#Which completely shatters some theories that I've read

[revenantghost]

Waypoint: Much of SIGNALIS is about ambiguity. It's hard to tell what did or didn't actually happen, but much of it feels emotionally real. It gives the game weight. When crafting the story and the journey these characters go on, did you start with specifics and work backwards, or has the hazy ambiguity always been there?

Yuri: SIGNALIS went through many iterations. I always felt a strong urge for the story to have a dream-like quality, but often felt things ended up feeling a little too banal, so I'd reflect on what my dreams feel like and applied that to the way we told the story.

[...]

Waypoint: Yuri, you recently had a tweet thread about the game's endings, and how people are responding to them. Specifically, that some are interpreting some endings as "good" or "bad" when the intention was more ambiguous. Can you talk about the design process for coming up with the game's endings, and how players achieve each one? Were you prepared for players to be confused?

Yuri: It might have been phrased poorly, but my tweet was really only meant to be an observation on the dynamic of telling first-time players how to feel about their ending. We were always aware that a lot of people would grade the endings on a classic good-bad scale, so we tried to balance the presentation of each story outcome a little based on this expectation, but I think we might have overdone it a little in some cases.

Barbara: Endings are determined based on the players’ overall playstyle. It was not our intention that players replay the game to try to get another ending. Rather, we wanted for each player to get an ending that fits their playstyle.

#DEVELOPER INTERVIEW LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOO #Signalis #Signalis Game #I just shared the two I found most interesting #I find it ESPECIALLY interesting that they didn't intend for folks to replay it for more endings #Which completely shatters some theories that I've read #If you decide to factor in word of god #It's VERY interesting

[sellensand]

One body, two beings

ELDEN RING SPOILERS AHEAD

I know I'm late to the Elden Ring lore party, but I've been meaning to share my personal theory on the whole "Radagon is Marika" business for a while. There's quite a heated debate around it, and obviously only Miyazaki and GRRM themselves know The Truth, but nonetheless here is my stupid take that nobody asked for.

After reading and watching approximately 37923764 theories about this topic, I’ve come to the conclusion that Radagon and Marika were always one single being capable of transforming from female to male (and vice versa), rather than two separate beings that later merged into one. Why, you ask?

Well. First things first. Since Elden Ring came out there have been multiple theories going around about the true nature of Marika and Radagon's relationship.

There are those who believe that M and R were always two distinct people that "fused" into one single being either during or after the Shattering, when Radagon was already Elden Lord. Their fusion may or may not have been consensual, but that's besides the point. There are several ways of understanding this "two becomes one" perspective:

1. The "lone Radagon" theory, in which Radagon was more or less a "random" champion of the Erdtree, with no previous connection to Marika, who eventually married Rennala (he may or may not have truly loved her, that's not important rn). He was later called into Leyndell once again to become the 2nd Elden Lord (consort to Marika) once Godfrey was out of the picture, leaving Rennala and their children behind. Since Radagon's background in this scenario is completely unknown, some players believe he may even have been related to the Fire Giants (see Giant's Braid description) or the Fire Monks (who are also pale dudes with red hair).

2. The "Marika's rib" theory, in which Radagon was created or "extracted" from Marika herself. How did this happen? Well, some players think Marika was "cursed" by the god of the Fire Giants during the war against them (Godfrey's last war as Elden Lord). Marika tried to "purge" herself from this curse and spiritually partitioned herself. That process resulted in the creation of a different being ("my other self", she calls him) with Fire Red hair, so this theory also ties well with the Giant’s Braid description. In this scenario, once they "become two from one", Radagon and Marika are their own separate people, they each have their own free will, even though he is "technically" her (or a part of her at least). A long time after the war against the Giants, Radagon married Rennala, and the rest is history.

3. The "golden mimic tear" theory, in which Radagon is a Numen/Nox alchemical creation. Marika is a Numen, a scion of another world, the civilization responsible for the construction of the Eternal Cities. She may or may not have been their Queen (giving the "Marika the Eternal" title a whole new meaning), which would kind of explain why she was chosen as an Empyrean and given a Shadow (Maliketh) in the first place. The Numen excelled at alchemy and magic (=science in ER's world): they invented puppets (later perfected by the Carian magic preceptors... more to come on the various Carian-Nox connections), they defied the Greater Will with the creation of the Fingerslayer Blade (a blade made from a corpse... you know... like the Elden Beast's... who knows what exactly they did to create their weird replica), they invented Night Sorceries (the dark blue spells from Sellia, a Nox settlement, which are all about stealth and invisibility), they are the people of the Black Knives (an all-female guild of assassin swordstresses that use Night Sorcery to become invisible)... But most importantly, they created artificial life, notably the dragonkin soldiers and the silver tears that pester the player while traversing the Eternal Cities (and maybe the albinaurics too?). It is stated that they were experimenting with the silver tears in an attempt to create "a Lord", their Lord of Night. What if they actually managed to create a lord? What if silver wasn't powerful enough and Queen Marika, their sister, the new god of the Erdtree, provided them with gold so she could create her lord (the Elden Lord)? I must say I love the idea of Marika creating her consort after her own image with help of the mimic technology in an "I don't need no man" way. Also, even though I don’t like to draw too many conclusions from cut content, I can’t help but think that they may have cut the Asimi questline because it gave too much away in this regard. That Melina encounter when she asks “is that...another person inside of you?... Hello, other you” is just gold, no pun intended lol

Now. I acknowledge that all of these theories are quite sound. I especially love the "golden mimic tear" one, although I don't think any of them are quite as plausible as the "one body, two beings" theory.

Why exactly am I more inclined to support this particular theory?

- The physical resemblance. I know this sounds basic, but hear me out. If Radagon was just some random dude, or a tiny Fire Giant, or a Fire Monk from who knows where... why would he look exactly like Marika (in a time before their fusion)? The paintings, the statues... They all depict him with a delicate, almost feminine face (his body is another story lol). They wear the exact same clothes only with a different "fit" (long dress vs. long skirt), they have a very similar hairstyle and hair length... Sure, he could have been “supplanting” her in the official iconography, that’s not uncommon in our own world’s history. But the similarity also applies to both Marika and Radagon's soreseal and scarseal talismans, which look exactly alike aside from the rune they each have engraved (by the way, whose eyes are those?). The seals also mirror each other: they raise the exact opposite stats. [I'm aware that all of these same points could also be made for the "mimic" theory].

- The Carian preceptors' “masks of confidence”. The seal over the masked preceptors' mouth is Radagon's seal. They were free to speak before his arrival as Rennala's husband. The masks were his idea. What was he so afraid of? What was it that the preceptors might have seen and shouldn't speak about? In my view, he was worried they might witness the transformation and spill the beans all over the Lands Between.

- The connection to alchemy. Given the alchemical themes of the game, it is fairly evident that Marika and Radagon are the alchemical Rebis, the divine hermaphrodite, the White Queen and the Red King, the male and female in a single body.

- The Red Wolf of Radagon. I'm personally inclined to believe that Radagon adopted a red wolf because he wanted his own Shadow beast. Marika had Maliketh, so Radagon felt a need for a furry companion (of his own choosing, this time) to serve and protect him. They also have the same hair color, how cute is that. [There is at least one red wolf around Nokron. That reinforces the Eternal Cities connection and rules out the "lone Radagon" theory imho].

- The golden tayloring tools found in the Church of Vows, where Radagon and Rennala got married. It is sadly true that needlework is a traditionally female labor (I know the only seamster in the game, Boc, is male, but his tayloring tools belonged to a female, his mother). I would say it is also very atypical for a male to contribute tayloring utensils as dowry in his own wedding. I believe he had them because he is literally Marika.

- The Mimic’s Veil, also known as “Marika’s Mischief”. From this item description alone, one could easily interpret that Marika was some kind of master of disguise. Did she ever... I don’t know... assume another identity? In order to escape (from) something? That’s what the Mimic’s Veil does for us players, it allows us to transform and go undetected (in theory at least lol).

- The relation to their son Miquella, who I believe is also capable of such metamorphosis: Miquella is also known as St.Trina. Sure, he may just be an androginous little boy with feminine traits who can easily pass for either sex... But what if he is a sort of Rebis himself? St. Trina’s lore is vague enough to allow this interpretation. There’s obviously a lot to speculate about what makes an Empyrean in the first place. If we think about all the Empyreans we know in the game, there is certainly something about “duality” and "femaleness" there... Do they need to somehow be "female" because they "give life" to other beings (I don't think the demigods are literally birthed by the way)? Does the close bond between Radagon and Miquella mean that Radagon knew about his own son's "duality" and supported him in his Empyrean claim? Did Radagon want for Miquella to succeed Marika, but she opposed because she wanted to be a Goddess-Queen forever? We do not know at this point and maybe we never will. And this whole Empyrean thing might as well need its own post lol

-The Law of Regression, the incantation needed to reveal the secret behind Radagon's statue in Leyndell. By its own definition, regression means "reverting to a previous state". When we apply the Law of Regression on Radagon's image, it "goes back" to what he once was: Marika. This particular incantation in the game "heals all negative statuses, dispels special effects, and reveals mimicry in all its forms". I might be overreaching here, but this might as well be another sign that Marika was sort of "disguising" herself as Radagon, but her transformed state could be reverted.

- And last, but not least... We see the transformation. It is explicitly shown to us in the cinematic before the last fight. We see Marika’s hair change color and her stony flesh become Radagon’s. We all may interpret it as we see fit... but it is there.

Finally, some things to consider:

- What about the Giant’s Red Braid item description? Well, it is ambiguous on purpose (just like virtually every single piece of lore in this game lol), so there are several different ways to interpret it. My personal view is that, since almost everything Red in the game is related to primordial gold, the fact that Marika's other self is a redhead is somehow related to the Crucible, the Erdtree's primal vital energies. Radagon might have hated his hair color for many reasons: maybe he hated the Giants because they were enemies of the Erdtree, or maybe it reminded him of the "impurity" of red tainted gold (closely associated with the Crucible).

- What about their mind/consciousness? Was Marika still herself when she transformed? Did she maintain her motivations as Radagon? Can they “choose” when to transform or does it require certain “triggers”? Did they know they were each other?? I honestly don’t have a definitive answer to any of these questions. We can assume that they weren’t always on the same page, since we are told that Marika shattered the Elden Ring but Radagon tried to repair it. But we don't really know why any of them did that anyway.

-How does the "one body, two beings" theory relate to the Golden Order Fundamentalism? Was Radagon a fundamentalist because he was Marika, and she needed to further her own agenda? I honestly don't have solid theory about it. I highly recommend SmoughTown's video on Golden Order Fundamentalism to understand what the Golden Order actually is.

- How do you explain that Radagon doesn’t seem to be around until the Liurnian wars, while Marika has always been there as Queen? Well, we don't know that. While Radagon seems to have earned his own fame as a warrior in the Liurnian wars, he may have been there before that, as part of Godfrey’s army. This is not stated anywhere of course, it's pure speculation. But there are a couple of things that keep me up at night... One is the Red Wolf of the Champion boss in Gelmir Hero’s Grave. A Red Wolf? All the way up there? Belonging to a war hero, a "champion"? (that’s exactly how Miriel calls Radagon) What champion? The other one is the Ancient Hero of Zamor (as enemies of the Fire Giants, the Knights of Zamor probably played a part in their defeat at the hands of the golden army) trapped in the Weeping Evergaol drops Radagon's Scarseal... It is also possible that Marika didn't really start "experimenting" with her male side until she needed to either win a war or pretend to have a consort.

