#honestly the like. fear mongering on there is so so strange...

[bucknastysbabe]

A day in the life of ✨Ser Criston Crispin Cole✨

The bestest kingsguard to ever and he doesn’t break vows or kill innocent people but has trauma and ptsd and a big throbbing ahem

Rating: Everyone

Tags: this is silly goofy, I even made some visuals, Criston rounds up the Targtowers, I finally gave a name to Aemond’s twin, Aemond’s irrational fears, Incel Knight has Issues, Aegon being a creature per usual.

Tagging some fools: @aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen @fairysluna @arcielee @bambitas (ur man is trying)

“You what?,” he echoed to Aegon, laid out in the streets of Flea Bottom. While Aegon did appear as a piece of scud needing to be scraped off the cobblestone— Ser Criston gleamed in his armor and white cloak. White horse too. White horse armor. Totally not to overcompensate for anything like oath breaking and other heathenry.

The scud with blonde hair rasped, “I fucked an Ibbenese whore, she was a sight! You should’ve seen her hair, the bush, I needed a Dragonkeeper.” Criston held up his hand to silence the fool, growing disgusted. The prince laughed before vomiting right on the kingshorse’ lacquered hooves.

Ser Cole stared blankly, dreaming of nasty, awful things. That may include something along the lines of murder. Again. He didn’t mean to, okay? Criston got off the equine and kicked Aegon once for good measure. The idiot squawked, “Ow, fuck, I just emptied my guts! Hold on!”

The Dornishman ignored his prince’s whining and slung the wannabe jester up onto the hind of the horse. He sighed in annoyance, climbing back upon the destrier and riding back towards the keep. Aegon started up with a hoarse laugh. He rasped, “Y’know a little hair doesn’t hurt anyone Cole, I know you prefer yours on the Valyrian- CRISTONNNN!”

Criston smirked a bit having reached back and backhanding the Prince. Lovely Alicent granted him ‘any means possible’. Which mean he got to slap around Aegon for fun. It was quite a stress-reliever, truly. The eldest prince continued, “I’m still the prince you can’t just,” then again he was smacked in quick succession, “FUCKING QUIIIITTTT!!”

Ser Cole held back a chuckle at Aegon’s sniveling. They reached the keep now, Criston hauling the heir inside. Aegon whined, “Jus’ take me to my room you beast!” The brunette sighed, “No can do, you smell like the inside of a whaling barge. Since you enjoy fucking Ibbenese.”

“Don’t knock it til’ you try it,” the prince grumbled.

He was swiftly deposited into the baths. Criston felt he need to change his clothing now, the filth of Aegon smeared all over his clothes, horse, and soul. Yuck. He could die, honestly. Really wanted to awhile back but Alicent took pity and so forth.

The man ran a hand through his hair. He needed to go to the rookery now. Criston maintained a long-standing chat with the youngest prince, Daeron. The boy seemed to be relatively ‘normal’ compared to the rest of the Hightower Dragon breed. Smart, valiant, knowledgeable, lacking that murderous instinct and eternal burning fire of hatred that Criston and Aemond shared. The kid was off to a good start already.

Criston looked through the plethora of ravens once he arrived, shoving off the Maester trying to help. He knew their raven— it had a strange white feather on the left wing. He smiled when he spotted the feather in question, cheering, “Aha, told you.” The Maester grumbled under his breath. Criston ignored it.

But the Maester did say in case the reader was curious: “Oathbreaking dornish viper curly haired pretty face bitch monger of marcher spawn.”

Meanwhile the Kingsguard unrolled the little letter and read with a soft curl of his lips.

“Dear Ser Criston,

I hope to be able to see you at the next tourney, I heard about you rendering Breakbones to Brokenbones! How amazing your skills are. I hope to be as good as a jouster and knight as you one day….blah blah blah

I hate to ask this but the question has been at my mind. Mother may have got very intoxicated her on her visit with Gwayne and I a fortnight ago now? She may have slipped in a rant of anger? Not at you though. But I must inquire, family to family, I consider you Ser as family. Even if we have never met!

Did you actually bed Rh—nyr-?

No need to answer if I have offended, have a splendid day good Ser! xoxo Prince Daeron Targaryen.”

Criston’s smile slipped into a frown. He gazed blankly into the mid-distance. Then stepped towards the nearest opening.

He stepped back and sighed. That felt better. He turned to the Maester scattered on the floor, apologizing. Criston tried to hold a hand out for help but the little man hissed, “You have problems Ser! I do not need those demons that haunt you!”

Well. The prick wasn’t wrong. Criston had other things to tend to. He probably should go see Helaena and the children now. The white knight was a busy sort and not even Lord Commander! He could draw pride from that, standing a little taller after the blow in the letter.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played on the floor with a handmaiden. Criston took a moment to pause. Aegon must’ve named the children. Why didn’t he get somewhat creative? He paused again. Helaena would’ve likely named the twins Spider and Spiderette so he’d just move on now, yep, nothing new with the Hightower Targaryens.

He looked at the handmaiden and inquired, “Where is the princess?”

She pointed to the opened door to the balcony. Criston sighed and walked out there to see her leaning precariously over the sides. His eyes widened and he ran over to yank her back. Helaena shrieked and yelped, “Do not move your feet! Don’t!” She still was in his arms, legs jerked up as she frantically looked around.

Criston stayed still, out of fear of whatever bug or creature’s life. If he were to accidentally squish it— oh gods the girl would be bedridden for a week. Helaena whispered, “You messed me up! I almost had her!” The knight replied drily, “Had who, my princess?” The princess went on to ramble about some sort of Summer Isles beetle.

Criston just stood like an idiot until there was a creeping on his neck. He hissed urgently, “I believe you should check my nape for your creature!”

Wide eyes stared. “Your what?”

“The fucking beetle is crawling on me! I do not wish to die a violent death princess!”

“Oh!”

The legs on his neck were removed and Helaena cradled a fierce looking orange beetle. Criston lowered her gently down, backing away. She chirped, “That would’ve hurt worse than three arrows sticking out of your head.” Criston shivered as blank eyes flicked up at him before back down to her pet. Now he was fit to ruin his breeches. Helaena sometimes scared him witless.

“Thanks Ser Cole, you did end up helping. The children are alright if that’s what you inquire,” she murmured while walking inside, him following her indoors. Criston nodded, still feeling strange. The princess smiled, “I need to return this beauty to her enclosure, thank you!”

He might have walked a little faster than what was reasonable out there. The arrows comment worried him more than the time she told Criston he should beware a ball of Butchers. He had no clue what the hell she meant but whatever! The dornishman would like to die without arrows or anything like a ball of butchers but that was up to the gods.

He sighed and decided to head to his quarters to rest a moment— he rarely received any these days. Criston wearily plodded to his cot and flopped down, just closing his eyes a bit.

SER CRISTON WAKE THE HELLS UP!

Criston sat upright, swinging at whatever was yelling at him, eloquently replying, “Baahmnnfhgh!” He stopped swinging when Aemond’s twin Valaerys cursed, “I’m not the damn villian, come with me!” She held out a gloved hand and he let the younger princess lead him out of the White Sword tower at a breakneck pace.

“Val, what is exactly the matter here, why are we running!”

She hollered over her shoulder, “Aemond is about to take off on his beast because he got a letter!”

“A letter? That’s silly!”

They took the hidden stairs down to the beaches. Val, Criston’s reluctant favorite, elaborated, “A letter from the bastards, asking about his fear of birds, and they may have put a dead bird in a package? I don’t know he was yelling and squawking all over the place!”

The knight exhaled sharply. He gets good sleep for once and it’s expended on the second son getting his feelings hurt. Well. Cole did kill a man for reminding him of his own hurt feelings. But that’s beside the point, he was sad okay? He felt like a dirty whore that night. No one needs to be the dirty whore!

“Okay, so Aemond’s supersized ego has been punctured because the bastards are aware of his fear of birds? Are you being serious Val?”

She stopped him dead in his tracks and hissed, “When am I not serious Cole? Really? Come on.”

Criston tried to hold back an erection. She was a force when angry. Alas, Valaerys was too young, too outside of his OATH, too hot in a pair of leather leggings- oh Godsdammit. He blinked the thoughts away and followed her to the beach head.

They stopped in their tracks to watch the second son holler at the sea, long blonde hair flipping to and fro. Criston and Val shared a look, watching the scene unfold of Aemond practically hopping in anger, hands fisted.

Criston recognized too much of himself in the angry lad. He hollered, “Quit yelling and come over here!” Aemond stopped throwing his fists and turned sharply. He hissed, “This has nothing to do with you two!”

Criston crossed his arms and replied, “Yes it does, your angry actions could affect the King’s health. I am the Kingsguard and therefore need you to come over here.” Val added on, “And you look like a crazed lunatic yelling at the ocean. Reminds me of the time Uncle Daemon got banished. Again. Rolling in the ocean weeping and such.” Criston grimaced at the thought of the melodramatic Prince, perverted freak.

Okay maybe he was one too but he slipped up once! Stop judging him!

Aemond huffed and stomped over, thin lips turned down as he glared. His lanky arms were firmly crossed over his chest. The prince managed, “I’m not afraid of birds. They’re fucking with me. I need to shame them and their puny dragons.”

Criston clasped a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, sighing, “You are afraid of birds, it’s alright son. But don’t go on the beast to burn Dragonstone, you’d be a bit outnumbered. Besides you’re much better a sword fighter and leader than those mongrels.” Valaerys nodded in agreement, braids bouncing.

Aemond took a look at the ocean and back to Criston, scoffing, “You’re right, I shouldn’t lower myself to childish antics. Oh and Cole, don’t move please. I think she smelt Dornish.”

Criston stiffened up suddenly. When did he not notice the looming figure and hot breath flapping his hair and cloak around. Val stifled a giggle, merlot eyes flashing. Vhagar’s big old ass was right behind him, ready for some scorched dornishman. Criston whispered angrily, “Get your damn dragon Aemond! That thing still thinks we’re in a war and you’re Visenya minus an eye!”

Aemond scoffed indignantly, “Vhagar is much smarter than that! She chose me!,” the blonde grumbled, “She does probably smell Dornish. Apologies Cole.”

Val snickered again before jolting upright when Vhagar made a particularly hungry noise. Aemond hollered at the thing in High Valyrian, waving his arms and pointing back to her spot carved on the beach. Criston shivered, eyes darting to the dragon and back to the princess.

The dragon snarled and huffed, Criston wincing before he heard heavy footfalls and the dragging of her tail. Vhagar was leaving the trio alone. The white knight swore on the Seven he would NEVER be that close to that BEAST ever AGAIN.

Aemond smiled, “There we are, didn’t need the help but here we are. Good night Ser Criston, night my sweet hell bitch sister.” Val rolled her eyes and made a bird noise, flapping her arms at the man. Aemond sniffed and hustled away, a certain stiffness to his posture. He’d go do…whatever Aemond did in his spare time.

Criston let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sagged. He looked at Val’s amused expression and mumbled, “You got any problems?” She procured a wine-skin from under her dark cloak and hummed, “Some wine that needs to be emptied. Let’s get out of here before Vhagar decides to have a Dornish snack. I don’t think I have the skill to play Rhaenys.”

He shot back as they entered to tunnels, “You’re much too mean to play her. Anyways what’s the vintage?”

“Dornish Sangria, what else would you think,” she said, raising a sharp brow. Criston eyed Valaerys and praised the princess, “See, this is why you’re my favorite. Don’t have to deal with nonsense. I almost threw up on Aegon. Horrid.”

“Do tell me all about your wonderful day, probably more interesting than mine good Ser.”

They sat on a ledge, far away from Vhagar, and shared the wineskin. Criston felt okay with his day, nothing much but honest work. Somewhat. One can never be fully honest in the Red Keep. He took a sip and the corners of his lips turned up.

#hotd fanfic #criston cole x reader but its not developed yet #Ser Criston Cole #coles day in the life #daeron targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #hightower targs #cringefails here there and everywhere

[todayinmagicalgirlhistory]

i saw another ask you got asking about your expectations vs reality with astral travel and i was wondering the same except with your experience with faeries?

i guess the biggest thing is that i hadn't really been planning to work with faeries to begin with? then it just sort of happened without my meaning to and fast forward to 2023, here i am

the sight runs on one side the family so interactions with the other side and the good neighbors weren't really strange. usual tricks like hiding the remote or calling my name so i'd go ask my mom what she wanted with her swearing she never called me. or even spookier were the times she wasn't in the house at all. then there was a time that both my and my youngest brother were both being tormented by some entities in the house until mom2 handled it when i was in my junior year of high school i think?

then i just forced myself to not notice these things that by the time i started looking into witchcraft and seeing so many branches of it, that it didn't really cross my mind to pursue hedge witchery of faerie witchcraft

back then the idea of potentially getting lost in the astral and never finding my way back seemed scary. and there was a LOT of fear mongering about avoiding the fae entirely that it made me decide not to

but somehow i got pulled into working with spirits anyway, i can't really remember how it happened it just did. from there, so did a desire to astral once i started reading stories of people's adventures about it. then came the research about faeries, more in-depth this time and looking back on some old experiences with new eyes

some were fae, some were definitely ghosts and i went back and even read about how some of my fav entities in folklore were faeries too. so outside of perusing folklore wiki articles and books were looking at the fae witch tags of tumblr and learning about other people's experiences

that pretty much kickstarted my desire to actually want to work with faeries even though i made no move to do anything beyond research. i pretty much wanted to be 100% down on etiquette and faerie species before doing that since i was worried about pissing something off

i've always been interested in fae like selkies, banshee and dullahan but it strangely never crossed my mind in the research phase to pursue working with them. it was just a desire, i think i thought my first experience with fae work would be with brownies since i'd been told as far as introductory interactions with faeries that was something pretty name and recommended by other fae workers. same with flower pixies. and i'd overall been told that working with seelie fae was the better option since unseelie fae could be quite hostile

before that i think i was imagining that my experience with the folk would be more... transactional? i'd leave offerings, they'd help with spells here and there and occasionally i'd see some signs of fae activity in my home. something along those lines since it sounded similar to what everyone else was going through, then again it could be that that was all of their practice they were sharing

i wasn't expecting the intimate relationship i'd have with the folk i became so close to either. everyone's relationship with the faeries they know are different, special and unique to them. the deeper you go into it, the more that's true. i've also found when it comes to such intimate fae work where you're actually learning and conversing with these folk that you slowly become aware of what is and isn't okay to share even without them saying anything

so i can understand now why certain things about faeries you might find online sound so similar when looking at fae work experiences. you can't always share the more intimate details about your practice

i guess i also thought that my work with fae would be more general to my neighborhood? i've interacted with local fae like the hair toucher, even met one of her friend's a small pixie that was from the lake court. but honestly the large bulk of my interactions with fae come down to selkies, banshee and dullahan

my first experience with faeries wasn't anything concerning house fae or floral fae though, it was selkies. i won't go into all the details about how i met the pod i worked with but because of the unique way we became acquainted, we're more akin to a familial bond than anything else. like i said previously, selkies are pretty family-oriented, once you're in you're in

there's nothing transactional about that sort of relationship. i was always fascinated with selkies, like i said, so when the realization crossed that i could interact with them if i wanted to try i was still pretty much at a stump. gotta say so that rather than going out to find selkies, selkies found me- by accident. but a happy accident

and while i can't really go into the specifics of it, the relationship i have with death fae is quite unique. i've never been scared of banshee or dullahan. but like with selkies i wasn't really sure how to interact with them or show i was interested in working with them besides a one off conversation i had with a banshee back in 2018 thanks to a spirit friend of mine introducing us

it wasn't until i connected with the morrigan, my goddess, that i started seeing an increase of death fae in my life, acting as a sort of gateway into learning more about them and getting to interact with them. learning more about death magic and seeing the cycle of life and death through their eyes

#magical girl answers #anon #faerie witch #faerie witchcraft #astral travel #black witches of tumblr

[jdtrashman]

Febhyurary Prompt 4: Food

"I'm hungry."

Allie was in the middle of sharpening Shadowbringer when Ryne's words reached her ears. They were all in the Ocular, waiting for G'raha, Ophianne, and Beloch to return from some business the Exarch had to take care of in town. She wasn't her mother, she had no business stepping in, yet she...wanted to.

Thancred stood up from inspecting his cartridges. "Alright, I'll see what I can whip up."

SHINK

Thancred perked up towards Allie as she stabbed Shadowbringer into the ground to get his attention. "You have reservations, I take it?"

"After sampling your bread," Allie said, moving to undo the straps of her breastplate. "I find myself with reservations, yes, with letting a Sharlayan anywhere near a kitchen. Especially when a child is involved."

