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chokefriends · 3 years

Text

Anatomy model Eustass Kid

By @godims0tired ♡ for my fic Life Drawing

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Characters & ships: Eustass Kid / Trafalgar Law

Word count: 2978

Summary: Law practices his anatomical drawing with Kidd as his subject. With his devil fruit abilities he can see right inside him.

Kidd finds this insanely romantic.

~~~

Read on Ao3 or below the cut. I know it's an older fic by now but I havent posted it here before so here!

~~~

Kidd jerked into full awareness as he lay sprawled in his bed. He checked around himself without moving and sensed a second heartbeat in the room, near enough that the dim echoes of its electrical impulses lapped at his skin like waves. Slow and calm. Just watching then; not yet poised to attack…

There were eyes on him.

It took him a moment to remember that the other heartbeat was supposed to be there. He wasn't used to having bedmates stay overnight.

Red eyes slid open and found keen grey ones fixed on him.

“The fuck you staring at.”

“You, idiot.”

The big redheaded sprawl snorted crassly at that and flopped over, returning the stare with sleepy menace.

Law smirked. He was wedged sideways in one of the heavy carved armchairs in Kidd's quarters, loosely wrapped in a sheet and busily scritch scritching in a large book. His gaze flicked from page to Kidd and back.

Kidd prodded him, “See something you want, Trafalgar? Come over here and take it.”

His limbs were still all loose and languid from when they'd fucked a couple hours before, but Kidd could stand to go another round. Especially with the sharp, evaluating looks Law was throwing him right now.

“Come on, c'mere.”

“Later. Go back to sleep, Eustass-ya.” The pen bobbed.

“Don’ wanna. What are you doing still up?”

“Just passing the time until my brain decides to let me fall asleep.” Law's insomniac woes again.

“A good fuck will do that for you. Lemme do the ligature thing and you'll be out like bam .” Kidd offered generously.

“Heheh. Thanks but oxygen deprivation is not the kind of sleep aid I need.”

“Your loss.”

Kidd burrowed into his cluster of satiny pillows with a sigh. For an infamously brutal pirate captain he sure liked his little extravagances. The whole room was draped with horribly clashing bits of luxurious fabrics and furs, and the odd shiny sharp thing. The manic magpie whims of past raids.

“Nah, that's no good,” Law recrossed long legs over the chair’s arm, well cushioned with some spotted pelt. “Go back to where you were a second ago.”

“Are you…? What, taking notes on me? Writing an ode to the sinful curve of my flawless ass?”

“Something like that. I'm adding my own anatomical diagrams to this medical text. It’s my favourite for reference material but the illustrations are scanty and kinda shit -- it's like they've never dissected anyone before.”

“Nice. Add a diagram of these.” Kidd kicked up a leg.

“Hah. I'm nowhere near the section on genital abnormalities, but I'll look you up when I get there. Turn on your side again, I was doing upper body musculature.”

“Ooo. I got lots of that, yeah.” Kidd complied.

The lamplight was flickering low behind Law. Kidd could see him and his book backlit dimly, the small hairs on his leanly muscled shoulders aglow like a nimbus. Tinged subtly blue.

Wait, blue?

“Do you have a Room up?”

“Yeah, so I can scan down and see the actual anatomical stuff.”

“Huh. That's handy. You don't even have to dissect anyone.”

“Yeah but it’s easier to see everything if you physically open someone up. You can isolate the individual structures that way.” Law peeked overtop of the book. “And it's more fun to do it the old-fashioned way, heh…”

Kidd gave a low laugh. Law wasn't even joking, he knew. He imagined waking up one night like this, to find some part of him delicately splayed open and the dark haired doctor sketching away with the same expression. If Law used his devil fruit power he could do it painlessly and bloodlessly, without even waking him. Kidd had seen him sever heads away from bodies completely within that blue sphere, both pieces still functioning as one. He’d never been the subject of that eerie power himself, though.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Law untangled himself from chair and sheet, and finally came over to join him on the bed. Kidd was gifted briefly with a full view of the lithe figure. His recent handiwork was beginning to show in the mottling that ran up either thigh and the bites framing his chest tattoos.

The long limbs refolded next to him. “Stay there, I wanna do the neck muscles now.”

“Lemme see that first.”

“Don't be grabby,” Law complained, but gave up the book.

“Holy fuck.” Kidd flipped through studies of his back, shoulders, hands. “So that's how I look without skin, huh.”

He had been expecting more… yeah. Skin.

“I did say I was drawing the muscles.”

“And my bones and everything.”

“Yeah. Good skeletal structure too. Several odd calluses where breaks didn't quite set right, though.”

“You can see all of that?”

“Yeah, of course. Like I said, I can scan down to any level. Though it helps if I know already the shape of what I'm looking for.”

Something about the drawings was just so Law. The lines so precise, so sharp, somehow impatient. A little obsessive and overworked on certain details, like the hollow between his collar bones and the knobbly crook of his index finger, broken at least twice. Many practice studies on loose sheets of paper showed that Law had been trying to get these parts just right.

It occurred to Kidd that these weren't just anatomical studies using him as a model -- these were him.

Jotted notes crowded around the practice studies, but Law grabbed the book back before Kidd could read them properly.

“Trafalgar. Does that seriously say I have 8.2 litres of blood in me.”

“Nevermind that. Just an interesting fact. You have a lot of blood.”

Kidd stole another peek as Law held him off. “And that I have a grip strength of 68 kilograms in my right hand?”

“At least. That’s not something I can see; that's from uh, experience.”

Kidd leaned back with his hands laced behind his head to look at Law. “One might misinterpret this as a target profile of some kind.” Because that's exactly what it was -- a detailed map of Kidd’s strongest, and weakest points.

“Whoa, your blood pressure’s spiking.” Law grinned with more teeth than usual and leaned in to hover over him.

“Now you're just showing off,” Kidd complained.

“Does this disturb you?”

That wasn't exactly the feeling that was spreading through him, no. Or not entirely, anyway. Kidd just cracked his neck, stretching it out for Law's benefit, and raised an eyebrow.

“So you wanted some neck action? It's all yours.”

Law seemed to like the sound of that. He angled Kidd’s head away and up with a gentle press of fingers, so the ear and neck were exposed to him.

Kidd watched his shadow flicker on the opposite wall and listened to the pen scratch across paper. The undulating magnetic field of Law’s heart was so close now, washing over him. His own blood thudded in his ears, senses all on high alert from holding himself in this vulnerable position.

He could be fuckin patient. Sometimes. Well… when he had all of Law’s attention focused on him like this, he’d stay still forever. He could feel the sharp eyes on him like a touch. His own eyes started to wander back over…

He jumped a little when Law did touch him, nudging him back into place. And then trailing fingers over the mound behind his ear.

“Sternocleidomastoid,” Law mouthed to himself. “Levator scapulae…” The hand travelled down to his collarbone and rested there lightly, his thumb tracing little circles.

It was so calm. And strange. Rare for the reserved doctor to be so casually intimate. Even while they were fucking, touch was more like a struggle, hands straining against and into each other. Kidd was rough without even trying, but it was Law who seemed to flinch from any contact not resembling combat. Or medical care. Such structured things. He’d objected -- vehemently -- to being “pawed at” and “pet like a lap dog” often enough. As though anything less than bruising force would hurt more.

He was so guarded. It made Kidd greedy.

“You're hard, you know,” Law breathed onto his neck.

“Yeah I'm aware.”

“Heh.”

Tattooed fingers ran along Kidd’s side, over the tight bands hugging the ribs (“Serratus anterior…”), and pinpricks rose in their wake. Kidd found himself arching up against the hand desperately.

“Ah, fuck, Trafalgar…”

“Mhm,” Law responded, distracted. Or pretending to be. He followed a particular cord of muscle down Kidd’s powerful thigh with his thumb. “Sartorius. Gracilis.”

“Dick.”

“No that's not a muscle, Eustass-ya.”

“Oh for the love of GOD.”

Law made a sound that was probably a muffled laugh. “Hold still. I'm doing anatomical studies.”

“Oh is that what we're doing.”

“Obviously.”

“Where's the book.”

“It's…” Law looked around for a minute. “On the floor.”

Kidd covered his face with his hands and just laughed. Law sighed dramatically.

“Well. Guess I gotta start from the top again.”

---

Law could be a pushy bastard when he topped. But he kept up the slow, focused treatment this time and it was driving Kidd fucking insane.

“I'm gonna flip this the fuck around and pound you inside out if it takes any longer.” Kidd growled from under his arm, slung across his face.

This was as close as he could get to actually asking for it. Here he was laid out, so open and ready, core clenching and unclenching. Needing to be fucked, to have hands on him, in him, whatever. All of it.

“Nah you're not.” Law countered smugly.

“F-uck,” was all Kidd could come up with when a third finger twisted into his slicked up hole. His body tensed and spasmed before yielding itself open.

By the time Law was actually fucking him, Kidd had nearly popped a fucking vein.

Law pushed in slowly, slowly. Until they were pressed together as tight as they could go, breath hot on each other's faces.

“Shit, Tr--ahh…”

“Eustass-ya…”

He was done with all the slow shit. Kidd was a shifting mass of need under him and honestly, he was even more worked up. He dragged almost all the way out only to grind back in hard, and the tight body jolted.

“Aw fuck, yeah…”

Law braced his weight on his arms, pressing Kidd’s hips into the bed. He watched the muscles bunch beneath him with each impact, Kidd straining to meet him. Watched through skin so pale it was translucent, glowing and rippling.

Kidd still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that gaze. All hunger and splitting seams, open lips and ragged breath.

He quirked up one corner of a mocking mouth.

“The fuck’re you-- ah --staring at?”

Law didn't answer for a moment. Under Kidd's skin it was like… layers of red ribbons, wrapping him up. The ribbons all pulling and straining against each other when Kidd moved (when Law moved in him), like something inside was trying to burst out. Under them, ribs curving -- jealous fingers. Wetly clinging membranes. Then under that…

“Your heart. It's…”

Their bodies collided, beaded with sweat. Harder. More. Law could see, hear Kidd's heart beating faster as he picked up his pace. God, he could feel it in his palms. In his dick. Beating so strong it echoed in his ears, drowning out his own.

“Fucking perfect. It's perfect.”

Kidd laughed breathlessly. His heart. What the hell. “...You wanna get your hands on that too?”

Law did.

He wanted to grip it, feel it flutter, make it burst …

… What if I could? he thought. He slowed, thinking, and spread a hand over Kidd’s breastbone. Not just to incapacitate through dismemberment, but to cut a piece from the whole, one vital piece…

Kidd watched the pensive eyes flicker and gave him a swift jab of encouragement with his heel.

“You'll just have to get hold of it the old fashioned way. Hahahaaa…”

“Hah.” Law shook himself from his distracted state. He picked up a pace that was slower than before, though not less jarring. “Like… I should court you or like I should cut you open?”

“Whichever ...ah ... But you should fuckin get me off first.” Kidd guided the tattooed hand down from his chest to his dripping cock, and Law obliged, finally.

They fucked with foreheads pressed together and grips slipping on sweat slick skin. Kidd thought of Law digging his hands right into his chest and came in jerking starts like it was being beaten out of him, legs clamped tight around him. Skin thrumming with the echoes of hands and heartbeat.

---

Kidd flipped through the last few drawings with some undefinable flutter in his gut.

“That's some shit you won't see in any other textbook.”

“Mhm.” Law allowed himself to press against Kidd just slightly as they lay sprawled out, sweat drying in the cool air. He was in a fuckin good mood, kinda dazed.

“I do look damn good without skin, I'll say that much.”

“Heh. And with. You can see the suprasternal notch really clearly even under the skin, it's nice. I fuckin love all of that. That area.”

Kidd choked a little but Law didn't seem to realize what he'd said. And that's not even what he meant anyway, Kidd told himself.

But the whole thing kinda was the same as a confession, at least as far as Law went. The drawings, as vaguely threatening as they were, betrayed an intimate preoccupation with Kidd's finer points. Maybe even admiration. Definitely possessiveness. Need.

“I wanna do you too.”

Law grinned, “Already?”

“Not that, idiot. Draw you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Well, draft. I can draft things -- just basic. For engineering stuff on the ship, mostly.”

“Oh, nice!” Law bounced up to get fresh paper from the floor by the chair. “How does one usually draft stuff? Don’t you need a triangle thing? Compasses, etcetera?”

“Maybe. I’ll just make an outline for now.”

Law seemed right into this whole idea. “Draw me like one of your machines, Eustass-ya.” He draped himself dramatically across the bed and Kidd shoved him with a grin.

“How do you want me, though.”

Kidd appreciated that question for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to draw from life -- like perspective or anything. So it’s gonna be pretty diagrammatic. I just need a few details and some numbers.”

“Like specifications? How to build a Trafalgar?”

“Yeah, so I can make another if this one breaks.”

That made him laugh.

“Okay lie out flat and lemme measure you.”

“With what measuring tools?”

“I'll just eyeball it,” Kidd insisted.

This turned out to mean that he was going to get his hands all over him, which Law supposed was fair. He tensed and shied but stayed mostly still, letting Kidd explore his dimensions and proportions. Pages filled up with ratios and vectors of movement. Things got off track again around when Kidd was testing the rotation arc of his arms and quickly became vicious rutting. Light, skimming hands could become crushing ones so quickly.

Anyway, turned out that Law could get off while his arms were being hyperextended behind his back. Pretty effectively, in fact.

After, when they were laid out next to each other once again, and Law’s breaths were finally lengthening into sleep, Kidd dared to try another light touch. Without their thin pretense of functionality this time -- just want. He smoothed a hand over all the tattoos he'd taken such careful note of earlier. A large heart on his chest with a grinning skull similar to his Jolly Roger. Hearts on his shoulders. Kidd’s fingerprints blooming dark purple on his upper arms.

Sixty-eight kilograms of pressure and Law hadn't made a sound, but a feather touch over the marks and a quiet ah pushed past his lips.

“Whose emblem is that tattoo?”

Law mumbled with his eyes closed, “Someone who died. Long time ago.”

“Someone…” Kidd repeated to himself, but didn't probe. “You going to get any more?”

“Nah.” His breath stuttered slightly when Kidd trailed knuckles down his jaw. “I just like… your marks…”

He fell asleep with Kidd's lips against the shell of his ear.

---

A roll of broadsheet tied with string arrived by carrier gull when Law was back on his sub some days later. He stole away to his cluttered quarters and spread the roll out on the bed.

Inside the broadsheet was a large-format technical drawing.

There were three flat outlines of Law: front, back, side. All heavily marked out in blunt pencil, all surrounded by arcs and lines, dotted and solid, indicating measurements and angles of motion. The insides of the outlines were empty except for perfectly to scale renderings of his tattoos.

#kidlaw #trafalgar law #eustass kid #fanart #thank you so much dude i really mean it!#its exactly how I imagined laws drawing style to be ♡

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 3 years

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Hi! So, why BTS? And why now? I want to follow your blog, but may I speak openly?

Writing about BTS through the lens of various critical theory is amazing. You are so smart. I am going to be honest about my own biases here, so feel free to trash me for it. I am anonymous after all so trash away as is your right. I understand.

There is often a supposition from critics, both professional and amateur, that the fandom- frequently presented as an immature, undifferentiated mob of cultists- is unable to think critically and must have basic things explained to us so that we don't throw stones at the free speech warriors of truth and standards (not saying that this is your attitude). I find that a little alienating. This fandom has existed for eight years. We have seen blogs and empires rise and fall.

I also don't think that it is an accident that the desire to project these more critical ideas into the public sphere usually comes after a year of being a full on ARMY (judging from my friends experiences). I have read peices about BTS's work referencing Lacan, neo-marxism, post-structuralism and other such stuffs. (My friend used to have an analytic blog that she chose to shut down a few years ago). I am going to be a bit blunt again, so trash if you must, but I think what was being exposed in those pieces was not only "critical thinking" but an excess of emotional investment in BTS, and the desire to intellectualize or justify it.

BTS got a lot of people through 2020. Those long content dives kept people sane. But now, based on a lot of the dissapointed PTD criticism, it feels like some people are waking up hung over and kind of bitter. Emphasizing the three English singles and ignoring BE, an album they worked on for months, seems like a symptom of this. Removing BE from the narrative seems to advance theories of BTS's 'Americanization', lack of creative agency and homogenization into some inferior or less Korean form of pop. BE should not be dismissed as irrelevant to this discourse. Many western artists take an average of 2 years between albums. BTS put out a lot of work. Maybe some of the distrust of criticism that we plebes have comes from the suspicion that critics may use art and events to construct a story. As a person of Asian heritage, LGO going #1 on Billboard meant a lot, emotionally.

I hope none of this caused offense. If it did please just ignore. Thanks for your great thoughts. Wishing you success in your goals.

Hi! Your ask did not cause offense, I'm more than fine to talk about this.

There's a lot to unpack here, so I'm taking it one by one.

Why BTS and why now? I chose to write about BTS because it's been an interest of mine for quite long. I mean, I didn't expect more than a year later to be here. My past obsessions usually lasted between 2 to 3 months, max, and everything felt so intense, but then it faded for a few years. (The last band I really focused on was Pearl Jam back in my first year of college while I was going through a bit of a difficult period in my life).

Yes, I have become a fan during the pandemic. It was sort of inevitable for it to become such a huge focus (escapism from the world outside and from writing a thesis). If I had started this blog a year ago, then you're right in one way: it would have been emotional investment and my desire to intellectualize and justify it. Basically that's what I did in the first few months (when I was on my own, in no community whatsoever). In order to explain myself and others why I'm spending time on this, I used to read research articles. But that's not the full truth and that's because to me such practice comes naturally, just as when I was 16 I couldn't just watch and enjoy movies, I had to read about them every day, or how I'm surrounded by pop culture just as everyone else, but I want to read books about it so I'm willing to do that for months. It's how I'm wired, so in a way, of course it had to happen with BTS as well.

The reason why I decided to make a blog now it's not necessarily because I ''woke up'' or that suddenly I see ''the truth''. Perhaps you may have had that impression because of my first post where I talked about PTD and the recent talks about ''Americanization''. I touched on that subject because I was closely following it, but that is not to say it was my only purpose on making a blog. I feel that, a year later, I'm more secure with my general knowledge and that of BTS. I couldn't have done it before that. I also plan to talk about other topics as well, not just what's ''hot'' at the moment. If I didn't have any other ideas, I wouldn't have made a blog.

And I'm certainly not here to teach anyone or ''plebes'' as you said, anything. And I also know that I'm not going to be the last to have a blog, write a think piece or publish something about BTS. People are allowed to engage in all types of discourse, depending on what they like and what they feel comfortable with. There are countless blogs with countless topics and perspectives. Some last, some don't, that's just how it is. I don't have huge important plans to teach the fandom, my ego is not that big and this is just a hobby for me. It's also not the first time I'm publishing something, but it is the first time on my own blog, despite being on tumblr for 10 years now.

But you are right when you talk about people forgetting about BE and I may add, Film Out which is more recent. I too thought that LGO going #1 on Billboard was incredible. It was a song in Korean that really reflected how people felt during the pandemic. Not just LGO, but the entire album is a true reflection of current times on top of being just simply good music. The album was promoted as well, different versions of the MV, the logs that preceded it focusing on production, it really made me look forward to it and it did not disappoint. The last few months of 2020 have been really good for what BTS has delivered. To go back to your argument, I don't think it's about constructing a story. Yes, in a way people could be accused of ignoring BE, but what's the problem with focusing on what's been going on at present? We shouldn't be surprised about that, PTD was released not too long after Butter. It was full of promotional material ever since May.