- Did Rennala know? What about The Egg? I haven't given much thought to Rennala's knowledge of her husband's true nature. I do wonder though... if Marika was simply the woman who “stole” her husband, why would she be okay with her children being adoptive demigods (lmao) and made to be close to her instead of their own mother? I get that she was heartbroken and all, but still... Thus said, I’m not sure whether Ranni (or her brothers) ever knew the truth about their father. [Also, there is no way the mighty Hoarah Loux did not have any offspring from a previous relationship (I don’t want to say Nepheli because we don’t know where she fits in Godfrey’s timeline and family), so why didn’t Marika adopt any of his children? I’m going off the rails here but whatever]. And The Egg... I mean, it's made of Erdtree amber and it contains a Great Rune. How did Radagon have access to any of those things before becoming Elden Lord? He gifted The Egg to Rennala when he left for Leyndell. It is one hell of a god-like gift if you ask me... Are we supposed to believe that Rennala never questioned what The Egg was or how he obtained it? Maybe she knew more than we think.

- What about the "You are yet to become me. You are yet to become a god. Let us be shattered both, my other self" quote? I tend to believe that this is a "warning" more than anything. What Marika is saying, in my view, is "Hey man, you are not the god of this age. I am. I was the chosen Empyrean. You are just my consort here, even though you are me, but nobody else knows that. You don't get to decide what happens now. I'm going to shatter the Elden Ring and us both in the process, that is my decision, and I don't care what you think about it". As I said, I still don't have a clear idea of what Marika was trying to do by shattering the Elden Ring (and herself by extension) or why Radagon wanted to stop her. In the early days, many players believed that Marika was a victim of Radagon's own ambitions and wanted to either get rid of him or the Greater Will altogether, but right now I more inclined to believe that she is much more complex and conniving than we give her credit for.

In conclusion: this game is a nightmare and I love every second of it. I know I'm just repeating things that many others have said countless times before, but I really needed to get my thoughts together and vent for a moment.

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. All of this is just my perspective of course, so feel free to share your own views on the matter in the comments.

(Wow, this was a LONG post. I need to take a 4-hour nap after this lmao)

#elden ring #elden ring lore #elden ring theory #elden ring spoilers #marika #radagon #marika and radagon #miquella #rennala #fromsoftware #fromsoft games #hidetaka miyazaki #george r r martin #grrm #myloreposting

[vintageseawitch]

okay so this has been bugging me for a while. like, ever since my obsessive beast side clamped its jaws on Twilight like it never has before (for this franchise at least lol), & for more than anything, the Volturi. they're fascinating to me. when i found out Marcus' tragic backstory & finding out why he is the way he is? FREAKING CAT NIP. that clamping jaw isn't letting go anytime soon. i'm such a sucker for old sad bois as i've already stated on here more than once lol.

THE THING IS THO is that smeyers has potentially RUINED it for me at the same time if i were to only ever go by book canon (which i don't lol). as i stated above, the Volturi have become my favorite out of this outrageous franchise, but also quite a few other things that don't involve the main moronic trio. what a toxic dumpster fire that nonsense is lmao. the Cullens themselves fascinate me more than the ridiculous "love" triangle.

ANYWAYS you know how in the book Marcus was surprisingly surprised when he noticed Bella & Edward's bond & how "strong" it appeared? that bond that was formed by obsession, possession, power imbalance, control, & emotional abuse? yes yes YES, eddie boI is SO CONCERNED for her humanity & soul, but really, i think he LIKES having the power here. i don't think he consciously realizes this, but i can't unthink this theory. another thing: "realistically" (lol), would he be still as fascinated in her if she wasn't still in possession of her "heroin"-like blood? yes, her mind is amazingly silent, but that's not what ultimately kept him from coming back, was it? he was a massive asshole to her at first but kept coming back, gaslighting glory & all, & this young woman with poor self-esteem who had to grow up so fast because of a child mom & clueless dad (movie Charlie, i like you the most) somehow was able to overlook this. in the end, his being a supernatural being literally dazzled her to stick around despite his complete & utter bullshit. watching her while she slept?? SO ROMANTIC (she's such a 17 year old i can't even-). would she actually stick around with this ludicrous, angsty boy when she became a supernatural being herself?? BUT I DIGRESS. anywho so despite all this smelly emotional baggage (since Marcus' gift shows what's honestly there no matter what their own thoughts would show Aro), & Marcus thought their connection was like that of him & Didyme, what exactly does that say about THEIR connection?????

I'M SORRY, THIS IS PAINFUL BLASPHEMY, because i love Marcus so much & only wish for him to have peace & happiness, & i'm sure Didyme was lovely & wonderful, but smeyers has a penchant for thinking abuse & power imbalances make for true romance. there was a hint - can't remember if i read this in the twilight wiki or someone else's headcanon, sorry - that Didyme's power causes withdrawal when you're suddenly not around them anymore. not quite like Corin's, but enough, & that is partially why Marcus is essentially catatonic. Bella & Edward, while there may be some love there, is actually NOT a healthy love. it's sad, really. Bella has more personality with almost everyone else than when she's with Edward or hell, even the other Cullens!! it's not her fault, but her humanity makes her essentially inferior to these stunning, graceful, impossibly strong, supernatural beings. Edward has her on a pedestal & a completely unrealistic one at that. she has good qualities of course, but she's hardly perfect. they refuse to see each other, warts & all. theirs is a love that only belongs on paper because irl... yikes. so after all that, even "seeing the truth," Marcus compares himself & Didyme with these two dunderheads. smeyers i'm guessing was attempting to be beautifully poetic & earth-shattering here but it just makes it approx 57298592x more depressing, because i don't think Edward & Bella's love is beautiful & so by book canon i don't think Marcus & Didyme's was, either.

fuck you smeyers for doing this to Marcus & Didyme. i feel sorry for Bella too but you made her your self-insert who wasn't above being unbelievably self-centered (i gotta remember Bella's only a teenager but so many of her choices & behavior is just too much to handle. i actually kinda loathe her & i know i ranted about eddie earlier but ohhh boy i can shout about him even more lmao) so my sympathy only goes so far. but most of all for Marcus, who's just now kinda there, mourning for a love that rivals something so hideous. I HATE THIS.

i have a few WIPs that will give Marcus a second chance at happiness because while i've read some good fics both on here & ao3 & ff.net, there are still quite a few others who kill him off or outright ignore him. he has so much POTENTIAL. he fascinates me. i crave his happiness. i want him to find out that it's OKAY to find joy again. what happened with Didyme, & Aro being canonically the one to do it, ironically also fascinates me in a morbid way. i'll be doing what i want with that canon as well lmao i truly don't think Aro is that horrible, but not according to smeyers of course lol!

so in summary smeyers, your "epic romances" are really "epic romanticized abuse" & the tragedy here is you had to drag two beautiful characters into it for shock value. your books ruined them & many have corrected this crime & i'll be contributing my own writing to aid in this at some point soon 😤😤😤

#twilight #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #bella swan #marcus volturi #didyme volturi #the volturi #aro volturi #caius volturi #carlilse cullen #esme cullen #alice cullen #jadper hale #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #not sure if this would count as meta #it just makes sense to me #i'm so sorry marcus 😭😭😭 #both you & didyme deserve better #heck bella deserves better but also yikes #smeyers you abusive glorifier flippin gross bud

[otakween]

Digimon Adventure (Manga) - Vol. 5 (Final volume)

Okay, now that I've finished the manga (or, manhua I guess), I can safely say: don't bother! Reading this was a chore. The only thing I got out of it was the occasional nice bit of art or cheesy dialogue to laugh at. Other than that, they completely butchered the pacing/storytelling/essentially any charm the anime had. It's all par for the course with these kinds of money hungry releases.

Ch. 29

-Pinochimon calls TK "the boy in the ridiculous hat" which made me really look at TK's hat for the first time lol. It actually is kind of weird looking. My brain always read it as one of those winter hats with ear flaps, but giving it a closer look it's more like a hat that a cleric would wear in a JRPG or something. Why does it have a gem on it?

-Pinochimon's gun isn't censored in the manga! They didn't show TK holding a gun though, so I guess the original JP anime is still the most hardcore viewing experience lol

Ch. 30

-I simultaneously dislike the "the group breaks up" part of the story but it also feels necessary. It would be pretty unrealistic if everyone was just blindly gung-ho about being the "chosen children" for the whole series, so I like that it shows the inner doubt/turmoil.

-I had completely forgotten about that "spirit talks through Kari" bit. I don't think they ever fully explain what that is...? Very contrived.

Ch. 31

-Sadly they killed of Pinochimon in like two seconds which means we don't get to see his fight with MetalEtemon. That was like the only good part about Etemon coming back!

-For whatever reason, they decided to call the mecha version of Pinochimon's house "Housemon." Sure, why not. The part never really made sense anyways. I double checked the digimon fan wiki and the house is not considered a digimon in the anime. Continuity!

Ch. 32

-If Leomon can digivolve into SaberLeomon due to being "bathed in the light of the digivice," then there's no reason the kids shouldn't go around trying that on all of their ally digimon. Just sayin'

-In one panel, Machinedramon looked like he had a huge dick lol. I had to google a character reference to realize that it was his knee, oops...

Ch. 33

-This chapter was just one (or rather two) big battles. The action and drama was somewhat ruined by the cheesy dialogue. Tai literally says "Guys, rage against the machine!" and Machinedramon says "deus ex machina, fool!" What is this, an abridged series??

-WarGreymon looks pretty goofy with his armor shattered at the end there. I don't remember that visual being in the anime.

Ch. 34

-This chapter was terrrrible. They shoved like 5 episodes of content into 20-ish pages and nothing had any emotional impact. The whole "Matt and Gabumon in a cave" bit was especially weak. Matt's like "I'm sad," Gabumon says "you're not yourself!" and then Matt's like "Oop, you're right, I'm fine!" in about 3 panels. There's also a narrator textbox being like "we later found out that some evil force made Matt feel that way." Total waste of time. If they're not going to treat the emotional beats with respect, don't bother even adapting them.

-The fact that they gave Pinocchimon little voodoo dolls of the characters and then Piedmon has keychains that look pretty much the same. Pretty redundant...

-We were cheated out of LadyDevimon in manga form :'(

Ch. 35

-Dull, rushed, anticlimactic and devoid of emotion. I sincerely hope no one read this manga before watching the anime, that would probably ruin the whole series for them lol.

-Since this was written post 02 Gennai is like "bye kids, the next batch of digidestined will take care of the rest!" I feel like that goes along with my whole "digidestined have to be a certain age and then they graduate" theory. Either that or the digital world is just nice and doesn't want to trouble the same kids twice? Who knows...

#digimon digital monsters #digimon adventure #manga #manhua

[vagueandominousvibes]

top five books!

Sam. You're asking someone with an MSc literature — someone who turned down a PhD in literature, not because she didn't want to do it, but because her mental health was shattered — about her top five books. Do you realise what you've done? You've enabled me, Sam.

I struggle choosing favourite books even on the best of days, so for the purpose of this I hope you don't mind if I expand it to also include literary series. In no particular order:

The Trials of Apollo, by Rick Riordan. I wrote one of the first 15,000 word research theses on this series. It hasn't been published, but it got me an overall Distinction in my MSc and I would gladly have done my PhD solely on this series. There is so much to talk about — the conversations about trauma, the triumph over childhood abuse (gaslighting), the realisation that sometimes you can't leave your family and have to find ways of living with it. And Apollo. I relate to Apollo, who starts out as The Worst children's novel protagonist, because I too grew up as a spoiled brat and had to work through years of trauma to become a decent human being (something I'm still working on, but that's another story). This series is so well written, so engaging, and touches on so many important issues. And I have a lot of feelings about it.

Smith of Wootton Major, by J. R. R. Tolkien. "But, Kalh," you might say, "why not The Lord of the Rings? Or The Hobbit? Or The Silmarillion? You know, the stuff you've published peer-reviewed research about?" No. Listen. Listen. The Legendarium is amazing and great and fantastic, but SoWM is where it's at. It's Tolkien's writing at its best. It's the epitome of a fairytale. It's short, tells half the story through symbolism and metaphors, and is absolutely gorgeous. It fully and completely embodies his theory of fairy stories, and years of literary research and writing. And it shows.