"I'm 17," interjected Ryne with a pout.

"And I'm old enough to drink, what's your point?"

"So what, you mean to bar me from the kitchen?" Thancred shot back, crossing his arms.

"Until Ophianne gets back yes." Allie set her breastplate down against Shadowbringer and tied her hair back into a ponytail. "In the meantime, I will cook for Ryne."

"You can cook?" asked Ryne and her father simultaneously, one with curiosity, the other with disbelief. The others had looked up from what they were doing to watch the exchange by now. Urianger reading Alisae's fortune, Alphinaud quietly reading with Zana - words Allie never thought she would ever find strung together like that - and Q'ihnn talking with Y'shtola.

In short, almost all of her friends' eyes were upon her, and Allie just knew her face had gone as red as her hair. thank the twelve Beloch isn't here... if her fiance had been there for this declaration, Allie would surely have leapt from the nearest balcony. "Is that so strange?"

"Yes" replied everyone in the room.

Now it was Allie's turn to pout. "ya know what, never mind, if you're gonna be like that." She went to turn away, but Ryne caught her hand before she could.

"No! I'm sorry. Please, I would love for you to cook me something." Ryne looked up at her with those big fucking eyes. God, how did she even do that??? It's like they inflate.

"Glad to hear it," Allie said with a smile. "Now, sit tight kid, I'll be right back."

One Hour Later...

"And she returns," Thancred said as Allie opened the door with her back, her arms laden with plates of food. "have trouble finding the kitchen?"

"No! ....yes," Allie replied sheepishly.

Q'ihnn chuckled before helping her with the dishes, bringing them to a table that had appeared in the middle of the room. Whatever the occupant of the Ocular needed, the Ocular had a way of providing. 'This smells delicious," Q'ihnn said, taking a nice long sniff of the curry on his plate. "You cooked for all of us?"

Allie sheepishly rubbed the back of her head. "Well I mean, might as well, ya know?" She took her place at the end of the table with her food, and watched as her friends ate. She watched, and wondered why it had taken her so long to show them that she could cook. Honestly, such a small thing, being able to cook. Why had she always been so hesitant to let them in on even that? Well, she knew why, actually. Gods help her, she knew why. "I haven't cooked for anyone since...since my family."

"You cooked for your father?" asked Thancred. "and your brothers? You, cooking for a household of six?"

"My people were oppressed, Thancred, not perfect. But, yes, I did. And...I actually really enjoyed it." Her eyes fell on Ryne as she ate. Her opinion, to be honest, mattered the most to her. Ryne only knew her as the warrior of darkness. Not "the madwoman of Cronera", "Shepard of the All-Black" or any of the other fear-mongering names the Garleans gave her. She just saw a hero. Maybe that's why...

Ryne looked up from her first bite, smiling the same way her little brother would when he had her cooking. "It's delicious!" she said.

And like that, a small, barely noticeable part of her sprung back to life, like a plant finally getting the water it needed. It didn't mend anything. But something once dead, however small, was alive again.

And Allie smiled, and set to her own food.

#febhyurary prompt #ffxiv oc prompt #allienea shepard #ffxiv #final fantasy 14

[lookwhatilost]

june laporta, shoe0nhead, the youtuber who makes that “hell world” series where she goes over strange headlines seems like she’s always getting into some sort of trouble over on the bird website. she got big on the “sjw cringe” era of youtube, but she’s moved leftwards over the years. and she’s presently in this weird ideological space where she’ll support politicians like sanders or fetterman, but it coexists with some other stuff like her using terms like “egalitarian” over “feminist” or epstein posting, which means you need to be much more aggressive in moderating your space because right wingers find the more conspiratorial stuff appealing, which she doesn’t strike me as discerning enough to do. even though the epstein stuff was not a fever dream, the right has a habit of being the most loud about it because they use it as this kind of factual cudgel to justify all kinds of other speculations, because a figure like epstein fits the bill for other, less-grounded things they spend a lot of time narrativizing about. i honestly don’t have strong feelings about her other than i don’t think she’s responsible or, frankly, smart enough to have the audience size she does.

the current PR hurricane she’s riding out is this tweet from sunday criticizing an admittedly very Off balenciaga shoot with kids and... bondage teddy bears? is this really necessary? ... and one of other the promotional images has a printout of an overview of the us v williams supreme court decision, which had been going around on the ~conspiracy zoomer~ side of tiktok over the weekend. she’s getting criticism for posting this so soon after the colorado springs shooting, which is fair. i also do think how discussing anything related to child sexual abuse during a political climate of accusations like this being thrown around frivolously by the right wing to get as much trans-exterminatory legislation on the books as possible is a legitimately complicated ethical problem. what do you do begin with something that’s both frequently brought up manipulatively, but a true matter of public concern when it does happen?

my thing about the photos: i don’t buy anything suggesting a balenciaga cabal, but i also do think whoever was contracted to take those photos put it there on purpose, either for the purposes of outrage marketing, or because they’re a sex pest and these types have an extremely creepy habit of putting like... sex pest easter eggs into their creative output. dan scheinder specifically has a habit of being so shameless about this stuff. i have this pet theory is that people who have the specific kind of personality defect where they find consent violations arousing in principle do their deranged sex pest easter egg thing as an extension of this but. yknow. it’s 3 in the morning and this post is already way too long.

but running with the dan schneider example, imagine an alternate world where this somehow never got press coverage, and you, an investigative reporter in 2022, collected bombshell testimonials from the child actors who used to work under him, and were about to break this story for the first time. how the hell would you do this responsibly? the story has nothing to do with anything remotely lgbt-related, but people who have built their media careers off fear-mongering about child abuse as a supporting argument for political outcomes you don’t endorse at all. you can denounce it, but i don’t know if there’s a way to discuss this without it being warped into conspiratorial fodder. this has been a problem for a long time, but it’s so bad now. do you just not run the story? what about the moral implications of that?

i think people dumb down how messy this is because laporta is an easy figure to dislike, and seems incapable of understanding that her conduct can and often does produce results she doesn’t want, but this would still be a doozy even if she deleted her profile tomorrow.

[maggot-monger]

God where to start. The alt rock opening theme. He just wanders around (California?) killing cougars. The foreshadowing that the devil is a cougar. The pure satanic panic of it all, video games stealing souls run by evil cults, only the devil fiddles with fortune telling, the devil’s lettuce, the ambiguity of whether Jake’s mentally ill or the spawn of Satan. “But he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person.” Cloth mommy Satan the hermaphrodite! Who is also the angelic nurse dream girl heroine counterpart to Jake’s brooding regal antihero. Every scene with Marisol is so Freudian, down to nearly eating a finger with the wedding ring still on it. It’s pure corn for most of the movie and yet it makes strangely good points seventeen years on about vanlife geeks using the internet to spread destructive influence. Was it evangelist fear mongering circa 2005? Satire? Accidental?? How had you not seen this before?? And

kjhghjk how HAD i not seen it before!!! i had never even heard of it and yet it gave me several things i want for sam supernatural lmao but also what the good hell was that anon!!! WHY was it a satanic panic movie that was not a nostalgia flic in 2005?? like that is not a complaint or even real confusion i guess, i totally Get why it would be fearmongering about the things it was obsessed with but also like ?? fascinating choice. his whole Journey with trying to figure out what is real is legitimately really fun and yeah i fully agree that the movie did make some actually good points about that + the reality warping experience of getting In Too Deep with not-real shit. it was so unhinged and perplexing in ways that were played SO straight (i really respect that though honestly, i love wondering if someone was earnest or just really good at faking being earnest about their art...) 

anyway i will never look at cougars the same way again

#one of my middle schools had cougars as their mascot... #me remembering 6th grade like 'oh yeah cougars the oedipal satanic beast for sure for sure' #(if you can't tell if i liked the movie or not from this neither can i) #replies #anonymous

[kimabutch]

I’d love to talk about the relationship between Mechanisms songs and the (usually folk) tunes that they use for their melodies, because honestly there’s some super fun intertextuality there!

There are some that are more obvious, of course — like how Our Boy Jack uses the tune of Bella Ciao, an Italian protest song. 

Or how Gunpowder Tim vs. The Moon Kaiser pulls from a number of different army tunes to satirize patriotism and war-mongering (my favourite being the The Toy Soldier’s Song, which doesn’t just take the tune, but some of the lyrics from Over the Hills and Far Away, turning it instead to “out in the stars and far away.”) 

Or how Cinders’ Song changes “When I was just a little lad, or so my mother told me/ That if I didn't kiss the girls me lips would grow all mouldy” from Haul Away Joe to the far more sapphic: “When I was a little girl, my mother always told me/ ‘Someday your prince will come, my love’/ But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me.”

But then there are some that I wouldn’t have guessed until I researched the tunes! Like how Picardy, the tune for Sleeping Beauty, is most famously used for Christmas carols (especially Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence), which both makes Johnny’s violent verses even funnier and strangely fits the concept of life emerging from “the warmth and the darkness” in a sort of second birth. 

Or how Underworld Blues takes its tune from The Last Kind Words Blues, whose lyrics echo the fear of eternal painful life in the Acheron — “If I get killed, if I get killed, please don't bury my soul/ I prefer, just leave me out, let the buzzards eat me whole” — and of Orpheus, looking across the Styx for his Eurydice: “The Mississippi River, you know it's deep and wide/ I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side [...] I may not see you after I cross the deep blue sea.”

Or how The Holder of the GRAIL draws from The Rising of the Moon, a song about a failed 18th century Irish rebellion — but unlike the Mechs version, the folk song is from the perspective of the rebels, not the person in power. It ends, however, with the promise of ever more rebels to “follow in their footsteps,” which echoes the ending of the Mechs song: “behind my door they are still coming.” 

And I’m sure I’m missing a lot because I’m just a person who really likes folk music, not a historian by any means! But I just find it really cool how deep the Mech’s allusions to folklore go — not just playing with and commenting on traditional stories and mythology, but also folk songs. 

#the mechanisms #meta #my stuff #there are actually a few more that I know but that's all for now!

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hi, I don’t know if this is the right place for it… but could I ask for a history lesson of how new fans, especially minors, were received and integrated into the community in the past? I joined fandom at a young age (like “it would have been illegal for me to have an ao3 or tumblr account”-age) and spent the formative years of my youth there, learning about internet and fandom etiquette largely by observing and conversing with the older, especially the “old-old” aka 30-40+ fans who had (fh-1)

life experience. Because of this I’m watching the development in which “minors dni!!!” spreads more and more with a bit of worry, as I always think, “Well, if those older, reasonable fans don’t teach them the ropes, then who will?” (I have my suspicions but I digress.) However, my experience is rather unique as it happened on the most popular but still comparatively small fanfiction site in my native language, I only joined the wider “English”/”international” community rather recently. When(fh-2

strikethrough and the like happened I didn’t even speak a lick of English. So I wanted to learn how it was back then in what is, as far as I know, considered the “good old days” of fandom, how was the relationship between fans of different age and how were minors in fandom treated (or did they perhaps not exist back then because internet was still a rarity??)? I'd be really happy about remembrances. :) (fh-3/end)

---

I got into online fandom when I was in my early 20s, so I can’t speak from personal experience on the youth side of things. However, I’ve always been happy to chat with my fellow fans whatever their ages. This blog would probably be a lot smaller if I told teenagers not to interact with it, and I also think those teens would have a lot more questions and no one they could ask them to without blogs like this one or adults like me who are willing to talk. 

I started seeing the division in ages cropping up maybe 5ish years ago? It was a completely strange concept to me, and I still don’t understand it. It also feels like a concept very much rooted in a particular kind of American Christianity. The same people who scare-monger over smutty stories also create fear that any adult who talks to someone under the age of 18 is doing so for predatory purposes. This in turn leads to adults asking younger fans not to talk to them. They don’t want to be labelled as predators by that same group. 

I honestly don’t know how young fans are learning how to interact in fandom spaces right now. Like you, I worry about them and hope that they’re getting the support that they need - but I can tell from some of the asks that I get and some of the reblogs I see on my posts that they really aren’t. 

Fellow fandom olds, how did you get involved in fandom communities. Fandom youngs, who do you turn to when you need help?

#asks and answers #Anonymous

[deejadabbles]

Yu-gi-oh x Avatar:TLA

Been re-watching Avatar the past week and when I searched for it I legit couldn’t find, like, any Yugioh Duel Monster x Avatar The Last Airbender content??? I mean the search feature sucks here so maybe I’m just not seeing it, but, now I have a mighty need for this cross over, so I guess I’ll do it myself! (if anyone knows any other posts about this though please link me to them!)

So first off, Yugi is the Avatar

I don’t care if most think Yami is the main protag it just makes sense to me that Yugi is the Avatar

Much like Aang, Yugi is an airbender, but instead of being raised by a group of monks he was actually raised by his nomadic grandfather, who is also an airbender.

Yugi is basically what everyone thinks of when they think of the stereotypical airbender, he’s intelligent, prefers pacifism, would give a stranger the shirt off his back, fun loving and worldly due to his travels, etc.

On the other hand Grandpa, while kind and not prone to violence, isn’t exactly a “monkly” airbender. He’s way too familiar with gambling halls, tomb raiding, pirating, and pretty much every other seedy side of the different nations you can think of. 

While grandpa definitely toned down those..*ahem* less than virtuous adventures when he started raising Yugi, he did not shield Yugi from these things during their travels. Yugi's safety was always his priority, but he also knew it was important for Yugi to learn to take care of himself if he was going to travel the world.

Plus, I mean, when Yugi beat a pirate captain at pai sho at age 12, and won them an ancient water tribe artifact, grandpa knew his bright young airbender could handle his own.

Oh also, Yugi’s flying bison is a brown fluff-ball named Kuriboh. Kuriboh was the runt of his littler, much smaller than most male bison, but that didn’t stop Yugi from bonding with him almost immediately when they met near the air temple (in fact if probably helped them bond more), and the two are now inseparable <3

Grandpa took Yugi against the wishes of the council in charge of the Avatar. The council wanted to shelter Yugi and deprive him of a normal life (much like the monks wanted to with Aang), but grandpa basically said “F all of you” and took Yugi with him so he could have a fun, free life away from all that...at least for awhile.

When Yugi turned 16 the council tracked the boys down, finally told Yugi he’s the Avatar, and demanded he come with them to finish his airbending training and start learning the other elements.

Yugi was honestly, understandably, pretty devastated, his whole life was being stolen from him in the blink of an eye, but, he’s also heard tales of how important the Avatar is for the world and how people would suffer without the avatar, and he couldn’t handle the idea of letting the world down.

Yugi whet with the council, unknowing of that was about to come.

Okay so for Atem I have two possibilities for his role in this AU that I really like, so I’ll just list them both:

#1 is that Atem was the Avatar before Yugi, born as the son of Fire Lord Aknamkanon. 

He grew up in the lap of luxury, but never took it for granted thanks to his father, the most peaceful Fire Lord the nation had seen in a long time. 

His father dedicated his life to improving relations with the other nations and maintaining peace.

Atem’s uncle, Aknadin on the other hand, was an authoritarian jerk-wad, who thought Fire Lord Aknamkanon weak and unfit to rule the Fire Nation.

You can see where I’m going with this. Aknadin hatched a plan to assassinate both Aknamkanon and Atem, and put himself on the throne, using the death’s of the Fire Lord and Prince as cause for war.

What he did not count on though, was Atem being the Avatar. 

Atem didn’t even know he was the Avatar at this point, they were going to wait until he was 16 to tell him, like most Avatars. Atem had no idea he could bend other elements besides fire, let alone realize he had the power of the Avatar spirit. 

Even still, when Atem was attacked by his uncle’s assassins, and he was on the verge of dying, his Avatar sate kicked in.

Well, not quite. It began to kick in just before Atem was overpowered by the assassins, but not quick enough to save him. You know that whole thing about “if the avatar dies while in the avatar state, the avatar will cease to be”? Well, this was a strange In-Between.

The avatar cycle was not broken, since the avatar spirit wasn’t fully awoken, but now Atem’s soul, that incarnation of the avatar, is in a strange form of limbo.

 It was only 16 years later when the new avatar, Yugi, went into the avatar state for the first time, that his soul was finally brought out of limbo. Only now he and Yugi have a strange bond. Instead of residing somewhere deep inside Yugi’s soul like the other past avatars, Atem seems to be one with Yugi, able to commune with him like a constant companion, and even take over Yugi’s body in times of need.

In this version the new Fire Lord waited years to launch his war, gaining the trust of the other nation while slowly changing and manipulating the ideologies of his own people through propaganda and fear mongering.