I stated in my blog introduction that I'm in film studies, so I will end up making a lot of references because I can naturally make my point across. Let's say I'm a fan of Xavier Dolan. I've watched his first films, fell in love with his aesthetics and his stories. Then he releases something that I don't really like, doesn't work for me. Then another. And then another. I'm thinking, ok, this is the direction he's going with, it's not as daring as what he used to do before, but so what? He gets the awards at Cannes, but I'm still writing a negative review of his film Mommy. Doesn't mean I'm wrong, doesn't mean the Jury at Cannes is wrong, it certainly doesn't mean that I don't like Xavier Dolan anymore. We're just looking for different things.

We write about things that are happening at the moment and how see them now. We make judgments of value based on our current knowledge. Who's to say that in 10 years people won't look back and think: those critics had no idea what they were saying about BTS (Antonioni's L'Avventura was booed at Cannes when it was released in 1960 and now it's considered a masterpiece and even taught in schools). But that's just a possibility right now and if in 10 years I'll remember that I used to write about this, perhaps my opinions could/would change. Maybe less than10 years :)

#asks

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alarawriting · 3 years

Text

52 Project #40: Angel of Darkness, Demon of Light

Tala par Kyleth, Darkchild, had been on the road for 12 nights, heading home. There had been no unpleasant incidents thus far, and she fervently hoped things would stay that way. Tonight, however, was a warm, moonless night, the kind the creatures of the night liked best, and the stink of demon was on the air. She would be extremely fortunate to make it through the night without having to deal with some sort of disaster.

The best thing to do, she decided, was to find the demons first, and get rid of them, before she was forced to show herself to anyone. Tala was a warrior-- she didn't like fighting, but she could hardly avoid it, being what she was. What she could avoid was undue notice. She had to go out of her way to help people, but she didn't have to let them know about her-- and being a Darkchild, she craved invisibility more than anything else. So she drew a handful of demon darts and walked the forest in her shadow form. Neither human nor demon nor any other living creature would sense her presence in the deeper shadows of the forest until it was too late.

Then the forest's quiet was shattered by earsplitting shrieks. Tala cursed quietly-- so much for being anonymous. People's lives were at stake now. As she ran toward the source of the cries, she felt annoyance for another reason--what sort of idiots would be out on a warm moonless night? Didn't they know the danger? Still, not even idiots deserved to be demon meat. She focused her darksight until she could see what was going on.

There were four or five travelers and some children being beset by demons. Two men and a woman were laying about themselves with swords, flintlocks, anything they had, trying to destroy the demons. Another woman crouched in the center of the triangle the others formed, with two children by her, maybe more-- the firelight in the center hurt Tala's eyes too much to look directly at it. The demons were ignoring the fighters, and heading straight for the children-- only logical, since they always preferred child-meat, when they could get it.

Tala shifted out of shadow form and flung the darts at the demons nearest the children. She yelled, "Don't fire! I'm here to help you!" The woman with the gun, panicking, almost fired anyway. Tala was used to this sort of thing-- to frightened travelers, a strange woman's voice coming out of the darkness could easily be another demon's. Human flintlocks could hurt Tala considerably more than they could hurt demons, however, so she needed to take immediate steps to keep the woman from hitting her. She flung another of the darts at the woman, striking the arm with the flintlock. Since the woman wasn't a demon, all this could do was sting and make her drop her gun. By that time, Tala had her blade out and had begun to slaughter the demons.

Even demons needed some light to see by. Tala didn't. She swept the blade in a circle, generating a sphere of darkness, and then popped it with the point. Every light-- even the fire, even the starlight-- was extinguished in a wide radius, encompassing Tala, the travelers, and the demons. The darkness that Tala brought extended to all other senses as well, and plunged travelers and demons both into a soundless, scentless, empty world. The only one left able to sense anything was Tala, with the darksight that was not exactly sight, sound, or anything else, but something combining aspects of all the senses it negated.

The demons, unable to see, smell, hear or even feel the ground under their feet, charged confusedly at where they thought Tala might conceivably be. Of course, since her darkvision was at its clearest, she saw them coming with no difficulty, and easily dispatched them. Her Lightbrother Haren would be horrified, she thought to herself, smiling. It was the ultimate in unfair fighting to kill things that were blind in all senses. But then, the concept of being fair to an enemy was a Light thing; to the Dark, if you’d decided to fight, you’d fight to win.

Disposing of the last of them, she wiped her sword clean and sheathed it. Instantly the light came back, and the fire's brilliance stabbed her eyes cruelly. Quickly she shifted her vision, dulling it so the light was not as painful.

"You-- who are you?" one of the men asked, staring at Tala with the usual surprise in his face. Dark-skinned people were a rarity this far north to begin with, and Tala was darker than any normal human these people could have met. Her features matched no known specific racial type, making her appearance somewhat unusual even if one overlooked her odd color. Then there was the fact that she was a woman, adventuring alone, at night, which while not exactly unheard-of was terribly rare. Add to that the fact that she had just decimated a troop of demons, and it was easy to understand why they were so leery of her. By now, Tala was used to it.

Her usual inclination was to disappear into the night and answer no questions, but she wanted to find out why precisely these people were out in the forest at night, with children, even. It seemed to her that either they were absolute idiots, or they were under some extreme form of pressure. And if it was some kind of pressure, it was Tala's duty to find out what, and deal with it if she could. So she put her hands up, and stepped into the firelight so that they could see she meant them no harm. "Tala par Kyleth, Darkchild, called the Dark Angel," she said. They all looked horrified, and cringed from her. The woman she'd struck dove for her gun again. Inside, Tala winced. Giving her parentname had probably not been the smartest thing she could have done. She had a brother and sister who were, to put it mildly, not nice people, and from the reaction to her name, she guessed these people had met one of them. Offhand, she would think Maru-- her Darkbrother was similar in appearance to her, had identical powers, and was obviously also a par Kyleth. Unlike Tala, however, he was sadistic and power-hungry, which generally translated into committing evil. Perhaps they had been chased out here by him?... But that didn't make any sense-- the worst place to go to escape a Darkchild would have to be a darkened forest at night. Sighing, Tala set herself to assuage their fears, never a task she was very good at. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said acerbically. "If I served evil, I'd've left you to the demons. Speaking of which, don't you know better than to go out on a moonless night, away from the city's wards? You could all have been demon meat."

The man who hadn't yet spoken said bitterly, "You speak as if we had a choice, Darkchild, but you must know better. You call yourself par Kyleth, and you wear our tormentor's face, but you pretend not to know our reasons for fleeing the City of Light. I ask you again, who are you?"

"I'm not your tormentor, that much you should know," she said. "Did he give his name as Maru par Kyleth, by any chance?"

"There's another of you?" one of the women asked, frightened. The other one was attempting to reach her gun. Tala sighed.

"Perhaps you should tell me why you left your city, and who the par Kyleth who's been bothering you is. I may be able to help." On the other hand, considering who she was beginning to suspect their tormentor was, perhaps not. She turned to the woman who had loaded her flintlock again. "And you can put that thing down," Tala told her. "I just defeated a score of demons. Do you think your weapons mean anything to me?" The truth was, Tala was quite human enough for the gun to have power over her. But when she had to reveal herself to people, she liked to project an otherworldly mystique. That way she wouldn't be asked unnecessary questions or feel compelled to answer such.

The woman put the flintlock down, but left it within easy reach, as the man said levelly, "We braved the possibility of demons to save our children from certain death, at the hand of a woman named Shien par Kyleth. A woman whose features are so like yours, except for her color, she could be your twin sister-- and whose parentname is the same as yours. And you tell me, Darkchild, you tell me you know nothing of this?"

So it was Shien, her Lightsister, after all. Tala had thought she knew Shien well, and the depths to which she would sink, but apparently she was wrong. If they were fleeing Shien, it did make sense to head into the night-- Shien was a Lightchild, and couldn't bear the darkness. But there were other aspects in which the story didn't make sense. Shocked, Tala said, "Shien, making human sacrifices? I don't disbelieve you, but—Shien draws her power from light, and human sacrifice is typically a practice of the dark.” Light was more than pleased to set its enemies on fire, but it generally justified itself by claiming its enemies were evil. Light loved the truth, but hated ambiguity and nuance. “I'd expect sacrifices out of my brother, but Shien? You have to tell me more. When did this happen?"

They all looked at Tala with hard eyes. "What's your connection to Shien par Kyleth, the Lightbringer?" the woman with the gun asked harshly.

She was Tala's twin sister-- that was why they looked so much alike-- but Tala didn't think it prudent to state that quite so bluntly. "She is... my mirror. Everything I am, she is not." This was, at best, an oversimplification-- they were quadruplets, and each of them had an opposite in sex, source of power and personality, but Tala was not about to complicate the situation by mentioning her brothers. "It's my job to stop her, if she's doing evil again. Tell me what she's doing, and I'll be able to help you."

They proceeded to tell her the following story:

Shien had set up her encampment in a glass city, a marvel constructed by wizardry, with a reflecting crystal dome over it. Since she had arrived, night had never fallen. Because she was weakened by the lack of sunlight, just as Tala was by its presence, her motive was obviously to create a place where there would always be sunlight. Of course, she could generate sunlight herself, as Tala could absorb light to create darkness, and from what the refugees told her, Tala guessed that that was exactly what she was doing-- but then, why was she sacrificing people?

The refugees informed Tala that Shien was choosing children to be sacrificed in secret, and that really seemed uncharacteristic. Shien had been known to make an example of people by burning them publicly, but it wasn't like her to do anything in secret. Why was she sacrificing the children? What did she have to gain? Or was she sacrificing them? Perhaps it was something else she was doing... but what?

“They don’t know,” one of the women said bitterly, of her fellow citizens. “They worship her. They call her the Lightbringer and they think she’s responsible for everything good, everything benevolent. When she began the child sacrifice, she was claiming that our former leaders were the ones letting demons into the city, to kill our children… which is nonsense. How could demons be getting into the city, when Shien par Kyleth never allowed it to be nighttime, and demons only travel at night? Why would the leaders we once followed before Shien came have any interest in doing such a thing? But they’re blind fools. They see that she’s beautiful and they see that she brings light and they won’t hear that she’s lying. They won’t believe there can be anything evil about her. She lies, and they believe it.”

That was especially odd. Shien was usually too arrogant to lie.

"Don't worry," Tala told them. "I'll lead you to a safe-house tonight. Tomorrow night I'll go to your city, and I'll free your people from Shien."

It was due to things like this that the legend of the Dark Angel tended to grow, despite all Tala's efforts to stay obscure.

***

In the heat and terrible light of the day, Tala slept in the forest, fitfully. She hated the summers-- they were too hot, and the days were far too long. Tala was too weak to travel much in daylight, but couldn't stay asleep all the hours of the summer day, leaving her to lie about weak and bored for the better part of the afternoon, able neither to sleep nor to continue her journey. As she rested in the trees' shade, she debated whether she should go to battle Shien, or if she should wait until she could talk to Haren. She was on her way home to the Place, anyway, and had been greatly looking forward to a chance to swap stories with her Lightbrother there, her ally in the service of humanity. Haren was maybe too focused on following rules, and fighting fair, and less on getting the job done, but his heart was in the right place and he strove, as she did, to protect and aid people. Maybe she should continue on home and drop this problem in his hands. As Shien's fellow Lightchild, possessing her powers, Haren was usually the one to fight her, as Tala was usually the one to fight Maru. And Tala really did not want to have to handle Shien all by herself.

She considered it further. Usually Shien and Haren battled in wide open places, where it didn't matter if they burned everything around. If they fought within an enclosed city, however, the chances were good that they would demolish it, and kill the people Haren had come to save. Light was a destroyer-- dark was far more passive. Dark could kill, but it killed cleanly and quietly-- light burned. Also, if Shien was performing human sacrifices, did Tala really have time to go get help?

No. No, she didn't. Shien's murder of children-- if she was in fact killing them-- could not be permitted to continue any longer than possible. With her powers, if Tala did defeat Shien, it would be a bloodless victory-- and although Shien could do quite a bit of damage to Tala, she couldn't actually kill her, not without disrupting the balance that gave them their power beyond repair, and perhaps killing herself and their brothers as well.

She had no choice-- she had to take on Shien herself.

When dusk fell, Tala par Kyleth got up and began heading for the city of Lumida.

***

Back when they were children, all the created children of the mage Kyleth were close, despite the usual sibling rivalries. In the Place, their father/mother's domain, where they were born and raised, there was neither night nor day, and so they could all sleep and wake at the same time. Maru and Tala played together a lot, due to the similarity of their temperaments, and Shien and Haren played together often as well. But the four of them played as a group, too. They had no idea, then, that they would split in the middle, becoming enemies.

In retrospect, she could see the seeds of what they became in the children they’d been. Maru was a silent, brooding boy who would explode in violence, a boy who enjoyed hunting and pulled the wings off bugs, and scaring people. And Shien was a spoiled brat who thought she was a princess, the most wonderful person in the world, and who threw tantrums when she didn't get her way. But they’d been children, then, and innocent, and although she'd loathed what Maru and Shien did sometimes, they were her siblings, and she'd loved them.

She didn't love them anymore.

But it seemed much more Maru's style to perform human sacrifices. Maru was the sadist, the one who enjoyed hurting people for its own sake; Shien simply wanted everyone to fall at her feet and worship her. When they didn't, then she hurt them. There was no reason Tala could think of why she should be sacrificing children. Also, Shien was generally not a liar. Tala lied to protect people and to protect secrets; Maru lied to hurt people; but Haren never lied, on principle, and Shien didn't lie because she couldn't be bothered. She was too arrogant, and also, Tala thought, like Haren, she believed there was something inherently wonderful about the Truth. Maybe there was, for a Lightchild whose existence was based on openness and brightness.

Shien sacrificing children in secrecy? Shien lying about it? Those were not consistent with her identity as the Light, and Tala couldn't see her motive. But those refugees had believed it, strongly enough that they’d fled into the darkness of the night, risking demon attack. And if Shien was really claiming that demons were stealing children away, when she had filled a city with light… obviously that had to be a lie. Demons needed darkness to operate.

But she would find out soon enough, she knew. Shien was no good at keeping secrets, either. Not from Tala, at any rate.

***

She reached Lumida in two nights. The city's glow lit up the forest for miles, at least to Tala's oversensitive eyes. In a city of such brilliant light, she would burn-- her skin was black, but it didn't protect her from the sun the way dark brown skin protected normal people. She could even be blinded. Once again, she thought of going for help-- Haren would be strengthened by this light.

But there was no time. She pulled the hood of her cloak to shadow her face as much as it could, and drew the clasps tight, so it fell around her body, protecting her arms and legs. Then she concentrated on swallowing the light.

When she was very young, Tala had intuitively understood that dark was the absence of light, the natural state of things and not truly an entity of itself. Her darkvision was the ability to perceive things in their natural state, without the illusions light could cast. Her ability to create a sphere of darkness was actually the ability to make a magical hole that sucked in all sensation. And she also possessed the power to swallow light into herself, negating it with the sheer vastness of the darkness within her. But the more light she absorbed, the more full with light she would become, and it would begin to corrode her very essence. Still, for a time the technique would protect her from being seared. So as she approached the city of light, she swallowed the light into herself. To those who saw her, she would have been a dark, fathomless nothingness-- they might have taken her for a shadow, if they didn't notice she moved on her own, or for an evil spirit.

The city of light was protected by burning slender beams placed across the entrances. They were powerful enough to burn their way through a human being. In her lighteating form, however, Tala's body absorbed them, and they did no damage to her.

There were plants everywhere in the city of light, dying plants brown and blackened. For a while, it seemed, the light had encouraged their growth, but eventually light had been true to its destructive nature and killed them. There was no shade-- the light was everywhere. It was blinding, brilliant enough to hurt even ordinary people's eyes. Tala was virtually blind to ordinary light, and her darkvision became more ineffective the more light there was. The pain the light caused her eyes was agonizing, even in her lighteating form. She intensified her light absorption until she could no longer see any light, and she could make full use of her darksight for vision. Even then, it was blurred and wavery.

There were replica-paintings and statues of Shien everywhere.

There was no sign that it was night outside the walls-- a large number of people were up and about. They wore sunglasses or shades, and many of them carried flowers, which they would lay down in front of the paintings and statues. She wondered if the light intensified during the true daytime, when Shien would have the sun to draw from. She also wondered where Shien was getting this kind of power from. Shien had the ability to turn night to day, if she so chose, but not for a whole night. The Lightchild drew her energy from sunlight-- as far as Tala knew, she could not possibly generate the full spectrum of daylight for the 8 hours or so of a summer night. She simply didn't have the strength. But from the refugees' reports, that was exactly what she was doing. How?

The longer Tala stayed here, the weaker she would become. She had to find and defeat Shien before she lost all her power. So she headed purposefully through the city, knowing Shien, with her ego, would be near the center.

The closer she came to the center, the more the light began to seem like a physical barrier, pressing her back. From her experience with physical barriers, Tala kept feeling that she could get through by shifting to her shadow form-- but rationally she knew that was suicide. Her shadow form was insubstantial-- she could pass through any solid object-- but light would burn it, and destroy her. Light was filling her, reaching the limits of her tolerance, and slowly she began to feel the burning begin, the closer she approached.

She decided not to put up with this. Maintaining secrecy would be of no use to her if she burned to death before she got where she was going. Shien, theoretically, had no more power than Tala-- though Shien could generate light, Tala could cause darkness. She drew her sword, so black it, too, swallowed light. Then she sliced it through the air, ripping the fabric of space to let out all the light. This made great patches of darkness. Swiftly the patches filled in again, but they were dimmer, as was all the light. She swung her sword in a circle, creating a sphere of darkness, and with the tip she popped the sphere. Light poured in, vanishing, along with all sensation, and there was total darkness.

Tala carried the darkness with her further, toward the center of the city. She entered a plaza, with a fountain in the center, and a palace of white marble and gold in front of her. Then there was a sudden gleam of light in the darkness she had made. It was all the warning she had-- she shifted from darksight to her weak normal vision, and yet the explosion of light that followed still blinded her for several seconds. She heard a familiar giggling, breaking the silence her darkness had brought, and when she could see again, Shien stood before her.

Anyone looking at them would have known instantly they were twins, or rather more than twins, since no ordinary twins could be colored as differently as were Shien and Tala par Kyleth. They were not tall, nor built to look strong, nor did they have the large breasts and hips thought to be beautiful among human women in this part of the world. Their eyes were almond-shaped, and a deep hazel. These provided the only color in Shien's pale face, and the only light spot in Tala's dark one. Both had long hair-- Shien's white and fine, much finer than Tala's coarse black hair, but the same length. Both seemed somehow otherworldly, and neither precisely fit any known racial category, but despite the fact that they were identically featured and identically built, Shien was usually thought to be far more delicate and ethereal, even more beautiful, than dark Tala, probably due to the fact that all the fragile noble beauties were pale, here in the north.

Tala had never seen herself-- her darksight was not reflected in mirrors, and her normal vision was too weak. All throughout her childhood, she had used Shien as her pale mirror. Viewing Shien as like herself, she had never fallen for Shien's illusion of fragility, and had always known that, however she might appear to normal people, Shien was not delicate, not fragile, in the slightest. Her powers had far more purely destructive potential than Tala's, and so it could perhaps have been said that she was stronger.

But she wasn't supposed to be stronger in any real sense-- Shien and Tala were supposed to have exactly the same amount of energy to draw on, and so Tala was shocked. After this kind of output of energy, Shien ought to be utterly drained. Tala should be able to defeat her with ease. But here she was, giggling-- and that meant that somehow, she had access to more power than Tala did.

Tala began to be truly afraid.

"I'm so pleased to see you, Tala! Such a surprise! You should have told me you were dropping by; I could have arranged so many things for us to do together!"