Howl's Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones. I would have gone with the Chrestomanci series (also by her), but this novel has a decidedly special place in my heart. It was adapted as Studio Ghibli film, and I can absolutely see why. Reading it feels like looking at one of Marie Brožová's illustrations (example below). There's so many seemingly unimportant details that leap out of the background at various points, it's all fantastical, and it feels like a world where everything is possible. We all know Tolkien is renowned for his world-building, but god damn, Jones' is up there. You can tell she loved writing, because HMC practically glows with that love. It's magic incarnate and I'm so sad my copy of it is at my parents' place three flights away, because now I really want to re-read it.

(Source)

Deeplight, by Frances Hardinge. Ok, so I think I have pretty much every children's book Hardinge has ever written, because her world-building, her characters, and her prose is just that good. That said, Deeplight was the first novel by her I read. I was half-way through my MSc and was tired of Ballard, and Beckett, and Smith, and Spiotta, and I had picked this one up some weeks earlier because the cover intrigued me (yes, I judge books by their covers — it's how I've come across over half the books on this list). It's 442 pages long. I read it in one sitting. I still remember the absolute rollercoaster of rage and joy and grief and deep terror I felt reading it. I don't know if it would stand up to a re-reading, but I know that as a one-time read, it's fantastic.

Under the Whispering Doorway, by T. J. Klune. I was going to talk about Ross Montgomery, whose books I like more than Klune's, but UtWD has a special place in my heart due to the circumstances under which I read it. Last winter was rough (to the point where I considered moving six feet down). I had my parents' numbers blocked, refused to visit them alone, and spent the holiday with @foolsbangle (tagging you bc I don't know that I've ever actually expressed how much spending Christmas with you and your family meant to me). I had barely touched a book in several months, and was struggling through a one-year course on the History of Ideas. When I went to An's, I brought some books with me, in the hope that I'd be able to read again. One of these was UtWD. I retrieved it while An was drawing, snuggled up against them, and opened the book. After a while, I became aware An had started reading over my shoulder, and that — the fact that we were both reading the same book at the same time — kept me going. One of my last nights there, we stayed up until 7AM, snuggled up like that to finish the book. UtWD itself is alright. It has fun queer representation and some delightful character, but I've read better prose. Reading it with An like that, however, made it very special to me.

Other honorary mentions that were serious contenders for this list:

The Chime Seekers, by Ross Montgomery

The Midnight Guardians, by Ross Montgomery

The Snow Song, by Sally Gardener

This Is How You Lose the Time War, by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Six Crimson Cranes, by Elizabeth Lim

Men Without Women, by Haruki Murakami

Footprints: In Search of Future Fossils, by David Farrier

The Land of the Green Man, by Carolyne Larrington

Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett

You may be surprised that the Four Swords manga isn't on this list. This isn't because it's not one of my current favourites, but rather that the list only contains books and series I feel satisfied having read and analysed, without engaging in their respective fan communities. Think of it like the difference between walking through a museum and going to the playground. The above books are artefacts in a museum of literature, exhibited under spotlight, and I walk through the shadows to the curiosities I'm interested in examining. I look at their age and composition, discover their individual contexts, and peruse the research associated with each artefact.

The FS manga is a playground. It's somewhere where I get down on my knees and dig in the dirt, climb the monkey bars, and sit down with others to play with the dolls and action figurines scattered about. It's bright, sunlit, and colourful. It's paint splattered on walls and colourful handprints on thick paper that mum will make you sign in wobbly letters when it's dried. It's a creative endeavour that inspires joy and laughter, rather than the solemn contemplation of artefacts.

#kalh answers #oh boy this got long #but it was so satisfying to write #please imagine that we're sitting in the corner of a warm pub - one drink in - while i rant about all of the above #and go off on all sorts of tangents #thank you for this ask sam

[helioleti]

I've been rewatching ATLA several times lately and this time I especially ended up wondering a lot about Iroh and Ozai's past and characters in general. I just can't help but think it weird that Ozai is the ultimate trashbag of a humanbeing while Iroh ended up preaching harmony and peace. It just doesn't make any sense. These guys are brothers. They were brought up by the same parents, in the same fascist imperialistic nation, they were taught the same values growing up. You're trying to tell me the difference is that Iroh was destined to be the person he eventually came to be, but Ozai was just born evil? No, I don't think so.

I have two hot takes that I'm gonna elaborate:

1. Iroh had a guidance Ozai lacked

2. Ozai was the less favored son

(Disclaimer: I haven't read the comics yet so I don't know how deep they've already gone into this subject at some point. I'm trying to interpret and analyze the stuff that I got from the animated series only. If anything I say contradicts what has already been confirmed in the comics, feel free to correct me.)

Hear me out. Iroh wasn't born a saint. Everyone is aware of this, especially Iroh himself. He laid siege to Ba Sing Se for 2 years, costing the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom thousands of lives. Everyone knew that if the Fire Nation took over the capital, it meant almost ultimate victory for the Fire Nation. He even went as far as making a offhand sadistic jokes about burning the city to the ground in that letter to Zuko and Azula.

Iroh acknowledges it himself; He was a different man.

So what changed?

Yes, his son died. It broke and shattered him from the inside, making him drop all efforts to continue fighting in the war. To continue what had been his lifelong ambition, what he believed to be his destiny. He had a literal vision about taking over Ba Sing Se when he was a child, and that had been what he'd been pursuing ever since. But the death of his son managed to crumble all of that into nothingness. How is that possible?

Don't get me wrong. I think it's completely valid. I just don't understand how Lu Ten and Iroh could've had such a loving and caring relationship in the first place, when that's clearly something unusual among the royal family. Ozai burned and banished Zuko without a second thought, not to mention all the other shit he did to him growing up. Ozai didn't give two shits about Azula either, he only ever intended to use her as his weapon. Doesn't seem too surprising, if you ask me. Azulon didn't hesitate to demand that Ozai kill his own son if he wanted the throne. That's the man that raised Ozai, so it's just logical that Ozai learned that behavior and those values from his own father.

Even 9 year old Azula thinks it laughable that Iroh would fall apart at the death of his son. She is a child and this is how she thinks. The reason Zuko doesn't think like this is because he's had the guidance of his mother, unlike Azula. This is the kind of mentality these kids grow up with. They grew up with war and so did Iroh and Ozai.

So why was Iroh's relationship with Lu Ten so different? Where did Iroh experience the kind of compassion and love he passed on to his own son, that Ozai definitely didn't? People act on how they've come to learn, so where did Iroh learn to care about his son to a point that it made him give up on his lifelong ambition?

Let's review a very crucial information we have on Iroh and Ozai as siblings: They have a huge age gap.

Frankly, I'm guessing about 10-20 years. Looks more like 20 to me, but that could also be Iroh's greater amount of endured pain and war making him look older than he actually is. But no one can deny that an age gap is definitely there. Which can also indicate they had different upbringings, despite having grown up in the same family as brothers.

What does this mean? Well, that's just me theorizing now, but I can definitely imagine that Iroh had someone, a family member maybe, there for him who wasn't around or didn't care to be when Ozai grew up. There must've been someone there who gave Iroh emotional security and guidance throughout his upbringing. Who? That's up to imagination. A friend of the family? A friendly uncle? His own mother ((or father))? (The last two things worked out for Zuko in the end, didn't they?) Otherwise I can't really explain myself why Iroh had enough values to love the way he loved Lu Ten, while Ozai clearly didn't give two fucks about his children at any point in his life.

Iroh was the firstborn son, the one who had a vision very early in his life that his destiny was to take over Ba Sing Se. Probably the one who got to have a family member care about him enough to show him how to love.

(I like to point this out a lot because I find it very interesting, and very significant. Please A:TLA give us more info on Iroh's past!!)

Which brings me to my second take: Ozai was the less favored son.

Iroh was clearly a son to be proud of. He was a master firebender, the "Dragon of the West", if you will. He apparently had a vision as a boy that he'd conquer the most "impenetrable city" in the world. He probably lived up to his parent's expectations for his whole life, especially having no sibling to be compared to for a significant part of his life. He broke through the outter wall of Ba Sing Se during his siege. Yada yada yada, you get my point. He's the best son they could've wished for.

And Ozai? As far as I know, he barely even has any military achievements. Taking over Ba Sing Se was Azula's doing. While Iroh laid siege to the capital, he was at home chilling in the palace. He's the younger brother to an established hero and was never meant to be firelord. Now, I haven't read the comics for more info on Ozai's biography, but this man barely had a chance to live up to his parent's standards with Iroh as an older brother. If my theory is correct, Ozai also didn't have any person to provide him emotional guidance throughout his life. (*cough* like Azula)

The logical outcome is: infinite jealousy.

And when Ozai suggests to Azulon that he revoke Iroh's birthright to become firelord, this is Azulon's answer:

Azulon doesn't even hesitate to call Ozai out on his bullshit. He doesn't hesitate to take offense at the suggestion of betraying Iroh, and he even seems to care about Iroh's suffering. Not to mention that Azulon is overall annoyed with Ozai's request for an audience and sends the rest of Ozai's family away as soon as he can, to get whatever it is Ozai wants over with.

I could also mention the fact that Ozai tried to impress Azulon with his daughter's skills (Azula, even named after him) and the overall strained relationship these two seem to exhibit. It's obviously very different from Azulon's relationship with Iroh, if the way he talks about said man is anything to show for.

What if Azulon treated Ozai the same way Ozai treated Zuko? (Probably without the physical abuse, but you get my point.) What if this is where Ozai learned to treat a "useless" kid like shit, maybe also in a way to cope with how he was treated himself?

Getting deeper into the fact that Ozai is rather a loser compared to Iroh, without any big military achievements and without value for anything beyond that, this also explains a lot about Ozai's constant need to establish his dominance.

First; Becoming Firelord through radical manners (you know, killing his own son or killing his own father)

Second; Publicly burning and banishing his own son whom he considers a weakling, who dared to speak up in his war room. Doing this to have everyone know that he doesn't associate himself with weakness and that he will not ever tolerate any form of disrespect.

Third; The whole Phoenix King act. No one can tell me this isn't a madman's doing. This is literally to show off that he is the most powerful person in the world.

Ozai is so obsessed with proving himself and his superiority to everyone, including himself and probably Iroh too. This makes most sense if we consider that he probably lived in his brother's shadow for his whole life, ignored by probably every guiding figure he's ever had in his life, maybe even considered a laughingstock by his own father.

Perhaps this is also the reason Ozai didn't have any problem with Iroh accompanying Zuko in banishment. His brother, the hero in whose shadow he grew up, and his son, the failure he'd wanted out of the way for a long time already. It would erase Iroh's image that made him superior to him, once and for all. For himself and the world. I believe that branding him a traitor was the biggest satisfaction Ozai had ever experienced in his life.

I absolutely despise Ozai with every fibre of my heart, but it amazes me how ATLA continues to leave so much room for interpretation and explanation for a character as despicable as him. Writing this, even had me feel sympathy for him at some point. Feel free to disagree with me or add anything, I'm eager to hear everyone's thoughts about Ozai and Iroh's backstories because I'm geniuinely very curious.

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla thoughts #atla theory #atla things #ozai #uncle iroh #iroh #fire nation #phoenix king ozai #avatar ozai #avatar iroh #zuko #azula #azulon #atla textpost #avatar textpost

[nightshade-minho]

-Embers- (2)

warnings: heavy-ish suggestiveness, future smut, themes of heartbreak and pain, mentioned parent death, jealousy, angry fathers.

wc: 5.7k

Heartbreak.

It's something you've thought about, in theory. You've wondered how it feels to be heartbroken, especially when you were younger, when almost everything was of interest to your curious brain. Could a heart break? What exactly did that mean? 

Mr Yang's novels were your first introduction to characters who'd gone through that pain. His books had described it as a perpetual feeling of hurt, one which a person would never get over. You wondered if it was even possible to experience pain like that. Pain so bad you felt your heart shattering.