Yugi fled the air temple when the firelord finally launched his attack on the air nomads in an effort to kill the new avatar, and during that tramtic ordeal is when Yugi went into the avatar state for the first time and awoke Atem’s soul. 

Now Atem’s main focus is helping train Yugi to save the world from Fire Lord Aknadin, who’s hell-bend on world domination.

 OR!

If the whole “Atem dying in a half avatar state that affected his soul” plot doesn’t work for you, I also think we could just simplify things and say that Atem is a Fire Bender dedicated to helping the avatar defeat the tyrant Fire Lord.

In this version Atem would still be a Fire Nation Prince, whose father was dedicated to peace. Only in this version Atem’s father died unexpectedly, and Atem was deemed too young to take the throne, so they put Uncle Aknadin on the throne in Atem’s place.

Atem watched for years while his uncle slowly, meticulously dismantled all of his father’s hard work for peace and was powerless to stop him. All Atem could do was train, improve his firebending, and hope that he could challenge his tyrant uncle to an agni kai for the throne someday.

During that time Atem also found it hard to hold onto his own morals, as his home was every-changing under it’s new Fire Lord, becoming more and more authoritarian and xenophobic. He became a bit harsher during that time, but deep down still held on to his core belief in peace and mercy that his father taught him.

So, when he found out that Aknadin was making plans to wipe out the Air Nomads, and thus, the new Avatar, Atem had to take action.

He fled the Fire Nation to warn the Air Nomads, and he did manage that, but it wasn’t enough to save everyone. Yugi was still too young to fight an army, or the Fire Lord, he hadn’t even begun to learn waterbending let alone anything else. So, when the Fire Lord’s soldiers attacked the temples, the monks insisted Yugi and Atem flee together, live to fight another day, and become strong enough to fight the Warmongering Fire Lord.

No matter which version of Atem we go with everything else stays virtually the same. In the version where Atem is just the spirit of the previous avatar and Yugi’s guide, the Fire Nation still attacked the Air Temples, hoping to kill the new Avatar, he just waited longer to do this, accumulating support and maybe even some alliances with other nations.  But either way, Yugi escapes (after a LOT of arguing against leaving any one, let alone everyone, behind) so he could start his avatar training and defeat this new threat.

In this AU I believe most of the gang’s time would be spent trying to train Yugi in the next elements, but also avoiding capture by the Fire Nation, who’s put a big bounty on Yugi’s head. They also aren’t sure who to trust, as sides are often picked and alliances formed during wars and they have no real way to know what nation would aid them vs the Fire Nation. Unlike the original ATLA show, this is a new war unfolding before their eyes, not one that’s been known and ongoing for 100 years. 

Now on to the rest of the cast! Honda is a non-bender, but don’t underestimate him, in a world where he constantly has to avoid the Dai Li and thugs who can earthbend, he’s learned to take care of himself. 

Jonouchi is an earthbender, and Yugi actually met both him and Honda while traveling the world with grandpa (before learning he was the avatar). 

Jou and Honda were both street kids who joined the gangs in Ba Sing Se in order to survive. Their fellow thugs tried to mug Yugi, thinking him an helpless monk. Peace-loving Yugi didn’t attack them, of course, but used his airbending to dodge their attacks with ease and grace... and ended up humiliating them all when he blew them into a fountain. 

While Jou was initially against mugging Yugi (even when he was a thug he always went on about facing opponents who at least stand a chance against you, not picking on the weak) after that incident Jou basically made it his life’s mission to make Yugi’s life hell the whole time Yugi and Grandpa were in Ba Sing Se. He’d track Yugi down pretty much every day to harass him, trying to get Yugi to “fight him like a real man” and just generally being a bully. 

Yugi always refused to fight him, even the few times Jonouchi actually landed a hit on him with his earthbending. Grandpa intervened a couple times, but ultimately left it up to Yugi to handle.

Right before Yugi and Gramps made to move on to the next city though, Yugi came across a frantic and injured Honda. 

Turns out Jou spoke out against their gang stealing from a family that was already down on their luck and said thugs decided they had enough of Jou’s mouth and wanted to “teach him a lesson”. Honda tried to stop them and defend Jou, but was overpowered just by sheer numbers.

Yugi couldn’t stand by and let this happen, of course, and together he and Honda found where the thugs had taken Jou. Despite the fact that Yugi still refused to strike a damaging blow on anyone, his and Jou’s opposing bending styles actually worked pretty well together and they were all able to escape.

That was the turning point for both boys, but especially Jou and he finally realized that he mistreated Yugi and that Yugi was someone to be admired, not mocked. They unfortunately did not get a chance to make amends then, however, since Yugi and Grandpa were gone the next day. 

So about a year later, when Yugi returns to the city after escaping the raids on the Air Temples, Jou and Honda are eager to help him and insist on joining Yugi and Atem, “as the avatar’s bodyguards” if nothing else. And despite being against the idea of endangering them, Yugi had to admit he teared up at the mere thought of friends joining him on his journey.

Next, we of course have Anzu, a waterbender, and Mai, a firebender.

Anzi and Mai have a traveling act together. They combined their bending with intricate dances and make a marvel of it, sometimes doing synchronized performances that focus a lot on how their opposing elements can compliment and balance each other, other times they do solo numbers that are just as mesmerizing with Anzu’s captivating grace and Mai’s mesmerizing passion. They also wear full, intricate face paints (or sometimes even masks) while on stage to help keep them from going unnoticed when traveling.

Anzu also knows a bit of healing with her waterbending, and as they travel through towns/cities, Anzu often uses her time between shows helping heal those who can’t afford medicine. Mai sometimes goes on about how ppl will take advantage of Anzu is she isn’t careful, but secretly really admires Anzu’s kind heart.

Don’t ever underestimate these girls though, their bending isn’t just for performance, they can and will kick your ass with their bending and have held their own again a whole crew of highway men. You don’t travel the world without knowing how to defend yourself, especially if you’re women thugs think they can take advantage of.

The boys came across Anzu and Mai soon after leaving Ba Sing Se. The first glance they got at them was one of their shows and were impressed to say the least (Yugi was particularly captivated by the waterbender, like the big-hearted bi-disaster that he is).

What really impressed them though was that night, when Yugi was taking a walk through the town to clear his head. Once again he was seen as an easy target by his “weak” appearance (season 0 anyone?) and some thugs ambushed him. Before he even had the chance to defend himself though, two women came to his rescue, water-whipping and fire-blazing. It didn’t take much for Yugi to put two and two together and realize they were the dancers from the show, and, being thoroughly impressed by their bending skills, he begged Anzu to teach him waterbending.

Anzu was actually interested in the idea from the start, when they heard about the attacks on the Air Temples and the Fire Nation declaring war, she was outraged. Anzu is nothing if not compassionate and all that life being burn away gave her a slowly growing need to take action, and now the avatar himself was asking her to teach him!

Mai on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with Yugi and his “band of do-gooders” and insisted Anzu turn him down. Mai grew up in the Fire Nation during the rise of the tyrant Fire Lord Aknadin, she knows first hand how ruthless his soldiers can be, and sees it as loosing battle to resist them. In her mind, her and Anzu have a good life going for them, why change that to fight a war they aren’t going to win?

The girls argue about this for awhile, to the point that Anzu actually thinks about leaving Mai to go with Yugi without her, despite the idea of leaving Mai behind tearing her up inside.

Then the town they’re staying in is attacked by Fire Nation soldiers. Everyone, including Mai jumps into action to defend the towns people and together they’re able to fight them off. In the aftermath, having the war’s carnage brought right into her lap, Mai sees that the ruler of her homeland has to be stopped and agrees to join the gang too. 

I haven’t thought a ton about the other characters honestly, and I’m especially having trouble placing Ryou in all this, but here are some half developed/misc headcanon:

Seto is a firebender and the son of Fire Lord Aknadin, making him and Atem cousins. 

In the version where Atem is just a regular firebender and not the previous avatar, Seto and Atem grew up together. Atem tried his best to convince Seto to leave with him when he set out to warn the Air Nomads of the attack, but Seto refused, already being drawn in by Aknadin’s power-centric teachings. 

In the version where Atem is the previous avatar and shares a body with Yugi, Seto was only a few years old when his older cousin Atem was “mysteriously killed” and Seto grew up hearing stories from his father about how they could avenge the young prince and the previous fire lord.

In both versions Seto is similar to a Zuko character. He’s sent out by his father to capture the avatar, but eventually he comes to realize what a warmongering monster his father is and turns on the firelord, joining Yugi and the gang. He’s still an egotistical ass though and is basically constantly criticizing the whole gang the entire time he’s with them. The rivalry between him and Yugi/Atem is still there, because of all the times Yugi whipped him with his airbender while Seto was trying to capture him. Also, Seto honestly believes that he’d make a better avatar than Yugi and thanks to @readerinsertfanfiction now I can’t get the thought out of my head that Seto would try to science his way into becoming a second living avatar 😂

I really want to include Mana and Mahad in this AU as well (since they’re my fave side characters) and thought maybe they could also be firebenders who grew up with Atem and were his close friends. Then when the tyrant Fire Lord took over they started plotting behind the scenes and formed a rebellion within the fire nation. (for real could you imagine the version where Atem was killed by his uncle and now an older Mahad and Mana, who’ve been waging a rebellion in the name of their prince and best friend, meet Yugi and can talk to Atem again and how heart wrenching a scene like that would be??)

Another possibility I thought of for Mahad and Mana was that they’re spirits of deceased airbenders who have gained some power in the spirit world. They commune with Yugi and help guide him and even step in to save him a couple times. This idea play more on the whole “Dark Magician/Dark Magician Girl Duel Monsters” side of things. Heck maybe we could do both these ideas since DM and DMG are usually considered separate entities from Mahad and Mana.

Duke/Otogi, I could image being a character similar to Jet (a charmer/flirt, who’s cunning and vengeful, at least at first? Come on I know you can see it) and maybe even having a similar story of tricking the gang into helping him do something horrible in the name of fighting the Fire Nation, then redeeming himself later.

I’m still a little unsure of Ryou’s story in this AU, but, I think I have an idea brewing involving Ryou being a waterbender who’s been processed by an evil spirit. Said spirit is thriving/feeding on the carnage of the war and often takes over Ryou’s body in order to stoke the fires of said war. This could lead to some interesting stuff involving Ryou wanting to join Yugi and the gang, but the evil spirit always stabbing them in the back. The gang, especially Yugi, would see it as a personal responsibility to save Ryou from the evil spirit and Yugi tries to learn more about his spirit powers in order to help Ryou.

I have some more vague ideas floating around my head, but I think that’s it for now. Boy, these are the longest headcanon I’ve had in while lol. I’m really loving the idea of this AU and I’m even really tempted to write an actual series surrounding it. I’d love to hear your guy’s thoughts about any of this or whether all this is even appealing at all. Please feel free to invade my inbox if yall wanna talk about this AU! <3

#yugioh #yu-gi-oh #avatar the last airbender #yugi muto #atem #yami yugi #katsuya jonouchi #anzu mazaki #hiroto honda #mai kujaku #seto kaiba #ryuji otogi #ryou bakura #mana #mahad #i just really like the idea of this au okay #it would probably be puzzleshipping just because thats the easiest ship for me to write #but i might go and make it encourageshipping despite it being a very unpopular pairing #i also did think of it being a reader insert #and im still really interested in making it an x reader #i just know it'll really hard to do that #but if anyone has any thoughts on that let me know

[jonnyparable]

Cottage Hills : The Red Chamber Part V

The Manuscript of Nehemiah

With all his magical ingredients and apparatus back in his possession, and the manuscript in his hands, Won can finally accomplish the work that he came here to do, since he arrived last year. But what is this manuscript? What's written in it and why did Won come all this way to get it ?

Won:

"At long last! The manuscript of Nehemiah, grand patriarch of the Moshus! I've come all this way, and now, thanks to you, Moguai, I finally have it! Now we can make these thieves pay for what they've done to my family!"

Moguai:

"Now that the manuscript of your great ancestor, Nehemiah is back where it belongs, in the hands of a Moshu, you can finally right the wrong that was done to your ancestors all those centuries ago. The manuscript was written by Nehemiah himself. And contains his very own recipe for making the most lethal potion in the world, the Black Cup. Better known as Death in a Bottle..."

Won:

"These fools may have the Golden Cup, which will protect them from lesser poisons, but even the Golden Flower's powers are useless against the finality of cold, brutal, instant death! "

The Next Day...

Old Acquaintances

As mid autumn rolls around, the town is busy preparing for the annual Mid Autumn Hotpot at the square, when who should come by the Cooper Farm but old friends, Eva and Oak, the scientists who saved Rod's life in the Simalayas last winter. He introduces them to his family, and catches them up on the miraculous happenings after his return to town.

Rod:

"Eva! Oak! You've come! Meet my wife and son. This is Lillia, and Rick."

Eva:

"Hello Tiger Spirit! It is wonderful to see you again. Your hometown is beautiful, like you said. Nice to finally meet you Lillia. We have heard much about you from Rod. We've come bearing gifts today. As promised, we come with medicine, made from the Golden Flower, which your husband found, but in an act of true nobility, gave to us. We are here to repay that debt"

Rod:

"Thank you, friends, but there is no need. As you can see, Lillia is well now. By some miracle, I believe the Goddess came to me in a dream, and planted the flower in my garden! Our local healer was able to use it to make a cure after all!"

Oak:

"My! That is tremendous news indeed! You are indeed very blessed! We must meet this healer!"

Rod:

"Of course! I shall bring you to see her later. For now, let me show you around the town! The Mayor would probably like to meet you too."

The Return of You-Know-Who

At Rose Square the mayor is currently overseeing preparations for the annual Mid Autumn Hotpot tomorrow as villagers help to set up the large iron pot and put up the lights and decorations. Every year, the townsfolk gather in the square and everyone brings an ingredient to add to the hot pot, followed by a hike up the mountain to see the full moon. The preparations are interrupted by Harris, who's come to tell everyone to stop.

Harris:

"Alright, listen up everyone. After the strange fire last night at the constabulary, Ellen was found unconscious in the church, and is currently recovering in the clinic. We have reason to believe that these are not isolated incidents and that You-know-who has returned. It is therefore unwise to go ahead with such gatherings. As such, everyone is advised to return to your homes for your safety immediately. Thank you everyone."

Mayor Thomas :

"Now, hold on a minute, son. I understand you're just being cautious but there's no need to make everyone panic. After all, there's no proof that any of this has to do with you-know-who, and-"

Harris :

"Father, with all due respect, the villager's safety is of the utmost importance. Until You-know-who is found, he will pose a constant threat to the town and I- We, must always be vigilant."

Just then, in the midst of their heated discussion, Rod arrives and introduces Eva and Oak. The Mayor, glad for the interruption, asks them to stay for tomorrow night's festivities, as the rest of the villagers continue with their preparations.

Mayor Thomas:

"Ah! So you are Rod's friends from the mountain! Rod has told us so much about you! Well, you two are heroes! And dear friends of the town! If you have no pressing matters to attend to, you simply must stay as our honoured guests and attend the festival tomorrow! The moon this autumn is particularly round, a very good omen!"

Harris:

"Father, please, I must insist that -"

Mayor Thomas:

"Alright, that's quite enough son. Your pursuit of Won has become a bit of an obsession of late, I must say. I think the villagers have had enough of all this you-know-who business and fear-mongering, when its clear that he's gone, and he's not coming back. The Goddess clearly watches over us! We must believe and never give in to fear! After all, He hasn't been seen for a year now, and the Goddess has blessed us with the Golden Cup, what's the worse you-know-who can do now even if he does return? "

Harris:

"Father! This isn't about fear! Have you forgotten what he did to us, and how much suffering he caused last year? Yes we are lucky to have the Golden Cup, but I'm duty bound to protect our town. Just because we've been unable to find him, doesn't mean he's gone. What if he's the one who hurt Ellen? "

Rod:

"Hurt her? What happened to Ellen?"

Harris:

"Last night she was found unconscious in the church. We don't know the exact reason why, but she's being examined by Dr. Tim as we speak...poor Ellen...how could all this happen in one night? "

Mayor Thomas:

"... Nobody blames you for what happened , you know... I know you mean well but.. "

Harris:

"At any rate, this festival cannot go on, its too risky, and..."

Mayor Thomas and Harris continue to disagree, and as Eva and Oak look into the serene face of the Goddess Statue behind them, they exchange concerned expressions. They have no idea who Harris and Mayor Thomas are talking about, but whoever he is, he seems to have the townspeople all worked up. They've come just in the nick of time it seems...

That Night...

The Autumn Moon

Back in You-Know-Who's hideout, Won is putting together the deadly ingredients for the Black Cup, and as he waits for the most important ingredient, he and Moguai discuss their diabolical plans.