"The balance must be restored, Shien," Tala said quietly.

Shien looked irritated. "What can't you Darkchildren ever come out and say what you mean? Don't spout that nonsense about balance; I've been hearing more than I want to from Kyleth."

Kyleth? Tala thought, surprised. Kyleth was the mage who created them all, their father/mother. Haren and Tala had always assumed that Kyleth was on their side, and had broken contact with their twins, since Maru and Shien had become dedicated to fulfilling their worst desires regardless of cost. She hid her surprise. "Why are you sacrificing children?"

Shien looked startled. "Who told you that?"

Tala smiled. "I thought that would get a reaction out of you. Something else is killing those children, or making them disappear. What are you really doing?"

Shien's laugh was chilling. "Oh, no, no, you've misunderstood me," she said sweetly. "I certainly am killing the children-- I just wondered who told you. I tell my people it’s the demons snatching them away, and if I increase the light, the demons will flee… and they all believe me!” She giggled again. “So I’m very surprised that any of them figured out it was me!”

Tala told herself silently that darkness was calm, darkness was cold. To rage, to burn, was to play into light's hands. So she stared her sister down coldly and asked, "Why?"

"Did Kyleth ever teach you any of the Life Magics?"

"Did Kyleth teach you?" The prospect filled her with fear and unease. Kyleth was a Duality Magician, drawing power from the tension of opposites. The Life Magics were properly called the Magics of Life and Death, and were an integral part of Duality Magic. She could see no reason why Kyleth would teach them to Shien-- they were deadly, powerful magics, and Kyleth was on her side. Her fear intensified as Shien smiled, and answered.

"You sound so shocked at the prospect, dear sister. Yes, in fact Kyleth has taught me the Life Magics-- which should really be called Death Magics if you have to use a short form, actually. I've learned how to use the power of murder to increase my power. Why are you so surprised? Kyleth always loved me the most, you know. Always."

Tala's mouth was dry. "I don't believe you. Kyleth's on our side. The side of good. Kyleth would never--"

"Are you really so sure?" Shien giggled. “You’re so ridiculous. ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ like those are actually sides. I expect that kind of talk from Haren, but I thought you were smarter than that.”

Suddenly light blasted her. Tala had been steadily darkening the area-- but now the light returned, burning, destroying her. She screamed, and flung up her sword, enveloping herself in blessed darkness-- but the light intensified, reaching in deeper and deeper. She clung to the sword for life itself, trying to summon all the darkness she could-- to no avail. Weak beyond the ability to stand, she collapsed to the ground. Terror whipped at her, and she understood that if Shien continued, she would die.

But that would disrupt the fragile balance that kept them all alive, and apparently Shien knew better to do that. She stopped, and regarded her helpless sister with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

"Was I ever so much more powerful than you before, Tala?" she said. "I get my new power from the energy of life. Sunlight is energy, after all. Weakness is all right for darkness, but light is the source of all energy-- light should always be strong. So." She clasped her hands in front of her. "The life of a child is filled with so much potential. When I kill a child, I acquire that potential and transmute it into light. For every night my sunshine burns, someone dies." At Tala's expression, she giggled again. "Does that really bother you so much, Tala? But listen! Life feeds on life. Children die, but I thrive. Who's to say a human's life is worth more than mine?"

Kyleth, Tala thought bitterly, tears stinging her face. Her mother, her father, her creator-- she'd always assumed, because Kyleth helped her and Haren against their twins, that Kyleth supported her side. She should have known better.

Haren had once asked Kyleth, a long time ago, why Kyleth had created him and Tala if it meant unleashing the evil two. Kyleth had replied, "You persist in thinking I'm good, Haren. I'll tell you what I told the city council-- just because I don't seek to kill and enslave everybody doesn't mean I'm nice. Good and evil are social constructs, and they change depending on your point of view. I’m not some sort of ‘good’ mage. I'm duality."

To Tala, Kyleth had said privately that the issue wasn’t honestly of good and evil at all. Kyleth had intended to create children of opposite sexes and opposite sources of power. The fact that it had worked out that two of them wanted to be heroes and save people, and two of them wanted to be selfish monsters… that was an accidental side effect of Duality Magic, most likely.

She should have known Kyleth couldn't solely support her side, the righteous side-- Kyleth was far too complicated to do that. But why, why had Kyleth given an advantage to Shien? The one thing they could always be sure of, when they were children, was that Kyleth was always fair, incapable of favoring one of them over another. The balance had to be maintained.

So why had Kyleth given Shien such a tremendous advantage? The only explanation Tala could think of ripped her to shreds inside. Kyleth was a mage, dedicated to duality, but Kyleth was also a human being and a parent-- and what if the parent did love Shien more?

"How?" she asked weakly. "You can't store energy..."

Shien giggled. "That's right. I can't. But this city was built to be the City of Light. There are banks and banks of crystals for storing light." She flung out her hand in an expansive gesture. "I don't know how they work, exactly, but I can store the energy of life in them, as brilliant sunlight. Would you like to watch me do it?"

"Shien. No!!" All the blood drained from Tala's face, and she felt suddenly sick and dizzy with rage and helplessness. She tried to summon the power to stop her sister, but Shien blasted her with light again, and she lost consciousness.

***

When she woke up, she was in a vast chamber full of glowing cubes of light. She was bound to a pillar, in shadow-- obviously Shien wanted her alive and mostly unhurt. But the light just around her was brilliant enough to give her pain, far too brilliant for her to risk shifting to her shadow form and escaping.

In the brightness, she could barely make out the form of Shien. "Do you always sleep so late? It's time for me to renew my light, and you nearly missed it. And that would have been such a shame, wouldn't it?" The light faded, just a little, until Tala could see a little boy, staring mesmerized at Shien, in between the glowing storage cells.

Dark must maintain control, Tala told herself. She held her tongue as Shien, gloating, began the ritual. There had to be a way to defeat her. Kyleth's actions never had just one result. The balance needed to be restored.

Balance-- balance! she thought suddenly. She hadn't the power to simply break free and save the little boy-- and if she did, Shien would just kill another. But if Shien could draw energy from death... everything was balance. It took energy both to take a life, and to save it. Therefore, there had to be a way to gain energy, or at least an advantage, from saving a life...

When Shien linked the boy to the crystals, Tala enveloped him with her mind and her darkness. Not so deeply as to quiet his heart and kill him, but enough that the searing light Shien poured upon him didn't harm him. Unreplenished, their light bleeding away into Tala's darkness, the light cells shut down. All went dark-- a blessed balm to Tala after the burning light. She slipped into her shadow form, came free of her bonds, and attacked Shien.

Without the stored energy of light to give her power, Shien had only as much strength as Tala-- and after so long in the light, she couldn't readjust her eyes even to dimness, let alone the darkness Tala saw best in. Shien fought back with flares of light, but Tala grabbed her and enveloped her with darkness, swallowing her light, until she felt her sister turn limp.

As he came free of Shien's spell, the boy began to scream. "It's dark! Mommy, mommy, I'm scared, it's dark..."

"I'll bring you to your mommy," Tala told him. "Take the hem of my cloak and follow me." She put the hem into his hand, and carried Shien outside, walking slowly enough that the boy holding her cloak could keep up.

For the first time in weeks, it was nighttime in the City of Light; but the people were thrown into panic and terror, not realizing that their tormentor had been overthrown. Most not even realizing she had been their tormentor at all. Maybe the refugees had been the only ones to know the truth, and all the rest mistakenly believed Shien to be their savior. To them, Tala supposed, the death of the light must mean something terrible must be in store. It was a thankless job, being an angel of darkness.

She led the boy to his family, who were overjoyed, and she told them the truth about the darkness. "This is the natural nighttime of the world,” she said. “Shien par Kyleth, the Lightbringer, is gone."

Dark could hide and dark could blur. They didn’t recognize the woman Tala carried in her arms, because Tala’s magic blocked the clarity of recognition. Yet it was the power of Light that had tricked all of these people, making them believe a woman who murdered their children was a benevolent and caring ruler even as the light had brought famine and the children had continued to vanish.

They wailed in grief, believing Shien was dead.

Would it could be that simple.

She went outside and carried Shien until her arms were too weary to continue. She laid her sister down under a tree, and made a web of dark confusion about her, to sink into her sleeping brain so that she could never find her way back to Lumida. The web would also keep demons and other creatures of the night from finding her.

Tala looked down at Shien's beautiful pale face. It would be so much easier if she could kill her. How many more people would burn, because she let Shien live? But to destroy her would upset the balance, and would probably destroy Tala and her brothers. Perhaps that was the solution-- perhaps Tala and Haren should willingly yield themselves to death, and take their evil twins with them-- but Tala, for one, was not yet willing to die. There were other ways to deal with Shien and Maru. There had to be.

She was still furious with Kyleth, for teaching Shien the Life Magics. She knew now that Kyleth had been seeking balance yet again; just as Shien had learned to draw power from death, Tala would learn to draw power from life. There would be no unfair advantage. But she didn't feel it was necessary to escalate the battle in such a way. And now she knew consciously, as she'd always known deep in her heart but never wished to acknowledge, that Kyleth was not on her "side." Kyleth would help her enemies as much as her. It was a bitter thing to know, of her only parent.

Tala turned and headed home, less eager than she had been.

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

I originally wrote this in 1989, revised in 1991, and revised again recently. The original concept was to lampshade the idea of Good and Evil as forces being connected to Light and Dark. In the recent revision I have tried to remove the concept of Good and Evil being forces rather than personality traits, entirely. I still like the idea of a hero who represents darkness and a villain who represents light.

In the earlier versions, the people were well aware that Shien was sacrificing their children, but were beaten down and couldn’t fight back. The latest version where the people are taken in entirely by pretty lies told by someone they look up to is very, very recent. Gee, I wonder what I could have been thinking of. /s

I’m also still fond of technological advancement in fantasy stories being greater than traditional quasi-European medieval sword and sorcery, but not necessarily identical to the tech levels of today, either.

#52 Project #fantasy #light and darkness

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festivecuriosity · 4 years

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[October 13, 2020]

♡ Mercury retrograde in Scorpio is happening tonight. I can already feel/see it's influence. It also doesn't help matters that my current household is primarily made up of Scorpios or Plutonian individuals (most of my roommates are "essential workers" like EMTs or caretakers). Brad (the most Scorpio of the house) has called for a rare consideration; that there be silence in the living room (communal space) when he comes home. He's never asked for that before. This feels very symbolic of Mercury Retrograde in Scorpio. A moment of silence in our otherwise very talkative household. Besides that, he's coming home right around the time MRX/Scorpio would be officially beginning.

♤ Identifying omens is part of my practice. It's one of my oldest, foundational, cornerstones of how I communicate with the Universe and my guides. When you notice something (really notice it) to the point that it stands out in your mind and you end up thinking on it all day, it is an "omen". A symbolic representation of the message the Universe is sending you. I was given an omen by the Universe yesterday as to the immediate future/Mercury RX in Scorpio. I was outside (smoking) when I saw a hawk soaring in the air, being pursued by two black crows, and navigating around their assaults. The hawk (personally) represents my spiritual vision/focus/accuracy. The two crows, I believe, represented thoughts that attack my focus. I.e. Huginn and Muninn, thought and memory. Although, Huginn and Muninn are technically ravens. Not crows. I still think the message from the Universe is to tame my PTSD/where my mind goes/stay focused on my goals instead of letting my negative thoughts pick at me.

Also kind of reminds me of the qliphothic sphere/inverted sphere of Netzach. Where the "crows" pick at the beauty of Source. Another reminder to keep my inner criticism from attacking my spiritual focus/my ability to see the beauty in my life and self.

Two other people in the household got omens on the same day as me. One person got a vulture eating roadkill on the side of the road, the other got a brown cricket. Since the vulture means rebirth and ressurection through shadow work, I think the household is going through a transitional phase (what affects one person in the house typically touches all of us). I am not certain on the brown cricket, however. Good luck? What struck me the most about it was that my roommate was trying to catch it...and it always knew when to hop away just in the nick of time.

♧ I've been rearranging/unpacking my boxes from Seattle finally. For a long time now, I've just been living out of boxes, and refusing to do much magic. I didn't even set up my altar when I got all my stuff back from [Redacted abuser]. It's taken awhile to even get myself back to directly communicating with my guides...much less the Universe/Source. Anyways, I'm finally going through my boxes, and setting up an official altar area. When I was getting into my old rock and crystal collection (I was into that stuff way back before I realized how harmful the crystal/gemstone trend is for Earth's environment), I found an old piece of Mookaite that I friend gave me. And I shit you not, the thing physically vibrated in my hand when I touched it.

I've been holding it ever since. Have totally and honestly forgotten all the exact properties of the stones I own. It's been such a long time. I was also practicing "crystal/crystal energy psychicism" when I was homeless as a means to survive the streets so...I'm pretty sure my PTSD is blocking a lot of that information out.

I guess it's time to rediscover crystals again? Not buying any new ones. Just utilizing the ones I already have to the best of my ability. I feel like it was wrong that so many of them were taken from the ground to be pretty baubles for people. I might as well make it worth something by using them to help myself/others/incorporate them into my active life so they hold meaning.

Mookaite feels very grounding and soothing already. It feels like a very receptive stone, inviting energy into it much like organic pearls do. I also notice that it has almost a dream/trance-like affect to it's grounding energy. I think maybe I'll take time to meditate with it tomorrow.

◇ Brad pretty much runs the household that I live in. Further details; I live in a BDSM polycule, Brad is one of the doms. One of Brad's relationships was very close to being homeless recently. While normally, being homeless is... [redacted PTSD disassociating moment] being non-binary and homeless during COVID-19 is even worse. So we took them in. Inevitably, we had to make some major adjustments (about space, because technically we're fitting 9 people in a 2 bedroom house). It's been a test of adaptability through chaos for everyone. One of the major areas of contention is that everything inside the house is getting moved, rearranged, or tossed. And some people (mainly [redacted name]) is absolutely 100% terrible at adapting to change, unless someone is literally dying. Also, while I get that none of this can really be helped, I'm also a bit annoyed by the sudden introduction of someone new.

But even if I'm annoyed by it, I wasn't about to say "no" when Brad told us what was going on. I'm not a monster. I was homeless too and Brad helped me get off the streets. This person, while I don't know them well enough to make a judgement, deserves the same chance that I did to get stable in an era where stability is a pipe dream.

I'm actually not the one having the hardest problem. Surprising, it's the spirit of the house that's having the hardest problem. Our house is an old 1950's model built at the corner of a crossroads. Technically the house kinda exists as a liminal space. And there's so much stuffed inside of it that theoretically anything *could exist* in the house. Sometimes weird shit pops up and then disappears. It's very similar to the Seattle house I lived in when I was with [KILL BILL SIRENS] but has less of a metaphorical underworld cave vibe and more of a Howl's Moving Castle vibe. Anyways, the house itself is having a bad time adjusting to all the change/cleaning that the new roommate is doing...because it keeps hiding and moving (specifically) all the stuff that the new roommate has. They're not a stoner. They have a decently good memory. And I know that nobody in the house would do something like that. Plus, they apparently heard disembodied laughter right after discovering something was missing. The genuis locci (house spirit) is fucking with 'em hard.

I've never seen the genius locci do this before. The worst it ever did to me was hide a really expensive Egyptian cotton pillow case once. It eventually spat it back out after cuddling with it, I imagine. Seriously; Egyptian cotton sheets. Get you some.

So after the 100× time today that the new roommate was swearing about their missing things, I suggested that maybe they need to butter up the genius locci with gifts. Kinda romance the house a bit. Give it something so that it builds a relationship with the spirits that live here. They're a (self-professed) baby witch whose background is Jewish. They mostly excel at kitchen witchery (for now) and incorporating the works and wisdom of the Torah into their life. So they weren't too certain on ritualistic offerings to a house spirit. But with some suggestions from me and listening to their own intuition, they were able to put something quick together. It's nice to see people using magic around the house and learning new skills. And to their benefit, I felt the house chill out a bit after the ritual/gift giving was done.

I have been giving the house/my guides a portion of my nightly tea every now and then. It's honestly nothing fancy but I figure small gifts count for something right?

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bleached-d-soul · 5 years

Text

Capes and Cowls and Romances

Commission for @bunnykingrules!

Jaune was never an adventurous person. Sure, he could easily spend days dreaming of living through some amazing adventure but, at the end of the day, he fully realized that those were just hypothetical situations that he would never take part in. He wasn't a knight who would slay the dragon or the tough-as-nails badass who would put an end to some crazy tytant's rule.

He was just Jaune Arc, a mild-mannered reporter from a small farm town trying to make it in the world of the big city. He expected it to be hard. Everything was way more expensive than back home. The air was heavy and smelled wrong. And he still had yet to go a day without getting called a "fucking idiot" by someone on his way to work or back home. But that was nothing that he wasn't prepared for.

Catching the eye of the country's most infamous supervillain though? How was he supposed to prepare for that?

Cinder Ashen AKA Miss Fall was not your everyday supervillain. She didn't go around yelling out her evil plans and schemes. Neither did she dress up in tight spandex or a mask. No, instead she was the face of one of the city's most influential and powerful companies, the QueenCorp. From food to weapons, her company had a finger in each and every pie. Even when that involved cutting other people's fingers off.

When Jaune first arrived in Vale, he wanted to keep his head low and just live his own little life. But as time passed, he grew tired of writing the same meaningless articles on romances on set or horoscope tips. He wanted make a difference. Why become a reporter if you are not going to change something in the world, right? Expose a dirty politician. Reveal the conspiracy behind the city's damaged infrastructure. Or, in case of Miss Ashen, reveal her as the mysterious mastermind that supplied gangs all over the city with bleeding edge tech to fight heroes.

It was all by pure chance. A small tip from an anonymous source led him to the warehouse full of high-end tech. Some more digging landed him the hard witness evidence of Cinder being behind numerous villain attacks on her competitors, actual or potential. Jaune finally felt alive. He finally felt he was making the difference.

When Mr. Port canned his story, Jaune ignored the warning of a man about how guys like him tended to disappear. He continued to ignore hushed whispers and warnings from every publisher that rejected him. Finally, he was done with it. Tired and annoyed at how everyone seemed so eager to ignore the woman's double life, Jaune did what he thought the best option and published it on his own blog.

By the morning, the story had spread throughout the city and then the state. As people talked more and more about her, Jaune couldn't help but feel the sense of accomplishment.

He expected a lot of things. PR team of QueenCorp. coming after him. Being silenced by some of Cinder's gangsters.

He never expected an invitation to have a dinner.

"You are not eating," she stated in amusement. Jaune had yet to touch his utensils. "Afraid I ordered your meal poisoned?"

"Maybe I am just not hungry," he smirked, trying to play it off cool. Too bad that he hadn't eaten anything the entire day. His stomach growled before he could even finish the sentence. The fact that the steak before him looked and smelled absolutely delicious didn't make it better. "Look, is this the part where your men give me cement shoes and drop into the river?"

Cinder genuinely laughed at that. It was quiet and small, barely above the whisper. But it was there. And it was frightening. Them being alone in quite the spacious room of the restaurant only added to the dreadful feeling in his gut.

"Cement shoes? Sure, after all it is such a practical way to kill somebody," she took another sip of her wine. "I believe you will starve way before I could do anything to you. Trust me, Jaune, if I wished you dead, I wouldn't waste money on the restaurant. A simple bullet and a fake suicide note would be much more efficient."

The way she delivered that line - as if she was explaining the simplest most common stuff - made Jaune feel both worried and relaxed. He could tell she didn't poison his food. But he could also tell she woulkd get rif of him as easily as one would be disposing of trash. With that in mind, he took the first bite of juicy and tender steak.

