful too.

Emma Rios/Miquel Muerto

Emma's one of our favourite artists, and we were so glad that we managed to get her before the end. Emma's always someone who gets this evocative drama of it all – this is obviously a momentous cover, but you don't know the moment until reading. Laura and Lucifer being a core relationship, and the hint of leaving. Miquel does strong, atmospheric things with the colours as well. It's a great cover to end the story on. On - Pretty Deadly is back on the same day as 45, and I can't wait. Gets!

IFC

In terms of minor things we did which have a big emotional effect, changing the gods' names to their human names was certainly one. It sits there and stings.

Page 1

This issue is particularly tightly wound, so we set the clock on the issue in this one page.

I had a couple of people wonder where the cops came from. I presume it's because the delay in publication – the "we have to go now because of woden's tape has revealed we're almost all complicit" is the only reason why they went for Minerva immediately.

For a page that's so tightly wound, Jamie does some great establishing here. Opening panel with the fire in top of Valhalla, to link to last issue. A shot with all these people in it – a character beat, and three extremely dialogue low panels.

Page 2

Riff on Better The Devil You Know.

The weird rhythm in WicDiv is the arcs-which-take-place-in-a-very-short-time and arcs-which-take-place-over-months.  Faust act, Rising Action, Imperial Phase II, "Okay" are the over-a-short time. Fandemonium, Commercial Suicide, Imperial Phase I and Mothering Invention are the extended ones. The closest to one which does both is Faust Act, which spreads its action over a week or two.

Page 3

Lovely stuff in here with Jamie, in terms of character work – obviously this is Lucifer hamming it up, but seeing individual responses around the room is a hell of a thing. Minerva's a total mess here.

Valentine giving up clever insults at this point is probably a thing.

Page 4-5 "Bothersome" is a very Lucifer word. The expression in panel 2 is also key Lucifer – that eye-roll of it.

Laura's captions also arrive mid way through – key, as they're clearly going to be key. I was thinking of having them at the start of page 3 as well, but we can let us live in the moment.

Laura's performance tentacles is a lovely panel – seeing how Matt works the colours on the space. The blues fading to white, the reds. Honestly, this is making me miss working with Matt already, and seeing how good he and Jamie are together.

Callbacks here to Lucifer in the first arc – the cycle of it all.

"There were two girls in hell" makes me well up. |It's one of my favourite Jamie expressions in the issue.

Page 6-7

When planning the larger structure of WicDiv, I was aware that I made certain calls in hope I would be able to save people. The early "death" of the Heads was actually a way to protect them. I was aware that characters who were in play were far more likely to die, as they had more chances to do so. I knew I could likely save the heads, so by making them heads, I made it more likely.

I originally planned for Dionysus to die, but I couldn't bear it. His hubris was real, but the idea that someone could give so much without anyone really caring or doing something for him was too heart breaking, even for me. I realised during Rising Action that I could actually save him – the pieces were already in play, and I just had to lean into those relationships to lead to Baph's choices. At the start, I wasn't sure where Baphomet ended in year 4 – part of me thought he'd survive, as I didn't have that final beat for him at the start. That I didn't have a hard end for Baphomet always made him open to the story finding another purpose for him – which is an end which I can't imagine any other way now. WicDiv is an awful necessary machine.

That applied to Lucifer too. She was a darling, obviously, but she was always going to be trouble. Part of me was aware that she could come back and almost immediately get killed again. I'd like her to make it out, but it was possible she wouldn't.

So, as I said last time, when I realised she was the final opposition I was pleased – that was perfect to the themes and the structure.

I wrote in my synopsis that Laura uses a performance to touch Lucifer and convince her into renouncing her godhood, and left it at that.

There it sat until I came to script it.

Because, in all honesty, I had no idea how Laura was going to convince Lucifer to give up her godhood. I just trusted that there would be some way Laura could reach her. Or, really, I hoped there was – because I knew if I wrote something that didn't feel convincing to me, I wouldn't do the scene. Lucifer would have died instead.

So, the day came when I was scripting this sequence, and I started writing, and wondered what the performance would be, and I just wrote "Laura descends the Ananke head sequence and drags Luci back."

Then I leaned back, a little shocked, because that was clearly right, and so clearly fit with what the series does – a final deconstruction of one of our core visual icons, giving a new way to look at the sequence and think about it. It was just there. As if it was there all along. Or just the sort of thought that emerges when you've been obsessed over this fucking thing for five years.