Moguai:

"In the hot pot? Surely you jest."

Won:

"Not at all! It's perfect! Every autumn, these fools gather at the square and they all share from a pot of broth, laughing and cajoling and merry-making. It's the most vile thing I've ever seen, honestly. Pass me that bottle of newt's eyes, will you? They're probably making preparations for it as we speak. Now that we've gotten rid of that meddling Elmsley hag, this will be a breeze! I'll just freeze time long enough to add just a few drops of the Black Cup into their pot and...well, dinner is served!"

Moguai:

"Yes that's all well and good, but are you sure you have everything you need to make the Black Cup? The festival is tomorrow is it not?"

Won:

"Oh, yes, Moguai, yes we do. Not to worry. We have just enough to make one, which is all we need for now. As we speak, the last ingredient is on its way. Look up there, we have by act of providence, the biggest full moon we've seen in years this autumn equinox! When it reaches its highest point in the sky, I will call on its power to complete the potion! Sweet revenge is mine at long last!"

A Lamb to Slaughter

Meanwhile, Zack begins to worry about Olkan again. With a moon this big out, it seems Olkan's transformations are becoming longer and more violent. Zack goes out looking for him, just to make sure he's alright and not causing trouble. This time, however, he seems to have strayed a little far from their home in the wrong direction, and has stumbled into a strange part of the woods that he does not recognise. He sees some strange totems hanging in between two rocks. Unfamiliar with their significance, and drawn by curiosity, he walks through them...

As a Servo, Won's wards of concealment have no effect on him and he's able to just slip through, and Won's hideout is laid bare before him. Poor Zack soon stumbles upon Won and Moguai, and can't believe what he's hearing. He overhears Won talking about what they did to Ellen, and about his plans to somehow kill everyone in town by putting a lethal poison in the town's hot pot tomorrow! As Zack tries to override his panic function and execute his focusing program, so he can think about what to do next, he realises that they've stopped talking, and an eerie, suffocating silence hangs in the air...

Moguai:

"Hush! Someone has slipped through your wards. I smell a rat.... There! Below! He's heard us! Seize him!"

Zack turns to run, back to town to try and warn someone, anyone, and to tell them what Won is up to. But he doesn't get very far...

Moguai:

"And just where do you think you're going?"

#the sims 2 #ts2 pictures #ts2 screenshots #ts2 neighborhood #ts2 scenery #harvest moon back to nature #cottage hills #sims 2 #harvest moon tree of life #sims 2 simblr #The Red Chamber

[delldarling]

sweet clover & a mocking mouth | baine

This was June’s story of the month over on Patreon! 

female unicorn x gender/body neutral reader 9590 words lemon/lime | threats of violence, escaping a rather solitary life, loneliness, fluff, oral, implied romping

The village has been in an uproar for three days now, and it’s gotten even worse now that it’s market day. You can barely walk down the crowded street without bumping into shoulders, and though pick-pocketing isn’t common around these parts, you’re still thankful that your coppers aren’t easily accessible. Now if only elbows couldn’t reach your ribs, your day might turn out alright.

“They’ve an announcement,” Widow Rayleigh murmurs aloud, half a step behind you. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see the normal sparkle of new gossip in her dark eyes, but her expression is stern. She hasn’t reached old age quite yet, but you’ve noticed a stoop in her shoulders over the past year or so. That hint of weariness is gone right now. She’s straight backed and nervous.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” you offer, not knowing whether she’ll answer you or not. Honestly, it’s a toss up when it comes to most of the locals, with the exception of Old Serell, the apothecary, and his boy. You’ve done nothing wrong, not truly, but anyone that spends too much time out in the forest is suspect and.. You most definitely qualify on that front.

Widow Rayleigh narrows her eyes until she sees that it’s you, thin lips pursing for a moment before she bobs her head. She's never been cruel, simply prone to overlooking anyone that doesn't take her word for immediate truth. “All this talk about a unicorn! They call it a beast, a troublesome demon - when I was a child we called them kindness incarnate.” Widow Rayleigh jerks her arm out of the way of some of the children trying to run through the crowd. “Those hunters are fear mongerers,” she says harshly, though her voice is quieter when she says it and you have to concentrate to catch the words.

You don’t know that you have much to add to that. You’ve heard the same stories about kind unicorns, of course, but the hunters have been in town for the better part of a week and they’ve caught the ear of anyone who will pause to listen. You haven’t been at the forefront of the listening crowds, but you’ve caught more than a few words when you pass by the inn at the end of the day. Their stories might not match with what you’ve grown up on, but they do know how to keep people enraptured, which is all it takes some days. Widow Rayleigh must see the tightness of your mouth, the agreement in your furrowed brow. She slips her arm through yours, sniffing as she holds her head up high.

“All I care about is that someone out there knows the truth,” she murmurs, before looking at you out of the corner of her eye. She leans in close, urging you to bend your ear to her withered mouth, the scent of pipe smoke heavy on her clothes. “I hope the unicorn outsmarts them,” she whispers, baring her teeth in a fierce grin when you smile. “Now, would you escort me to the square?”

You adjust your arm so she’s a little more comfortable, sharing another short smile before you continue on down the street. You’re rather glad that Widow Rayleigh kept her opinion quiet though when you see the hunters in the village square, brandishing weapons and shouting to the crowd about the unicorn’s demise. Whether or not they succeed is definitely in question, as all they’ve done is talk, but the crowd? Is all too easily swayed by the men standing atop the small rise in the middle of the square. People are shouting encouragement, urging them to bring back the unicorn’s head, to put an end to the treacherous beast. It’s a vicious cycle, just like the one you see young children fall into: Bullies screaming for support against someone out of bounds, and children not involved with the dispute raising their voice in agreement, simply because they don’t want to be cast out if they refuse.

“Atrocious,” Widow Rayleigh murmurs, and Ester Brooks, a woman you’ve always thought kind and rather elegant, agrees as she pushes through the crowd.

“Isn’t it just? Unicorns! Despicable creatures!” Ester sneers, like the thought offends her, and then leaves you and Widow Rayleigh behind. You hold onto the hand curled around your arm, and rightly so, because Widow Rayleigh makes to move after Ester, like she intends on setting the other woman straight on this matter. Her hand is curled into a vicious claw as she makes to reach.

“Wait,” you urge, trying to soothe the tension in her knuckles. Relief floods you when she scoffs, but she listens, chin tilted up imperiously when some of the other locals shoot strange looks at the company she’s keeping.

“Enough! ENOUGH!!” One of the hunters shouts, smiling and ruddy cheeked, setting aside his crossbow to flap his hands at the crowd. “We’ll do our level best to bring down the beast for the sake of you fine people!”

A cheer goes up, drowning out what the hunters say. Two of them laugh, leaning on each other to share secrets under the noise, while the third stares out at the crowd with pursed lips. There’s a scar across the third’s face, stretching from his chin to his temple, and the steadiness in his eyes makes you think that he’s noting every face in the village crowd. When his eyes light upon you a moment later, fear curls in the depths of your belly.

The other hunters, slightly cleaner and more jovial, wave their hands at the crowd again, quieting the noise. “Yes, yes,” the first says loudly, brushing at his short brown beard, “it will surely be a tale worthy of song!”

“I’ve a lute!” One of the Fairwind boys shouts, though it doesn’t matter which. All three of them are learned in music, and snotty about status. They'll likely compete for the honor, and end up in a too-rough tussle for the trouble.

The two jovial hunters laugh, and the second points a finger at the Fairwind boy, grinning. “Make an honest effort for us then! Now, we’ve a request of your lovely village!”

“Anything!” Ester Brooks shouts, and Widow Rayleigh makes a noise like a tea kettle.

“To capture the unicorn, for it knows us too well, we need to set a trap for it,” the first hunter says, letting his hand fall from his fellows shoulder. “It sees us and it runs, you must understand. It knows that we will put an end to it’s cruelty!” The crowd cheers again, but quiets as the hunter waves them off. “We must ask one of your villagers to play the bait! It’s preferred prey is often quiet, prone to keeping to themselves,” and the crowd goes quiet, almost silent as the hunter speaks. “Perhaps someone who frequents the forest: a strange soul, who might not understand the danger of the wood.”

Your heart twists in your chest, panic blooming as fast as the cherry blossoms on the Fairwind’s orchard. Widow Rayleigh stiffens as your side, and then, like a damning mark, her eyes turn to you. You close your eyes, knowing, without a doubt, what you will see when you open them.  

Your name is shouted first, followed by a scant handful of others before yours is repeated again, taken up by those scared to be chosen. Widow Rayleigh’s fingers have grown tight as strangle-vine on your arm, and when you open your eyes, there is true fear in her face. “They can’t be serious!” She attempts to shout over the noise, but then someone is pushing against your back. As quick and carefully as you can, you uncurl Widow Rayleigh’s grip from your arm. She’ll be hurt if she holds on while they push.

There are a few more friendly faces staring at you from the crowd - though they’re all wearing expressions of fear right now. Old Serell, the apothecary, is sniffling, comforted by his fearful looking son, and the Fairwind girl is clutching tightly to the pearly coat button she’d once lost in the forest. You’d brought it back to her and she’d sung your praises for the trouble. The rest of the village is shouting, urging for you to help out, to do your part in catching the unicorn. As soon as your arm is being grasped by one of the hunters, the swell of noise quiets.

“Worry not!” The first hunter shouts, smiling brightly. “Your friend here will not suffer,” he promises, winking at the Fairwind girl, who goes promptly scarlet with rage. “They’ll be quite safe! Bait does not mean true danger by our sides.” You dart a glance to the other two hunters, and it’s the third, quiet and staring, that leaves you filled with doubt. Whatever issue he has with the unicorn is very personal, and you’re more than certain that he will do everything it takes to capture or kill the creature. If you get injured or killed in the process? You doubt he will spare a second to mourn you.

“Come now, my friend,” the second hunter says, just loud enough for you to hear over the resulting cheers of the first’s declaration. “Let us treat you to a drink and discuss our plans!” You’ve no desire to follow any of these men anywhere, but with every step you take towards the inn, people in the village reach out to clap you on the shoulder or cheer your name in support, like they weren’t shouting that you should be used as bait not two moments ago. Every touch feels like a heavy chain winding around your ankles before you’re tossed in the water.

The inn is no better. People seem both eager to be close, to hear the details of the dangerous mission you’re about to undertake, and too frightened to closely approach. The two boisterous hunters introduce themselves as Heath and Ruf, the third shortly tells you to call him Al, but afterwards he’s quiet, fingers tapping impatiently on the table sitting between you.

“Pick your poison,” Ruf tells you with a grin, leaning his elbow on the table to be closer. He’s trying to be friendly, but there’s a sourness in the back of your throat that says you shouldn’t let down your guard. “Whatever you want, we’ll put it on our tab! You’re need a healthy dose of courage to-”

“No,” Al interrupts. “If you want a drink or two, that’s fine, but no need to souse yourself. You will need courage, not ineptitude. The unicorn is a foul piece of-”

“Down, Al,” Heath mutters, scowling at his companion, beard bristling as he speaks. “Apologies, my lovely friend. Al, you see, has suffered a personal loss at the… hooves of the beast.”

“The horn,” Al snaps, narrowing a sharp eyed gaze upon his companions. “The horn is sharp and deadly, mark me and if we-”

“How about you take a breath, Al. You’ll frighten off our only volunteer!” Ruf mutters, seizing his companions arm before shooting you a grin meant to charm. The grin falters when he sees the serious look on your face though, like he’s realized his wording won’t exactly win him your friendship.

“Volunteer is pushing it,” you say, just to hammer the point home.

“Yes,” Heath says, tone falsely bright, as if he’d like nothing better than to ignore your commentary entirely. “Well, you won’t have to do much, honestly! We’ve tracked the unicorn to the local forest and your village has said that you spend ample time there, yes?”

You nod your head, only because Al shifts forward in his seat, like he’s prepared to make you answer if you refuse.

“Have you come across it?” Ruf asks, sitting straighter, like he’s hoping you can give him a map that will lead them straight to the poor creature.

“I’ve never seen hide nor hair of a unicorn,” you tell them honestly. All you know about them is the stories that the elders have whispered about from time to time: a kind creature that nearly glows in the sunshine, with a spiral horn upon its head, and gentleness in its touch. “I’m out there every day, but-”

“That means little,” Al says sharply, looking you over more carefully now. “You might not have seen the unicorn, but they have definitely seen you. Whether you’ve been foraging out there or chopping down trees-”

“Then we have little to worry about. The unicorn will come and we’ll definitely catch it,” Heath says, leaning back in his chair with a cruel smile on his face. Ruf nods in agreement and ice settles in the base of your spine. You have the feeling that you might never step foot in the village again, whether the hunters are lying or correct about the nature of the unicorn doesn’t matter. With a very small handful of exceptions, you’re fairly sure the village doesn’t expect you to come back.

A day later, you wake up and you’re certain. The village has never been fond of those that wander through the forest. Has never been trustful of those that might meet creatures under the shadowed leaves. They take the foraged mushrooms and bark and all manner of greens from you happily enough, but they don’t seek out your company. They don’t seek out you, only the items you can procure, and without you? There’s always someone who can be pressured into the forest work. There’s always someone they’re looking to push onto the fringes of the village.

If you refuse to be bait for the hunters, if you refuse to aid them, you won’t be welcomed back. If you encounter the unicorn and it is cruel and monstrous and you survive while the hunters do not? You will not be welcomed back. If you- You have to bite your own tongue and breathe quietly through your nose, trying not to wake Heath or Ruf. They claimed to need your company for the night to keep going over the plans for the unicorn, but you knew what it really was from the beginning: They needed to stay close to keep you from running.

The walk out of the village and into the forest feels more like a funeral procession. Very few people are outside of their homes, and those that do notice you or the hunters turn their faces away. There is no cheering or shouting today, caught on the border of encouragement and violence, there is only the wind and downcast eyes.

The forest, at least, still feels welcoming to you. It must be different for the hunters though. Heath’s smile has gone from jovial to tight, Ruf’s lips are twisted with nerves, and Al is still scowling, but more on edge. When he catches you looking, his eyes take on a darkness that makes you feel mildly ill and you turn around, to stare at the back of Ruf’s head as he tromps through the undergrowth. After only a few minutes, you know where they’re taking you. A bright clearing with a small stream running through it, surrounded on all sides by tall silvery trees with leaves that turn golden in the autumn. There are heavy fallen trunks, covered over with moss, that you’ve often taken mushrooms from. One of them is the perfect place to leave a sacrifice, to bind your hands and rope them over a branch just tall enough to keep you from sitting, but too thick for you to break.

For all that they hate the forest, they know how to traverse it, and it feels a bit like betrayal, to see them moving through it so easily. Or maybe it just hurts to see every displaced piece of earth, every broken branch and bent stem they leave behind.

“Here will do!” Heath says, like they hadn’t planned out the place beforehand. All the plans you were supposed to be involved in had been settled long before they called for the village's aid, long before they settled on you as bait. Ruf searching through the underbrush covering one of the fallen logs confirms it: He pulls forth a heavy set of manacles and then digs in his own bag for the locks.

Though you know you’d never make it, the inexplicable urge to run takes hold of your spine. They haven’t put a hand on you, not yet, so you sweep your eyes over the surrounding area, pulse heavy in your throat as you look for a potential escape. You don’t truly expect to find anything, but you can’t stand by and- A pair of gold-green eyes are staring at you from the middle of a wild rosemary bush. Your jaw goes slack, catching sight of the thin, spiral horn jutting out from the shrubbery. You’re tempted to keep staring, to take a step towards them, but instead you slowly look away.

Ruf turns towards you, nodding his head towards the tree, where Heath is looping a sturdy chain over the branch that will help keep you captive. Al is standing off to the side, lips pursed as he watches the work, but he’s starting to let his attention drift. Rather than let him, or any of them, spot the unicorn hiding in the bushes, you heave out a great sigh.

“Will this take long?” You ask, trying to sound as put upon as possible. Not scared, not panicked, just inconvenienced. Al’s blue eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw, scar straining.

“Until we’ve caught the beast,” Heath says happily, letting Ruf take you by the wrist and lead you to the tree. He looks happier now that you’ve shown a little bit of attitude, like he’d been expecting this outcome from the start. “But you needn’t worry about that head of yours, friend. We know quite well what it is that we’re doing.”

Heath is staring at your face, and Ruf is focusing on clamping the manacles shut around your wrists - the weight of them makes you want to pause, makes the panic start to build - but Al is starting to glance towards the rosemary bushes, where you can still see that spiral horn.