You still remembered that day you thought about it properly for the first time.

***

You shut your book and looked over at Minho, who had been cloudgazing as he waited for you to finish it. Days like this were common. Minho would get you a new book every week, and the two of you would go to the lake and laze around in the sun. You often worried that Minho would find it boring to sit next to you while you read, having nothing to do. On the contrary, he was quite content with the way things were. He liked how warm the grass felt against his skin, and how calming the sounds of rippling water were as he rested his head against Aeracus’s side.

"Wow. That definitely didn't end on a good note." You shook your head, letting out a sigh and laying back.

Minho glanced up at you, sitting up slightly. "You finished it? So soon?"

"Mhm. I got a little too invested in the story."

"Ah. If I'd known you would read it this fast, I would have borrowed more than one from him."

"It's okay, I can wait a few days.' You say, your tone reassuring as you placed Mr Yang's precious book next to you on the grass, carefully. The man put great care into binding and writing his books, all by hand with no one to assist him. You didn’t want to be the one to soil his hard work.

"Good, cause I'm not going back there so soon. There's three girls who have basically set up camp outside Mr Yang's to catch a glimpse of me."

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him. "You act like you're a celebrity or something. We get it, you have a lot of fangirls."

"And fanboys. Some of them are quite cute actually. Just last week a dude proposed to me."

"No way. He proposed?"

"Yeah." He let out a low chuckle. "I think I recognized him from the docks. Seen him once or twice, but I've never said a word to him. I felt bad though, he was actually pretty."

"You should have said yes." You pouted, holding back a giggle. "I've always wanted to be maid of honor at a wedding."

Minho shook his head, sitting up and scooting over. Grabbing your waist, he pulled you into him, so that the both of you were curled up against his sleeping dragon.

"Maid of honor?"

"Yeah! I mean, what's the point of having a best friend if you don't get to play that crucial role in their wedding?"

Minho sighed, looking over at you with a fond smile as he bit his cheek. "Oh Y/n, what am I going to do with you? Maid of honor." He chuckled again at the exaggerated pout you flashed him, poking his side. “What’s so funny?”

There was silence for a few minutes as he looked up at the sky, eyes running over a cloud that looked a little like a five-pointed star. Humming, he leaned in a little.

A short inhale before he whispered into your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it and making your hairs stand on end.

"I hate to break it to you Y/n, but you'll never be maid of honor at my wedding." He mumbled softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Cause you'll be the bride."

For a minute, a stunned look passed over your face as you comprehended his words. It took a whole 60 seconds for you to process, but soon you swatted at his hand, descending into a fit of hopeless giggles at his cheesy line. "Shut up!"

"Hey! I was being serious." he had an offended look on his face as he held your chin, making you face him again.

You looked at his expression and stopped, your cheeks flushing as you realized he meant it. Your heart was racing, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mushy mess of a brain tried to figure out what an appropriate, mature response would be.

Quickly you pushed him off you, stumbling to your feet and beginning to run. So much for being mature.

"Race you home!"

Minho watched you run, shaking his head and sighing to himself as he slowly picked himself up. If only you knew how sincere he was.

If only he knew your heart hadn't stopped pounding for the rest of the night.

Mr Yang's books had been the main contribution to your adolescent fantasies, to be honest. As the local librarian, he supplied you with a regular supply of books, but none were as satisfying as the ones he wrote himself. His writing was descriptive on another level, and pulled you in like no other author could. He was your greatest inspiration, which was why his description of heartbreak had been the one to stick with you the most, all the way to adulthood.

It was described as a lingering emotion in the back of your head, staying with you your whole life to remind you of what could have been. It was nauseating, painful and everlasting. He'd written about the emotion so intensively, that at the time you almost felt like you did truly know how it felt.

You were wrong.

Heartbreak, real heartbreak, was a lot less pain and a lot more emptiness. Yes, it did feel like all those things mentioned before- but there was more to it than that. Your heart, which had been brimming with excitement and happiness not too long ago, felt void. Dark, lifeless. It had been so sudden, so out of the blue that your emotions were a confused jumble.

Of course, there was pain too- agony, more like. Ripping through your entire being as you watched him kiss her cheek yet again. It was so all consuming, so terrifyingly excruciating.

You were across the dinner table by your father's side, the spoon in your hand held in a tight grip as you tried your best to avert your eyes from the sight. After all, you were currently sat at the table with three other chiefs and their families, as well as a few advisors and high ranking guards. You had to look refined and elegant, a person befitting the title of Ember’s heir- not a gawking, bitter girl staring at your once lover canoodling with his fiancée.

Finally managing to tear your eyes away, you let your eyes run over the guests that would be staying with you for the next few weeks. You reminded yourself that you were in no position to be a dejected, woeful and pathetic individual in front of all these important people. Appearances had to be kept up, or you would face dire consequences. Your father’s pride was hurt enough as it is, what with his daughter being the only one who couldn’t participate in the championships. You didn’t want to give him any more reasons to hate you.

Next to your father was the Aqua chief, his wife and their daughter- Minho’s fiancée. They were dressed in blue silks, dripping with sapphires and lapides lazuli. The royal blue draped around them was deep, the fabric clearly expensive and not too unlike the dress you were wearing currently. 

The Aqua heiress was the spitting image of her mother, both their faces round and their features pretty. She was dressed similarly to her parents, with a tiny diadem upon her brown locks, her gown objectively fancier than yours. She continued talking to Minho, the plate of food in front of her untouched.

Minho.

You hated how beautiful he looked, dressed in white and grey. His uniform was simple, all clean lines and crisp edges. It suited him perfectly, like it was made for him. Which it probably was. 

The two of them seemed to be in their own little world as Minho whispered something into her ear, making her giggle yet again. Your throat felt clogged. Blinking, you quickly looked away from them, your eyes landing on Minho’s father. He looked the same as he always did, except now slightly frailer. He was wearing the same uniform as his son, although he didn’t quite fill it out the same way. You chewed on your lip, glancing at him one last time before turning to the Terra family. 

The Terra chief was a rotund, pot-bellied man who had his attention completely focused on his plate, not contributing much to the conversation the three other chiefs were having. You couldn’t blame him, really- the maids had cooked up a delightful feast. You were sure you’d have devoured your entire plate by now if circumstances had been different. The empty feeling in your stomach was making it hard to savour the roast beef, which you reluctantly ate. 

He and his wife were both dressed in earthly, neutral tones combined with deep greens- and positively covered in every kind of jewel found under the Earth. The rubies on your dress looked like chili flakes in comparison to the twinkling emeralds and gems on the Terra family.

Their son, the Terra heir, looked just as miffed as you, to be honest. He wasn’t as bejewelled as his parents, wearing a shade of green that provided you comfort as you looked at him. It reminded you of the grass near the lake you and Minho once frequented.

He caught your gaze suddenly. Smiling, his heart-shaped lips curving upwards. He shot a glance towards Minho and his girl, and then back at you, raising an eyebrow.

You tried your best to smile back, or give him a knowing wink, or something. But all you could do was stare blankly, your emotions having been sucked out of you. You still failed to comprehend what had happened, your brain seemingly giving up on you and leaving you alone with nothing but your broken heart for company.

Soon enough, the smile melted away from the man's face, and he looked back down at his plate, a little dejected. You felt a flash of regret, fleeting however as you suddenly felt a sharp voice whispering in your ear.

You looked up in confusion at your father, who had previously been immersed in a conversation with Minho’s father and the Aqua chief. Now his face was right by your ear.

"Number one, stop staring. You’re lucky I’m the only one who noticed. Number two, stop by my office before you go to sleep tonight, okay? It’s important." He said, voice stern.

Gulping and nodding, you watched as he turned away, diving right back into the conversation he was having. What did he possibly want to talk about? You rarely talked to your father these days, unless arguments could be counted.

You spent the rest of the meal in contemplation, staring down at your plate. Your hand moved methodically, shoving food into your mouth without actually tasting anything; All you could taste was regret.

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Despite not looking up, her giggle still pierced your ears from time to time, stabbing you deep in the heart. You'd seen it...the way Minho had been looking at her. He'd once reserved such looks for you and you only. Turns out, every meaningful word he'd said back then were lies. Every promise of forever had been empty.

A small part of you reminded yourself that it wasn't his fault he was kicked out from your village. He’d thought you didn’t oppose your father, and simply watched as he and his father was humiliated. Were you being irrational in expecting him to have stayed single until he came back to you? Hell, was it stupid to think he could even bear to glance at you after what your father had did?

Life was unpredictable, nothing was written in stone. How could he even have known he'd ever be in the same room as you again?

No. Y/n, don't do this. Don't force yourself to make up excuses for him. The man had barely cast a glance at you since he arrived. His eyes had been cold and stony the only time you'd made eye contact. 

Besides, if he really knew you, he would have known you wouldn’t betray him like that. And if he really loved you, he would have waited. He wouldn’t have moved on so easily. 

It was still fresh in your mind, despite having happened a few hours ago, now. The way you’d felt your hopes and dreams shattering to the ground in a million pieces, all in a span of a few seconds. Your heart, vibrating so fast it was almost going to implode.

As you continued drowning in your emotions, reliving the pain you'd felt, you suddenly felt a pair of eyes burning into you, sharply. Confused, you looked up, expecting the Terra heir to be the one looking back at you.

It wasn't him.

Minho quickly looked away before you could react, going back to talking to the heiress. It had only been for a second, but you’d caught him.

He’d been staring. At you. For a second, the tiniest flash of hope lit up your heart. But it was gone quickly, as the Aqua chief started laughing boisterously at a question the Terra chief's wife had asked.

"Yes, Jisu and Minho are deeply in love, Calandra. Honestly. Why would they be getting married otherwise?" He smiled, looking over at the two who had stopped talking to listen.

"This one-" He ruffled his daughter's head, chuckling. "She was so smitten. Kept sneaking out past the border to meet him. Of course when I found out, I was more than happy to let them join hands. I couldn’t imagine a son better than Minho to marry my little girl."

"That's sweet." You glanced up at your father as he said the words. He seemed to be gritting his teeth in slight vexation, the annoyance on his face clear. At least, to you it was.

"The wedding will take place a month after the championships." Minho's father said suddenly, smiling proudly as he grabbed a glass of wine. "You're all invited, of course. It will take place at my village. Now, raise a glass for the happy couple!"

A few claps sounded as everyone at the table raised their glasses. You carefully avoided Jisu's shy smile and Minho's confident smirk, his arm wrapped around her shoulder firmly. As if she would break into a million pieces if he let go.

You hated that you knew exactly how he behaved when he was in love. And now you weren’t on the receiving end of his adoration. 

You weren’t used to this. 

Yes, you’d lived your life as normally as you could without him for the past few years...but this was different. He was right there, and yet he wasn’t yours. So close, but you couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t feel him. Couldn’t kiss his lips and tell him how much he meant to you.

Your eyes darted about as they tried to find an appropriate thing to focus your gaze on. You raised your glass like everyone else, downed the amber liquid a little faster than the rest. You refused to let yourself look at the two.

Your eyes landed on the Terra heir after a few seconds. You weren't completely sure what his name was, but you have a vague recollection of your father telling you everyone’s names. Of course, at the time you’d been too overcome with excitement to digest the information.

Felix? Yes, that was it.

He seemed sweet. Friendly, even. His smile was a little sympathetic as he looked back at you, and that threw you off. You decided to put a smile on your face immediately, trying to conceal the pain that you’d hoped wasn’t evident.

Your mind flitted back and forth as everyone’s plates gradually cleared up. What were you going to do after this? 

Originally, you'd been planning to go to Minho's room tonight. Fuck, you’d dreamed of how tonight would go for months now, ever since your father had told you the news. But how could you now? 

Everything was fucking disintegrating.