If she planned to kill him, that was one hell of a last meal.

And yet the death had yet to come. Their conversation stayed far away from him exposing her. No veiled or direct threats to his life or family. No attempts to bribe or coerce him into calling his story fake. They talked about their own pasts and experiences. How he grew up in a small town in the family of eight. How she grew up alone in the giant mansion with only servants and tutors for company. How he paid his way through college. How she had been left to save a multibillion dollar company after her father ran it into the ground.

Was she trying to make him sympathize with her? Why was he sharing his past with the woman who could kill him that very night? As their desserts arrived, Jaune had enough and asked her straight-away:

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing."

There was no lie in her words. But why?

"Why though?" Jaune's eyes narrowed. "I have literally exposed your shady arms dealing operation for the world to see. Your company's stock has been dropping like crazy for a whole week and-"

"- none of that will affect me as bad as you think," Cinder smiled. Not a fake smile she put on every time she opened a new hospital or school. But the real one that reminded Jaune of the cat that caught a mouse. "So my company sells weapons to the criminals and? If you honestly believe that will stop people from buying my products or services, you clearly overestimate the general public."

She took another sip of her wine and continued with the same serene expression, "Trust me, Jaune, the whole thing will be forgotten the moment some celebrity couple break up or my company announces a new phone. What you did was no more impactful than throwing a glass of water into the burning house."

"Then why am I here? If it is so small and insignificant, why did you invite me?"

She put down her glass and smiled. Before Jaune knew, the woman grasped him by his chin and looked him dead in the eyes. Two golden spheres stared straight into his soul, something wicked and powerful brewing in them.

"Because you interest me, Jaune."

He tried to back away only to find himself completely paralyzed. Was she one of the Auraborne - the people with special abilities? Or was it just the power a woman of her status had?

"That anonymous source that gave you a lead... You never tried to find from whom it came, did you?" She saw the shock in his eyes as the realization came down on him like a hammer. She was the anonymous benefactor. But why? What could she possibly gain from all of this? "I see you are confused. Allow me ask you a simple question then, Jaune: Why did you publish the story?"

Her eyes bore further into his soul.

"Honestly, why would you do this? Not only you risked your career and lifelihood, but your very life as well. When your employers refused to publish, you must have realized just how far my reach went. So why?"

He could feel the power in her gaze. The power to crush him if she wanted to. To crush him and everything he cared about and walk away without any punishment or even reprimend. And yet, he couldn't help but glare back as he snarled in defiance, "Because it was the right thing to do. I don't care how rich or powerful you are, I am not letting you hurt others."

He could have sworn something changed in her eyes. A small current of the power too outside of his world to comprehend. He expected to be burnt into ashes or have his skull crushed. And yet, once again, Cinder surprised by planting a hot wet kiss on his lips. Her tongue invaded his mouth, forcing him into submission as she desperately searched for something in the gesture of intimacy.

His mind was on fire, neurons all at work to try and understand what the hell was happening. Cinder deepened the kiss and all the brain activity died as he melted into it. Just what the hell did this woman do to him just now?

Finally, she let him go, looking no worse for the wear whereas he was out of breath.

"Not quite as innocent as I expected from a farm boy," Cinder chuckled. "I can tell we are going to have some truly fun times."

"I answered your question..." Jaune groaned after he finally gathered his thoughts. "So why not answer mine in return? Why did you send me all that info? Is that some sort of game? Or a way for you to prove just how untouchable you are?"

Cinder smiled - that damned cocky half-grin half-smirk.

"Because I wanted to find someone like you, Jaune," she said sincerely. "I have sent the same lead to several new reporters. But none of them proved themselves worthy of my interest. Some were too lazy to follow up on the lead. Some were to afraid to investigate any further once my name popped up. Some were too arrogant or greedy, barging into my office to try and blackmail me. But you? You actually managed to pull it off. I am impressed. I really am."

"And why do any of this? Why risk it all for a thrill?"

Cinder smiled.

"Because I wanted to."

She delivered the line with the same sincerity he delivered his, mocking how simplistic he must have sounded to her.

"Once you reach the top of the world, few things can excite you. I have no equals or rivals. I have no one to challenge me," her gaze fell on him. "Not until now, at least. I hope you will find this new relationship just as enjoyable as I do."

Relationship?

"When did I agree to become yours?"

Cinder smiled. Her eyes were like two burning suns as she bared her teeth.

"And when did I leave any room for discussion?"

Two years had passed since that fateful dinner and Cinder's declaration. Two long years of trying to stay sane in the world that no longer made sense.

Despite what many might have thought, Jaune wasn''t one to roll over with whatever came his way. He would fight, weakly and unsuccessfully. But he would fight. With every door to the news publishing cosed out of fear of QueenCorp. retribution, Jaune had little holding him back from his next step. He joined the Atlas - the world's elite taskforce. Quite the jump from a mild-mannered reporter.

Training was harsh and brutal. The lack of trust from his superior officers didn't make it easier. But Jaune refused to quit. And now here he was, the field agent of Atlas, armed and ready to take on anyone.

Anyone but her.

"You have strayed away from the herd, my little knight," the woman purred, fire dancing in her palm. "Came here to put an end to our game of cat and mouse?"

Jaune raised his taser gun only for it to burst into flames. Before he could pull out a stun baton, the woman was onto him. her lips burned against his neck as she hungrily ripped off his suit. It wasn't new or even rare. At this point, it was just the way things happened whenever the two ended up on the same battlefield. When he joined Atlas, the new villain appeared on the scene.

Fall Flame as the media christened her. She acted different from both Cinder Ashen and Miss Fall. More proactive on the field. More talkative and flirt with her enemies - especially him. He doubted anyone but him realized it was the cold and ruthless CEO and weapons dealer. The woman that traded weapons to every thug without powers. And now she had the powers of her own.

Good thing he picked up a few tricks as well.

"Ugh!" Cinder groaned as Jaune pushed her against the wall. Using the momentary surprise, he attempted to put handcuffs on her. "Kinky today, aren't we? But sadly, Jaune, I prefer to be the one in charge!"

He jumped away just as Cinder burst into flames. He tried to contact the rest of the team but without any success. He was all alone against the Auraborne. And he didn't like his chances. They continued on with the dance, trading blows and kicks. But it was only him who was losing energy as Cinder dodged and blocked all his attacks without any trouble.

Eventually, he found himself out of breath.

"You have improved since our last time. You definitely lasted longer," Cinder purred as she carddled his face. "But you still lost and your companions are now my captives. You do understand where I am going with this, don't you, Jaune?"

Jaune didn't even bother with resisting. Sometimes he wondered if Cinder created this persona solely to play with him. In an hour, his team would be released back and he would be locked up in one of Cinder's safe houses, which one he would eventually escape only to start the same game all over again in a month or two.

"You know," Cinder said as she led him towards the transportation cell. "Things would be much easier if you just joined me and my group. I assure you, our benefits package is quite favorable."

Jaune sighed at yet another attempt by Cinder to recruit him, "Let's just go to your safe house."

He didn't miss the way her lips curved into a smile at his rejection. What was it she said she enjoyed, someone challenging her? One might wonder why he even bothered to resist her if it only made it more fun for her. Jaune wondered about it as well whenever he was fighting her.

Guess he just loved the challenge too.

It was complicated, confusing and twisted. But in a way, he enjoyed refusing Cinder's advances just as much as he enjoyed doing anything against her. Refuse to join her. Always do the right thing when she offered him an easy way out through doing the wrong thing.

Maybe he and Cinder weren't so different after all.

The trip back to her safe house was surprisingly trivial. If one were to see the Atlas agent and the infamous criminal chatting about movies, work and food, that person would think they went crazy. But for Jaune and Cinder? It was just the way things worked between the two.

Cinder wouldn't tell Jaune anything that could compromise her plans. He stopped trying to get the information out of her a long time ago.

But neither did Jaune reveal anything about his side and their plans. Cinder had yet to give up on her pursuit of making him into her mole.

"I am going to have a shower. Wanna join me?"

Cinder smiled teasingly as Jaune took too long to refuse. "No thanks, I think I might need get some ice for my leg. No thanks to you."

She doesn't apologize or feign sympathy. Of course, she doesn't. Cinder never apologizes. Because in her own mind, she is never wrong.

The safe house is a lot more of a private house in the woods than one would imagine. No camouflage tech involved. No killer robots on the watch. Just a small piece of property away from the city and wandering eyes.

At this point, he spent more time here than he did in his actual apartment. This fact didn't bother him as much as it used to though, something that he would think on during more relaxed times. He still hadn't come up with an answer to that. He would, in due time.

For now though?

He had dinner to cook.

Cinder had many flaws. She was a sociopath, for starters, with very twisted outlook on the world and life in general. All people either had some use to her or could be discarded without a second thought. And when she was bored, she would stop at nothing to feel excitement. She was also quite stubborn and while always willing to improve, rarely acknowledged some of her more moral failings.

Despite those flaws, Jaune didn't find her company as unpleasant as he should have. Otherwise, he wouldn't be making dinner right now, now would he?

"So what are we having tonight?" Cinder asked as she wrapped her still wet arms around his waist from behind. "One of your classics? Or something new?"

He didn't bother to try and remove her arms despite the water seeping into his shirt.

"I was thinking of some stew and miso soup. I tried it a few weeks ago at the new place near my apartment. The chef was rude as hell but the taste I got out of it was worth it."

Cinder smiles before leaving to change. Jaune leaves the food to cook for a few minutes and changes into something more domestic as well. He had yet to get used to having his own room in here.

By the time he changed, Cinder was already at the table waiting for him to serve the food and drinks to her. It wasn't the same as when she waited for her minions to present the results of their work. Or when she awaited the CEO of some other company to surrender the controls over to her.

Instead, it was a more expectant but warm atmosphere that greeted him. It reminded him of the all the times he came back home from college to be greeted by one of his sisters. It felt comforting and peaceful. Not something you'd expect from the current public enemy number one.

They enjoyed their dinner, trading quips and jabs at each other. She commented on how the Atlas needed to better train its agents. Jaune pointed out that she was slipping up with her guys - after all, Roman sang like a bird once they got him.

There was no heat in their words, however. Not even the slightest bit of animosity that was present whenever they fought. As if the two of them were actors and their roles - a Hero and a Villain respectively - were taken off the moment they were here.

Jaune didn't hate the idea as much as he should have.

"You ever get tired of this?"

He breaks the question when they are done washing the dishes. It is something that has been on his mind for a while. And he no longer wanted to wonder on that.

"Whatever do you mean, Jaune?"

"I mean... This whole supervillain thing you got going on," he gestured vaguely around the place. "Building weapons, fighting heroes and et cetera... Since when was this a thing for you?"

Cinder reached for his face and smiled.

"Since I decided to have you for myself. The bond between lovers is strong... But the bond between the opposites? It is eternal, Jaune. Light and Dark. Life and Death. Good and Evil. One cannot exist without the other. And so cannot we."

Her eyes burned as he felt himself entranced.

"Which is why..."

They left the table.

"I am never..."

They were in the bed. Their bed.

"Letting you go."

The Light and Dark.

Good and Evil.

Agent of Order and Mistress of Chaos.

In that night - and many nights after - they were together as one.

#Jaune Arc #cinder fall #arcfall #knightfall #Firefall au

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murfeelee · 4 years

Link

Alright, I’ve been talking about The Witcher TV show for months and months, and now I’ve FINALLY seen it.

I've skimmed through the books here and there, but really I’m a diehard fan of the video games, particularly The Witcher 3 (I’ve played TW1 and TW2 as well). Because of all the hype, attention and love the TW3 got over the years, with even Henry Cavill being a major fan of the video games, Netflix went and made this tv show, with Cavill as Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher.

MY THOUGHTS

It was GOOD! \(^0^)/ I really liked it!

Alright, don’t get excited, I think this show had some serious problems. But we’ll start with the good before getting to the bad and the ugly.

THE GOOD

THE ACTING

Everyone was top notch, and did a fantastic job. I freaking LOVE Grandma Calanthe, omg. I wanted more of her, and Mama Tissaia, and the different sorceresses (when Sodden started I was like hooo boy, I know how this goes; the finale is WORTH the price of admission, folks).

I even liked Eclipse-Princess (her name escapes me, my bad; I was calling her Arya 2.0 in my head). Don’t think I effing missed how they threw in a nod to the Eclipse Princess from Blood & Wine; that was awesome, featuring the Black Sun “curse” again.

I already knew I was gonna HAVE to tune in to see Yennefer’s story, and it was every bit as superb as I suspected it would be. Dare I say it was THE most interesting story arc of the three? Caught me tearing up a few times. I still don’t see book/game/Polish Yennefer with her, but she did a GREAT job, nonetheless--her emotions and delivery and everything was excellent.

She sounds so dang young though, which throws me off with the timeline, cuz when exactly does Yenn’s story take place in all of this? It’s hard to match her with the more...well....matronly/mature persona we’re more familiar with in the games. But I guess she develops that over time, after getting to raise Ciri. Though this does put in better perspective why she was so mean to Ciri at first, calling her ugly and everything. She wanted a child so badly, and Geralt just...gets one by surprise, and she was feeling bitter, I see it now.

THE ACTION

And I gotta give it to Cavill. Boy can MOVE. My favorite moments with Cavill were when he was sword fighting; whoever choreographed all that needs a frikkin award. I imagined the Butcher of Blaviken just tearing up mofos, and that’s exactly what we got. And he was WERKING them pants! XD

Except we never really saw my favorite sign, Igni. Oh well. And I hate that he doesn’t have cat eyes. And the Toxicity ISTG makes him look like a vampire and makes no effing sense, but whatevs.

And sometimes he was sounding WAY too Batman or demonic with this really deep and gravelly voice -- I appreciate that he was trying to give us that gruff and sandpaper dry video game Geralt, but when they’d make him yell or be mad I was like JFC NOT TODAY SATAN. But an attempt was made, and I appreciate it. ^_^ He was fine for the most part. More than fine, even. As I said, the acting & action was great, and they played to Cavill’s strengths.

THE SPECIAL EFFECTS

I also thought the CGI was fine--not the best, no, but I’ve seen way worse in shows with bigger budgets. The dragons...eh.... And that kikimore.... Well, I’m just remembering the Polish tv show, the Hexer--BIG improvement. Trust me. O_O The practical effects were excellent. Even though they messed around A LOT with the Striga plot from TW1, and what it looked like, I did like that they stayed pretty faithful to the fight.

THE STORIES & CHARACTERS

IMO, the best episode was E04, with Pavetta & Duny. It was just REALLY well done, and the one I was LEAST expecting. My favorite episode was E06, with the dragon, because of course. Reminded me of Hercules the Legendary Journeys, IDKY. The finale was really good, too; I love the sorceresses and all the magic. And E07 when all the plots and flashbacks come together was great.

And now for MY COMPLAINTS

THE BAD

#1) OMG WTF WAS UP WITH THE TIMELINE?

I feel BAD for anyone who’s watching this show fresh, who’s never played the games, read the books, seen the Polish Hexer tv show, played Gwent, or anything related to the Witcher world.

I was thrown off several times, as they shot from Ciri running for her life or Geralt fighting a Striga in the present time; to Yennefer learning magic in the past. Geralt & Dandelion go on adventures Shrek & Donkey style--I ASSUMED in the present, with the Sylvan, Djinn & Dragon, until an episode or two later they’re in Cintra together in the PAST, and Ciri’s not even born yet, and we’re seeing a drunk Ermion/Mousesack and young Crach an Craite (I squeed, my dad~!! His accent was on point!), and Ciri’s mom and grandma. (And WOW, the lady they got to play the mom looks just like the actress playing Ciri--are they related?)

And they do this over and over again over the episodes--present day with Ciri, eff knows when with Geralt or Yennefer. Especially since you know from the books/games that they’re both almost 100 years old. Yenn keeps throwing out “it’s been decades“ this and “years” that. But W H E N though!?!

I mean, I could follow along, sure, but they REALLY needed to make it clearer SOONER for people who have NO idea who TF these people or which kingdoms are which, that some things are happening YEARS apart from each other. Pay attention to how many times GoT shoved those maps of Westeros and Essos in our faces. Or how different shows use color filters for flashbacks or something. Properly situate the audience in time AND space--we’re not Cirilla, who can travel willy nilly between both. They bounced back and forward between past and present with the toss of a frikkin coin.

And speaking of coins...

#2) THE MUSIC WAS...Well.

youtube

Oh, Dandelion. XD

Anyone who knows me knows I fangirl HARD over the Witcher video game OSTs. And unfortunately, the music on the tv show was just...alright. :\ And for a franchise so closely connected to iconic music like the band Percival, it’s a crime against nature that the tv show never had a single track that made me go YES. Give it up for POLAND. The end credits song is okay, but I only started getting into it at like Episode 6, soooo... :\

And no, I didn’t like Toss A Coin to Your Witcher in this show. It didn’t sound like part of this medievalesque universe AT ALL, but something kinda pop/country, aimed at I don’t even know who. Sure, the dude playing Dandelion can sing. But so can Ed Sheeran, and when GoT got him to sing on the show, he sure AF didn’t bust out with the next Billboard Top 40 on us in the middle of nowhere.

#3) THE CHARACTER BONDING?

The acting was top notch...it was the plot/writing I didn’t like. Or rather, the relationships between the characters. I felt more for Yennefer & Istredd, and Geralt & Roach, and Ciri & the Elf boy (and her grandma), and even Pavetta & effing Duny/Emhyr (that royal piece of sh!te) than I did for any other characters on this whole show. And that’s a bit of a problem.

First off, I HATED how they made it seem that TEENAGED Ciri had no idea who TF Geralt was. TV Ciri’s gotta be what? 15? Geralt said something about it having been 12 years since Pavetta & Duny, but even that’s too old. Book!Ciri met Geralt IN the Brokilon or whatever forest with all the water drinking and the dryad queen and mess.

They were already obsessed with each other before the fall of Cintra even happened! Ciri was like 10 already when Geralt took Ciri to Kaer Morhen to start her Witcher training, but this girl on the show’s way older, and effing clueless. They don’t even meet til the final few SECONDS, wtf!! It’s just Destiny~! Destiny~! Child of Surprise, but we never even have a scene together~! Destiny~!

Speaking of children, we have Yennefer and Geralt, which was better, but again, WOAH with the pacing. I felt effing BAD for Istredd! :( I don’t really GET why Geralt & Yenn fell so hard for each other; I don’t really feel that connection. Geralt had just as much bonding time with that eclipse-princess! They only had the Djinn episode, really, and by the end of the Dragon episode it was already over!

I mean, yeah, in the books/game they have A LOT of ups and downs, but come on; we’ve already wasted so much time on Geralt & Triss (that homewrecking wench, I’m glad her airtime was minimal), and I just want more BAMF battle couple parents Geralt & Yenn raising Ciri already! >_<

Same with Geralt & Dandelion. Geralt’s kinda mean to him, which is fair; Geralt hates everyone. But I don’t feel where they’re friends at all, and they part at the end of the season on NOT great terms. I kinda feel Geralt doesn’t really like Dandelion at all. :( Even with the whole comedic relief Shrek schtick,

THE UGLY

#4) THE LENGTH

I dunno what’s up with all the 8 episode miniseries lately (GoT, Mandalorian, Witcher, etc), but it REALLY isn’t enough to really flesh out a story. Especially not one as convoluted as The Witcher, AKA the GoT of Poland.

Again, I REALLY feel for the casuals watching, who probably don’t know what the Conjunction of Spheres Istredd keeps referring to is, or what exactly a Witcher is, or why Ciri’s so dang special -- was Lara Dorren or the Elder Blood ever even MENTIONED???