“Do you, really?” You taunt, forcing a frown onto your lips. Your mouth is dry and Al’s angry expression is focused entirely upon you now. “Because you said in the village that you’d been doing this for quite a long time. I think you would have had some sort of result by now.”

“So much to say now that we’re not in the village, hm?” Ruf asks, grunting as he pulls on the chain, raising your manacled wrists above your head. “I thought you might have a sharp tongue, but you kept so quiet back at the inn-”

“Shut it,” Al snaps, stomping over to elbow Ruf in the ribs. “Talk too loud and the bane will hear! The beast is creeping around already, I’ve no doubt and if you end up-”

“Oh, Al, do be quiet,” Heath groans, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it down in exasperation. “We want to get them as much as you do! We cared about poor Os as well, but yammering like this won’t solve-”

“Hush up!” Ruf grunts at them both, yanking fiercely on the chain holding your arms one last time. He takes the end halfway around the trunk and then a heavy clanging rings through the trees. Both Heath and Al are silent as Ruf hammers a great nail into the trunk, securing the chain far too well for you to pull free on your own. The two unoccupied hunters search the clearing with slow sweeps of their eyes, but when you glance at the rosemary bushes, the unicorn is gone. Something heavy and painful settles behind your breastbone.

You don’t blame the unicorn, of course. You’d prodded at the hunters in the hopes that they wouldn’t notice the creature, that they would have the chance to escape. But knowing that you’re alone in your misery is harder than you would have thought. The ringing of the hammer finally vanishes, leaving behind a persistent echo that has you rubbing your ear against your shoulder. All three hunters gather in front of you, varying looks of satisfaction on their faces.

“Look at it this way, friend,” Heath tells you, smiling wide. “If we catch the beast, you get to share in some of the glory!”

“If we don’t, if you don’t act properly wretched, then you might linger here until you’d chew off your own arm,” Al says quietly, leaning in and tapping you once, fiercely, against the sternum. You’re half tempted to kick him, but there’s no need to make matters worse. The hunters might not be kindly, but they haven’t put their hands on you other than to lock the manacles, even after you insulted them. You bite down on your lip and clench your hands into fists, looking beyond them.

“Now you’ve gone and hurt feelings, Al!” Ruf says, barking out a laugh. He pats you on the head and nods back towards the path. “Don’t worry about it. Stir up a few tears, look down on your luck and the beast will be so sorely tempted by you that we’ll be back in the village by sun down!” He stands back with the others, giving you one last look, and then arches a single brow. “Give us a smile before we head off to defend you?”

You scowl, silently cursing Heath and Ruf’s laughter as they stride away into the forest, readying crossbows and nets they’ve fixed over their packs. Only Al lingers, mirroring the scowl you’d given his companions.

“The beast won’t escape,” Al mutters, quietly enough that you’re fairly sure only you can hear him. “I know it’s probably been here already, checking you over, making sure you’re in one piece. The stupid thing grows wildly attached to people like you, does everything it can to help.” He laughs, and the rough sound of it makes you slightly sick to your stomach. “I figured you knew, even if you hadn’t seen it, that the creature would come running to your side. You lot always do seem to know, like some kind of second sense that the forest curses you with.” He leans in close, close enough for angry heat to roll off of him in waves. “And know this: If you help that beast escape, if you don’t act the proper bait, the village will learn of how cruel unicorns can truly be.”

Widow Rayleigh’s anger at the hunters, with Ester Brooks, seems perfectly plausible now. If you had both your hands free, if you had one, you’re fairly sure you would crack a punch across Al’s sneer of a face. You could still kick him, but of the three, you’re fairly certain that Al would be the most likely to retaliate in painful ways. You hold yourself quiet, though the soft rattling sounds of the chains straining reach Al’s ears. He laughs when he notices your ire, the long scar on his face marred by the motion, and then takes a healthy step backwards, out of your reach. “S’more like it,” he says, clutching at his greasy looking cloak. “We’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder, striding away after his companions.

You wish it didn’t sound like such a threat.

Time passes slowly, made worse by the lack of movement. Normally, even without the sun shining fully overhead, you can guess the hour by the strain in your muscles, by the amount of weariness in your back and arms. Strung up like this, after the first ten minutes, your wrists are uncomfortable and your shoulders are starting to ache, and it’s only going to get worse. You close your eyes after a soft estimate of an hour passing, leaning your head back against the mossy trunk behind you. You might not be able to sit down or escape, but you can do that much at least, and straining your eyes to search your overgrown surroundings? Isn’t currently helping. If the unicorn is going to come, they might not even do so if you’re watching, and the hunters? You’ll hear them long before they come back up the path. Or.. Maybe you won’t. Your eyes crack open, glaring across the clearing at nothing. They are hunters, and while they haven’t caught the unicorn, they must have some kind of experience, they were wearing enough pelts. Perhaps they’re sitting high up somewhere in the line of trees, watching you silently suffer?

“Assholes,” you murmur.

“Aren’t they, just?” A sarcastic female voice says from somewhere behind you. There’s a tugging on the chain and you promptly suck in a deep breath, excitement and wariness battling to fill you first. “They never seem to learn from their mistakes either, which makes them the worst sort of asshole. You would think after the first few times they would change up their bait and switch scenario, and yet-” The chain rattles, quietly, but enough to make you glance down the path the hunters had gone down in fear. Are they close enough to hear? Or have they been circling the area, waiting for the uni- for her approach?

“You’re the unicorn?” You whisper, curious enough to pull a little, to try and see her around the side of the trunk. All you catch sight of though is a pale tail, a gleaming, curling bit of hair flicking in and out of sight before you can blink.

“Let me guess: They told you I’m a slavering beast, sure to eat your toes and stab you through the heart-”

“Toes?” You say, nose wrinkling. “Have they told others that?”

She pauses, snickers quietly and then sighs. “...Not toes, no. At least, not that I’ve heard. Oh, I give up, this bit is too tall for me,” she grumbles, and then rounds the tree, barely making any noise. Your eyebrows raise as soon as you can see her clearly. The hunters had called her a slavering beast to the village, among other things, detailing a long list of violent and frightening acts. You know, probably better than some, that appearances can be deceiving, but you’re still willing to believe that the hunters were lying.

She looks.. Wild. Manic, and nothing like the four footed, pristine creature that you’ve heard about in tales. Her feet are hooves, legs covered by silvery, silky looking hair, but she doesn’t shimmer. Her hooves and legs are flecked with dirt and the hair hanging heavy over her shoulders is a great pale tangle, peppered with leaves and bits of wood - it does nothing to hide her large-deer-like ears. When she sees your arched brows, she flashes you a wide smile, drawing attention to a chipped front tooth and faint scarring at the corner of her mouth. The horn in the middle of her forehead though, is what keeps you staring. It’s white, for the most part, spiraling into a fine, sharp looking point, but it too is streaked with grime, just like the green tunic hanging from her wiry frame.

“Tell me truthfully, do I look like I eat toes?” She waggles her brows, throwing her head back to laugh when you stare. She bites down on the noise a moment later though, eyes lifting to the manacles clamped about your wrists. “So you’re the poor soul they dragged into this mess?” She asks, taking your elbow in hand and shaking it, testing the strength of the chain and manacles. Her fingers are chilled and you flinch slightly at the contact, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Or did you volunteer to get the big bad creature?” Her eyes light on yours for a moment, but she’s still smiling. You rather have the feeling that she never left you alone after all, and heard every bit of Al’s threats.

“The village volunteered me,” you say quietly, watching her lips curl into a severe frown. “What’s your name?” You ask, trying to edge back from the nimble fingers pressing against your shoulder for balance. She’s terribly close, and while she might be covered over with dirt and bits of forest, she smells a bit like honeysuckle and- and it’s not the time to notice how lovely her dark eyelashes are. She’s trying to save you, despite the hunters, despite the fact that she knows this is a trap. The least you can do is focus on how to help her out as well.

“Baine,” she says shortly, the barest edge of one of her fingertips hooking in the large keyhole on one of the locks. She gives you another smile, tilting her chin up like she’s proud as she adds: “The bane of their existence.” There’s a sharp ting as she presses her finger further into the keyhole, smashing the inside of the lock to bits. She hops to unhook the lock from the manacle and then one of your arms is free. Gratefully, you lower down your aching arm, letting her move to your other side.

“How did you-”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Baine says archly and then winces. “Not trying to be confrontational! I just am, and I’ve had too many people ignore me when I say so. It’s always easier to show it than to try and talk it up though-” She stretches her arm out for the next lock, but you tug on the manacle, lowering it so she can reach easier. “Mm, mannerly,” she jokes, fluttering her eyelashes as her thumb presses fiercely into the lock. It shatters.

“Thank you,” you say immediately, rolling your arms and hissing once both your wrists are free. You can’t imagine the pain you’d feel if left in those things overnight, but you’re still feeling wary. The hunters are out there, waiting patiently for Baine to come free you and- “But you’re in trouble. You should leave this forest if you can. Sometime soon they’re going to be coming-”

“And you expect to just stroll right on by, back into your village, do you?” Baine asks, resting her fists against her hips. “I’ve dealt with the trio of fools before, you know, and this isn’t going to work out well for you, Clover dear.”

You open your mouth and then close it again. “Clover?” You finally ask.

Baine snorts, eyes traveling from your face, to your feet, and back up. “You look good enough to eat - sweet, maybe, like Clover.” She laughs again and wipes at her dry eyes before she nods her head towards the east side of the clearing. “So, I suggest you take a roundabout route, perhaps gather some things from your home and then hightail it out of here.” The levity in Baine’s expression fades. “You said that the village volunteered you, didn’t they? I wouldn’t stick around.”

She’s right. You’d been thinking about it just this morning while the hunters led you to the forest like an animal to slaughter. You might be able to make it in and out, grab some things, or maybe even visit the apothecary for some last minute supplies, but… You’re going to have to leave, if you don’t want to be pushed right back into the hunters path. If you don’t want the whole of the villagers to claim betrayal and drive you out anyway. If you leave instead, your name might still be considered clean, though that’s cold comfort. They’ll likely assume the unicorn ate you. Regardless, you’re still worried about her.

“I’m sure that they spread out around-”

“Oh, they did! Heath and Al are still circling about, but Ruf was covering that direction and he’s a sucker if there ever was one. He’ll be out cold for a stretch and both of us should be able to make it that way, if we leave in a moment or two.” Baine crouches, stretching one of her legs like she expects some kind of chase.

“If we’re caught, then-”

“We won’t be,” Baine tells you, brushing an errant lock of hair away from her face. She rolls her neck and then straightens up, patting daintily at a spot of dirt on her shoulder. “Those fools haven’t ever had a hope of catching me, not after the first time.” She taps a fingertip against her scarred lip when she notes the surprise on your face. “I’ve a weakness for those in need and they took advantage of it once. Honestly,” she says with a snort. “Trying to bridle a unicorn, have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Their friend paid the price for it.” Baine’s eyes narrow, her nostrils flaring. “I won’t apologize for that either,” she says in a quiet, dangerous sounding voice. “Not ever.”

You hold up your hands in supplication, heart twisting in your chest. Kindness incarnate, Widow Rayleigh had said, repeating the old tales, and this was how Baine had been treated by those hunters?

“I don’t blame you,” you tell her and then the fierce look is wiped clean from her face. Baine breaks into another wide, pleased smile, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Of course not. Sweet Clover like you wouldn’t hurt a fly, hm?” She starts walking, crooking her finger over her shoulder, a clear motion to follow. “I’ve seen you in the forest, after all. ‘S why they brought you, why they convinced your village to send you, of course, and for that I’m sorry.” Baine hops over something, pausing so she can point down at the thin cord strung over the path. “They can’t trick me into saving those that don’t want to be saved though. Not any longer.” She offers you her hand when you’re close enough, fingers gripping tightly to help you balance as you step over the cord. “Meant to trap,” she says with a sneer, tipping her head towards the trees above. You follow the sharp point of her horn and look up at the waiting net. “Look close for others. There’s sure to be more.”

You’re a healthy way into the forest before you realize she hasn’t let go of your hand. The following flush of warmth through you is almost embarrassing, and you’ve half a mind to untangle your fingers before Baine stops in front of a prone body, her tail flicking like she’s trying to brush away a fly.

Ruf is laying in the immediate path, sporting a black eye. His mouth is parted, lips splattered with blood.

“He’s not dead,” Baine rushes to say, kicking him gently in the ribs. Ruf wheezes, but doesn’t wake and- you start to laugh. Not loud, muffled into your free palm, but enough that Baine makes a soft humming noise of confusion.

“I was worried,” you finally gasp, letting Baine pull you along. You’re heading back towards the village, you realize, but one of the circuitous routes that takes you behind a small string of buildings - one of which is the apothecary. “For me, yes, but for you. I’ve heard stories about unicorns-”

“Like the ones the fools share?” Baine asks, rolling her eyes.

“I heard those all the past week. I mean the older ones, about unicorns being kind. About them helping.”

Baine purses her lips, fighting back a smile. “Oh. Well, those ones are alright then. Worried about me though, were you? Wanted to try your hand at rescuing?” She teases and then her mouth grows thin, eyes focused on the surrounding brambles. She doesn’t tell you to be quiet, doesn’t change the way she’s moving, her eyes just rove fast as you keep walking. You drop your voice low anyway, just to be sure you don’t draw the attention of Al and Heath, still wandering through the trees.

“If you didn’t know about them? Then yes.” It’s mildly embarrassing, now that it turns out she’s in little need of help. Her eyes are soft when they drift over your face though.

“And thought very little of yourself, I’ve noticed. We can’t have that if you’re going to escape that trio of fools. Have you-” Baine pauses her speech, frowning until you’re cresting the hill that leads you to the back of Old Serell’s shop. “Come with me,” she says suddenly, lifting her chin, like she’s daring you to argue with her. “Maybe not forever, but for now. You can’t deny that it’s a smart decision - we both should leave this place and I know other forests.” She smiles again, brightly, chipped tooth pressing into her full lower lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve had company, and I haven’t seen anyone trailing after you when you wander. Perhaps it’d be good for you too?”

You don’t blurt out yes, but it’s a near thing. “No need for me to search for maps then, yes?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away. Serell’s son is standing outside their rickety greenhouse, brushing sweat off his brow. If you’re going to get help, now is the time.

Baine snorts and pushes against your shoulder, urging you forward. “Get your things then, I’ll be waiting.”

It’s.. invigorating, and frightening, preparing to leave, and the whole time you’re at it, packing what valuables you’re willing to carry, your heart is beating too fast in your chest. You half expect Baine to be gone by the time you’re done, nothing more than a strange dream brought on by stress. It can’t have taken you more than an hour to get ready, and when you sneak back to meet her behind Serell’s place, his son hauling your pack, she’s still waiting.

She’s finger combed her hair a bit, dragged out some of the larger leaves and twigs. She narrows her eyes when she finds the Serell lad staring. "I've little interest in eating you," she tells him archly, and then cackles when his face turns red.

"Thank you," he tells her, and for a moment both you and Baine are frozen with surprise. "For helping," he says, eyes darting to you and then down to her hooves. "Da felt terrible about those hunters taking you, wanted to go search the forest, but he's too old and I can't leave him. So you-" He flushes when Baine smiles. "You really are like the tales say: kind and good. So thank you, Da will rest easy, knowing you're off safe together."

Baine snags the teens wrist, lifting his hand and pressing his pointer finger to the sharp tip of her horn. He gasps, yanking his hand away when blood is drawn, and stares down at the wound.

"The medicine you brew will always be strong enough," Baine says, wiping the single droplet of blood from her horn. "Now get inside and take care of your father." The boy looks close to tears now, cheeks quivering with the force of his smile, but he turns on his heel and runs back inside.

Before you can say anything, before you can even open your mouth, Baine is tossing her hair over her shoulder and striding away. “Are you coming, or aren’t you?” She calls back and you have to rush to catch up, the thrill of a new beginning running heavy through your veins.

You’re so caught up in the buoyant feeling, you almost forget that you and Baine are trying to escape. You make it to the edge of the village proper, still on the outskirts of the forest, before Heath and Al step out onto the road, blocking your way to freedom. Ruf isn’t there though, which means that he’s still knocked out somewhere closer to the old clearing, far enough away that he won’t be able to shout to them when he wakes.

Al brandishes a blade as long as your arm when you take a step backwards, but Heath- Heath is staring at Baine like he’s never seen her before in his life.

“You’re not leaving,” Al bites out, lip curled into a vicious sneer. “I’ll have the unicorn, and your head if you try and stop me.”

Heath’s eyes are wide as dinner plates, staring at the spiral horn in the middle of Baine’s head. “What sorcery is this?” He asks Al hoarsely. “The unicorn- she-”

“Unicorn sorcery! It doesn’t matter!” Al spits, not even bothering to look at his companion. Heath gapes, eyes darting from Baine to Al and back.