***

You walked down the hallway to your father's office, your heels clicking against the stone slabs. Your dress was starting to feel itchy, and you couldn’t wait to take it off. You resentfully recalled how excited you’d felt when your maids had helped you into it. How all you could think about was Minho seeing you in it. You’d never expected him to barely acknowledge you.

Sighing, you passed through the hallway, stopping when you heard a high-pitched giggle come out of nowhere.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you glanced around you in confusion. 

Another laugh, this one deeper, followed by what seemed like a...moan?

The pain came back full force, hurtling through you and overtaking you completely. As you walked, the sounds started to feel closer. You wished you could cover your ears to block them out, but at the same time you were consumed with curiosity. Was it what you think it was?

Suddenly, you heard another sound. Now, it was clear where they were coming from.

The sounds were from beyond the door that led to your father's old bedroom, the one he used to share with your mother before she died. You frowned, puzzled as you walked closer to the door.

Had he really given away that room to Minho and his fiancée? It hadn't been used in years, and had always been covered up and inaccessible. Even the maids weren’t allowed to clean in there. It was the biggest bedroom in the house, and the thought of it occupied by them was causing fresh tears to prick at your eyes. 

You felt the lump in your throat make itself more prominent, blinking rapidly as your heart pounded. Suddenly, your legs started moving of their own accord.

Before you knew it, you were stood in front of the large door, your hand raised and knocking firmly on the gilded wood as you swallowed.

There was complete silence for a second or two, but then there were scrambling noises, along with the sound of rustling bedsheets. You tried to calm the beating of your heart, as you waited for the door to open.

When it finally did, you felt like your heart was almost about to burst out of your chest.

She was the one who opened it. She was clearly half naked, having pulled on a blue robe hastily. Running a hand through her hair, she greeted you, her voice a little shaky.

"Oh- um, hello…” She pressed her lips together, glancing behind her for a second. You followed her gaze, to Minho on the bed.

He was shirtless, his hair messed up and his eyes carefully trained on the wall beside him, away from you. You swallowed again, tears threatening to spill past your eyes as you quickly tried to turn your attention back to the woman in front of you.

Too late. She'd noticed. She frowned at you, subtly moving to the side a little to cover Minho from your view.

"I know we haven't formally met yet. I'm Choi Jisu, the Aqua heiress. I’m sure you know." She smiled, albeit a little forced. "And I did want to thank you for letting us stay-"

There was an impatient grunt from behind her, and she looked behind back briefly before turning to you once more.

"Um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I was kind of in the middle of something. Sorry." She tried her best to hide her smile, her voice heavily insincere. “Let’s talk later, Y/n. And maybe next time you won’t be interrupting anything.” She smiled, beginning to close the door.

"Later." 

You just stood there dumbfounded, not knowing how to reply. Your face was passive but your brain was overrun with thoughts. The tears would spill any minute now. 

She frowned at your reaction, tilting her head before gently shutting the door in your face.

You just stood there for a moment. You could hear Minho's voice, muffled as he said something to her.

A part of you wanted to press your ear to the door and listen, but you already looked pathetic enough to the guards standing in the hallway, one of them already having flashed you a sympathetic look. You were really having enough of all this fucking sympathy.

Sighing, you dragged your feet away, trying to push everything down, but to no avail. There were too many enotions, and they were too heavy to even let you think. 

You thought back to her behaviour. You'd definitely picked up on her attitude, which had soured after she’d caught you looking at her fiancé. Jisu wasn’t a fan of you, that much was clear. And neither was the person who’d once declared himself your biggest fan. Ironic, really.

***

“Who was at the door?” Minho asked carefully, although he’d already seen you. Standing there, looking at him. 

You’d looked smaller, vulnerable. So, so different. Almost alarmingly so.

He tried to best to keep his tone even, eyes trained on Jisu as she slunk back to the bed, having shut the door.

“The Ember heiress.” She said, a slight sting to her tone. “Why do you think she came?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I...don’t know.” Minho muttered, staring at the bedsheets. His heart was clenching, hands starting to shake a little. 

No. Not in front of Jisu.

“Weren’t you two ‘best friends’ once?” She asked carefully, having picked up on his icy behavior. Jisu knew, of course. Despite Minho and you trying to keep it a secret, at one point the entire village came to know the two of you were in love. The information had even spread across the village, to others. 

Of course, the chiefs were the only ones who’d been clueless, only finding out after they’d been separated.

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. He gestured to her, hooking his fingers under his boxers to pull them down. “Forget that. Come back here, baby.”

Jisu raised an eyebrow, looking like she wanted to say more. However, Minho’s almost naked body was difficult to resist.

Shrugging, she slid her robe off, letting the silk fall to the floor as she straddled him. His hands ran up her hips, watching her, feeling her. 

His brain, however, felt like it was a million miles away.

***

The tears ran down your face. You were no longer able to hold them back. Realizing you were probably about to break down in the middle of the hallway, you walked faster towards the office- 

Until you bumped into someone on the way, almost knocking them over.

“Woah, woah, slow down.” Felix chuckled, holding onto your arms to keep you on your feet.

You looked up at him, blinking as you registered what you’d just done. “Fuck- I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s okay.” He smiled, realizing his hands were still on you. He quickly took them away, tucking them into his pockets. His cheeks were dusted a light pink as he cleared his throat, looking at you in concern.

You quickly wiped away your tears, but Felix had unfortunately already noticed.

“Hey, are you okay? I noticed... I noticed you didn’t seem so happy at the dinner.” He said softly, looking down at you. 

You remained silent, staring at the floor as you wondered how to reply. You didn’t want to seem any more pitiable than you already were.

“Uh, it’s okay if you don’t want to say anything. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He shook his head, stepping back slightly. His voice was almost more nervous than yours. “Um, I’ll leave you be now. Sorry-”

You looked up, sighing. “Wait…” 

Felix looked back, an expectant, almost hopeful look on his face. You didn’t want to let him down, you really didn’t...but it was difficult to pretend like you were okay. You were shivering, biting on your lip. You already felt humiliated enough.

“Sorry. I...I need to go, I’m sorry.” You mumbled, quickly walking away from a bewildered Felix. As soon as you turned the corner, you breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall as your body shuddered. 

You’d never cried like this, not even when Caeli had died. Not even when Minho had left, because back then you’d still possessed some kind of hope. Hope that just wasn’t there anymore.

Rubbing your cheeks, you managed to get rid of the tear stains. You hoped your eyes weren’t too red- you weren’t ready for any comments from your father today. Breathing in, you continued walking, still massaging your eyes in a desperate bid to get them dry.

You groaned as you noticed you’d reached your father’s office quicker than you thought you would. Inhaling deeply, you tried to pull yourself together. You really didn’t like showing weakness in front of him, but lately that was all you did.

You knocked on the door carefully, waiting for him to open the door.

“Door’s open, come in.”

You pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping in.

"Y/n. Finally. Where have you been?"

"Nowhere important." You said quickly, clearing your throat. "Um... you said you wanted to see me, dad?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes." He rearranged the files on his desk quickly, standing and coming over to lean on the front of his desk. He sighed, screwing his face up in thought as he wondered where to start.

"I can’t believe Lee really scored a marriage for his son. Do you know what this means? A heir marrying an heiress? They'll possess power we can’t even begin to imagine." He paced back and forth, clenching his fists in barely concealed anger. You rolled your eyes slightly. Of course your father thought it was a ploy to gain power. He’d never believed in love, and most probably never will.

“So?” 

"So? So?!” He shook his head. “See, this is exactly why the villagers think you’re too incompetent.” He glared, making you cower. Your heart pounded quicker, your lips pressing together. No more tears, you had to control them.

“Look, Y/n...I’ll put it plain and simple. Ember has been the most powerful for centuries. We’ve always had the strongest dragons, and the sturdiest men. Our village is the largest in the country, and all eyes are on us.”

He pinched his forehead. “Do you know how embarrassing it is that Ember’s heiress, the one who should be the most powerful of all, is nothing but a lovesick, pathetic little girl who doesn’t even have a fucking dragon to compete with?!”

You blinked, sniffing as you stared at the floor. You could always count on your father to reinforce negative emotions. His eyes burning into you, chest heaving in anger. 

He sighed, watching as your shoulders shook slightly. Softening a little, he inhaled. It always went that way. He’d blow up at you, and subsequently regret it. He couldn’t take back anything he said, though.

“Sorry, child.” You remained silent, looking up a little. His face seemed sincere enough.

“Hm. I have an idea..." He mumbled, placing a finger on his chin. You could almost see the cogs and gears turning in his brain.

"What did you think of Felix? Nice boy, isn't he?"

You frowned at your father's words, his expression seeming innocent...but his intentions clearly weren't.

"The Terra heir?" You asked, sighing. "He seems nice. Why are you asking?"

"No reason." He shrugged, fiddling with the Ember figurine on his desk.

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. "Dad...don't tell me you want to marry me off to him."

"What?? No!" Your father shook his head vehemently, still playing with the figurine and avoiding your eyes. "I was just thinking. Uh-"

He looked back at you and sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. But...just consider it, okay? An arranged marriage...an alliance between Ember and Terra could be phenomenal."

You pursed your lips, flashes of Minho and Jisu running through your head as you thought it over. Fuck it, why not? It wasn’t like you had any reason to oppose him. "Fine, dad. I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything. Besides, I don’t even know if he’s interested in me."

"I saw the way he was looking at you from across the table, child. He definitely has some curiosity, at the very least.” He hummed. “Anyway, that's actually not why I called you here."

You raised an eyebrow, confused as he went back to his seat, sitting down and pulling up a large, dusty book.

"Look...I'm worried. There's something ominous about this. Their marriage...it poses too many conveniences and benefits for both the chiefs to be a mere coincidence.”

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

He looked to be deep in thought. When he heard you speak, he snapped back to attention, shaking his head. "I’m not sure yet. Now, even if I managed to convince Farran to get his child married to you, it still doesn’t provide us power directly. Without a dragon, it’s likely they’ll make you reside in the Terra village once this is all over.” He hummed, looking like he was talking to himself rather than addressing you. “No...we need a reason to make you stay here. You’re an Ember heiress, the future chief of this legendary village. However, you definitely need to look the part. You need to prove to everyone that you’re powerful, Y/n. Shatter their expectations...and mine.” He smiled, gesturing for you to come closer.

 “I was wondering...do you want to participate in the championships?"

Your eyes widened impossibly, your words stuttering as you moved forward. You couldn’t believe your ears, not one bit. It sounded too good to be true.

“Wait- really?”

“Yes.”

“But...but I don’t have a drag-”

“You can participate with Aeracus.”

No. No way. For the first time since the welcoming, you felt true happiness overtake you. Jumping, you squealed in delight, barely able to hide your glee. “Oh my god, thank you, dad! Thank you so so much.”

He chuckled as he watched you, flipping a page. “This has never been done before, so expect some backlash. I’m sure once they see the bond you have with Aeracus though, they’ll change their minds.”

You couldn’t believe it. Your father, the most skeptical dragon purist the world had ever seen, was acknowledging your bond.

“But...what about Minho?”

“Aeracus is no longer his dragon, Y/n. He has a new one.” Of course, you’d noticed. The huge black dragons he and his father had been riding. You felt a sensation of unease drift through you as you thought about the creatures, the likes of which you’d never seen before. 

New lover, new dragon. He’d really left this place behind.

“Something’s off about those dragons.” He voiced the exact same concern you had. “They’re up to something. I just don’t know what.” He turned back to his book, taking his quill back up. “I’ll find out, though. Somehow. Now, go to sleep, kid. You have a big day tomorrow, now that you’re actually participating.”

You nodded, excitement coursing through your veins. “Sure, dad. Have a good night.” You bowed and turned around, your steps a lot lighter as you headed to your room, which was close by.

Reaching your room, you pushed open the door, smiling as you noticed Sylvia fast asleep at your dressing table. Moving slightly closer, you gently nudged her awake.