I'm aware of the weird resonance as well – Laura's finding a performance to save a friend is me finding a performance to save a character. WicDiv was a weird book.

Jamie and Matt go to town, of course – the melting faces are just painful, and wonderfully done. The fleshy reds, the fires. How Clayton uses the captions across the page to play with pacing...

I originally suggested we do it completely as the WicDiv spread, with Laura crawling across the centre spread and making her way up – that it would be treating what is meant to be two columns as a space was decided to be too much, so instead we went with flipping to a subjective perspective on a space that we've only experienced from a single objective outside viewpoint. That's got magic too.

Page 8

A long time to get to this kiss, right?

We moved the dialogue around a little to nail some moments – we had the magic effect on the final panel so the transition to the next page wasn't too much.

The annoyance of Eleanor in the last panel is just my everything. I described it to Jamie by using a metaphor of me in my early thirties, having split up with an Ex, and torn between various places, including seriously wondering whether, after everything, the simple answer to my sexuality stuff was that I was just gay. How annoyed I would have been, after all those years, if it was that. Just a "Oh, FFS. I'm just gay! Why didn't I get that earlier? Why have I wasted all this time? What a fucking fool I am."

That.

Page 9

Repeat of core WicDivian imagery, turned to a different purpose. After these magificent godly reveals, we do this very normal world.

Yeah. This would have been a happy place to end the series.

Page 10

Laura wants to be better, of course. It's easy to say you want to do better.

A+ Cassandra-ing in the background there.

Page 11

Now, Minerva is dead in a few pages time, and she is a genuine monster, trapped in a system of her own making. But I didn't want to send her into the void thinking she had that horror awaiting her. I can't forgive her, but I can give her a little peace.

Title drop, of course, with a wonderful expression by Jamie. There's a lot here.

Okay, let's do this.

"Okay" is a phrase that's haunted WicDiv. We've come back to it multiple times – it's a fascinating word in the English language, and has caused problems for people translating it, in the mixture of ambivalence and optimism in it is really tricky. Clearly, we use everything inside the word.

It wasn't my Dad's last words, but it's the last exchange I remember with him. Everyone else was out, and I was helping him back to his seat. He says to me.

"Son, I know this is strange, but I can't help but think it's going to be okay."

And I can almost imagine my eyes bulging out of my head, as I wanted to howl at him: no, Dad. It really fucking isn't.

This comes up almost verbatim in the first arc, with the exchange between Laura and Lucifer before she breaks out. The series is about many things, but my Father's death was the core inspiration for it, and that "It's going to be okay" haunted me and it.

I don't think this is what my Dad meant, clearly, but it's how I've ended up metabolising it. I've been signing "It's going to be okay" when I sign Faust Acts, partially as it's the WicDiv phrase, partially as a secret-promise-that-they-won't-all-die-and-there-is-hope and partially because "When death comes, it's okay" is that buried in it. If I had to boil the book down to a sentence, it'd be it. It means different things depending how you look at it. That's all I've got.

Page 12

I talk about Solving The Equation of the third year, and Dio being in play for this section is absolutely part of it.

That first panel. I said that the cast were all people I'd have killed to be at various stages of my life. Umar is someone I try to be now. I don't succeed, but he's a worthy goal. Kind is not soft and all that.

While the silent panel is something you've all seen before, it's worth highlighting how good Jamie is. The favourite gesture of the scene is the eyes upwards of Cassandra – I don’t remember Jamie using this angle before, and it's really striking. I suddenly miss that I won't be working with Jamie again for a while. Have fun, Jamie. You were the best.

And now, this.

Page 13-14-15

"It would take a real monster to kill a kid" is one of those lines that have been sitting in the files since the beginning.

There was a fan artist in the WicDiv community early on who kept on doing these totally charming portraits of Baal and Minerva playing around in a big brother and little sister way. Every time I saw them, I felt both love for the art, and a sadness. "In four years time, you are going to have a terrible day."

That's one of the weirdest things of the last four years – that. Knowing that stuff is out there.

Looking at this at a little distance, I see the elements in – the standing on the edge, the "Please Don't" and all that. I sigh. This is awful and upsetting and that page turn is one of the hardest in the series. I wish Valentine would forgive himself, but he couldn't.