“Unicorn so- I thought we were hunting naught but a beast,” Heath says, arms lowering to his sides. “Are you sure it isn’t the villager doing this? Perhaps we’ve found a wicked sor-”

“Shut up about sorcery!” Al says and takes a few fast steps closer. Baine slaps her hand into the middle of your chest, pushing you behind her. “She is the unicorn, and human-like form or no, she’s coming with us, back to the capital!” Al’s blue eyes narrow with hatred. “If not you, beast, then your friend’s life is forfeit, so I suggest you come with us now, or suffer the consequences.”

“No,” Baine says, fingers twisting into your shirt. “You will let us pass,” she starts and directs her words towards Heath. “Both of us, for the pain you’ve caused me, for the trouble you brought to their doorstep and the lives you’ve stolen in the name of chasing me down. Let us through.”

Al whirls to stare at Heath, shrieking in outrage when he watches him drop the weapons he’s carrying.

“You knew, Al? You knew she could speak? That she could change?”

“Of course I did! And I didn’t care. People want the unicorn as a beast, and so Oz and I thought to sell her, to let them parade her about the capital. We had her, and then she killed him! She struck him down with that dagger on her forehead and for that, if nothing else, she deserves a whip and bridle!” He whirls, mouth an angry maw, ready to spew more insults, raising his blade- and Heath strikes him over the back of the head.

Al falls to the ground, eyes rolling and doesn’t move. After a moment, Heath kneels to check his pulse.

“He’s alive,” Heath whispers. “I… Change, lady. Change and carry your friend away from this place, else Al will likely catch up with you on foot. I can.. I can stop Ruf. Can explain how Al lied to us, but short of killing him, I don’t think Al will stop.”

“You don’t have my forgiveness,” Baine says quietly, all the more terrible for her empty tone, “but I will no longer curse your name every day I lay down to sleep. I won’t thank you for this either,” she says, nodding to Al splayed in the dirt. “But I won’t forget the help.” Baine looks to you, eyes proud and carefully unclenches her hand from your shirt. “If you want to stay, you might have a chance with your village now. I’m sure the least he would do is vouch for you, get you back into your home.”

It would be easy, you realize. You can go back home to your warm bed inside the hut on the outskirts of the village. You can stir up a fire in your small hearth and… Continue. You’ll wake in the morning and start the same old routines over again, searching for the forest, coming home in the evening, taking your things to trade - all by yourself. “I could. I could go home and rest, back to my lonely life. Or, I can take one of the only chances I’ll ever have to leave it all behind. To travel alongside a unicorn.” You crack a smile, hoping she’ll still have you, that she wasn’t trying to quietly urge you to go back.

Baine grins and then throws her head back to laugh. When she’s finished, when she gains back her breath, she shakes her hair out and curls her fingers and- and then she shifts. Bones creak and pop and her wild hair grows longer, falling over her face as she grows tall. There’s a charge in the air, brighter than fire crackling over your skin with warmth and for all that your pulse is racing with adrenaline, you’re not afraid. Baine looks.. Looks like some strange amalgamation of a horse and a deer and some unnameable other that leaves your jaw hanging and your breath stilling in your chest. She doesn’t sparkle or glimmer like stone, but there’s a feeling to the air around her that leaves you emotional - and then you notice that Heath is crying. He turns his face away when he sees you looking, waving you towards her.

Carefully, Baine drops a knee, allowing you to swing a leg over her body and cling to the riot of her pale mane. As soon as you’re settled, as soon as your fingers are woven into her hair, Baine runs, and it feels like being carried by the wind. You’re not sure how long you travel, how long your face is pressed to her neck, fair hair whipping like ribbons in a storm with the force of her movement, but it’s long enough for your hands to ache. Your back is cold and the adrenaline has long since worn off by the time she slows, your pack heavy against your back. When she stops, swaying on her feet, it takes you a moment to get down, your own legs like jelly as you slip off and land in soft grass. You let yourself fall back, laughing quietly, and less than a moment later, Baine is dropping down next to you in her humanoid form, eyelids heavy and mouth still smiling.

“Freedom from that place suits you,” she murmurs, eyes already falling closed.

“You’ve done so much to help,” you say softly, wondering how the day went by in such a blur. “Is there any way I-” You turn to face her, struggling to push your pack from your shoulders, and stop speaking. Baine’s mouth is parted and she’s breathing heavy, hair falling over her face and across the grass. Quietly, so as not to wake her, you tug out the quilt you’d strapped to the top of your bag, unrolling it and throwing it across the both of you. Baine doesn’t move. Laying underneath the open sky next to Baine, the breeze shifting quietly through the trees, feels more like home that it has any right to. You’ve only just met, after all, but she… Fits, in your worldview, in the life you’re heading towards making. If you were less tired, you might have taken the quiet moment to examine what you really felt. Instead, you fall asleep shortly after, stars wheeling across the sky.

The days following pass by in much the same way: an overwhelming sense of belonging. It’s not easy, of course, you don’t just lay in the grass and laze about in the sunshine. You’re still hunting through the forests for mushrooms or plants that villages are always in short supply of. You’re still traveling farther away from your home village, Baine leaving circling trails and then zig-zagging paths through the foothills of the mountains to throw off anyone that might be following. The only difference, really, is that you have each other.

Baine can send you into the villages for supplies, to barter for the foraging and bring back items that make your traveling a little easier. Bedrolls for the both of you go a long way into making the nights on the ground easier for you both - though Baine, now that you’ve seen her in all her glory, has no issue shifting her skin to help preserve warmth. Baine is someone to talk to, someone that doesn’t faux whisper about what creatures you might be meeting in the forest, about what things must have twisted you so, to enjoy spending time hunting through the dark. After all, the only person you’ve ever met out in the middle of the woods is her.

“Hand them over,” Baine mutters, startling you from your musing. She raises her eyebrows when she finds you staring, turning to you and wiggling her fingers in a give it to me motion.

“Hand wh- oh!” She wants the bedrolls and blankets. The sun is starting to get lower, and if you don’t stop to set up for the night, you’ll be without a fire. The last few weeks it hasn’t been too much of a problem, but with the height of summer having passed and the nights growing longer.. You hand them over. You split the work without question, digging a shallow pit for the fire and then gathering what stones you can find so it won’t spread. By the time you’re finished, Baine has an armful of fallen branches that she’s gathered, and you’ve spotted a few chunks of resin on a near-by tree that will help get the fire going. When you bring it back, handing it wordlessly to Baine, you realize she’s staring at you now, even as she finishes the work of starting the fire. “..Are we forgetting something?” You ask, wondering why she looks so intent upon searching your face so thoroughly. “Do I have resin on my face?” You ask with a laugh, raising your hand to brush at your cheek. Sparks catch, and Baine turns her attention to the fire, blowing softly until the smoke is spiraling away and cheery flames are flickering. “Not my face then?”

Baine doesn’t answer, just worries at her lower lip with her chipped tooth, fingers twisting into the hem of her long tunic. “The stories you’ve heard about unicorns - they all say we’re some sort of paragon of virtue, don’t they?”

They do, not that you’ve talked with Baine in depth about them. She’s only ever mentioned them in passing, as if the myth of them amused her. Before you can say so, she’s getting up, prancing nervously around the fire pit, tail flicking from side to side. You’re rather reminded of a cat, not that you would ever tell her so. Baine likes to take jokes and clutch them close, repeat them just when you think she’s forgotten. Eating toes remains one of her favorite ridiculous threats. “They.. Some of them do,” you tell her honestly. Her ears twitch and she lifts her chin, glaring at the stars starting to peek through the fast fading brightness of the sky.

“The only thing they’ve really gotten right is that we like to help,” she confesses with a sigh. She rounds the fire, kneeling so close to you that her knees are pressed against the side of your thigh. She leans in enough that you can breathe in the honeysuckle scent of her, sweet on her skin and lingering about her hair. “They’ve only seen me - or other unicorns - in passing. We’re myth, fond legends, held up to be this.. Epitome of righteousness.” Her eyes are lit by the fire, a bit more gold now that green, and you can’t help when your eyes drop to the soft scar at the corner of her mouth. “Whatever the stories might say, I am flesh and blood, not a far flung star, forever out of reach.” Hesitant, like she’s afraid you might turn away, might reject her, Baine reaches for your hand. “I have wants and desires, the same as any human, and if you haven’t guessed? I’m rather fond of you.”

Her words heat your face much faster than the growing fire. You weren’t imagining things. She’s called you Sweet Clover so often, made so many references to tasting you, to your sweet nature, that every time she smacks her lips you can’t help your mind playing her words on repeat. “It just so happens that I’m fond of you,” you tell her softly, with just enough time to breathe in before your arms are full of her and her mouth is pressing quickly to yours. She knocks you back onto the bedrolls, peppering small, chaste kisses over your cheeks and your lips until she’s breathless and starting to laugh.

“Oh, good!” Baine says, after a moment, voice full of relief. “I hoped that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. If I did, I thought you'd be gracious about it, but this is much better.” She leaves off on speech, nuzzling her nose against yours until your eyes have fallen closed and then she’s growing still, head tucked under your chin, breathing softly against the column of your throat. “Would you be opposed,” she whispers against tender skin, “if I wanted to keep kissing you?” You tighten your arms around her, the racing of her heart strong under your fingertips and then you shift, tilting her face up to meet your own.

“Please,” you say quietly. Baine’s hair becomes a curtain around your faces, mouth warm and slow when she kisses you this time, careful of the horn spiraling up from the crown of her skull. She braces herself on her hands, legs adjusting until she’s sitting astride your hips, the hair at the end of her tail tickling your calf. She kisses you like she has all the time in the world, lets you cradle her jaw and lick at the scar on the corner of her lips and breathes your name like a promise she wants to keep.

“You do taste like clover,” she whispers, shuddering when you bite her lower lip, hips canting downward. You trail your hands over her shoulders and down the middle of her back, humming when she rolls her tongue against yours, when she sucks, like she’s chasing the remnants of the clover she says she tastes. You want to touch her with the reverence she deserves. Not because of the stories, not because of the magic you can feel crackling against your skin when she does something as awe-inspiring as changing, but because of the way she smiles. Because of the way she’ll crouch next to the creek, biting her lip in silence and then bursting into laughter when she plucks strangely shaped stones from the water. Because of the way she’d clutched at your shirt, had bargained for your safety and then- and then wanted you to come with her.

She curses when you turn, rolling her onto her back, but you can feel the intensity of her grin when you trail kisses down her neck, teeth scraping softly over her collarbone. She strokes her fingers over your head and makes a lovely, gasping noise when your hand slips under her tunic, stroking over the silvery hair on her thighs and rising higher. “Not afraid you’ll taint the unicorn?” She asks, tone slightly mocking. She’s vulnerable though, expression soft, ears turned downward, like she’s still waiting for you to change your mind.

“Hardly,” you tease, and your fingers brush softly over the hard nub of her clit. You move down, gathering wetness as you stroke and Baine’s legs grow lax. “All I want to do is make you feel good, Baine.” You keep stroking, but you linger over her still covered chest, mouthing at her nipples through the material. “To show that I see you, not the stories. Not the unicorn, but Baine: with your mocking mouth and nervous prancing-”

“Shut up,” Baine says quietly, but she doesn’t sound unhappy. You look up, spying the color blooming on her cheeks, pupils gone dark with wanting. “Save the-the poetry for daylight,” she urges, spreading her legs a little wider. “There are far better uses for that clever tongue-” Baine bucks when you slip two fingers inside of her, curling and stroking her from inside. She yanks at her tunic, pulling it half up her belly and then howls when you take her words to heart. Baine is prone to muttering nonsense when you work her over, you find out. Her legs shake and shudder, but she keeps her hooves pressed tightly to the ground to keep from kicking. She bucks though, if you don’t hold onto her thighs, pressing herself as close as possible to your mouth, grinding herself against your tongue. Her tail snaps out at the bedrolls and blankets and her normal voice grows high pitched when you suck against her clit.

You could keep going, even when her body quakes with her orgasm, even when she’s gone silent as she tries to steady her breathing, but then she’s pushing you away. Baine’s laughter is rough around the edges after the keening noises she’s been making. “Enough, enough. For now,” she corrects, when she sees the smile on your face. “Now get up here and let me make you feel good.”

By the time you’re both sated, the fire has grown dim and you’re too chilled, too lazy, to want to get up and hunt for more wood. Baine is near sleep, so you slip back into a meager amount of clothing and then fit yourself to her side, warm under the blankets. It’s lovely out here,  and you doubt you’ll ever get tired of traveling alongside her - but you’d like to make a home for Baine. You don’t want her to feel she has to run, forever, the way she has been. The home would be a good stopping point, a place to rest, a hidden reprieve from Al and other idiots like him. ...Perhaps somewhere near the sea. Plans fill your head, but Baine is snoring now and your eyes are growing heavy. You’ll talk to her about it come morning.

#exophilia #monster girlfriend #unicorn girlfriend #female unicorn x reader #unicorn x reader #unicorn faun #d.darling writes #unicorn faun girlfriend

[aquillis-main]

Honestly, what Flynn said about the MV arc tells me a couple things: One, SEGA and their mandates aren't as strict as the fandom has fear-mongered them to be. And second, it makes me *further* wish SEGA put the kibosh on it had they known what would happen. And that's not even getting into the fact that this arc was originally planned for Archie had it continued. That alone should've given them the right to say N-O if they really cared about the comic being "it's own thing."

Oh, tots. It also doesn’t help that the fandom and Flynn also haven’t bothered clearing up the misconstrued ‘facts’ at all, allowing it to fester outward like a strange game of telephone. Now, I question every so-called ‘mandate’ that comes through the fandom at the moment in time.

It also means that the things we can ‘blame’ SEGA on? They are either things Flynn/Stanley are using as excuses to hide their bad writing, or the fans are using to excuse Flynn and Stanley’s bad writing.

#Aquillis Answers #darklightheart #Sonic the Hedgehog #IDW Sonic #Fuck It #this needs to be sent out #PEOPLE NEED TO HEAR THIS

[stormyblue90]

Blessed by the Gods pt. 2

Alexios meets his niece and nephew! Continuation of this oneshot!

Also tagging @alexi-ohs for some soft, post-Deimos Alexios.

Familiar red and white buildings came into view as the sun began to set behind the Taygetos mountain range. Alexios had finally returned to the lands of Sparta after being gone for three months. It was still strange to him, returning and having a growing sense of familiarity. The only reason it started to feel like he could possibly make a home here was his sister and mother. Had it not been for them, he'd still be the Cult's weapon, the monster Deimos.

It had only been two years since that day on Taygetos, Alexios was still gradually finding himself within the shell of Deimos. He still struggled with the occasionally violent outburst when provoked, or nightmares. They had thankfully, lessened as of late, his last nightmare had been just before he left on the Adrestia. He had come to take after his older sister becoming a mercenary. It was the only lifestyle it seemed he could be suited for now. Before, he had travelled together with Kassandra, however this was the first time he had been on his own due to her being a delicate condition. He was thankful for never having an episode while away. He had no intention of hurting his sister's friends onboard the ship.

"So how does it feel to return home?" Barnabas asked, his boisterous voice catching Alexios' attention.

"I'm...not sure." Alexios answered. "It's not something I'm used to."

"Perhaps with time you will." replied the soft voice of Herodotos, also accompanying Alexios' return to Sparta.

Alexios nodded silently, hoping that the old man would be right.

Both of Kassandra's friends had been willing to give her brother a chance, whether at her suggestion or not Alexios wasn't sure, nor did he care. He was thankful someone else outside his immediate family was willing. Slowly he had begun to befriend them as well. It wasn't hard to see why Kassandra enjoyed their company. Barnabas was bombastic, friendly, and his spirits never dampened. A welcome change from the fear, disgust, and coldness he had grown up with in the Cult. Herodotos was quieter, but patient. Alexios knew the man was insatiably curious, but he never asked uncomfortable questions. He would let Alexios open up on his own terms, at his own pace.

"How long has it been? Three months since you left these lands?" Herodotos asked.

"I think so." Alexios answered.

"Ha! By now you should be an uncle!" Barnabas cried.

He was right, when Alexios first left, Kassandra looked as if she was about to burst from her pregnancy. No doubt his niece or nephew had been born while he was away.

"You're right Barnabas. Hm, I wonder if I have a nephew or niece?"

"No matter, I'm sure they will the strongest warrior in all of Hellas!"

Alexios put on a mock face of offense before saying. "Only after ME of course!", causing the older men to chuckle.