“Wha- I-” She shot up, mouth open as she bowed to you. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I was just arranging and-I’ll help you out of your dress, now-”

“Sh, it’s okay. Tonight’s been tiring. You deserve the rest.” You said sadly, patting her shoulder as a yawn left your mouth. “Go to sleep, and don’t come by tomorrow. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself. I want you to relax, okay? Head to the docks, or buy yourself some bread in the square.” You opened a tiny drawer and handed a few coins to her, enough to get some sweetbread from the bakery.

She nodded thankfully. “You’re the best, ma’am.” She giggled, accepting the coins from you. 

“What have I told you about calling me ma’am? We’re the same age, Sylvia, it makes me uncomfortable. It’s Y/n to you.”

“Fine. Y/n.” She smiles, heading to the door. “Good night, Y/n.”

You grinned widely at that. You loved how easygoing she was, unlike Ann, your head maid. You weren’t royalty, and hated being treated as such. A friend was all you needed, to be honest. And Sylvia managed to fill the best friend sized hole Minho had left behind, somewhat. 

She closed the door behind her, and you sighed, flopping down onto your soft bed and beginning to slip off your heels and the heavy dress, carefully placing it on a rack. The moon shone extra bright today, and you noticed the streets outside were still lit up with lanterns. Soon, they’d be turned off, and the streets would be quiet once more, except for a few drunken stragglers that didn’t want to stop celebrating.

And you would be left alone with your thoughts.

You slid yourself underneath your covers, sighing as you stared at the moon. In the distance, you could see a few dragons and their riders, flying through the air. They were quite far away, possibly near the outskirts. 

Tomorrow, you’d be able to ride Aeracus like that, after so many years. Every time Minho had let you climb atop his dragon, it had just felt like it was meant to be. Deep down, you felt bad, though...for Caeli, for Minho. However, it was just the plain truth.

You smiled as you decided to buy Aeracus a bunch of treats tomorrow. Ostrich eggs, phoenix meat- you were planning to go all out. He deserved it, after all.

In a way, tonight had possibly been the worst night of your life, and simultaneously the best. Your heart felt pulled in two, as you closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep.

You had a big day tomorrow.

#minho smut #minho angst #lee know smut #lee know angst #felix fluff #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz angst #skz series #stray kids series #minho imagines #minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #felix x reader #minho x reader #minho fluff

[one-boring-person]

I loved writing this idea, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Thanks for requesting @jawline-of-steel !💛💛

You Wanted To Talk To Me?

Edgar Frog x reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

A/N: this is heavily referenced to my other series, Only Traitors Consort With The Damned, which you can find on the masterlist.

Masterlist

"Man, just talk to her." Alan rolls his eyes as they stumble through the training course together, wet mud slicking their trousers and shirt fronts, hair and clothes soaked through from the pelting rain, bodies trembling from how hard they've been working.

"Talk to who?" Edgar responds, playing dumb as they throw themselves at a climbing wall, chests smashing painfully into the solid surface.

Neither if them speak for a minute as they haul themselves upwards, cresting the wall with some difficulty as their leaden arms struggle to hold their weight, their muscles screaming in protest, though they both manage it. From the top, the rest of the course is visible, a few other cadets just ahead of them, each of the pairs released from the starting point in "waves" so that they can be timed. Both of the boys sigh out audibly as they take in the view, not taking too much time as they swiftly climb to their feet and leap from the top, reaching for the heavy ropes hanging from a structure across from them, the rough material grazing their hands painfully as they slip down it a little. Ignoring the discomfort, they swing their legs in time with the momentum of the rope and kick off it, landing on a far platform, rolling as they land, ending up face first in yet more dirt, signifying the beginning of a net crawl.

"You know who I mean, Edgar. (Y/n)! You should talk to her." Alan manages to explain, voice strained from the exertion required to pull his body through thick mud.

"Why should I talk to her?" Edgar grits out, hands scrabbling frantically in the filth as he struggles to pull himself through this particular obstacle, glad to see the end if it not far out of sight.

"Because it's very obvious that you like her."

"I don't like her." The response is almost automatic, a reflex designed to protect his real feelings about their fellow trainee.

In truth, Edgar had had a crush on the girl for a good few months, having been interested in her as soon as he first laid eyes on her, nearly six months ago, when he and his brother signed up for the SRS. Neither of them had ever really thought about taking their vampire hunting that seriously, but this all changed when the dark-clad Soldiers converged on Santa Carla, their hometown, a couple of years ago, hunting down one of their own, who was seen as a traitor. The hooded men had come into the comic shop searching for some help, only to be confused by the Frog's zealous attitude and rough introduction to the supernatural side of the town, swiftly recognising potential in them. When their Hunt was over, the result of which they never found out, the men returned to the shop, offering to enlist them in the training program as soon as they turned the correct age, stating that the minimum age for joining the SRS is sixteen. Now at that age, the Frog brothers were quick to travel to New Orleans, where they found the headquarters and signed up, completing the theory section with flying colours before they moved onto the physically demanding practical side: hunting.

When they first started this stage, the two of them were easily overshadowed by some of the others in the group, despite already having four kills under their belts (so to speak), their smaller stature allowing some of the larger, physically stronger cadets to overtake them in the rankings, though it was much to their surprise when they found out one of the best was a girl named (Y/n). With a pretty much unknown backstory, the sixteen year old girl had shown up many of the other cadets, holding her own in many of the harder exercises, showing off her aptitude for shooting and fighting, flooring some of the most muscular rookies training with them with ease. It was no wonder Edgar developed a crush on her.

"Frog! I do hope you intend on moving soon, or you'll be stuck on clearing duty for a week!" A senior officer snaps at him from somewhere to his left, drawing him from his brief lapse into his head.

"Yes, ma'am!" He shouts back, knowing how they hate to be ignored.

"Get a move on!"

Gritting his teeth, Edgar follows his brother out onto the next stage - a variety of elevated logs providing bridges across a swampy areas of ground. In the pouring rain the logs have already become waterlogged, making them slippery and dangerous.

Approaching one, he leaps up and grabs the end of it, quickly heaving himself onto the narrow stretch of wood, catching his balance before he steadily steps along it, going with the incline as much as possible, biting his lip as his feet slip a little on the wood. Nearing the end of the log, he locates the closest one to it and jumps to it, landing shakily on the lifted end, repeating the process until he has safely crossed it, catching up to his brother as they run the last few kilometres across the marshy land, breathing heavily in the pouring rain. The finish line comes into view, the posts signifying its presence only just visible through the rain, the flags topping them slapping wetly against the poles they are attached to, concealing the familiar insignia of the SRS from view.

With one last push, Edgar and Alan throw themselves over the finish line, trying not to collapse in exhaustion as they quickly stretch out their stiffening muscles, neither of them saying a word until they've caught their breath back, going to stand with the other cadets who have already finished it.

"One hour, fourteen minutes and forty-three seconds. Not bad, Frogs, not bad." The drillmaster informs them as they get close, the two of them brightening up slightly at the sound of that; it's a new personal best.

"Nice one, you two." A familiar voice congratulates them, the two of them turning to find (Y/n) standing there, a genuine smile on her features, mud striping her cheeks like war paint, most likely the result of her team mate getting a little over-zealous on one of the obstacles.

"Thanks." Alan smiles back, looking to Edgar as he struggles to reply.

"Err, yeah, thanks, you did really well, too." He finally manages, blushing as he looks away, suddenly feeling very hot.

"Thank you." She acknowledges, making eye contact briefly before turning away, going back to her team mate.

"You're smitten." Alan rolls his eyes, looking over at his brother in exasperation.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Stop trying to hide it, Edgar, I'm your brother, I see all these things."

*

The drillmaster's words ring clearly in Edgar's head as he steps through the darkened corridors, making his way in and around broken furniture and piles of ceiling debris, his helmet limiting his vision greatly.

"Don't get caught off guard, or they'll have your ass for breakfast."

Of course, you'd hope that he was being metaphorical, but the cadets are all aware of one fact: he isn't. Not when they've all been tasked with clearing an abandoned hospital of the supernatural beings squatting there, particularly the wraithes and their carnivorous tendencies, most of which are to blame for the hospital's fall in the first place.

A piece of glass shattering behind him snaps him from his thoughts, the sound instilling a sense of fear into him as he slowly turns, freezing in place when he sees a shape in the hallway behind him. From where he is, he can't tell what it is, but he knows it won't hesitate to kill him, so he lifts the gun in his hands to shoulder level, cocking it gingerly, body shaking in fear. Aiming steadily, he let's the flashlight roam across the shape, only to let out a breath when he sees what, or rather who, it is.

"(Y/n)?!" He hisses out to her, surprised that she is in this part of the building.

"Edgar? Is that you?" Her voice floats back over to him, the cadet holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright light.

"Yeah, it's me. You found anything yet?" He responds, secretly pleased that she actually remembers his name.

"No. Have you?" She clarifies, coming over to him, her gun held comfortably over her abdomen as she stays prepared, ready to shoot anything dangerous.

"Not yet."

"That's good." She looks him in the eye, "I kinda wanted to talk to you, though this probably isn't the best time."

Edgar gazes at her, surprised at what she is saying, an eyebrow lifting under the visor of his protective helmet.

"You wanted to talk to me?" He asks, incredulous.

"Yeah, I do." She nods, looking away again, her fingers tapping nervously on the stock of the gun.

"What about?"

She is silent for a minute, before she takes a deep breath and responds, relaxing her shoulders as she tries to stay calm.

"I just wanted to tell you about how I feel about you. Edgar, I know this is weird because we don't really know each other, and you probably don't feel the same way, but I, well, I like you. A lot."

There is an awkward moment of quiet between us as he tries to figure out how to respond correctly.

"You...you like me?" He finally manages to ask, not quite believing what he heard before.

"Yeah, I do. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I just thought you should know." (Y/n) explains, going to move past him, before he stops her with a hand on her arm.

"(Y/n), I've had a crush on you for the longest time, I just didn't know how to tell you." He informs her, waiting for a reaction.

"...really?"

"Yeah. Just ask my brother, he figured it out pretty quickly."

She smiles beneath her visor, clearly much happier now that the initial worry is over.

"I'm glad. Maybe when we get some free time, we could go on a date?" She suggests, adjusting her grip on the weapon.

Edgar smiles back at her.

"I'd like that."

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #Edgar frog #Alan frog #Edgar frog x reader #request #Edgar frog imagine

[tessiete]

"I wish you would write a —" continuation or AU of that scene from away the vapour flew (because I've seen you mention that even your AU's have AU's lol and I'm selfishly hoping you'd consider revisiting that fic and coz I can't let this opportunity pass when this fic literally lives in my mind rent free lol)

Alright! At long last I have figured out what happens next. This is for you, dear thing ❤️❤️❤️ ( @lightasthesun on - or very near thereabouts - your birthday)

LED BY THE WANDERING LIGHT

It starts with a very little thing: a seed.

 It is slipped from the glove of a Republic aid trooper who smiles as he passes it over.

 “From the General of the 212th,” he says. “Don’t know what it is, but I damn near lost the thing on the way over.” 

 “For me?” he asks, and the man nods, his grin growing wider.

 Then he leans in as though commiserating with a friend. “Jetiise sha’bise, lek?”

 “Elek,” agrees Korkie, dubiously, turning the little living pebble between his fingers.

 The trooper grins, and gives him a friendly shove before trotting off back to his ship. Korkie has come down on his aunt’s behalf to oversee the relief efforts, but he is distracted by the seed in his hand. It is flat, and furry, and pleasingly plump. If he squeezes it, he can feel the skin relent and rebound, and if he digs in his nail ever so gently, he can feel the taste of water upon his thumb, and see the pale blush of springtime in the depths of the cut. It is a seed of something, he knows, but of what?

 He places it in the breast pocket of his Academy jacket, and turns his attention back to the work. It is an impressive, and important sight, but his thoughts linger on the seed, and he feels it sit bright and eager against his heart.