We know Yenn’s got elf blood, but it’s waaaay more than that with Ciri -- though I don’t think they mentioned her elf blood, either, just that Calanthe’s grandmother or someone had their Banshee powers before Pavetta & Ciri.

BTW, wtf with Ermion/Mousesack? That’s gotta be a red herring or something. Cuz we know this dude’s old AF and thriving in Skellige, sooo....? TF. Why the Doppler? Why?

TBH this felt like Season 1A, if anything. I don’t feel the plot really progressed much at all, other than us getting Yennefer’s story. Ciri & Geralt finally meet (cliffhanger supreme right there), but jfc this felt like a prequel -- so much of the season was dedicated to backtracking us in a roundabout way up to the fall of Cintra, then skipping ahead to the Battle at Sodden Hill.

And why the heck did they wait so long to get to get to Vigelfortz!? That’s what I was sitting here WAITING for! You mean I gotta wait for Season TWO to see my Hanse in full force!? :( URGH. Reeeeeeeegiiiiiiiis~! :(

Maybe cut out some of the unnecessary nudity every frikkin where and tell the full frikkin story, hmm? (Yenn’s boobs look great, we got it the first 5 times. Meanwhile these cowards won’t even have a dude’s left testicle be shown on screen, but whatever.)

So yeah, those are my 4 biggest complaints.

Well, and that wig’s hard AF hair line, jfc.(I was DYING during the Pavetta & Duny scene, when Cavill was holding on to that wig for dear life. XD XD)

Otherwise, I really liked the show! B+!

#nonsims #non-sims #the witcher #the witcher 3

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girlsbtrs · 4 years

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Lia Menaker on her music, inspirations, and teaming up with Melanated Social Work

Written and edited by James N. Grey. Graphic by Moira Ashley.

Lia Menaker wants to support Black lives, specifically within the mental health sphere. So she donated the proceeds from her album, I am Kyrøs, toward ending the stigma around mental health in those communities. Girls Behind the Rock Show connected with her to get her perspective on her music, her identification with the cause, and how she feels it all ties together.

How did you find Melanated Social Work and how did you identify with their cause?

I actually know one of the founders personally, Marvin Toliver, so I’ve been following their social media and learning about the organization from him. We are talking a lot about police reform and the justice system now, which is great and important. But we often forget about the health component. And these guys, in their focus on the liberation of Black and Brown people, are working to end the stigma around mental health in Black and Brown communities, and working to make sure mental health professionals are truly culturally competent. I realized that they were the best place to dedicate my resources and time to.

What inspired you to donate your Bandcamp proceeds to them?

George Floyd was killed just weeks before my EP was set to release. And when the riots started, and the country started waking up to the level of police brutality threatening people of color, and the injustice of our institutions, it felt very strange to release the EP. The intersection of everything—COVID-19, the racial disparities and economic inequalities thus heightened, and the slew of unjust murders of POC—all became this giant traumatic thing our country was experiencing. I felt Black voices should be heightened, and in many ways, felt that it wasn't the right time to share the music. But on the other side of things, I also knew the world needed as much art as possible, of all kinds. Since the songs dealt with identity and the self, they could relate to what was going on in many ways.

I decided the best thing to do would be to release the music as planned, and in between the sharing and promoting of the album, to highlight as many Black voices and resources and information as possible. I wanted this to incorporate a donation and some awareness of solid Black-run organizations.

How has being Kyrøs allowed you to be more creative and free?

The word “kairos” is an ancient Greek concept referring to that perfect melding of space and time when it’s the opportune moment to act. It was a way of measuring time in moments (versus “kronos,” which was their concept for chronological time). When I came across the word, it felt like it described my change as an artist to a T. And once I took on the name, all that history that comes with one’s name—the feelings, memories, habits and obstacles that came with 30+ years of being “Lia Menaker”— dissolved. I think I subconsciously felt the freedom to try new things.

I started producing, and getting super creative on my live streams. I was improv-ing with no idea what I was doing, but it didn’t matter. I just kept doing it and didn’t feel the same self-judgment I’d had before. Approaching music with a sort of reckless abandon allowed me to be the best and boldest version of myself.

But what’s interesting is even the things that free you can start to take control of you. That high you get from being in such an open, creative space…you can only ride that wavelength for so long. At some point, you get stuck again, and you find yourself chasing that high. It can become an addiction, you know?

In a way, I ended up clinging to that identity of who I was when I was kyrøs, and I didn’t realize it until I was literally releasing the songs. It’s a big reason why it became the album name instead of my new artist name. I realized it was really more of an alter ego all along. That it didn’t replace Lia Menaker as an artist. So it turns out I was still learning lessons on identity as I was releasing the songs!

How did your childhood in theater and pop music inspire you?

While kids watched shows like Sesame Street and Barney, I was watching Annie, The Sound of Music, [and] Peter Pan… I was always drawn to it and felt like I could see myself in the characters. I begged my mom to do a musical at age 6 (Oliver), and then I was hooked doing musicals the rest of my childhood and most of my young adult life. So I think it felt like a language I understood, a form of expression I connected to on another level. There was always a story to the songs, an arc, [and] often, deep emotion and expressive vocals. I think the way I approach music—my soulfulness and the way I connect to it—comes from years of growing up with that. Also, I think a lot of my phrasing and how I articulate words comes from the musical theatre influence.

I think it was later in life that pop music began to really inspire me. Discovering Joni Mitchell was a huge one. Her incredible use of lyrics (in my opinion, she’s one of the lyrical greats and extremely underrated), and her 100% unabashed authenticity and womanliness was captivating. Her music is poetic, moody, unique—filled with so much complex emotion and story. Lyrically, I think my first album (Animal Behavior, in 2015) shows some of her influence on me. Especially the opening track, “Holding My Space.”

But pop aside, some of the great jazz vocalists were a big influence on me as well. It started with Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. It was an easy segue because they sang a lot of Gershwin and musical theatre covers, but then I delved deeper into their work, and eventually found (and fell in love with) Nina Simone too. The raw, warm, raspy, bold voice filled with more soul and both joy and pain than I could imagine. And I always found that type of music so beautiful as a kid. I just found that part of people to be equally as beautiful as the lighter side, and found expressing pain through art to be the most incredible thing. So when I heard music that captured that, I think I was always intrigued.

What storylines in your 30's did you find that you were shucking off?

I had this limited view of myself my whole life as a singer/performer. Since I was 6 years old, that was my life: community theatre as a kid, studying musical theatre at Penn State, tours and regional theatre, then songwriting, music and singing in every fashion. It was the way I saw my value to the world, and I basically lived for my dreams and goals—this is how I saw whether or not I was successful. And the thought of not reaching them consumed me…

I always felt I wasn’t measuring up to whom I could be. This was a huge storyline I had to face: this idea of not being enough right now. And then it got me thinking about all this living in the ego… and “if I’m not my dreams, my goals, or even my job, what am I?” This inspired the song “Some Kind” because I realized if I wasn’t those things I most identified with, I was still me. A lot of the lyrics to that song express the storylines I grappled with, and also how I made sense of them: “We measure all that’s left with time - a calculated art. The things we do that give us pride, we hold up high as if it’s all that we are / All the stories give us meaning - keep us moving on… make it real. Run our choices, our bodies - keep us fused to what we feel.”

I would look back periodically at my life and think things like “What have I even done? My tour wasn’t successful enough, not enough people are listening to my music, I don’t make the money I should be making at this age, I’ll never amount to anything.” [I used] whatever metrics I thought would show me proof of a valuable life. I still struggle with them sometimes. Realizing the storylines is just the start. You have to keep checking yourself [and make sure] that you’re not caught up in them again. They were ingrained in my head for years, so it takes time to rewire the brain.

Ultimately, in my 30s, I’m finding so much more joy in the process and the creation itself, and trying to practice looking at what I have in my life as “enough.” The older I get, the more I see life passing quicker, and the more I just want to take it all in. To bask in love and music and the feeling of living with versus without. The 30s are a great time, because I think it’s the decade where a lot of us start to realize these things. Though, of course, some of us go our entire lives without feeling like we are, or we have enough. And new storylines will always be created, so we have to just keep checking ourselves. Especially when we’re all so obsessed with social media. Social media is literally a collection of storylines.

What inspired you to meld together eclectic sounds? Why a soulful, jazzy voice with a minimalistic background?

I’ve always loved warm, jazz vocals. As I mentioned earlier, I grew up engrossed in musical theatre, and that included a lot of standards by singers like Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald. About four years ago, I also re-fell in love with Amy Winehouse and started really listening to her vocals and her style, pinpointing what it was that I loved so much. There’s a mix of this warmth and authenticity, but with a modern edge that just hits you in all the right places. So that’s what’s inspired my sound vocally.

But at the same time, I’m a big fan of using unconventional sounds and challenging people’s ears. A lot of what I’ve listened to over the past few years has strong electronic elements. SOHN is one I’m really drawn to, and he’s brilliant at the mix of pure/simple and unconventional. He has this way of putting a simple, soaring, haunting vocal over a backdrop of complex, evolving electronic elements. It’s a sound that you can’t produce with conventional instruments. When I first heard him, it blew my mind—it was like a spiritual experience, and I thought “I want to do THAT!” Susanne Sundfor’s Silicone Veil album was a big game changer for me too.

I loved the idea of marrying the two worlds—this classic, timeless feel with an electronic modern sound that reflects the times—to create something authentic to me and my influences. With so much of our world being digital now, it felt right to experiment with electronic elements. And when I started playing around with new software, and some samples, beats, and different gear, it just all slowly started to meld together into a sound that felt right.

What were some favorite ways that you experimented with sounds and techniques to achieve your sound? Anything that you might take over with you into the future?

A lot of the experimentation happened (and continues to happen) during my weekly live streams on Twitch (@liamenaker). It’s sort of the place where I have permission to work through songs, try stuff out, and honestly just have a lot of fun and engage with others during the creation process. The community there is also so incredibly supportive and open. The last song I wrote for the album, “Imprinted,” started out as some improv loops and just fooling around on my Twitch live stream: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xWjEAYAa7w. And I have at least four others waiting in the queue to finish that also began the same way. One of which I sent over to a jazz funk band in Paris to collaborate with me on. So I’ll definitely keep this as part of my approach.

Aside from that, my process is always changing, to be honest. So I’m trying to remain open to new techniques and approaches, and to keep allowing myself to be inspired by other artists and sounds. I’d like to explore more synth sounds and recording techniques, and just keep improving as an artist and producer as well. One thing I’ve noticed, too, is if I zero in too much on one writing approach or technique, I start to cling to it, relying on that as the way I “should” write everything. And then things just start to feel stale for me, or I run out of juice or hit a writer’s block. Then I find a new technique or gear or collaboration. I guess that’s why my approach keeps changing. We’ll see how long the current one sticks for, ha!

Which track on the EP is your favorite and why?

I think it keeps changing. But at the moment, the opening track "All My Life" is my favorite. I’m really connecting to the meditative and tribal nature of it, and I think the chorus is the catchiest of the songs. It has that "nobody's gonna bring me down!" feeling too, which feels extra relevant now, as many of us in the country feel like we're just pushing forward, doing everything we can to make things work during this difficult time.

I constantly imagine songs in other places: are there any movies/TV shows or any other places where you'd imagine your songs would play?

I can see some of these in crime and murder mystery-type shows. I’ve had people tell me “Imprinted” has a Twin Peaks or James Bond feel to it. So maybe a show or movie with a kind of slinky jazz lounge vibe. There’s definitely a meditative, tribal feel to some of the songs too, so I think they could work in a movie/TV show with that vibe. But honestly, I think less about music in terms of specific movies or TV shows, and more about fitting themes. So, for example, “All My Life” is perfect to capture that theme of being unstoppable, or a character finally going after their dream. “Stranger” would work well for a theme of not feeling like yourself or acting out of character. I think a lot of the songs on the album fit clear, universal themes, and so I’m hoping that I can find some success pitching these to music supervisors, production companies, etc.

For all us young'un's out there: How much of our identity is actually wrapped up in our dreams? Do you think it's important to separate our dreams, identity, and realities?

Uh oh… you’re going to get me on a soapbox, ha!

So I think it’s different for everyone, but I think it’s fair to say that for most of us, yes, our identity is either wrapped up in our dreams and/or in our work. Think about it. When we meet people, how often do we ask, “What do you do?” as if the answer will give us an accurate idea of who they really are. And how often do we judge people based on their careers?

But the truth is, achievements DO NOT define who you are, and do not define your worth, value, or potential. And while dreams can shape us, they can also limit us. They can keep us from seeing other sides of ourselves. And when we’re hyper focused on them, we miss out on so much beauty! I find the most memorable moments of life are actually quiet, behind the scenes, and not at all the result of working towards a dream or goal. [Goals] are not as great when they determine your ultimate view of yourself and control your amount of suffering.

I think I’m just realizing now too, that I hate the term “dream.” Dream sounds like an “all or nothing” approach. “Ideal” feels more flexible. For some reason, it feels healthier for me to look at it as “my ideal situation” version “my dream.”All around us, we’re being told we need to “dream big” and “you can do whatever you set your mind to” and “live up to your potential.” We love to dote on famous and rich people or take courses on how to be like them. Those who never “make it” (whatever that awful phrase even means) are looked at as failures, less successful, not as worthy or talented or smart. It’s. All. Bullshit. And the song on the EP “Imprinted” basically revolves around all of this.

So do I think it’s important to separate our dreams, identity, and realities? I think it’s probably unrealistic to try to. I think it’s all intertwined. Our dreams (or “ideal situation,” ha) will probably shape a bit of who we are (our identity). But I think the key is to understand [that] it’s a very small, ego-driven piece of who we are, and doesn’t ultimately define us. And I think it’s important to see our identities (and dreams for that matter) as constantly shifting. To, as one of my favorite spiritual teachers Pema Chödrön talks about, get comfortable with the fact that the ground beneath us is always shifting. I think it’s healthy to incorporate the stuff on the ego-level (dreams, identity) and the stuff underneath, the non-ego (that pure essence of who we are underneath the dreams, underneath the identity perceptions, underneath all judgments and experiences). Because while the stuff on the surface doesn’t define the essence of who we are, it’s still a reality that we take the train into work, or have to cook dinner for the kids, or need to make money to survive, right? These are still very real; they’re just not the full picture. And that’s the important part.

I think it’s especially important for the younger generations to pay attention to all of this in the age of social media. [Social media has] made understanding the truth of who we are and the idea of living in the non-ego so hard. Social media is all ego, storylines. I’m not saying it doesn’t have a lot of good aspects to it too. But it make[s] it very hard to feel and see the layers of a situation. Things are often black and white on social media, and we are sold specific messages on what it means to be successful and happy. It’s a system based on instant gratification (likes, comments, followers), and we have the tendency to add it up to calculate our value. If we’re not careful, it can drive us further from the whole truth, and deeper into the storylines.

Lia Menaker’s album I am Kyrøs is available now on https://liamenaker.bandcamp.com/.

All proceeds throughout the month of July benefit Melanated Social Work [https://www.instagram.com/melanatedsocialwork/?hl=en].

#james nida grey

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

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The Sun Prince (Chapter 5)

Summary: It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

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Chapter 5: Into the Fire

After all of the running around they'd done, it felt odd to be left with nothing to do except wait. There was little reason to set out and take up a few hunts when Cid promised that he was less than a day away from completing repairs, and so Ignis insisted that they remain on Cape Caem.

There was a sort of logic to it that Prompto couldn't deny, but it didn't stop the boredom from creeping in.

Ignis and Gladio quickly found ways to keep themselves occupied by helping out around the house, while Noctis snuck away to nap in various places until he was inevitably discovered. Prompto entertained himself by walking around and taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy, and eventually his feet led him to the elevator of the lighthouse.

His heart lurched at the thought of rising up to the top in an old lift, but the chance to catch a photograph from the top was too appealing to pass up. He could stomach it for a minute or two, and then he could get back down to solid ground.

That was until he got to the top and found Noctis's most recent hiding spot. The stray cat who kept turning up was there as well, curled up on the prince's chest.

Prompto quietly sat down with his back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe and ignore the fact that he was eighty feet up off the ground. His camera offered him a distraction as he scrolled through the pictures he'd taken and deleted the ones that turned out too blurry or were near-identical duplicates. Being near his best friend also helped calm the anxiety he felt.

They would leave for Altissia soon.

Prompto should feel excited about that. He had always dreamed of getting to explore beyond the Wall and see the beauty of the world beyond through the lens of his own camera, and Altissia was supposed to be the most beautiful of all! He would get to take so many photographs – well, hopefully. They weren't going for a vacation, after all.

But...

The more he thought about sailing across the Cygillian Ocean, the more dread he welt, welling up in his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was just his anxiety talking. Or it could be a side-effect of his powers. Either one would explain the awful nightmares that plagued his sleep, preventing him from getting more than a few hours of rest at a time.

Prompto looked over at Noctis, who was still sleeping soundly.

Their time at the chocobo post was short, and Prompto didn't have nearly as much time as he wanted to cuddle the baby chocobo's before Noctis whisked him out of sight for some extra training, while Ignis and Gladio were busy watching some of the races going on.

His magic came to him more easily each time he used it. Noctis expressed his own surprise at how quickly he was advancing, but Prompto brushed it off, remembering what Rhyos said about his body already being used to magic. With a little extra work, he learned how to craft his magic into a sphere shape, rather than the formless light he produced in the beginning.

Prompto wondered what Rhyos was doing and when he would decide to show up again. He hoped it was before they left for Altissia. There were even more questions he wanted to ask and hopefully the Astral would stick around long enough to answer some of them.

Maybe he was waiting until Prompto improved some more? Either that or he got some sort of glee out of making him wait.

Yeah. That second one sounded about right.

Prompto set his camera to the side and held his hands out, palms up. He guided his magic to swirl around, gathering until two golden orbs floated in front of him. He grinned, pleased by how easy it was becoming. With just a little focus, he could direct them to slowly fly around and move independently of one another.

The stray cat made a “mrrp” sound as she woke and watched the orbs with great interest.

“No, kitty,” Prompto said quietly. He pulled the orbs back to his hands and was about to absorb the remaining energy back into his body, when a voice cut through the air and startled him badly enough that they fizzled away.

“What are those?”

Prompto squeaked and twisted around to find Iris standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, and staring down at him with a determined expression.

“I, uh, what are what?” Prompto winced at his poor attempt at a cover-up.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Prompto tried again.

“Hard to tell anyone when I don't know what's going on,” Iris responded lightly. She shut the door behind her and joined Prompto against the wall, casting a curious look over at Noctis. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iris was truly a marvel. At only fifteen, she carried herself with such poise and maturity, even when faced with something unexpected, that it was easy to forget how young she was. Prompto supposed it was because she was from a long line of Kingshields and had also grown up in the citadel. Hard to relax and be a child with that amount of pressure.

“It's kind of complicated,” Prompto said, not sure whether or not he wanted to tell her everything. He still hadn't worked up the strength to tell Gladio or Ignis about it! Gladio would never forgive him if he told his little sister first.

Although, it would be good practice.

“Prompto has magic now.”

Or Noctis would take the choice away from him.

Prompto whined and tilted his head back, letting it thunk against the wall. “Dude, not cool.”

“I promised not to tell Gladio or Ignis, but you never said anything about Iris,” Noctis said as he sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out so it didn't look as disheveled after his nap.

“It was implied,” Prompto said crossly.

Iris looked between them apprehensively. “I can just, y'know, go and pretend I didn't see or hear anything?”

“No,” Prompto bit out. He sighed and sat up straight, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at her. “I mean, I've got to tell everyone eventually, right? And you already saw it, so I'm not going to make you pretend you didn't.”