Finally the three of them made it to the shared house of Kassandra and Brasidas, his sister carrying a large basket of fruit and vegetables inside.

"Good to see you're not fat anymore!" Alexios called out in a joking manner.

"I was not FAT! I was pregnant- Barnabas! Herodotos!" Kassandra turned and smiled seeing her old friends. "I didn't expect you two to come with Alexios."

"And miss out meeting the new member of the family? HA! Of course not!" Barnabas cried.

"I do hope motherhood has been kind to you Kassandra." Herodotos said.

"Well, it has been...surprising, and my biggest challenge yet. Please, come inside. I do hope you will be staying for dinner."

"Of course Kassandra, of course."

All three men followed her inside, finding Brasidas with the newborn twins, telling them various stories.

"By the Gods! You've had twins!" Barnabas exclaimed.

"How remarkable, congratulations to you both." Herodotos said, seeing the two swaddled bundles with Brasidas.

"Yes, twins. A boy and a girl." Kassandra replied.

"Like Apollo and Artemis!" Barnabas said. "You have truly been blessed!"

"Barnabas, Herodotos! It is good to see you here." Brasidas welcomed.

Kassandra sat the basket on the table in the kitchen before walking towards her husband, taking one of the twins, her daughter Zenais.

"Was Pater telling you exciting stories again little ones?" she asked, cradling her daughter who softly cooed in reply.

"Oh yes, I was telling them the story of how we met and fought in the Monger's burning warehouse." Brasidas said.

"Oooh how exciting!" Kassandra replied as her daughter giggled more.

Both parents brought their children to the older men, offering to let them hold their children.

"This is Zenais, in the red blanket." Kassandra said as she offered Barnabas the wrapped bundle.

"Awww look how small and cute she is!" He said, gently tickling the baby's nose, causing her to giggle and grasp at his finger.

Brasidas allowed Herodotos to hold the second child wrapped in white, "And this one is our little Leonidas. Though we sometimes call him Leon for short."

"Named for his great grandfather I see. Quite the legacy young one."

"Well, he was born with birthmarks resembling the constellation of Leo. It seemed to be fate." Brasidas replied. "And Zenais with an eagle shaped mark."

"Ah fate is a funny thing indeed. Who knows what these little ones will destined for." Barnabas responded.

"They'll be destined for whatever they choose, and a life full of love." Kassandra said.

Alexios stood by, quiet, letting the old man coo and fawn over the babies as if they were their own grandchildren. With how close they were to Kassandra, they might as well be. He felt rather awkward however, while he had been expecting to be an uncle for quite some time, it was still shocking to see. To know it was real, and not some distant dream he'd wake from. Alexios didn't know how to behave around, or approach a baby, leading to his sense of awkwardness. Something so innocent and fragile. He didn't even feel worthy to be in the same room as a newborn, let alone his own niece and nephew.

While the old men were happy to hold the newborns, Alexios made no effort to suggest he might want to. In truth, he was afraid to hold either of them. Afraid he'd hurt them, break them. Even though he had recovered immensely, he still felt unworthy to hold something so pure.

"Alexios?" Kassandra said, walking towards him. "Is something wrong?"

"I-I uh...never seen a baby before." he replied, quite sheepishly, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

Kassandra rolled her eyes, "Of all the things in the world that make you hesitate, it's a baby!" she chided. "It's ok, you won't hurt them by being in the same room. No need to be so anxious. This should be a good experience for you."

"I'm not so sure... But I hope you're right." he replied, cautiously walking over to them. He still dare not hold them.

Within a moment, his face changed from anxious hesitation, to curiosity.

"They're so small. And... pink." he said, looking down at his niece.

"Of course they are! They're BABIES Alexios." Kassandra replied. "Honestly they were much smaller and pinker three months ago when they were born."

Alexios glanced at her, a bit miffed at her tone. He just told her he'd had never seen a baby before, how was he supposed to know? He only knew they'd be small, but not quite how small, let alone pink and squishy looking.

A few hours had passed, dinner and wine was served and eaten, and numerous stories passed between everyone. The people and places Herodotos has seen, how Kassandra and Brasidas were adjusting to parenthood, the jobs Alexios had taken, and several of Barnabas' tall tales. A number of which he told with great enthusiasm to the twins who were both enraptured with his tales of monsters and gods; almost as if they already understood everything he said.

"They do love to be told stories." Brasidas had mentioned earlier. "Certainly helps calm them down when they get upset."

Meanwhile Alexios was still reluctant to make any sort of physical contact with either child. Although there was some sort of tugging in his heart to hold them. He wasn't sure why, but the longer he observed them, the more his curiosity grew, the more he wanted to hold them. However his fear and anxiety kept him from doing so, let alone asking.

As if she could read his mind, Kassandra spoke up.

"You know you CAN hold them, you don't have to just stare."

"No! No I uh...I can't- They're so...small and soft...fragile, I-I'd probably break them or-" he said, mild panic in voice.

Kassandra put her hand on his shoulder. "It's ok Alexios. You won't hurt them." she encouraged. "I know you won't. I trust you."

Those three little words, 'I trust you', meant so much to him in that moment. She trusted him, she trusted him with a NEWBORN. Kassandra never trusted easily, very few truly had her trust and confidence. If she said she trusted him, then she meant it and had every reason to.

He nodded, "Alright, if you say so."

"Alright then. Hmm, I think I've got an idea to help you feel less nervous. Wait here." Kassandra left the room and when she returned, in her arms were as many cushions, blankets, and pillows she could carry.

She placed them in a large pile on the floor, much the way she did so long ago as a child. Once she was satisfied she motioned for Alexios to come over.

"Sit here." she told him, and he did.

Kassandra walked over to the shared cradle the twins lie in, and picked up her son. She brought him over to Alexios.

"When I first held you as a baby, I was just as nervous as you. I thought I'd break you. So I did this." she gestured with a nod to the pile of pillows and blankets

"Oh.." Alexios hesitantly held out his arms, still nervous about holding his nephew.

"Don't worry Leon, your Uncle Alexios isn't as bad as Uncle Stentor." She said to her son and she gently placed him in Alexios' arms. Adjusting him where needed.

Alexios let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The small, fragile, pink child looked up at him with large eyes. The same color as his father's Alexios noted.

"Chaire...little one." he said awkwardly, his nephew cooing softly in response.

"See? He likes you." Kassandra told him. She looked towards her brother and saw something in his eyes she'd never seen.

Alexios looked softer, his eyes held a touch of wonder, relief, it was as if holding his nephew brought something out in him he'd not been able to bring out beforehand. She has been right, this would be good for him.

As Alexios settled into holding a baby, he surprised his sister by gently stroking his nephew's face with the back of his forefinger. "So...soft" he remarked.

Leon reflexively held onto his uncle's finger when it was in reach, causing a soft smile to emerge on Alexios' face. "You will be a strong one." he whispered.

Kassandra smiled, happy to see her brother growing more confident in his ability to be soft, gentle, to be human again.

"You know," she began, "this was YOUR blanket once."

"What?"

"The baby blanket he's wrapped in. It was yours. Obviously we weren't expecting twins, so I had to improvise. I'd been given your old baby blanket by a priest in Argos."

Alexios felt the fabric between his thumb and index finger. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it somehow felt familiar. Like he was recalling a dream he had a long time ago.

"I see. It does almost feel...familiar."

Leon yawned, clearly growing sleepy in his uncle's arms. "Looks like he's growing tired."

"Well him and his sister have had a big evening. Meeting new members of the family, must be exhausting for a baby. Alright my little warrior, time for bed."

Gently Alexios handed Leonidas to Kassandra as she brought him to his crib, Brasidas following with Zenais.

"I believe it best we took our leave Alexios." Herodotos mentioned. "It was wonderful to see you again Kassandra, and meet your children."

"It was great to see you too." Kassandra replied. "I'd say I'd join you again on the Adrestia soon but..."

"Ah do not worry my friend!" Barnabas said, "You have a family to look after! The Adrestia will always be welcome to you. Perhaps next time your little ones can join us!"

Kassandra laughed, "Maybe in a few years Barnabas."

"You two can head back to the ship." Alexios said. "I think I'll stick around for a while. Still haven't seen Mater after all."

Both men nodded, taking their leave as they hugged Kassandra goodbye. He wasn't sure how, or why, but somehow seeing his niece and nephew made Alexios feel like he could call this place home one day. He actually felt like there was something here he could protect. Alexios WOULD protect them he silently promised. He would make sure what happened to him would NOT happen to the twins. Alexios knew their parents felt the same, and he'd help make sure the pair were protected and loved as well.

#Assassins Creed Odyssey #Assassins Creed #Alexios #Kassandra #Brasidas #Kassidas #Herodotos #Barnabas #Herodotos and Barnabas being excited grandpas!

[secretgamergirl]

Hate Mobs Gotta Go

Last night, I did something I have never expected to do, and just full on gave up on a fun RPG writing assignment. Which I had to do because I hit a point where it was so overdue and unfinished that I was falling asleep sitting up and stress vomiting and other such things. There’s a whole lot of factors behind that. Other health issues, the toll of being on total pandemic lockdown for months, with neighbors just straight up open mouth coughing at my door, emergencies with friends and family, multiple fires and hardware failures, but the main thing was, and still is, the constant harassment from a militant hate mob, completely out of touch with reality.

Years ago, I remember there was this thing the internet at large was fond of doing with foaming at the mouth far right religious extremists- Mercilessly ridiculing them in public to expose how disconnected everything they said or did was from reality. Remember seeing this one float around and laughing your head off?

And if I mention the Westboro Baptist Church, you immediately picture a single family of raving bigots picketing funerals and such with their big homophobic signs, with a bigger crowd mocking them, right?

For some reason, the modern version of that particular flavor of fringe weirdo doesn’t get that sort of ridicule. Presumably because they’re focusing almost exclusively on trans people, and most people have this weird thing where like if you stick up for trans people you get cooties or something and never dig into the real juicy ridicule fodder. But for real, this stuff is OUT THERE. Just look at a few examples here.

Come for the weird ravings about harvesting baby organs. Stay for the... adult woman who apparently believes breasts get their shape from actually being sacks filled with milk under women’s skin? Now, how about this colorful comparison?

For anyone who wasn’t aware, pronouns are words like “I” “you” “he” “she” “it” and “this,” while rohypnol is colloquially known as “the date rape drug,” so this is utter gibberish. The full context of course is that this person is trying to make the argument that forcing this bigot to refer to women she’s prejudiced against as “she” instead of arbitrarily tossing around “he” or “it” is... raping her brain, I guess?

So... this is pretty clearly some creep’s weird little fantasy. The obvious giveaway is pretending that trans women “aren’t in the correct bathroom” when going to... the correct bathroom, and that the non-existent law about this is somehow enforced by... random bigots opting to deputize themselves. What DOES happen for real though is bigots like this being arrested for barging into public restroom stalls with camcorders aimed at the crotches of women on toilets and trying to defend themselves by insisting they have some duty to check what their genitals look like. On which note...

That’s just disgusting. It’s also as close as I feel comfortable to posting all the graphic fantasies I see from these people about the barbaric genital mutilation they imagine trans women subject ourselves to which really has no basis at all in reality. Well maybe I can post this one.

I’m not going to go through and itemize all the baldfaced lies in that, because I really kinda hope I don’t have to, and also because the person who slapped this together was kind enough to break it up in such a way that I legitimately can say “every single line of this is a completely baseless lie.” Also the art in the corner is stolen from a child-friendly comic whose author is trans, so, that’s extra slimy. Also wow that “bone scans” bit is actually one I’ve never seen. Where the hell do they even get these ideas?

Also this one needs some setup. If you have time, this right here is a freaking journey, if not, I’ll try to summarize.

So a while ago, this one particular unhinged bigot decided the most productive way to spend all her time was to get in touch with a bulk sticker printing business and order thousands if not millions of these weird gross poorly framed slabs with a really crude drawing of a penis and bunch of gibberish she really wishes were the names of popular twitter hashtags that nobody else but her ever uses. And then after receiving these, just... wandering around the city she lives in all day every day plastering them on phone booths and power poles and the mirrors of bathrooms in like.. elementary schools and park benches, just everywhere. And then makes multiple passes a day apparently to make sure nobody has tried to remove any of them, as detailed in this amazing thread I’ll link again.

So the latest break in that particular saga is that same zealot going around plastering stickers like this around too, to make it seem like “both sides do it.”

It should be obvious that that’s a “blacks rule!” sort of fake between the baffling text and using the extra inclusive, particular emphasis on supporting people of color, general purpose LGBT+ flag, but also, like their fellows on 4chan, they plan this sort of “false flag” crap in broad daylight:

I should really properly credit the whistle-blowing on that particular oddity, and I should also note that aside from the breast milk sacks, this is all just stuff I saw TODAY catching up on my twitter feed, but my main point with all this is to illustrate that we really are dealing with Jack Chick/Westboro Baptist-level unhinged zealotry... but again, nobody’s out there pointing and laughing. And it turns out, when you don’t have people pointing and laughing at this sort of thing, you get people taking it seriously. So... when I went to quickly search for a news story to link with the bit about creeps barging in on women with cameras, the results I got were... this.

That... sure is a lot of stories about totally innocent people in a demographic I belong to being murdered by total strangers goaded into blind murderous hatred by the sort of people I’m pointing and laughing at! Ha ha! There’s a very real chance of that happening to me every time I step outside, for any reason! Tee hee! I live in a state of constant fear! Whoopsie!

And it’s not just stuff like that. The people posting these rambling tirades about “breast milk sack implants” and putting crude penis stickers everywhere, never being called out as the unhinged weirdos they are, either have the world turning a blind eye to all this crap, or have everything they do downplayed in the media to the point where outright sexual harassment, doxing, and slurs I don’t want to repeat get headlines like “so-and-so made comments that some fringe trans activists on the internet deem ‘possibly transphobic’” and that’s AT BEST. More often you get stuff like the one incident I managed to bring a lot of public attention to way back when, where some bigot just literally walked up to someone on the street, grabbed them, savagely beat the hell out of them until pulled apart, had friends film the whole thing, and bragged after the fact about it, and every story that appeared as a result claimed the assailant was the victim, because they were all written by her friends.

Face obscuring provided by me here, by the way.

And that isn’t a one-off incident. Because, see, most of these unhinged weirdos spewing out all this transphobic gibberish are not, as you would think, a bunch of barely educated Trump hat wearing members of some fringe religious congregation. They’re editors and producers in major British news outlets. This isn’t me shouting conspiracy nonsense either, this is well-documented. Like, The Guardian gets public internal protests over this crap. So does the BBC. Yes, other respected news sites cover this. Media watchdog groups do their best to reign this in with hearings and such, but, don’t actually have any power to enforce anything really. So when there’s “reporting” on this crap, it’s coming directly from the “breast milk sack implant” people. Oh and here’s some screenshots of the headlines of those stories you’re too lazy to click through and actually read:

And of course, sometimes when they want to really come across as respectful, they try to find “scientists” and “doctors” who back up their ravings but all they have to fall back on are disgraced quacks who spend most of their time on activism work to normalize pedophilia.

I’m not bringing that point about Cantor up to discredit his writings about trans people by the way. He doesn’t really HAVE any writings about trans people. He just pasted the names of a bunch of random studies from the 70s about whether playing with barbies makes you gay into his blog a few years back and this crowd was so desperate for validation they declared him an “expert in the field” and started passing out links to his.... pro-pedophila blog. Which is part of this whole pattern, but I’ve written about that before. Oh and the governments of multiple countries manage to treat all these people as “experts” and make policy decisions based on their ravings. That’s fun.

Anyway, aside from encouraging random people to, you know, just randomly murder anyone they see who looks like maybe a trans woman, every so often this weird little cult pulls in an actual celebrity who then has a public meltdown as they post all this gibberish to a wider audience. Currently this is going on with Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling (who’s actively promoting the pedophile guy up there on Twitter), and I think also William Shatner, but I haven’t really looked into it. The last big one though was Graham Linehan. Who you might remember from co-writing some sitcoms that were popular decades ago in Britain, or from being the weird cartoon villain who tried to kill the funding of a children’s charity, prompting this strange pledge drive marathon of Donkey Kong Country.

You might also know him as one of... I think honestly just two people who have ever managed to be such out of control stalking hate mongers that they were actually given a permanent no possible appeal ban from Twitter. Personally though I know him more as, you know, that one absolute creep who’s been obsessively stalking me for like 5 years and never shutting up about his weird personal obsession with me.