 Later, when the supplies have been unloaded, and the aid troopers seen off, when the ceremony of thanks and assurances of neutrality have all been displayed, when he is back in his room at Sundari only hours away from the magtrain ride back to school, he plants the seed in a little pot of black earth, and dampens the soil. It will not grow tonight, but he cannot help but stare at it anyway, waiting in the dark, beneath the stars, so patient.

A week passes, and he is back at the Academy when the mail officer - an upperclassman he’s never met - stops at his place during first meal.

 “Su-su, Kryze!” he calls. “A package for you from the Core.”

 A small bundle wrapped in layer upon layer of bonding tape, and stamped with the ink of a hundred spaceports too numerous and cramped to decipher lands upon his lap. He uses the thin knife from his plate to slice through the plastifibe envelope. 

 When his fingers graze the object within he gasps, and pulls back the wrap to reveal a real, proper book. It’s not even printed on flimsi, he notes, cracking the aged spine and letting the pages fall open, but on actual paper. They don’t make these in the Core, and hardly ever in the Mid Rim, it’s just not economical, and most planets don’t have the resources to spare. But this one is old, it’s pages creased, and worn smooth at the corners with the turning of many fingers. It is about horticulture, though the illustrations of green and growing things have faded to browns and burnished golds. It is beautiful. 

 A piece of dried grass has been tucked between two pages, and when Korkie folds them back to look he sees an image of the seed he’d sown in the pot by his bed. Beside it, a riotous bouquet of blossoms burst in an array of different colours. It is a daesyn flower.

He tucks the book in his kebisebag, and carries it around for the rest of the day. At nightfall, he takes it out with careful reverence, turning the pages back to the daesyn slowly lest they tear or turn to dust. Then, by the light of a little glowrod, he props the book against his window and reads along as he tends to the small green sprout only just peeking through the soil.

 He buys a sun lamp, and a watermeter, and adjusts the temperature of his quarters much to Amis’ chagrin, determined to provide the most optimal growing conditions he can for the little plant.

  After a month, the seedling has become a sturdy sprout, with prickly leaves of a green so deep it might be blue. He is attempting to commit those variegated lines to flimsi when Amis returns to their quarters, a small pouch swinging from his hand.

 “I’m supposed to give this to you,” he says, tossing the pouch. Korkie reacts without thinking, snatching the bag out of the air before it can hit the ground.

 “Who’s it from?”

 “Front desk. Said some high up Republic alor sent it.”

 “Which one?”

 “Don’t know. Didn’t ask, did I? Too busy polishing the silver.”

 Korkie grimaces in sympathy, having spent many an afternoon of his first year cleaning the trophy case in the main hall. He thinks that Amis’ plight could be easily avoided if only he behaved himself, but refrains from saying so to his friend.

 Instead, he pulls the drawstring at the top of the purse, and turns it over his hand. A dozen discs of coloured glass tumble into his palm. They are thick, and smooth, though not polished by anything but time. Each is a different colour, though some are struck through with shimmers of gold and silver. 

 “What’s that?” asks Amis over his shoulder.

 “Don’t know,” he echoes. The glass feels comfortable in his grip. Made to be held, and carried, and passed from hand to hand.

 “Should ask Lagos,” says Amis. “That seems like her kind of thing.”

 He makes no reply to Amis, but of course, he does as he suggests. Lagos is, after all, a walking encyclopaedia, and of all their friends the most likely to at least have an idea of where to start looking.

 The excitement on her face when Korkie shows her his hoard tells him she has more than an idea - she knows.

 “Oh, oh, oh!” she gasps. “Where’d you find Abafar trading beads?”

 “They were a gift,” he replies. “What are they for?”

 She picks them up one at a time and holds them to the light. By some trick of their design, they cast no shadow, but seem to capture the rays inside like banked embers, or twisting prisms. The ones marked with ribbons of ore grow warm in her hand, and she presses them to his cheek so he can feel their heat.

 “They’re the traditional currency of Abafar,” she explains. “It’s a desert planet in the Outer Rim, and craftsmen in the Void used to make these beads as a means of facilitating trade over great distances. Metal was scarce, and the beads could also be used to retain heat for longer - that one in your hand could keep the warmth of the sun all night, if you wanted it to.”

 He considers the disc of deep indigo, and holds it up to the sun until it turns red. The glass seems to have become molten, but its warmth is not painful in the hand. He leaves the bead out for the rest of the afternoon to test Lagos’ theory, and brings it into bed with him at night. Tucked beneath his pillow, it radiates a soothing heat, and he feels his muscles relax and his worries melt as he drifts away into an easy slumber.

   The next gift he receives is shattered into bits.

 “Sorry, kid,” says the attendant at the delivery depot when he arrives to claim his parcel. “Happens sometimes with these packages from the front. The war is not a safe place for fragile things. Bic cuyir meg bic cuyir.”

 He takes the present anyway, carrying it delicately back to the Academy, fearful of breaking it further. When he finally tears through the tape and plastifibe, clay and ceramplast pieces give up any pretense at form and clatter over the surface of his desk.

 It was beautiful once, he can tell. Perhaps a bowl or a cup turned by hand - he can see the telltale print of a foreign finger pressed into a section of naked clay - but now it is only fragments and dust.

 Still, he hovers over the pile, turning the pieces this way and that, trying to see how they fit together. He doesn’t notice when sixth bell rings, or when Soniee pings his comm, or when Amis sneaks in past curfew and turns out his light. He stays up late into the night, until the form takes shape, and through the cracks and crevasses of painted clay dawn creeps in.

 It is an amphoriskos. A small vessel for storing precious oils, like the kind used in the rituals of so many traditional peoples. There is none in it now, and Korkie retrieves the sachet to see if perhaps it was spilled into the weave of the plastifibe wrap. But it is dry. And the clay, when he looks at it more closely, is dry and unstained by use. The gift was always empty.

 The shards sit upon his desk in their loose arrangement until, one afternoon, Amis moves to sweep them off into the dustbin.

 “No, no!” protests Korkie, before Amis can complete the task. “I want to keep it.”

 “What for?” his friend asks. “It’s broken.”

 “I don’t know yet.”

 He collects the bits of amphoriskos into his hands, and arranges them about the base of his daesyn pot. The paint glints in the light, and so too do the Abafar beads nestled amidst the debris. The plant grows green and bushy, its leaves reaching out to skim the rim of its bed as though a swimmer poised on the edge of emersion.

He receives Theelin singing strings wound tight around a holodrive meant for the Duchess, paired basalt spindles from Hapes, seashells from the deep oceans of Mon Cala, and a set of Lateron hoops carried on the wrist of the visiting senator from Naboo.

 “From Master Kenobi,” she says, and she smiles at him with a warmth that feels like family. He wonders if they’ve met before, if he should know her, but she moves along with the entourage of press and government officials before he can ask.

 He is home for Holyrod month, and has brought his prizes with him carried along specially in his kebisebag, his daesyn in his hands. He sets them out along the windowsill in his rooms at Sundari. The watchet blues and greens of crystalline filtered light play over his collection, illuminating one after the other in joyous turn. He does not know what they mean, or why his father has sent these particular things to him, but they are all precious, and he longs for a way to display his gratitude for the thought he has been spared.

 The daesyn itself revels in its new surroundings, and leans close to the glass to get as close a view of the sun as it can, budding with imminent delight.

The Senator from Naboo is called Padme, he discovers when he is introduced to her again at mealtime. And she has not come alone. She is part of a delegation of foreign ambassadors, all from the Republic, but not all, Korkie suspects, as enthusiastic about the Chancellor as they had once been. There are murmurings and whispers amongst them, hurried out between thin lips and caught only in the corner of his eye, or the turn of his head, but whether satisfied or not, they are accompanied by the ceremonial force of the Senate, and the might of Palpatine himself - Two Jedi travel with them.

 Anakin Skywalker, and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 He sees him through the crush of bodies, and later down the line at suppertime. In the midst of deep blues, and mauves, and furs, and silks, his earthen tunics stand out, but he is always distant, always just out of reach. All he needs is a moment, he thinks, to make sure he’s seen, so he can acknowledge his father - even in the polite, and suitably respectful language of perfect strangers if he must, but it never comes. 

The plates are cleared, the halls are emptied, and Korkie finds himself bidding his aunt (she is always his aunt here) goodnight, and wandering back to his rooms alone.

 It is dark when he arrives, though by the window the Abafar beads glow like the distant lights of the city. He slips off his stiff shoes, and his raiments of clan, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He waits, uncertain, until the knock comes again.

 Perhaps his mother come to assure herself of his health and presence, as she has done so often in the past, but he opens the door to find Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting, with his hand out. In the euphoric rush of astonishment, he hastens to place his own hand upon his father’s as is customary on Stewjon, though he holds fast in a manner peculiar between children and their parents.

 “Master Kenobi,” he stammers. “I did not expect you. I thought you’d left. Forgive me.”

 “There is nothing to forgive,” Obi-Wan replies. “I’d rather hoped to catch you alone, but I’m afraid our schedule was somewhat packed.”

“Of course.”

He is staring, he knows it, but he can’t seem to think of anything else to say, caught up in looking at his father and searching for all the commonalities between them. Does he tilt his head like that? Does he stroke his chin? Does he frown and smile by equal measure?

But the weight of his scrutiny is too much to bear, and Obi-Wan cracks.

“I thought to ask: did you get my gifts?”

“Yes,” says Korkie. “Thank you. They were very thoughtful.”

“Ah...And did you - did you like them?”

At this, Korkie cannot help but smile, and he shakes his father’s hand, tugging him forward with zeal.

“Yes, of course,” he says. “Would you like to see?”

If he is confused by his son’s desire to reintroduce him to items he has already laboured over and seen, then he does not show it. Nor does he resist when the hand in his pulls him further into the room, and doesn’t let go even as a curtain is flung open, and a light flicked on low.

He is pulled over to the broad casements and left to bask in starlight as Korkie steps aside to reveal a colorful mobile hanging from the frame of his window.

“The amphoriskos broke,” he explains, and sees a shadow flicker in his father's eyes. “No, no,” he insists. “It wasn’t your fault. It just happened. But I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It was so beautiful.”

He gestures at a silver thread from which hang a variety of irregularly shaped clay shards. The shiny amber and black paint catches the light thrown by the glowing Abafar beads strung further up, and on another and another thread. When he blows on them the threads hum, and sway together, the seashells and pottery and glass clattering together like wind chimes.

“The singing strings,” notes Obi-Wan, and Korkie grins.

“And the Lateron hoops,” he says, pointing to the frame from which the strings are suspended. “And the spindles, for balance. It’s meant to hang with my window open, like it is at school. And then, at night, when the dreamwinds come, the whole thing sings, and shines, and glows like the stars.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Obi-Wan with awe. He reaches out with one hesitant finger, the beads flickering beneath his touch, and the strings murmuring the low notes of an opening phrase.

“You gave it to me,” says Korkie with a shrug, and Obi-Wan turns his awe upon his boy.

“No,” he says. “I gave you fragments, but you have made them into art. You gave them meaning. You gave them a soul.”

Korkie shifts on his feet, fretting at the cuff of his sleeve, and diving in.

“Would it be okay, do you think -” he starts, then stops. Then he starts again. “Do you think it’d be alright if I wrote you? Every once in a while.”

“Wrote me?”

“Or com’d,” he says, quickly. “Only I know you’re busy, and I can’t expect to lay claim to any of your time, not really, but I -”

“Com me,” says Obi-Wan. “Write me. Send me anything you like, but only say you will and I will have all the time for you I can spare.”

“I promise that I only want a very little.”

“If it’s mine to give it’s yours to have, Kiorkicek,” his father swears. His grip upon his hand is firm, willing him to believe him, and Korkie nods his head because he does.