Iris relaxed. “Okay, well take your time. Or you can let Noctis explain...?”

“Noct isn't allowed to explain anything anymore, but it's like he said. I have magic now,” Prompto told her, taking charge before Noctis could say anything else. (Not that he looked like he wanted to. He was definitely avoiding looking anywhere near his friend after blurting out his secret.) “I fell into these ruins while we were helping out one of the hunters and found this, um, artifact and it gave me magic. Noctis has been helping me control it.”

Simplicity was best, right?

Iris didn't need to know every last detail, like the deal he made with an unknown Astral, or even that Rhyos liked to pop in unexpectedly to talk. Nor did she need to know about the nightmares that plagued his sleep ever since his illness. Even Noctis didn't know about that last one.

“Can you do anything cool with it, like warping? Do you have your own armiger? Not that the magical balls aren't cool, but...” Iris shrugged, apparently unsure of where she was going with her questions.

“No warping, no armiger, and excuse you but the orbs are super cool,” Prompto responded, hoping he came across as joking in the end. He grinned at her for good measure. “I dunno. I can almost make a shield, but I haven't gotten it to hold up against anything. It might have just been a fluke.”

“It's still impressive when you've only been practicing for a few days,” Noctis pointed out.

Iris looked awestruck by everything she was learning. “Seriously? It took Gladio three days just to figure out how to access the armiger and pull out the correct weapon.” She turned immediately to Noctis. “Do not ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, I think I'm starting to understand why Gladio won't let me travel with you guys. You're both beacons for trouble. He couldn't handle the three of us running around, even with Ignis's help.”

Noctis chuckled.

“You won't tell anyone about this, will you, Iris?” Prompto asked, seized by sudden worry. “I'll tell them eventually. I just haven't figured out how. I will. Soon. In Altissia?” He winced and shut his mouth.

“I think you're making a bigger deal of this than you need to, but I'll keep it a secret for you,” Iris promised. “And because I'm so awesome, I'll let you practice how you're going to tell them on me! It'll be fun!”

Prompto wasn't sure that it would be fun at all, but it was nice of her to volunteer.

Iris grinned at him, taking his silence as agreement. “I'll even do my best impression of Gladio! I'm pretty good at it, right, Noctis?”

“I dunno. I don't think you've got that patented grumpy stare down yet,” Noctis said thoughtfully.

Iris proceeded to prove that she was very good at impersonating her brother, though the glare looked wildly out of place on her sweet face.

-----

A woman with fiery red hair woven into intricate braids led the way down a well-lit passageway. Water flowed down the tall, white stone walls and pooled along the sides, but never moved closer to where she walked. She was draped in blue silks decorated with golden symbols, and the fabrics flowed as she moved towards a massive door.

Behind her, a crowd of people slowly followed, leaving proper space for those carrying two white caskets, one behind the other. All were silent.

The towering white walls were bathed in the golden light of the sun, though as it began to set, shadows rose from the floor and began to cover the walls. Neither the woman nor the procession behind her faltered in step.

The door, with bands of gold representing the rays of the sun, over which a bird with rainbow feathers was placed, began to shimmer with a red light. It spread across the walls, lighting up hidden symbols, and the door soundlessly opened.

A melodious hymn filled the halls as they began their descent into the depths.

At the end of the procession was a familiar man with long dark hair and red eyes.

“Rhyos?” Prompto gasped in bodiless form.

As though he heard him, Rhyos turned to look around. When his eyes met Prompto's, everything went black.

Lady Lunafreya appeared in the darkness and Prompto opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. He was forced to watch, helpless, as a featureless figure stabbed her in the side and red spread across the fabric of her white gown. She fell back and her trident slid form her grasp.

-----

Prompto gasped for air as he woke, tears streaming down his face. He sat up and pulled his legs to his chest, trembling as he tried to silence his sobs.

Nearby, Noctis mumbled in his sleep.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but even as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep that night. He lifted his head from his knees and that was when he saw the figure sitting near the window, moonlight illuminating his form.

“Rhyos,” Prompto whispered, too drained from his most recent nightmare to feel surprise.

“I apologize for visiting at such a late hour, however it came to my attention that things are progressing more quickly than anticipated.” Rhyos gave Prompto no chance to respond. “There has not been a wearer of the crown who experienced visions like yours since the height of Solheim power. Why did you not tell me?”

Prompto glanced worriedly at Noctis, but his friend showed no signs of stirring. “They're just nightmares. It didn't seem important,” he whispered.

Rhyos narrowed his eyes. “You speak of more than the funeral you glimpsed. Tell me about this nightmare of yours, and do not worry about your prince. He is a heavy sleeper.”

That didn't mean Prompto wanted to risk waking him up, but he also couldn't let his chance to talk to Rhyos go to waste. “I keep seeing... someone getting hurt. Someone important,” he said, being purposefully vague.

“You will need to be more detailed than that.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “I keep seeing Lady Lunafreya being stabbed. I can't see who's doing it or where she is. It's like I'm floating in this dark void.”

“It is not unusual for visions of a probable future to look that way. Nothing is set in stone and there is always the chance that the future can change. If you are seeing something, it is either to prepare you for what is coming or it is a hint of something that needs to be changed,” Rhyos explained. “Visions of the past are more clear.”

Visions.

Nausea roiled in Prompto's stomach and he took a moment to try and calm it down. His thoughts wailed profanities.

Lady Lunafreya was in danger and he didn't have the first idea of where or who the threat was. Was he not meant to know? Was it like Rhyos said and the vision was meant to prepare him for what was coming?

No.

Prompto refused to let that be her fate.

There had to be something he could do. His powers had to be good for more than just killing daemons!

“How can I stop it from happening?” he asked.

“The visions themselves will ease up now that you understand their warning, but it is likely you will occasionally glimpse moments of the past. Some are to help you in your life. Others, such as the one you had tonight, are because of me,” Rhyos said.

Prompto frowned. “You sent me that vision?”

Rhyos shook his head. “Not intentionally. It was a moment I was dwelling heavily upon. The crown and I have a connection and it likely picked up on that.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps the next vision you have will be the creation of the crown. I think you would enjoy that one.”

As long as it let him get a proper night of sleep, Prompto wouldn't complain. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the questions that he forgot to write down. “Um, so... are those all of them? The visions and the magic, I mean. Or should I prepare for anything else because of the crown?”

“Your magic will continue to grow stronger, as will your control over it, but I cannot say for certain what other abilities the crown will grant you. It decides for itself who is worthy and of what,” Rhyos said as he stood up. “Long ago, I granted it to the Kings of Solheim, blessing it with the power so that they may protect their people. Now it is in your hands. The power you now possess will enable you to protect your people; those you care about most. That is its foremost function.

“It is not a tool of war, nor of greed. A lesser mortal could not command the abilities to come forth. What you have been granted is a mark of the purity of your soul. Of your desire to do good.”

Prompto could feel the burn of Rhyos's eyes on him. “But I'm not anyone special.”

Rhyos smiled. “And that, perhaps, is why you are the perfect candidate.”

“And what of the cost?” cut in a new voice.

Even Rhyos looked surprised as Noctis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Dark eyes met red, and the Astral gave a respectful bow.

“What ever do you mean, Prince Noctis?” Rhyos asked.

“There's always a cost,” Noctis said, wholly serious. “I've spent my whole life watching my father's life be drained away. I know what it feels like to ask an Astral to come to our aid. What is the cost that Prompto pays for all of this?”

For a moment, Rhyos did not speak.

Prompto looked between them, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence, but he was curious too.

Rhyos smiled, his expression more gentle than Prompto had ever seen. “Worry not, young prince, there is no price to pay. That crown will not drain his life away nor make him grow weak. I always preferred lifting my chosen people to new heights rather than limiting what they can do.”

Relief washed over Prompto. It hadn't been one of his worries until Noctis brought it up, but the relief came nevertheless.

“I fear my time with you is coming to an end. I would hate to be the reason you lose anymore sleep than you already have,” Rhyos said. “There is one last thing I need to speak with you about, and that is your voyage across the Cygillian.” He waited until both of them were paying attention before continuing. “Altissia is the domain of Leviathan and her favored Messengers. It is not a place where I am welcomed, and as such, I will be unable to help you as long as you are there. Both of you, be cautious. The Tidemother's memory is long and her mood changes with the ebb and flow of the tide itself. Prove to her your strength and she will aid you. Fail and she will devour you.”

“Bleak,” Prompto commented.

Rhyos grinned. “I look forward to your return.”

The last thing Prompto remembered was Rhyos walking across the room and the feeling of warm fingertips against his forehead. Comfortable darkness rushed to greet him and he sank into the depths of slumber, where only pleasant dreams awaited him.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #prompts #fanfiction #The Sun Prince #slow burn promptis #solheim magic

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danielxrk · 4 years

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✞ IN THE SUSPENSION * FIND ME THERE

he calls haknyeon first.

it’s a proper celebration, and a reminder why he’s his best friend. on the phone with him, he can forget about the difficult side of this news. he can forget about all of the people he’ll effectively be leaving behind, and just focus on the fact that finally, he got what he wanted: for one of the entertainment companies that turned him down twice on live television to finally want him.

in the past, he would’ve waffled. he would’ve held that contract in his hands and wondered if it was worth the sacrifice. but my band, but my friends, but my parents. now, all that remains is the second, and they’re all people he knows will understand the decision he already knows he’ll make. even daniel in all of his usual optimism can’t deny this will be painful, though: the loss of time with the people he loves and the hours of dance practice he’s set himself up for.

somehow, it seems like it’ll be worth it, and next, he texts the reason he believes it’s so, because woojin doesn’t seem like the type for phone calls, and daniel isn’t the type for phonecalls with woojin. he doesn’t know what to say, but with woojin, he knows he doesn’t need any padding or beating around the bush. it’s why he settles on a simple “hey, i got in.” there’s one more important detail he needs to add, though: “ i’m not signing until i release all of my music that i want to, though.”

that’s the plan. if there’s anything he learned from the aftermath of the mgas, it’s that companies don’t want you uploading anything that suggests you have a mind of your own, and daniel’s music is too important to him to keep locked in a vault, never to see the light of day. he’ll write more in sphere, certainly, but it'll be different, and he knows. he has so much ready now that just hasn't made it to his soundcloud or youtube. that changes today, and maybe tomorrow if he needs it, and maybe the day after that--

next, he calls songhee. he breaks the news to her, and he knows her well enough to detect her forced happiness. he doesn't blame her, and there's no use in him acknowledging it or dwelling on it. she tries to be happy for him, and he's grateful for that much. "hey, so...do you have time to record our song?

⊰ ✞ CACTUS IN THE VALLEY ; written, composed and sang by daniel & songhee ☇ if my yesterday is a disgrace, tell me that you still recall my name ⊱

here's an original song, and the first of a few you'll see over the course of the weekend! thank you to songhee for writing and singing this with me, and playing it with me the past few weeks, and to sophie for helping learn the cello.

this song grew really close to my heart while we recorded it, and i hope you like it even if it's a little different from what you're used to.

matthew 18:12

before the end of the mgas, he prayed. he prayed for everything to happen as it should, but somehow, only had two options in mind: empty enigma stays together, or he gets a contract. of course, neither of those things happened in the end. after all the pain, daniel can understand why. daniel's job as a christian is supposed to be to reflect jesus, and cameo didn't really do that, aside from one song that made it on their album. this way, he didn't have to worry about how to glorify him as a trainee, because he wasn't one.

now, he's still not really sure how god's plan or mission or what have you will benefit from him signing to sphere, but there's not that possibility of turning down a contract anymore. as always, god knew what he was doing.

in that prayer before the finale, he said that he would write a ton of songs about him, regardless of what happened. he hasn't done as good of a job at that as he should've, but at least there's this.

daniel and songhee wrote cactus in the valley together after the green ribbon festival. they decided after their performance there that they made a pretty good duo, and decided to make it official-- or semi-official. if they lasted longer, maybe they would've come up with a name. they got so far as writing a song together and playing shows every weekend, and it sated something in daniel's soul-- an unaddressed unrest dwelling there following the mgas and empty enigma's demise. they wrote it as an acoustic arrangement, with songhee on the piano, and daniel on the cello-- a relatively new instrument for him, basics learned thanks to sophie and polished now for the sake of an original version that would never make it to the stage because daniel's cello skills weren't that good.

on stage, it's different-- songhee with a guitar and daniel on bass, mainly because it would be hard for daniel to sing while on cello, aside from the fact that he plays instruments he still isn't entirely comfortable with better with several takes. live, he doesn't have that luxury. in the recording studio, however, it's different, and he hopes people won't be disappointed by the song in its original form.

(he thinks both the cello and piano are beautiful, and he's glad he took the challenge of writing a song for them. he wants to get better.)

songhee sings the second verse, and one of his favorite lines of the song, and one he can only aspire to: if this whole world goes up in arms all i do is can stand, and i won't fight for anyone until you move my hand.

ultimately, it's a song about god. it's about all of daniel's struggles to stand and all of his drifting-- all of his attempts to survive on his own and his world crashing down. it's all of the change, and the fact that that's not god, and there is a consistency that he never realized before, or never relied on. there's a love he'll always have and that he too often takes for granted, and the least he can do is write this song and release it to anyone that will listen. it's up to them how to interpret it, but for daniel, it is a i'm sorry you always need to remind me how much you love me, but thank you. i know i'll never deserve it, but i get it anyway.

⊰ ✞ AUTOMATIC ; lyrics by yuzu, composed and sung by daniel ☇ i'm lost, out of place, i'm hooked on every single word you say ⊱

these lyrics were written by choi yena! i had a demo of this instrumental not so long after the mgas, and she had lyrics already written that ended up matching to it well. a little bit of rehashing the instrumental (or a lot) and here it is! enjoy ^_^

automatic is a little experimental for him. it's a step out of his comfort zone of band-oriented or acoustic sound, with a little more touch of pop and edm. of course, he wrote in a heavy bass line too, and it drives the entire song. it's what he wrote it all around, too.

he hasn't uploaded the song yet because he sang it, then mastered it, and hated how it turned out. he didn't even bother to share it with yuzu, and instead, left it to rot to eventually return to with a refreshed mind and different perspective. it was neglected in favor of other unfinished songs that his fans may never hear, so he dusts automatic off because it's near finished, and he'd be doing yuzu a disservice to not release the song they wrote together.

he goes back to the studio, and plays more with the instrumental, stripping it down to just the bass line again, seeing what it'll sound like if he starts over.

he thinks the lyrics are something most people can relate to. it's the attraction to a person when the relationship may be ending, or when it's already over-- the lack of direction without them, and why they still want to follow them. daniel didn't ask yuzu what she wrote the song about. he could assume enough, and for daniel, the meanings behind songs were always personal. when he wrote lyrics for his songs on his own, he didn't even share the meanings of some of them with empty enigma, and they were (still are) his closest friends.

plus, these lyrics are pretty straightforward.

he overhauls the instrumental, and feels a little guilty because it'll sound so different from what yuzu heard from him before. it's probably better like this though: an instrumental built around the lyrics instead of two separate pieces coming together. he likes it better.

"finally have automatic mastered. check it out and see what you think. it ended up pretty different '^^" he sends in a message, song file attached.

yuzu shares her liking of it with great enthusiasm, and daniel is relieved. he uploads it with satisfaction in finally having a finished product.

⊰ ✞ SUSPENSION ; written, composed and sung by daniel ☇ this sky feeling i get when you're near, i'd give up gravity to feel ⊱

here's another original, and this one's all mine. i wrote it a while ago, actually, but i think now is the perfect time for it to find its way to you.

suspension still feels too personal to upload, but that's precisely why he needs to. it's an important song to him-- too much so to keep to himself.

he wrote suspension in the week following empty enigma's final show, when sungwoon ran off to japan. it was what he did instead of getting mad, and to cope with the ridiculous feeling of how much he missed him, and wished he was with him. it was what he did while waiting for him to come home so he could tell him how much he loved him (and in the end, he still couldn't wait until then.)

he's held back from posting it anywhere because he's embarrassed. sometimes, it's still hard to admit he even has these feelings, and he thinks it would be for anyone. he's only been writing songs for a year and a half, and he never wrote a song for someone before. then again, suspension isn't for sungwoon-- it's about him, but it's for daniel. it's not the first song he wrote about sungwoon either, but this one feels different. maybe it's because it's the first song he wrote about sungwoon knowing he loves him.

he hasn't even played it for anyone else, he's so self-conscious of it. it's not because he thinks the lyrics or melody are bad, just because...it's a part of his heart that he hasn't shared with anyone. it's a look into him that he doesn't show. kenta knows the guitar part; he played it for him when he got home from training one day to daniel camped out on their sofa, playing through chords. minhyun probably caught a lot of it from daniel singing over the lyrics absently.

soon, everyone will know it. he tries to steel himself in advance, but he knows he'll always be a little nervous.

it's just him and his acoustic guitar in the studio for this one, recording it for the first time despite the months it's been completed, and there's something cathartic about finally doing it.

now, knowing he'll become a trainee and feel so distant from his previous life, it hits a little closer to home. daniel didn't know it was possible.

there is so much more he wants to do. there's a panic-- a preemptive mourning of all the songs no one will ever hear. surely there's more he can finish up and upload without taking too long. there comes a point where he'll feel like he's taking advantage of baek jiyoung's grace in offering him a contract for his own self-serving reasons.

he can't help but think of all of those empty enigma songs that didn't make between fear and faith-- the other 30 he wrote in preparation for it. they talked of polishing them and including some on their next album, and some of them he doesn't like anymore, but others...losing empty enigma was painful enough, but so was losing all of their unreleased songs to the void of their main composers becoming trainees with contracts that forbade the release of original music.

there's one song in particular: daniel's favorite song he wrote in the build up to between fear and faith, actually. it's the one he had his mind set on to perform if the mga finale had solo rounds. how can he not share it on his youtube and soundcloud if he was willing to perform it in front of a live audience, on live television?

the only problem: kenta and woojin helped him compose this song.

⊰ ✞ NO ORDINARY LOVE ; written, composed and sung by daniel ☇ come back to me love, i forgive you, oh how i've missed you ⊱

i originally wrote this to be on the between fear and faith album, but we ultimately decided other songs fit better. it's still one of my favorites i've ever written, and since you won't get to hear it on an album, why not hear it like this? it's different than it would be played by an awesome band, but i did my best. this is a cameo only zone.

he does the natural thing, and pulls a vanilla ice, slightly altering the song's composition just enough that it isn't quite the same song anymore, but could be accused of plagiarism. he would say it wouldn't matter, he could just upload it even though kenta and woojin took part in writing it, but he now knows sphere watches his youtube channel, and he doesn't want to risk it.

so he reigns things in, changes the screaming originally written in for a rap, and without woojin to record a drum part, it's already essentially a different song. daniel can barely play the drums at all, let alone to woojin's level, so he doesn't even bother, and leaves that to his trusty drum machine to do the best work of its life. the rest, however, daniel can do: bass part, two guitar parts, vocals. squall who?

more than an empty enigma song, it's another song about god. he wrote this one significantly earlier than cactus in the valley, of course-- not so long after he moved out of his mom's house and into his own apartment, when he started growing into his own skin and his own person for the first time. away from her, he could finally disassociate church from her iron fist and constant criticisms. until then, he thought god saw him the same way: as someone that always fell short, disappointing, worthy of endless rebuke, impatient and unforgiving.

he learned better, and it was an eye-opening and...emotional process for him. he wrote no ordinary love about that process, and what he discovered: god waited for him to come to him, and greeted him with love and mercy even though it took him so long to, and to mean it. he didn't deserve it, but he got it anyway.

this feels like the perfect ending to daniel the singer-songwriter online. it's a callback to empty enigma, and a song for god after he told him he would write more about him. he started on one and he'll end on one, and maybe it's this song that is the truest reflection of his heart.

it's then, putting the final finishing touches up on the recording, that he realizes this is the real end of cameo. he doubts sphere will want him to return, and it's bittersweet, because with this, he realizes, like he did in his sphere audition, that he doesn't need him anymore. he doesn't have to create a cooler alter ego-- doesn't need to create a separate identity to enjoy music or be able to perform. he doesn't need to pretend to be someone he isn't to be liked; he doesn't need him to be brave and to be bold. maybe daniel has learned to take all of those qualities for himself without hanging onto a mask.

it's still hard to let go. when he finishes, and starts the upload, his chest feels tight and his heart is in his throat. empty enigma was over before, but somehow, knowing he's about to sign a sphere contract makes it realer than ever.

with the song he's releasing, a moment like this calls for prayer, however quick it may be. thank you. i wouldn't be me without them, and without cameo, and i finally like who that is. because of them, and because of you, i'm finally ready to face whatever comes next.