This is the sort of thing I want to write a lot about, and want to write nothing. I think I'll keep it as just the facts, in terms of trying to plot this.

Occasionally you get to a knot – I knew Valentine had to kill Minerva, that Valentine couldn't bear to live after that was done and that Minerva had to die after Baal gave up his powers. How to you put those three together, without introducing something else.

C asked "Where does it happen? Could it happen somewhere high?" and the rest was there. Falling being the repeating WicDiv image as well.

I think I pictures this actually side on, without the drop. Jamie's choice is better, just because of the eyes.

The three panels is something we're returned too, but choosing the distance was key. You know it's there, but I didn't want to revel in the dead bodies. This is a different kind of death to many of the ones in the book, and has to be treated as such. Any more blood than shows they're dead would be obscene.

I sigh again. I note that Matt does the lights on the guns perfectly, but I want to highlight craft. The shot of eveyrone waiting is a huge thing – Inanna's grief, Dio stepping in, and the crossed arms of Cassandra...

16

I think it was when I was plotting the second year at WicDiv that I realised that I couldn't see a way out of this which didn't involve the majority of the cast ending up in jail for a while. I was okay with that, as it made some sense. It's thematically resonant for a few ways – it's a choice which shows their acceptance of their acts, and their actual humanity as well as an understanding of their power, and lots more.

However, due to all the straight, white characters being dead, it does mean that a all-queer all-PoC-minus-Lucifer cast going to jail, in the current jail system. That said, while far from perfect, the UK is not the US. I don't think I could have written this ending in the US. Even in the UK, I safety-proof it conceptually as much as I can.

They are all queer, and almost all PoC... but they are also superhumans (and mostly rich.) They have a degree of power, and options which are not open to other people... and it is their one chance to try and navigate this space with no-one else (either them or other humans) getting killed. It's their last chance to act in good faith to the rest of the species.

I wouldn't trust the system if they were people without their resources. They're not. And this is the least-worst choice I can see.

I'm sure some of you will disagree with me on that.

17

More safety-proofing – Voluntuaryism is an anarchist idea. "The only true order is voluntary order" basically.

18-19-20

This is a lot of space for a sequence which is relatively minor dramatic weight, but as we segue towards the end, we want it to breathe a little. Plus there's the matter of the page turns – the previous interstitial was about pushing that as well, so both the "surrender" and Laura's final headshot are on a turn.

Matt's lighting in this sequence is wonderful – I said to Jamie that I was thinking of almost suggesting we're changing genre before Laura steps in. It's a "The special forces go after Batman" sort of sequence. I was thinking of the one from Batman: Year Zero, which is some top class special forces entering darkened environments.

Another moment of the weird-colouring-in-a-balloon, and the actually living in the moment.

Taking the guns is more safety-proofing, showing they are not acting in blind faith of the system. That Laura can take the guns also shows that Laura likely could walk out of prison any time she wants, and the rest will be able to do the same too.

(Not that the people in power know they don't presently have access to their big ones, of course.)

We originally has Cass shouting that final line, but had it much more matter of fact. This is kind of past shouting.

21-22

Yeah, this is calling back all manner of stuff. Back to the courtroom.

Jamie asked me a lot about the final expression, as is only right. This is a story where we've used head shots a lot, normally with pose. This is something else.

23

Worth noting that Laura couldn't be sentenced to life imprisonment. She's 18 so would be sentenced for "custody for life". Not that the story actually says what she's been sentenced to that either – we cut before the sentence is given. Don’t expect a firm answer to that in next issue either.

But they all have been sentenced to life, in the obvious metaphorical way. Laura has been depressed and self-destructive to the point of a death wish throughout. At the end, she's decided to try to live.

I count that as bitter sweet, and I count that as a win. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of them all.

I'm in tears now.

24-28

And we were when compiling the letters page. Thanks you lot.

29

Jamie and I both had really intense feelings about the final cover. It's clear why we've kept it secret (it gives away Laura survives) but to see this young woman we've been writing about older was incredibly moving.

Laura was 20 years younger than me at the start of WicDiv, and she's 20 years older than me at the end. Feeling suspended between the two poles, identically. The duality of it, one more time.

I love this cover so much, and I loved these characters, this book, you lot.

Thanks for reading.