They stand there, hand in hand, reading themselves in each other, and learning the other in turn, and in the glow of the stars, and the city, and the Abafar beads, the daesyn flower bursts from its roots into a riot of colour and life.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #Korkie Kryze #SW #Star Wars #my fic #GFFA #prompt fill #Korkie is a Kenobi

[aquietanarchy]

"Cancel culture" is a hostile attitude toward people who were indoctrinated. I see this attitude often online, on tumblr especially, that's very black-and-white, that either someone is a good person with good opinions, or that they're a literal devil incapable of change. And the tricky thing about change is that it's often a gradual, slow process.

I'm talking about my own personal journey here, since that's what I know-- I was raised in a strict fundamentalist Christian household, and then jumped headfirst into a further radicalizing "discipleship program"/internship at an evangelical megachurch, because that's what I was convinced God wanted me to do. I was very much in a bubble, and had been my entire life, and I didn't break out of it until I went to college, at the age of 21. That's two decades of indoctrination. Yes, I held shitty, misinformed ideas about nearly everything-- that was the entire foundation of my worldview, my paradigms, even my sense of identity. Those kind of things don't get shattered and rebuilt overnight.

I completely understand and support the drawing of boundaries-- sometimes it's simply not safe or necessary to engage with harmful ideas-- but at the same time, I would not want to be judged on the basis of who I was my freshman year of college. Or even for who I was my senior year. I was convinced communism was evil until around 2016. I'm still learning, and I still feel like I have a lot of catching up to do in my education (thanks, private Christian school!), which I think is the reason why I don't write about politics as often as I thought I would when I started this blog. I'm too much of an idiot still, and that's not likely to change anytime soon. Besides, other people are far more capable than me.

I mean, at this point I'm just rambling, but here's an anecdote for anyone still reading: several years back I joined a Christian anarchist group on Facebook. I had literally just learned that my vague collection of anti-authoritarian, anti-hierarchical ideas belonged to a philosophy that could be named and that had some actual theory behind it, and that yes, it was "allowed" for Christians to be anarchists. My first day in the group, someone posts a discussion about the military. I don't remember the particular content; what I remember is that, for two decades, I've had it hammered into my brain that in order to follow God, I must respect my parents, and since my parents are both vets, I must respect the army. So I post some idiotic nonsense about how we need to respect military members, and of course I get piled on. Some of the comments I received were less mocking than others. I can laugh about it now, but I'm really thankful for the people who haven't cancelled me, so to speak.

Anyone who grew up indoctrinated into fundamentalist, evangelical, or conservative worldviews, and has decided as an adult to abandon those worldviews must face the arduous process of deconstructing and reconstructing everything they thought they knew. It's slow, painful, and often terrifying work. All I'm really trying to say is this: be patient with people. Even the one who look dumb as shit, if you can manage it. We're all in process, and it's not helpful to judge in-process work as if it's the finished product.

#long post #i'm not even sure what brought all this up #cancel culture #ex fundamentalist #ex evangelical #leftist #yarrow speaks into the void

[arodrwho]

listen i'll be the first to admit i don't, like, know dnd things? i don't know them

but what i do know is that it Must in theory be possible to approach the feeblemind spell in a way that isn't Completely terribly ableist & uncomfortable. like, in theory, that should be possible. and yet. every time i see fic summaries that include this spell. they sound awful

like so far as i can tell from the description, the spell makes it so u can't process language in any form, and ur intelligence & charisma fall to 1.

& as i understand it intelligence in dnd is about like, knowledge and memory? maybe a bit of reasoning there too, in like, sort of a deductive sense, reasoning based on Things You Know? unclear

& charisma as i understand it is like. ur ppl skills? how smoothe u can be w/ppl? for use in socializing, lying, convincing, befriending, etc.?

nd so as i understand it feeblemind should like.

make u nonverbal & unable to write or sign, & effectively give u auditory processing disorder & dyslexia, & also impact ur ability to pull things u've learned outta long-term memory? too fuzzy, can't access, there are So Many things u don't know now. & likewise impact ur social skills, make those p terrible

ur other skills & things though should still be intact, incl. ur wisdom (which as i understand it includes things like common sense & perception & is used in like survival checks & junk?) & ur general sense of self

in other words so far as i can tell there's absolutely nothing in the spell description that should mean ur just utterly Devoid of personality & running completely on instinct & feral & animalistic?

(i'll grant i've heard charisma's tied to "force of personality" or whatever & the spell's supposed to be intended to "shatter personality"--but the description does not actually say "yea it shatters personality", so it seems to me that if anything this spell should impact the Expression of that personality rather than just...straightup remove or destroy the Personality Itself y'know)

anyway. all this to say there's nothing to suggest those things should happen and Yet that's all i ever see in fic? just that. only that

which is gross and uncomfortable bc i read the spell description and i go "okay so the character is disabled in xyz ways now" and (some) other ppl read it and seem to go "okay so the character is basically a big dog now" (and, if they're feeling nice, "a big scared dog now")

like

uhhhhhh

y'all wanna sit there & maybe think on that? think on the implications for how u view disabled ppl? specifically intellectually disabled ppl & nonverbal ppl who don't sign or write or use aac? y'all wanna maybe......do that?

cause uhhhhhhhH yikes

#and again i dunno what i'm talkin abt mechanics-wise i'm just #i'm real uncomfy

[cienie-isengardu]

Hi. I read your great post about Yoda using Ahsoka to control Anakin. You mentioned the Agri Corps. This is something I have already heard here or there but I'm not familiar with this. I mean, I don't really know how they work. I've read on Wookieepedia that adhesion was voluntary. But was it voluntary also for discarded younglings/padawans who failed the Trials, or were they obliged instead? Just, may you explain what you know about these corps generally? My Jedi-critical feels are pawing. lol

Thank you, I’m glad you like it! :)

I will try my best to explain the matter, though to tell you truth, most of my knowledge is based on informations from Legends / old canon. What means, I’m not sure how up to date it is compared to the new canon. With this in mind, here comes my not-so-short answer:

In theory, Agricultural Corps - along with other Corps, like the Educational one - were part of Jedi Order, and thus its purpose was to using Force for the betterment of galactic society. The biggest difference was that, Jedi Knight 1) finished their studies at Temple and with that, they were full-fledged member of the Order and 2) were sent on diplomatic missions, to fight against Republic’s foes, to provide protection for designated - very often important - people or to investigate the crucial matters, while those sent to Argi Corps either were considered to have a poor (too weak) connection to Force or failed their Trials or didn’t get their own masters before reaching a certain age (for human & human-like species it was the age of 13th birthday). Though both Jedi Knight and those in Agri Corps were working for the benefit of galactic society, there is visible difference how their talents were used by Council and/or Republic.

Of course, it makes sense that various people will have specific talents which should be used according to the ability of a person. Like Docent Vant explained in Jedi Apprentice: The Rising Force:

“Not every one is meant to be a warrior. The Republic needs healers and farmers, too. With your Force skills, you will be able to treat sick crops. Your talent will help feed whole worlds.”

So, in general work of Agri Corps is useful and important because it helps to feed people on many worlds. But at the same time, most younglings were afraid to be assigned there. And that brings us to the more complicated matter: how Agri Corps was seen by young initiates of the Jedi Order.

Mace Windu once said there was no dishonor for a youngling to be part of Agri Corps. In a sense, this was “a kinder fate” for childrens to work at their “own level” than being “humiliated” when they can’t keep up with much younger and talented kids. Also, helping to feed hungry & people in need was very honorable and good thing to do. And the selfless service to others is basic principle of being Jedi.

But for most younglings, it didn’t matter if the work of Agri Corps was important or not. A person assigned there was seen as, well, washout and failure. Some kids were sent there, because their connection to Force turned out to be too weak to make of them a good Jedi. Some were skilled yet still could not pass the Trials for various reasons. Some who already were strong in the Force and passed Trials still didn’t catch attention of any Jedi Knight, and thus no one offered them an apprenticeship.

Many - if not most of younglings were thinking about Agri Corps as demotion, a prove they weren’t good enough to be a Jedi. Those kids who grew up at Jedi Temple didn’t know any other life than that and thus had a real reason to be afraid of. They were not only “kicked out” for being a “failure” but also by sending to a foreign planet, they were cut off from security provided by Order - from friends, familiar teachers  & Temple staff who until now took care of their needs, so they never had to worry about food, clothes and so on. Of course, the Agri Corps were supplied by Order/Republic, yet I believe the living conditions were dependent on the climate and technical advancement of the planet. To be fair, I personally don’t know that many sources focused at inner working of said Corps - there was one comics called Graduation Day that actually makes an impression the kids were on their own, without any teacher or adult guardian(s)… then again, the action of comics took place during Clone Wars, so maybe all Jedi / appointed superior(s) from there were pulled into war? I dunno.

Backing to Legends sources, there are examples how the oldest (almost 13 years old) younglings were desperate to show off their skills, in hope to catch attention of Jedi Knight, so they will not be assigned to Agri Corps, what was seen with both Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy (a.k.a. Scout) & young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not to mention examples of bullying between kids (and yes, this is sadly thing, but bullying was quite common in Jedi Order) where Agri Corps were seen as a “job for rejects, initiates too weak to be Knights”. Some younglings taunted other kids by making fun of their lack of skill, that no Knight will take them as padawans and thus they will be kicked out and sent on some remote planet to be *just* farmers.

Did younglings had any choice in that matter? Their voluntariness is… debatable.

Sources like A Jedi Path: Manuals to students of the Force and The Complete Encyclopedia noted that younglings may volunteer to Agri Corps - and some probably did so. But for those that were assigned to Corps by Council, the choice was limited. For example, in Jedi Apprentice, when Obi-Wan Kenobi was informed about Council’s decision, no one asked him if he agreed with that nor in what part of the galaxy he would like to serve. He only get his orders through Docent Vant:

Obi-Wan Kenobi was bandaging his burns in his room when he got the bad news. He was trying to imagine ways to impress Qui-Gon in the morning. He considered ways to improve his fighting skills – anything he might say or do to convince the Knight that he was worthy to become a Jedi’s Padawan Learner. But then Docent Vant brought a data pad and showed him his orders.

Suddenly all his plans and dreams were shattered.

[…]

Obi-Wan stared at the orders in shock. The data pad told him that he would ship out of the Temple in the morning. He needed to pack his bags.

He was to report to the world of Bandomeer – some planet he’d never even heard of , out on the Galactic Rim. There he would join the Agricultural Corps.

Like you can see, younglings didn’t have much to say on this issue. Kenobi was lucky, because Yoda liked him / saw him as valuable student, so old master made sure the boy get his chance to meet Qui-Gon Jinn who at that time were looking for a new padawan. But how many other kids didn’t get the same chance, we may only wonder.

Of course, the kids may decide to leave Jedi Order permanently and thus not joining any Corps. There are examples of padawans who chose that path - some, like Ahsoka left due to unpleasant experiences, some simple decided they didn’t really want to be a Jedi. But in both cases, padawans were given little to no support at all. I mean, Ahsoka practically marched out of Temple with only clothes on her back - no money were given to her to help her survive on her own. Which I think is one of reasons why younglings followed Council’s orders even when they didn’t want to become part of Agri Corps. They didn’t know any other life outside of Order, didn’t know their parents or families, and thus have nowhere to go, no money or support to survive in dangerous galaxy on their own.

And then Empire happened.

Agri Corps were part of Jedi Order - the force sensitive kids working there were considered Jedi (albeit no fully trained ones) and thus were either killed or captured during Jedi Purge. Those who proved themselves to emperor and / or Vader, became Dark Jedi and as so, became servants of the Sith Lords. Some, I believe, simply didn’t want die, so it was better to serve Empire than being dead. Some, on other hand, were quite angry at Jedi - and thus prone to Dark Side. What Palpatine happily exploited for his own benefit.

This is less or more what I can tell you about Agricultural Corps at this moment. I hope my answer has satisfied your curiosity :)

#star wars #my replies #agri corps #jedi order #star wars legends