NOTES:

* all songs in korean; reference songs are only references ** songs are all uploaded to both youtube and soundcloud (un: kameo), sometimes with a live version on youtube and studio version on soundcloud, and that’s how everything he uploads goes

#;solo #;suspension #haknyeonrk #rksonghee #yuzurk #rkxsungwoon #rkpwj #rkkenta #rkminhyun #( * i'm sorry i didn't realize it was 9 please forgive me )#;yt

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doginshoe · 5 years

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wip 2/??

Fairy Tail in a Deltora Quest concept?

Sunlight crept through the rips in the royal blue curtains, which poorly illuminated the room that was dominated by the shadows that were nearly forcing the light to disappear. The footsteps that paced to the main room echoed throughout the tower as well as the cries of the crows that lingered in the trees outside.

“It is time.”

A figure kneeled before the throne, head bowed and awaiting a response from the dark haired man in the throne. His dark eyes glinted as he looked at his subject who stated the news he had been waiting to hear.

“Assemble the soldiers,” he commanded, voice bouncing off the grey stonewalls.

“As you wish, Lord Zeref.”

He watched as his son made haste with his new order, viewing the large grand room he sat in with regel power. He reached out and put a pale hand on the large globe that he had spent many hours with as he planned out his attack. Zeref turned the bronze sphere until he laid eyes on the country of Fiore. His frown deepened as he tapped the metal.

He was finally ready. The pieces locked into position and all he had to do was make his move and then surely the blonde tactician would play into his game. A sigh left his lips and he turned his gaze to the ceiling with the chipping masterpiece that was painted there. A beautiful array of blues with stars littered across it with seven gems locked into a tablet, shining in the centre. Zeref gently brushed the dark purple amethyst that hung from his neck.

“Are you ready, Mavis?

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

“Happy!” Natsu shouted as he struggled to push himself up another branch. The teenaged boy breathed heavily as he used all his strength to try and climb the large tree that practically grew into the sky.

“Oi, Happy,” he called the feline again and tried to tighten his grip on the dark wood beneath his fingertips. The blue cat blinked with its wide eyes as it watched the boy heave himself up more branches. Natsu could feel his fingers slipping and his sweaty hands making him lose his grip.

“Haaaaaaappppppyyy!”

He glared up at the blue sky, his head aching beneath his pink locks. Natsu sat up from the ground with a groan, a hand coming up to cradle his throbbing head.

“Fuck you! I nearly died,” Natsu shouted up to Happy who was slowly descending the giant tree. The blue cat circled Natsu before jumping onto his shoulder and Natsu scratched him behind the ear.

“I really hate you sometimes,” the boy sighed, smiling slightly as his best friend purred and rubbed his furry head against Natsu’s cheek. He laughed and grinned at Happy, “Okay buddy, I forgive you. Now come on we gotta get back.”

Natsu picked up his rucksack and tossed it over his shoulder and Happy trotted along beside him, “Let’s go!”

The town of Clover was busy as always. Stalls were open on the side of the streets as their keepers tried to usher people in to buy their items. The afternoon crowd of buyers were large and Natsu weaved in and out of people. He heard them shouting after him as he knocked things, and people, over in his rush to get back home. Happy raced with him, jumping from roof to roof.

“Natsu you idiot, come back here!”

His grin grew wider and he ducked into one of the alleys, hoping to get rid of the hot-headed geezer that would always chase him. He slid behind an old sign leaning against a brick wall, his dark green, almost black, eyes peering through the gap. The short old man stomped down the alley. His large nostrils flaring as he glared.

“Come here you damn, brat,” his booming voice was filled with rage as he walked just past Natsu, who stopped breathing as he hid. The boy watched intently as the old man rounded the corner and then the young boy quickly crept back to the main road, a victorious grin dancing on his face.

“Yes,” Natsu cheered, “stupid old geezer will never get me!”

“Stupid old geezer, aye?”

Natsu froze. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and his eyes grew wide. He turned around hesitantly and before he knew it he felt his ear clamped in a tight grip.

“C’mon, brat. You got yourself some cleaning up to do.”

“Don’t tug so hard, gramps!”

“I’ll tug as hard as I want.”

“Fuck you!”

“Watch your language, boy, or I’ll be throwing you in the stables to clean up all the horse crap too.”

Natsu grumbled as he was dragged back by Makarov and soon he was picking up all the things he had carelessly knocked over.

“Stupid geezer,” he mumbled, “can’t ever let me have any fun.”

He looked up at Happy who was lying on the counter top stuffed with fish from Mirajane, Makarovs’ daughter in law.

“Traitor.”

“Well, Natsu, I think you’ve done enough.”

The young boy jumped and turned around, his glare meeting the stern eyes of the short old man.

“Do you want to do more?” Makarov asked and Natsu scoffed before throwing his rucksack over his shoulder. He walked off, “Cya, Gramps.” Happy jumped down off the counter and followed after the pink haired boy who was storming off.

“Be careful, Natsu.”

He looked over his shoulder, eyes softening, “I always am.”

With that Natsu waved and started to run off leaving Makarov. Mirajane came out from out back and smiled before shouting out, “Goodbye, Natsu, it was good to see you!”

It wasn’t long till he was at the outskirts of town, his feet carrying him to old wooden front door. He smiled, looking at his dad who sat at the small dining room table.

“I’m home,” Natsu shouted as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“I swear that door will break off its hinges one day.”

“If it doesn’t burn down first.” Natsu smiled as he threw his rucksack on the table and then went into the small kitchen.

“You were out for awhile. Knock yourself out training?” Igneel asked, his red hair looking fiery in the light from the setting sun that poured in from the windows, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched his son.

“Fucking Gramps caught me and made me clean his damn shop.” The boy cut up some raw fish and put it on a chipped plate for Happy who greedily ate it. Natsu’s brows narrowed as he recalled how that geezer made him clean everything up. His father let out a boisterous laugh that seemed to shake the whole house. Natsu only shot a heated glare at his dad.

“I can’t believe you still get caught by Makarov at fourteen.”

“Oi,” Natsu barked, “That geezer pops outta nowhere.” He grumbled, “If that old man hadn’t caught me I could’ve my sword!”

“First, Natsu,” Igneel started, “it isn’t a sword, it’s a dagger. Secondly if I recall correctly than I don’t think you have any chores tomorrow��”

His son’s face lit up.

“I can finish it,” Natsu cheered and he stood up in his seat throwing a fist into the air. He had been jumping at any opportunity to finish the dagger that he had poured his blood, sweat and tears into. It was his greatest dream to follow in his father’s footsteps to be a blacksmith, after he had become one of the world’s best fighters.

“Time for dinner first,” Igneel chuckled and Natsu grinned excitedly. Once the sun had dipped below the horizon and the moon shone high in the sky Natsu lay in his bed as Igneel tucked him in.

“C’mon, Dad! Tell me the story,” Natsu begged.

“Alright, alright,” Igneel said as he raised his hands in the air. “I had been wondering around for a few days when the storm struck. The rain felt like bullets against my skin and the lightning flashed and hit the trees that surrounded me. I had faced many near death situations and being killed by lightning would certainly not be the most heroic way to go out.”

“Eventually I stumbled upon a large cave. Without a second thought I entered, thinking that whatever was inside couldn’t possibly be as bad as the weather, “Igneel chuckled lightly and Natsu watched his father intently.

“I walked further into the dark cave to shield myself from the wind and rain, only having my fire for light. It wasn’t long until I heard something growl and that was when I came face to face with a dark red dragon. I had heard the stories of the large beasts that ruled the skies, but I had never seen someone for myself. His eyes were bright and narrowed.

#fairy tail #fairytail #natsu dragneel #ft fanfiction #makarov dreyar #igneel #fanfiction #my writing #wip #doginshoe

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courtorderedcake · 5 years

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Roses (A CS AU)

My late contribution to @csmarchmadness.

I haven't been able to or feeling up to writing lately, and struggled to push this through before I began having health difficulties. It is only with the support of @shireness-says, @ultraluckycatnd, and @doodlelolly0910 that even this is done, and I have the utmost gratitude.

Cat has practically rewritten it to not only make sense, but to read beautifully, and she has been unknowingly the shining light in many a dark day.

I don't know if I'll finish this, or the two other pieces in this anthology besides what I'm finally finished with for @cssns, but if I decide to let it die I will post everything I have as continued notes on here and eventually Ao3.

I believe that with these and the last few stragglers in my WIP folder, I am done with the Fandom and giving up writing in general, and thank the organizers of CSMM for the amazing experience.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Roses, A CS retelling of Tam Lin

By Courtorderedcake and ultraluckycatnd.

Rated M - - - - chapters 1/??

If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category.

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off the dress underneath her rain slicker.

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script.

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it.

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her.

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the inside she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The estate reading took place in Scotland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude.

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now.

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark.

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking.

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present.

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded.

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand.

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road.

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows.

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door.

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh.

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling.

And it was hers.

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet.

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on.

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand.

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her.

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan.

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone.

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook.

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised.

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life.

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled.

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard.

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The Irish accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Scottish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She extended a hand towards him which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

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fandomfanficandmore · 5 years

Text

The Promise (Warlock!5sos)

Another Coven Fic? You fuckin’ betcha! This is a short fluffy one, so enjoy!

fandom: 5 Seconds of Summer

pairing[s]: Ashton Irwin x Ophelia Blackwell

Luke Hemmings x Salem Blackwell

warnings: Warlock! 5SOS, a proposal, lovey Ash, lots of celebrity mentions- try to identify all of them.

word count: 1.8k+

The sun was setting as the group gathered in the mountains surrounding the busy city. Once a week, usually a late Saturday afternoon, the coven of 13 met to practice and worship under their supreme- a woman named Ophelia.

She had just turned 20 when she was handed the title from the previous supreme, her mother Stevie Nicks. Ophelia and her sister, Salem, had been working towards becoming the coven’s supreme since they were children. They were born into the coven, their birth mother being one of the leaders before she was killed by a witch hunter when the girls were three. Instead of them being taken away from the coven, mama Nicks took them in and raised them as her own, teaching them all she possibly could.

Each girl had their own special powers, setting them apart from the rest of the coven. Salem was a telepath, able to read the minds of everyone around her, except for her partner, Luke. Ophelia, on the other hand, was a seer- someone who could see the future- and that made her the perfect candidate for supreme.

Unlike other covens, this one was filled with the celebrities most looked up to. The ranks included the likes of Brendon Urie, the empath, and Jack Barakat, the conjurer.

The coven, though small, was also home to the members of an alternative band known as 5 Seconds of Summer. Luke, Salem’s partner, was a necromancer while Ashton, Ophelia’s partner, was a traveler. Calum, on the other hand, was an elemental and Michael was an eclectic.

Fe looked around the group, all of whom were in the own conversations. This was her second meeting as supreme and she was still extremely nervous, even though everything had already been said and done.

“You did fine, Fe.” A voice inside her head made her jump. She cast a glance at her sister who smiled softly at her while playing with Luke’s hair as he spoke.

“Thanks, Sal.” She thought back.

Salem looked up at her partner, watching his curls bounce as he nodded at what Calum was saying, admiring the way the late afternoon sun reflected off of his hair.

“What are you looking at?” Luke looked down at her, his accent thick as he talked- as it normally is after he’s used his powers.

“You.” Salem purred, making him chuckle. He leaned down, peppering kisses along her jaw as if they weren’t being watched. Salem felt Calum walk away as she leaned into Luke, her eyes drifting closed.

‘Always one to put on a show, aren’t you?’ Salem’s eyes shot open, searching the area for the chocolate haired devil himself, Harry. He, like her, could read minds, and he definitely used it to his advantage when it came to her.

‘Shouldn’t you be off entrancing school girls or something?’ She responded, trying to focus back on Luke.

‘But what fun would that be when you’re right there, looking enchanting as always.’ She couldn't stop the annoyed groan that escaped her lips, causing Luke to pull away.

“Everything alright, love?” He asked, making her roll her eye. “Harry again?”

“He just loves these little head games of his.” She shook her head. “Anyways, we should go talk to Fe. She’s feeling lonely.”

Ophelia was standing by the fire, warming up when her boyfriend appeared next to her, her leather jacket in his hand. “My coat?”

“You were cold so I popped home and got it.” She took the coat from him before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thanks, babe.” She pulled it on as her sister and Luke approached. “Hey guys.”

“Are you almost ready to go?” Her sister asked her, following up before Ophelia could get her thoughts out, “We have that dinner with mother in an hour, remember? You, me, Ash and Luke? We made the plans-”

“Before she went on the recruiting trip. Right. It completely slipped my mind.” Fe confessed. She had spent many nights after her appointment pacing, stressing and worrying about her new title, and because of that a lot of things had slipped her mind. She looked up at Ashton, who smiled softly at her before nodding. He couldn’t read minds like Salem and Harry, but he knew what Fe was thinking without her having to say a word.

“I’ll take her home and you guys meet us there when you finish up here?” Ashton asked the other pair who nodded in return. They knew Ophelia was the best in the kitchen and could whip up a full feast in 20 minutes with the help of her powers.

A second later, Ashton had his arms around Ophelia’s waist and in a flash, they were back at the Nicks house. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek as she moved to the kitchen, flicking her wrist to turn the house. She muttered a few Latin words under her breath as she washed her hands, all of the ingredients she needed making their way to the kitchen island.

“Do you need any help, Fe?” Ashton asked as she turned off the water, spinning around to face him with a tired smile.

“Could you get the table set, please?” She returned, watching as he smiled and nodded. Snapping his fingers together, the dishes began setting themselves at the table. She was reading through her old cookbook- a witches guide to cooking that mama Nicks had given her for her 10th birthday, finding the spells she would need to make the food.

Ashton walked to the record player, exchanging the old jazz record for Ophelia’s favorite, the old rock tune fading in through the speakers. He looked over at her, watching as she shut her eyes to listen, calming down before she started anything.

They had been together for over two years, having met when he was introduced to the coven by Harry. He first discovered he had powers when he traveled from one side of a couch to the other while on tour, and Harry happened to see it. As soon as they were off tour, Harry took him to Los Angeles to introduce him to the girls’ mother, Stevie, and explain what the coven was. He could remember seeing Ophelia walk into the room, her nose buried in a book, as a weird feeling rose in his stomach. He was sure it wasn’t nerves- he knew what those felt like- but he was sure it had to do with her, especially because Harry noticed that both had felt it. They later learned that the feeling was called the Divine, a connection between a powerful witch and warlock, who the spirits believed were meant to be. It was strange at first, as he was so new to magic and he barely knew her, but soon they both realized that it was in fact true.

Ashton watched as she began preparing the dinner, listening as she recited spells. Though they had done this many times together, he still watched as though it was his first time witnessing it.

Something that no one- except for probably Salem, he wasn’t sure- knew what was going to happen tonight. After countless nights of researching coven laws and traditions, he was ready. Ready to propose to Ophelia.

In the coven, when a warlock proposed to a witch, he must use a live vine from an ancient plant to signal life, commitment, and growth- both emotionally and spiritually. Both must wear matching rings until their ceremony, where the rings will be traded in for two silver bands forged in the fires of hell. Because of his career, Ashton also had two separate silver rings, nearly identical to the vines, that the pair would wear in public so as to not be questioned.

The front door creaked open, Ophelia’s mother floating in with grace as her bags made their way upstairs. She offered Ashton a soft smile before joining her daughter in the kitchen.

“How was the meeting tonight, Fe?” She asked, washing her hands.

“Good.” Her daughter nodded, the music stopping itself so they could talk without interruption. “Did you find any new-”

“No,” Stevie shook her head, her hair flowing behind her, “it’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately.”

“Well it is only early fall, so there’s still time.” Ophelia offered her mother a smile. “I’m sure we will find some soon.”

“Where’s your sister?” Ophelia closed her eyes before speaking.

“She and Luke stayed behind to replace the protection charms. They should be home now.” As she opened her eyes, she was her sister and her partner walking down the hallway, away from the mirror room.

It was nearing witching hour, the group of five sitting on the back porch. Floating lanterns illuminated the area, casting a soft yellow glow on everyone. Ashton fiddled with the vine in his hand, casting a glance towards Ophelia, taking a deep breath. Both mama Nicks and Salem watched the man with knowing eyes, Salem sending him a short ‘you got this.’

“Fe?” He cleared his throat, catching the attention of his partner who had been throwing a light sphere back and forth with Luke. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, Ash.” She nodded, moving to stand up, but he stopped her. He wanted everyone around for this.

“Don’t worry about moving,” he shot her a soft smile, “I want to do this here.” She cast him a confused glance, to which he returned a bright smile. “We’ve been together for over two years, Fe, two of the best years of my life. My life changed drastically when I learned I had powers, and I honestly thought my life would end, but then I met you. You showed me that my powers were a good thing, you taught me how to use them and you showed me that we could do this- together.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not very good with Latin, but Fe, negabit me tibi.”

Ophelia’s has dropped. Before she was made supreme, she had thought about this moment many times- she had seen it many times. She knew the future could change, but she hadn’t seen it happening like this. She was overwhelmed yet ecstatic. She knew Ashton was her soulmate- or as close to one as a witch could get- and she loved him so deeply. She’d always expected him to ask, but she never expected him to do it now, especially in Latin, the one thing she knew he still struggled with.

Looking at Ashton’s whose eyes were bright with hope, she nodded slowly. “Yes.” She watched as he slipped the vine on her finger, handing her the other to put on his.

Her sister was the first to congratulate her, pulling her in for a hug.

“Finally! I’ve been listening to his nervous thoughts for two days!” Salem thought, making Ophelia laugh silently. “Congrats sister.”

“Thank you!” She thought back, pulling away with a smile. Ophelia turned to her mother, who was finishing congratulating Ashton.

“My beautiful Ophelia.” Her mother called, grabbing her by the hands and pulling her forward carefully. She didn’t need to say much to show how she felt, so she just sent her a warm smile and a quiet congratulations.

tag list: @scribblesos, @damselindistressanu

#weren't expecting that many coven fics #especially in one night #i've been prepping tho #ashton irwin #ash #ashton irwin one shot #ashton irwin imagines #ashton irwin x oc #ashton 5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos #the coven #warlock! 5sos

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mezzopurrloin · 5 years

Text

Mezzo Plays Final Fantasy X-2: Part 1

Yep, it's happening again. Final Fantasy X-2 (pronounced 'ten-two') is the direct sequel to Final Fantasy X, and the first actual sequel in the franchise. That helps explain its odd title a bit. Like before, I'm playing the HD Remastered version on PC, which conveniently has both games in a bundle, plus some other bonuses.

Eternal Calm is a cutscene that bridges the gap between X and X-2 a bit. It's not included with the original PS2 release of either, but is here along with everything else for the HD version.

Yuna's practicing her diving skills off the coast of Besaid, and 2 minutes 41 seconds is her new record for how long she can hold her breath. Wakka is impressed.

Two years have passed since Sin was defeated, and the Eternal Calm began.

She returns to the temple in Besaid Village, meeting with a concerned villager.

He's upset because his grandson has apparently joined the Youth League, while he and his wife are members of New Yevon.

"In the last two years, new groups have been springing up all over. Everyone wants to be part of a new age. Everyone wants to build a new age. Everyone wants to build a new Spira. People have different ideas, and sometimes, they disagree on the right thing to do. Some people worry about what the new age will bring. I just have to tell myself that for now, I'm doing the right thing."

Out on the bridge, Wakka asks Yuna if she's thought about settling down with someone. She's not interested in any potential suitors, and wants to make that clear to people.

A recruiter for the Youth League shows up, and Yuna gives her thoughts on that too.

Rikku arrives shortly after, and she has something to show them. She takes them out onto her salvage ship to do so.

The thing is a recording sphere. Kimahri apparently found it on Mt. Gagazet.

Tidus? Is that you? It's hard to tell since the footage is so grainy. He's stuck in a cage somewhere, ranting about how he only did what he could to protect the summoner.

Despite him not being able to be renamed in this game, they're still not going to ever mention his name. Rikku thinks that she should head off to find more about it, and that Yuna should come with. Wakka isn't sure about that.

But after all that she's done, shouldn't Yuna be able to do what she wants, not what everyone else wants?

Yuna comes to a decision.

After that's out of the way, we can begin the game proper.

We open at the blitzball stadium in Luca.

There's quite the crowd present.

Yuna takes the stage!

What can I do for you?

In the stands, Rikku watches from a pair of binoculars. Well, until a guard attacks her, giving her an opportunity for some cool poses.

As the concert continues, another girl finds herself in a similar situation.

Rikku and Paine hijack one of the guitarists' floating platforms and use it to move up to the stage.

Battle time already? This game's battle system is pretty different from its predecessor. This uses the Active Time Battle system common to many other Final Fantasy games, where each player's turn is on a timer (represented by the green bar underneath their HP display). For skills, Rikku has Steal available, and Paine can make use of Auron's Power Break.

Why are they fighting Yuna, though? Is this a fake?

After beating her, she runs offstage, and the other two pursue.

Some more goons pop up to bar the way, but they don't last long against Rikku and Paine's attacks.

This guy's a little tougher, though.

As is his partner. They move to attack, but find themselves repelled by a hail of gunfire.

The true Yuna has arrived.

Group pose!

The tall guy is Logos, the short one Ormi. Yuna and crew fight them together. Yuna has access to the Trigger Happy skill, which lets you continuously fire by tapping the button for a few seconds.

They sure didn't last long.

Fake Yuna appears to back them up.

She obliges, removing her disguise. "But it won't be yours for long!"

Time to show off a new gameplay mechanic. By using the Spherechange command, you can switch jobs mid-battle.

This comes with a very magical girl outfit change sequence.

And boom. Yuna's switched from Gunner to Songstress.

Now she can support the party with song and dance. Right now all she has is Darkness Dance, which blinds the opposition.

I decided to have Rikku switch jobs too. Leblanc here doesn't have anything of use to steal, so she changed from Thief to Warrior.

"So, I just hit stuff until we win? Sounds easy." This gives her the same skillset as Paine.

Leblanc was soon dealt with.

Yuna does a little dance.

And here's a closeup shot of the real Yuna, for completeness' sake.

The character advancement system is different now, using the traditional EXP and levels rather than the Sphere Grid. I'll get into that more later on. For now, let's get out of here.

Welcome aboard the Celsius. That's right, we get the airship right from the start this time.

Yuna explains that she couldn't control herself, and it was like someone else was dancing.

The inventor of the Garment Grid system offers his input.

Rikku's brother would have loved to see Yuna dance, but it's not happening.

No time to worry about that, though. The Gullwings have a new mission ready, but I'm not going for it quite yet.

Yuna takes a moment to muse on the new goth chick. Apparently Lulu was considered for this spot at one point, but the team realized that her harsh attitude just would not work with this game.

"I still don't know her very well. She's not exactly the talkative type. Apparently she joined the Gullwings shortly before I did..."

Like in X-1, save spheres give a full HP/MP restore, plus allow you to board the airship from anywhere. This one marks a good stopping point for now, before the Gullwings head out for their next mission.

#mezzo's screenshot lps #final fantasy x-2

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thelostcatpodcast · 5 years

Text

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 3: EPISODE 06: DINOSAURS

SEASON 3: EPISODE 06: DINOSAURS Episode released 9th April 2017 http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-3-episode-6-dinosaurs

We are all just people, and no-one is perfect. We all make mistakes and no-one is blameless. But, above all things, absolutely no-one deserves to be eaten by a dinosaur.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST SEASON 3 BY A P CLARKE. EPISODE 6: DINOSAURS

The owners of the old museum were very mean people indeed. They were just horrible. Not so much that they deserved to be eaten by dinosaurs, of course, but they weren’t nice. One of the owners was a tall man who looked like he was made of matchsticks. And he was, if matchsticks were things you counted with, say, in a poker game without money. He totted up everything in terms of worth, including people, and fun, in order to cut them into little pieces to fit them into columns and rows, and he would never use money to play poker with. He had the look of being perpetually angry with the world, as its being a sphere prevented him from looking in its lower right corner. His name was Mr Gorps, and very much like a poker game with out money, he was entirely a waste of time. The other owner was a tornado of tumult which no order could survive contact with. She would loom in to a room, create crisis and disaster all about her, then move blithely on to the next, blaming everyone else for the wreckage that all now lay within. In fact the only thing separating her from highly destructive forces of nature is that tornados have a calm in their centre. Her name was Mrs Kaddaver, and she made the world in her image. They were mean to their staff, they were mean to their customers, their practices closed down other businesses around them. You’ll have worked for people like this. We’ve all worked for people like this. You know: them. They ran the old museum in a constant state of fear and panic and the only reason it remained open was that it had a dinosaur. And everybody likes dinosaurs. Dinosaurs are cool. It was the skeleton of one of those big, bipedal dinosaurs, and it loomed over you as you entered the grand hall at the front of the museum. It was posed with its jaws open and claws pointed towards the entrance for maximum impact. There were pictures and animated videos of the dinosaur in action, huge and lumbering and ponderous in its muscled solidity. And it was depicted in savage, heavy battle, or in blood-flecked roar, all teeth and flesh and eyes and scales and lizardy, leathery skin: a monster. It wasn’t subtle. And it didn’t have feathers. My friend and I had had conversations with Mrs Kaddaver about this. “Ridiculous!” she yelled. “It’s not a parakeet!” "We’re not saying that it is." "Look!" she continued, pointing at the skeleton “That’s not a bird is it! You don’t see any feathers on that!” "It’s a skeleton." “Next thing you’ll be telling me my budgie’s a ten ton savage monster!” “Well that’s kind of the point, you see dinosaurs were very social, agile animals.” “I’ll have none of this rot! I know what a dinosaur is! Ridiculous!” And so the dinosaur skeleton stayed snarling at the customers: vicious, heavy and featherless. And to be fair, I like my dinosaurs when they are savage monsters, but then I also like them when they are cute and a cartoon. You just think a museum might have more curiosity in its curation. Also, to be fair, geese are buggers, but I digress: The reason we were at the museum was because they were about to open a new dinosaur exhibition. It was a big secret that would be revealed at a very special and exclusive ceremony, for a premium ticket price of course. My friend wanted to see it and even said he would pay for it, so we went down for the grand reveal. We, the special few who had paid the premium ticket price all stood in front of the dinosaur within a special, roped off enclosure by the front doors, at the end of a cheap and poorly stuck down red carpet. A special curtain had been erected around the dinosaur’s feet, hiding whatever this new exhibit was. Mrs Kaddaver stood to its side, fussing with it. Mr Gorps stood to the side of the special enclosure, constantly looking around, checking things. "We are so proud," began Mrs Kaddaver. "To reveal a most extraordinary new exhibit. You are so honoured to be here at the unveiling." And she pulled on the string. "And here they are!" The curtain dropped, and nestled in a rather tangled thatch of twigs, were three large, mottled, eggs. The crowd were somewhat unmoved. “What?” said Mrs Kaddaver "It’s not very impressive, is it?" But Mr Gorps was looking smug. "They’re real," he said, with a worrying confidence. "Hey hold on," I said. "Where did you get those eggs from?" "Oh, a shop I found, on top of Hill Street, actually." "Oh? A curiosity shop?" "I believe it was that, yes." "What did they cost you?" "It was an acceptable transaction," was all that he would say, gruffly turning his head back to the exhibit. For one of hte eggs had started moving. And we all started looking then. The egg wobbled, and then it cracked. Then its top popped open and a baby dinosaur was inside. It squinted at the lights, yawned and then stood up. It was just under a foot tall, it was bipedal, obviously predatory, and absolutely covered in feathers – greys and blues and greens covered its body with the biggest forming a plume along its tail. It stretched, rather like a bird. "Ooooh noooo! This is no good!" cried Mrs Kaddaver. "That’s not a real dinosaur at all! Oh what am I going to do! What am I going to do!" And then she had an idea. You could tell as her whole face changed. "I know what to do!" And she grabbed the little baby dinosaur by the legs, turned it upside down, and started plucking its feathers out in great handfuls. And the little baby dinosaur squawked in distress. And then I saw Mr Gorps smile, and step away from the enclosure towards Mrs Kaddaver and the baby dinosaurs. “Keep going, girl, you’re doing a great job,” he said. More and more feathers were plucked ruthlessly out. More and more screeching came from the poor newly-born dinosaur. "Almost there," said Mr Gorps. And then a great shadow loomed over the entire hall of the museum, cast by something very big behind us. Mr Gorps looked up and the smile turned in to a grin. For walking up the steps and into the hall directly behind us in the enclosure was a massive dinosaur, huge of tooth and claw, bipedal, obviously predatory, and entirely covered in feathers. The baby dinosaur continued squawking and the adult dinosaur kept approaching. It paused as it reached the enclosure, and gave us a big sniff, perhaps wondering whether to pass up this perfectly gathered meal. "Now!" yelled Mr Gorps and he pressed a huge button on a remote control he had produced from a pocket. A huge cage made of reinforced glass fell down from the ceiling on to the enclosure, surrounding the giant dinosaur and us in transparent walls 20 feet high. It landed with a great whooom and sealed us in. “And there we have the real exhibit!” said Mr Gorps. “A fully grown, entirely alive dinosaur!” We banged on the glass with our hands as above us the dinosaur started banging on the glass with its head, testing it. “What are you doing?” we yelled at Mr Gorps. “Necessary for the plan!” he replied. “You understand!” And the dinosaur looked down at us, and then up at the roof of the museum, unobstructed as it was by any lid to the cage. Then it coiled itself down until its belly was touching the floor, and then leapt with some considerable agility on to the top of the lidless cage, where it perched, much like a bird, if a really, really big one. "You didn’t build a roof?" cried Mrs Kaddaver. "It added considerably to the cost!" replied Mr Gorps. "You said they were big lumbering creatures!" "Weellll," began Mrs Kaddaver. And then the dinosaur leapt down and landed, with some exquisite poise, on the other side of the glass, and it looked at the slowly hatching babies, it looked at Mr Gorps, holding the controller of the cage in his hand, and it looked at Mrs Kaddaver, who was holding the half plucked baby dinosaur in hers. Now no-one deserves to be eaten a dinosaur, not even people like Mr Gorps and Mrs Kaddaver. But I do not think the dinosaur was particularly thinking about what it deserved to eat, either. There was a delightful moment when all three looked at each other across the great hall, and then the dinosaur charged at them. Mrs Kaddaver dropped the baby dinosaur, and then they both ran. The dinosaur chased after them. The two museum owners ran around and around the great hall of their museum, being chased by a dinosaur. We, behind glass, could do absolutely nothing. “We really should try and do something,” said my friend. “We really, really should,” I agreed. But we couldn’t. The walls were designed to hold a very large, if not very agile, dinosaur. Bang as we might upon the walls, We were going nowhere. We could only watch. So we opened up the bottle we had brought with us, and we watched Mr Gorps and Mrs Kaddaver be chased up and down by a dinosaur, as we drank a large glass of wine.

Go down to the river, maybe she will forgive you Go down to the river, maybe she will forgive you Go down to the river, maybe she will forgive you But I can not forgive you for the things that you have done I can not forgive you for the things that you have done

Go up to the mansion, maybe your father is answering Go up to the mansion, maybe your father is answering Go up to the mansion, maybe your father is answering But I can not forgive you for the things that you have done I can not forgive you for the things that you have done

Shout it out in to the rain Whisper it in to a tree Cover it up in poetry But I can not forgive you for the things that you have done I can not forgive you for the things that you have done

Mr Gorps and Mrs Kaddaver were hiding behind a column, and the dinosaur, temporarily losing them, came to a rest. Its feathers settled down and the pattern of grey, green and blue feathers looked, for all the world, like a rain-soaked building. “Well I never,” said my friend. Then Mrs Kaddaver’s face changed. She must have had an idea. “Let’s run for the office,” she said. “We’ll never make it,” said a visibly exhausted Mr Gorps. “Every time it looks this way, just stand still. Everybody knows they can’t see you if you stand still.” “Really?” “Dinosaur vision is based on movement. Didn’t you know that?” "Yes. Yes of course I did." And, while the dinosaur was looking away from them, they ran for the office. The dinosaur turned back their way, and they froze, standing still in the centre of the hall. The dinosaur cocked its head, and looked about the area carefully. It took a step closer. Out of the corner of his mouth, Mr Gorps said “I’m not sure this is working Mrs Kaddaver... Mrs Kaddaver?” But she was already twenty feet away, scarpering off towards the back stairs, leaving him alone in the hall with the dinosaur. “Oh,” he said. He turned to run, and the dinosaur picked him up by the leg and swung him around. We, behind the glass, watched. As the dinosaur swung him around its giant jaw closed with a powerful crunch and severed Mr Gorps' leg right up near the thigh. The rest of Mr Gorps flew through the air and bounced off the inside of the glass cage, falling down in a heap near our feet. It showed impressive aim. Then the dinosaur chewed and chewed at the leg until all the meat was off and it spat the sinewy bones in to the cage too, landing on the crumpled body of Mr Gorps. Then the dinosaur turned around and headed up the back stairs. We rushed over to Mr Gorps and tried to help him. It was, after all, the right thing to do. He was conscious, and trying to get himself up. Using some of the enclosure rope, we created a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. He managed to stand up by leaning on the glass walls. We looked around for something he could use as a crutch or a walking stick. But the only suitable thing we could find in Mr Gorps’ cage, was his now-stripped leg bones. So we strapped them together into a walking stick and handed it to Mr Gorps. He took it, rather testily, and then wobbled forwards on what I guess you would describe as his legs. “Where is the beastie now?” “We think it went up the back stairs for Mrs Kaddaver.” “Well, I hope she’s tasty,” he said, a touch cruelly, I felt. “Come on.” For he was already looking over at the nest of eggs, which had all hatched out into tiny feathered dinosaurs, all finding their feet on the smooth marble flooring. He pulled out the remote from his pocket and lifted the cage. We quickly got out from under it. Then Mr Gorps approached the baby dinosaurs, hopping on his attached leg while holding out his other one, stripped bare of meat but still with plenty of stringy sinew and the like on it, towards the babies. The babies looked up, sniffing the air, and got very interested. “That’s right, that’s right,” said Mr Gorps. “Just a small change of plans, and this will still work out fine!” As the baby dinosaurs started approaching , Mr Gorps hopped backwards, luring them back under the cage. “And with less people to share the profits with, I can still come out ahead!” We stood way off to the side for this. But it was working. The babies were now underneath the cage. Mr Gorps said “A-ha!”, pressed the button on the remote and hopped back one more time. But his foot landed on the cheap and poorly attached red carpet, which slipped out from under him and he fell to the ground as the glass cage fell down around them. Now the falling cage did not crush him – that would have been awful - but the remote, sadly, was crushed, leaving himself and the baby dinosaurs inside. “Ooh dear,” he said. They approached him, as he tried to wave them away with his leg. "We really should do something," I said. "Yes, we really, really should," my friend agreed. We smashed on the glass with chairs and the like, but not even a crack appeared in the glass. So, to be absolutely clear once again, there was nothing we could do but watch as the baby dinosaurs leapt up on to the fallen Mr Gorps and began to bite. They were not very large yet and so nip, nip, nip, Mr Gorps died by a thousand tiny cuts as he was eaten by dinosaurs. “Ah good, he got them locked up,” was all Mrs Kaddaver said, as she returned to the hall, struggling to carry a huge bag of something. “Think its a bird, does it? Well I know what to do with birds.” She upended the bag and an immense pile of white effervescent tablets, usually used for indigestion relief, fell to the floor. “Birds can’t can’t evacuate their bowels the way we can, and so the released gas from the pills can’t escape and they explode!” she said, looking very smug indeed. “Everybody knows that.” My friend began to point something out, but I gently raised my hand to him, and ushered him, quietly, further in to the shadows. “There’s nothing we can do,” I said. And the great dinosaur appeared at the far side of the hall and pounded towards Mrs Kaddaver, as she lay a very large steak on top of the pile of effervescent tablets. “So you think you’re a bird, do you? Well I bet you’ve got a bird brain!” And she looked around, to see if anyone got her joke. The dinosaur slowly approached. We walked back further to the side of the hall, where we discovered the tied off ropes that held the glass cage by means of pulleys, which was interesting. Mrs Kaddaver stood, feet wide and arms defiantly wide, as the dinosaur stood in front of her. The dinosaur sniffed at the steak and, being a dinosaur, ate the whole pile, meat and effervescent pills in one. “Gotcha!” she cried. And the dinosaur wobbled on its feet. It started pacing about uncertainly, as if in some discomfort. As much as a dinosaur’s face could emote, it looked distressed. Mrs Kaddaver, for her part, looked immensely smug. Then the dinosaur's legs seemed to give out, and its head dropped low, almost to the floor, directly in front of the triumphant Mrs Kaddaver. It opened its mouth... And let out an enormous burp, right in her face, a massive belch that got rid of all the built up gas, along with a great deal of whatever was in its stomach. And she was covered in phlegm, and bits of Mr Gorps. The dinosaur stood up, shaking it out, and towering over Mrs Kaddaver. And she started flapping her arms. "Oh no!" she cried. "This isn’t right!" And the dinosaur’s mouth came down and swallowed Mrs Kaddaver, head first. Her arms continued to flap about as it held her in its mouth. And it lifted her off her feet as it reared up, so her arms and her legs flapped about. Then it slammed its jaw shut, some of her limbs fell to the floor, as the rest of her went down its throat. And Mrs Kaddaver was eaten by dinosaurs. And when she was finally gone, the dinosaur looked around for the babies, opened its mouth and honked like a bird, if a really big one, as it called their kids to them. But the babies were stuck on the other side of the glass, along with most of what was left of Mr Gorps. The dinosaurs honked at each other, like differently sized birds. We ran up to the next level of the hall and we pulled at the ropes and pulleys that controlled the cage, and slowly managed to pull the cage up high enough for the baby dinosaurs to get out. They honked quietly to each other, and then the dinosaurs walked out of the museum and off in to the night time city. And that was that, we went home.

And as we walked home, finishing off the last of our wine, my friend looked wistfully up at the stars and said: “Dinosaurs.”

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

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