I WOULD link the recent freaking filmed interview he did where he spent forever rambling about me, but I’d have to actually watch it to confirm I had the right link, and also the only place I could quickly find a link to it would be on his twitter feed, which as stated, no longer exists. Oh and random side note there, despite being personally, by name, the person he was explicitly targeting all his hateful ramblings at, he wasn’t banned from that site for any of the disgusting stuff he said to me. He just slipped up and mentioned a cis woman with a professorship while shouting about this crap recently and that caused people to actually take action. I do so love being invisible.

Anyway, point is, prior to Rowling grabbing the baton from him as his social media presence went up in flames, this guy was name-dropping me a LOT. Presumably he still is, just in places fewer people see it. And when you have as big an audience as he did, and that audience is as full of hatemongers as his was, that has a pretty noticeable effect. I’ve been deluged with so much hateful garbage for so long it’s impossible for me to put any numbers on it. The closest I can do to quantify it is note that hate dump was big enough that I was also flooded with more weird messages intended as support from total strangers than I could deal with, totally losing access to social media feeds and my e-mail from the volume for a good bit, and THAT flood was big enough that I got this whole second wave of creepy stalkers who’d built up this whole weird fanon where this stalker here is like, someone I used to date or be business partners with and not just some creepy dude like twice my age stalking me over the internet, from a completely different hemisphere.

And I mean... in the broadest of strokes, I can kinda laugh all this off. Because... these people are completely ridiculous, out of touch with reality, and mostly live in other countries. But... all the threats and shouting are very real and very constant and like.. picture someone outside on the street shouting at your windows about how they’re going to break in and kill you. You really can’t ignore that. Even if they’re unarmed, and all they’re really capable of doing is shouting and pounding on your door, you can’t really just ignore that shouting and pounding and just watch a movie or play a game or write this article you promised would be done 3 months ago. You can certainly try, but a pretty big part of your brain is going to be occupied with thoughts about how maybe you should call someone to see if they’ll escort this violent person away, or maybe you should barricade your door in case all that pounding does something.

And I mean this isn’t a bad metaphor for how all the constant threats and stalking I’m dealing with thanks to celebrity bigots personally obsessed with me impacts my life, but it also does a pretty good job of describing how my night went pretty recently when I ACTUALLY DID HAVE SOMEONE POUNDING ON MY ACTUAL REAL PHYSICAL DOOR SHOUTING ABOUT STABBING ME TO DEATH, and no, there was no resolution to that beyond the sound of sirens causing that person to back off.

I also had an experience not too long ago where I was supposed to take a cab to a routine appointment, a car showed up with the cab company’s name on it, somewhat early, and proceeded to drive me... out to the middle of the freaking woods like an hour from where I live, and when my phone rang with my actual cab asking where I was the driver freaked out, had me get out of the car, and took off leaving me just... stuck in the middle of nowhere freezing to death and trying to find a landmark an actual cab could pick me up from. Still don’t know what the hell that whole thing was about and whether a cab driver just REALLY didn’t know what he was doing and panicked or what, but I do know that talking about it publicly in the vaguest of terms lead to a bunch of unhinged shouting from... apparently some unconnected ride share driver with a habit of dumping trans women between stops when they try to get medications or something, convinced I was calling him out for that.

So.... yeah. Things aren’t exactly going great in my neck of the woods. I’d really appreciate it if people would properly treat these unhinged violent weirdos like unhinged violent weirdos and not respectable members of society so they quit getting so bold and public with the violent stuff, and people who listen to them get properly shouted down for doing so.

#transphobia #stalking

[kazhewbrekker]

vilify me - chapter 4

this is the longest chapter to date! and probably the last one for a little while as im settling into college and dont have as much time. fear not though! chapter 5 is in the works and im committed to finishing this monster of a multific. without further ado!

(AO3 Link) (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Kenji seemed unimpressed as he walked into the hanger. I wasn’t expecting a huge reaction, but I thought he’d be at least a little bit excited over the prospect I was offering. I gave him a wink as he walked closer and patted the seat on the motorcycle I was leaned against, lovingly. It was a good thing I hadn’t run my plan past Warner, he would’ve been jealous.

“Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?” I asked innocently.

Definitely not impressed. “Never seemed like a necessary skill set.”

I shrugged. “Feel like learning?”

Kenji crossed his arms over his chest as I passed a helmet to him. He didn’t take it from me, which was to be expected. There was no chance he was going to go easy on me. I mean this was literally me trying to appeal to him enough to get him to trust me. Or maybe, just maybe, it was me trying to find something to relieve myself of the utter boredom that had befallen me since I came to Sector 45. Which, I had to remind myself, wasn’t Warner’s fault.

He was busy. I was also usually busy, that’s just how things were with us. And now, with this mission he’d put me on, I would find a new way to be busy.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Kenji took the helmet begrudgingly, “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter? Let me answer that, no.”

I climbed onto the seat, settling my feet in their place on either side of the bike. Kenji hesitated again, the black helmet now smugly fastened around his head, trying to figure out where he was supposed to sit on the motorcycle with me. I grabbed his wrist, between us was the layer of his military coat and the riding gloves I had fashioned myself with, as I pulled him on behind me.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“I didn’t say you would, Princess.” Kenji shifted uncomfortably and created a space between the two of us. I had the urge to roll my eyes. Like that would stop me. If I wanted him dead he would be by now. “How come you don’t wear a helmet?” Kenji asked.

I revved the bike. “Let’s hope you don’t find out.”

-

“Put your foot on the break,” Warner instructed. “No, hold it down.”

“Sorry,” I shot him a glare and pressed down all my weight on the car’s brake. The glare broke apart in an instance. I was too excited to be mad.

Finally, after being told over and over that he would teach me, Warner was going to show me how to drive. I’d wanted to for years, ever since he had when he was eight. Mum and Dad would never let me behind the wheel of a car, at least not until I was older no doubt, they didn’t even trust Emmaline in one yet. But I would learn how to drive first, because Anderson had left home earlier that morning and Leila wouldn’t mind if we borrowed the car. Or totalled it.

“Okay,” I said, “okay, what do I do next?”

“Shift into drive.”

I blinked down at the controls. “What am I on right now?”

“Reverse.”

I managed to shift the car into drive recalling what I’d seen in films, “You don’t have to look so nervous, we’re indestructible, remember?”

Warner sighed exasperatedly, hands tightening on the seatbelt. “Keep your eyes on the road.” I grinned and checked my mirrors, slowly pulling my foot off the brake and towards the gas. “And I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because my biggest fear is that one day it’ll stop being true.”

I frowned. I took it slow, but driving on a street that no one was ever going to come down again gave me the whole road to practice. I jumped between brake and gas over and over, inching forward and trying to get the hang of it. Every once and awhile, Warner pointed something out to me, but he was as patient as he was with teaching me anything. It was easy, easier than I thought it would have been.

“I’m not going to lose my powers, Aaron.”

“No,” he agreed, “but have you considered your parents’ new project.”

I sucked in a breath and the car huffed in response. Warner didn’t looked shocked as I hit the brakes to look over at him. He looked worried. “Project Canary. Emma’s losing her mind over it.” I said.

“I know, I heard.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me she’s bothering you about it too.”

“When she can’t call you she calls me, I’ve told you this before.” He tucked his chin and looked down at the watch affixed to his wrist. “Emmaline is just worried about you, love.”

“Of course she is, because if they can get through me it means she’s next. I don’t blame her.”

“Ella.”

“It’s true!” I shrugged, “You know it, I know it. I reckon if Canary succeeds, then I’ll be the only one affected. Well, and you, probably.”

“Probably? You can’t be serious.”

I sighed dramatically, shifting gears and turning us around back towards the house. I knew he was staring at me, I could feel it burning under my skin. If he was offended by the truth that was his problem. Not mine.

“If something happened to you,” I wasn’t watching his face, but I heard the way his breath caught in his throat. A chill settled around me as I waited for him to continue. “I would be devastated. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sure, of course.” I snipped back.

“Ella, I’m serious.”

Too much, too heavy. I nodded in an attempt to get him to drop it. Warner was my best friend, but God if he didn’t make everything out to be life-and-death. Though, technically, this situation could very well end in my untimely death. It didn’t matter. He was serious all right, far too serious. And I didn’t want to think about the immediate future, not like he did.

-

I loved motorcycles. More than cars, planes, especially boats. Nothing else could get me in contact with the same level of speed as the motorcycle could. I wondered a lot if it was anything similar to drugs, Mum and Dad would have me caged again if I experimented with anything that could mess with my brain or my body. So, death defying activities was all I had.

But I had to drive carefully, Kenji’s arms wrapped around me so tightly I had to focus on the wind whipping my hair to not break down at the feeling of being barred.

I hadn’t been lying about the helmet comment, as far as Kenji knew I was talented in hand-to-hand combat and could most likely kill someone if they just so happened to brush my skin. He had no way of knowing that a motorcycle crash was much more likely to hurt whatever I crashed into then myself. When I’d first embraced my daredevil tendencies, Warner had insisted that I wore protective garments, riding jackets and enforced padding. We hadn’t known the full extent of how much damage I could sustain. We found out though, eventually.

I came to a stop in a place where the road evened out and the buildings had grown scarce. It was strange, Southern California had always been overflowing with populace and new houses that the large expanse of nothingness was almost unnerving. I pushed those thoughts from my head and removed Kenji’s hands from my waist.

He attempted to climb down with me, but I steadied him on the bike with a smile and said, “I’m teaching you how to ride remember?”

“I never said I wanted to learn how.”

“Yes, but you also never said you didn’t.” I placed my hand on the handlebar, about to launch into a speel about what each part on the bike did, until I noticed he was staring at me strangely. “What?”

“I’m curious. What brought this on?”

“Me teaching you how to ride a motorcycle? I was bored, wanted to ride my bike, and you’re supposed to follow me everywhere I go.” I paused, sardonic in nature. “Thus, here we are.”

Kenji looked back at me as if he didn’t believe me, and I had to give him credit, he was a lot more intuitive than he had appeared at first glance. It wasn’t as if I was lying. I was currently trying to use enough of the truth that he’d have eventually just have to believe that my intentions were pure. It’s not as if I had given him any reason to believe otherwise. Beside the fact that I work for a fear mongering government that treats its citizens even worse than the ground they walk on.

I might have to rethink my plan of action.

“Okay,” I huffed. “Clutch is here, gear shift is down here, throttle, and break. You’re ready to go.”

“Wait, hold on a second, that’s the big lesson? You point at all the controls, pat me on the back and say ‘Good luck.’ You’re the worst teacher in the history of ever.”

“Jesus, that’s a little harsh.”

“Never have kids.” He said with a straight face, “You’d try to teach them how to ride a bike and then just throw them straight into oncoming traffic.”

I groaned, “Newsflash you egg, traffic isn’t as issue anymore. The 405 is dead and I’d be a great mum.”

Kenji didn’t move as he held his humorless expression. As the silence dragged and we continued to just stare at one another, something cracked. I wasn’t sure if I was the first to snort, but giggles erupted from my lips until I was crumpled on the ground holding my stomach from laughter. Kenji wasn’t much better, he had to use to the motorcycle to hold himself upright as he practically hacked up a lung.

I was wiping tears out of the corners of my eyes when Kenji finally said, “All right, that was hilarious. But I’m still not riding this death trap with a ten second long instructional period.”

“Just,” my voice was still strangled with restrained giggles, “trust me here.”

“You don’t make that easy.”

But he listened and settled on the bike like before, keeping one boot on the ground to stabilize himself. I corrected his form and I watched as his eyes darted nervously around the open field. I couldn’t say I completely understood his nerves, I’d never had to really worry about bodily harm before. With that, I had the sudden realization that this was a terrible plan, and if it failed it would really suck to have to drive home with a dead body. Or, even worse, have to walk.

“Ready?” I asked honestly.

He didn’t in the least bit look ready. At least he knew how to brake.

Kenji gave a curt nod and I stepped away from the bike, giving him room to start the engine again and prepare for take off. The motorcycle gave a growl that I felt in my chest, that made the hair on my arms stand up, and as Kenji gave me one more glance before staring at the opened, empty road before him. I gave a silent prayer to a God I don’t believe in.

The motorcycle lurched forward, shakily and slow it made its way down the street. A couple of times I worried if it was going so slow that the machine might tip over, but at every chance Kenji shifted his weight to keep it steady. It wasn’t until he turned around and came back towards me that I saw he had a genuine smile on his face.

I rolled my eyes, he was going barely more than 20 miles per hour.

“All right. It’s not a vespa.”

He hit the brakes as he neared me and the sudden stop made him ram his stomach into the center console. Kenji took a shaky breath but his voice was only a little winded, “What’s a vespa?”

“Oh my God.”

-

Our bedroom was cold. It was the middle of July and from the window I could see the moon against the cloudless sky. It was the only thing lighting the room. For once I was happy that snow hadn’t come so early this year, because if it had then I wouldn’t be able to see the moon at all. I clung tightly to my blanket knowing that it was my only protector, that would stop the dark corners of the room from getting any closer to the foot of my bed.

I had been working very hard to not let it bother me, to sleep through the night without interruptions or nightmares. If Emmaline could do it then so could I. But it seemed like the harder I pushed away the negative thoughts, the stronger they came back with a vengeance. And the more they stole my breath straight from my lungs. I knew what panic was now though, I’d felt it before. It kept rising and rising like the temperature on a thermometer. Until my head started to feel dizzy and my chest began caving in.

What was it that Warner always said? Try to breathe.

Easier said than done.

At this point I should’ve been used to any form of sensory deprivation. Nothing to see, or hear, only the cold walls of the room that remind you that you’re not dead. Or asleep. Or somewhere in the middle. Mr. Anderson would turn down the oxygen in the room if I tried to fall asleep. It would go on for hours. But it always ended, sometimes I was worried it wouldn’t.

Little bird, little bird in a gilded cage. With spikes on the bars. Little bird with no escape.

“Ella,” my sister’s voice whispered across the bedroom. “Ella, go to sleep.”

I froze. My rampant neverending thoughts must have woken her up, or at the very least kept her from falling asleep. I wasn’t quite sure what Emmaline could hear and what she couldn’t. But if I hated being in my own head, then surely my sister would despise it just as much. “Sorry, Emma.”

She sighed, rolled over. I felt my face burn with shame. “No worries, just…“ Her soft words disappeared into the cloud of dark that blanketed over her half of our bedroom. We’d been sharing a room since I was born. At least that’s what I had been told. But now the sea of carpet between the two of our beds felt wider and all the more terrifying under the gaze of the moon. I had to steel myself. I couldn’t be weak, I couldn’t whimper at the idea of closing my eyes, what would Mum say?

“Ella. Come here.”

I looked over to Emmaline’s moving sheets. I could barely make out her motions across the room. But I didn’t give it a second thought. I bundled the blankets around my body, grateful for the socks that covered my feet, and I tiptoed over the lie to Emmaline’s side of the room. Where pink met purple.

Emmaline was waiting patiently with arms outstretched. She pulled me and my blankets up onto the sheets with her, and that’s when I noticed the long sleeves pajamas and the gloves. How had she been wearing gloves to bed? Emmaline pulled my head to her shoulder and hugged me tightly. I wished I could see her expression. I wished I could read her thoughts for a change. My panic spiked once more.

“Calm down,” Emmaline yawned. “Give it a rest.”

“S-Sorry.”

It was dangerous to be this close to my sister. It was dangerous to be around anyone, ever. This was my curse. My burden. Mum called it a gift, she said it made me special. But I had to work harder, so I could be just like my sister. Mum would kill me if anything happened to Emmaline. She’d actually kill me.

“Shhh, go to sleep.”

“I-I…”

My sister’s finger combed through my hair. I closed my eyes against her pillow.

“Sleep, Ella. You can worry about things in the morning.”

She was right. I knew somewhere deep down that she was, but a part of me refused to accept it. It seemed like no matter what I did, my worries would follow me into my dreams too. I focused on Emmaline’s breath, her heartbeat, the slight brush of my hair from my forehead. It made me crave the blurry memories of climbing into bed with Mum and Dad, falling asleep in the safety they provided. Now it didn’t feel safe to be near their wing of the house, or even near them.

“I don’t want nightmares.” I whispered back to her.

Emmaline paused. If I paid close enough attention I could feel the edges of her power just on the cusp of my consciousness. If I dared to push against it all I would feel would be numb. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.”

I blinked my eyes opened, “A deal?”

“Sure,” she pinched my shoulder. “If you try to sleep, I promise I’ll chase all the bad dreams away.”

It was far too dark in the room for me to see the look on her face. I couldn’t even tell from her tone if she was messing with me. I was a bit too old to believe that anyone could chase away my bad dreams, especially when they had been formed out of reality. But then again, Emmaline had power over the mind. Even now I could feel her rooting herself in my thoughts, sharing them with me, but blocking me from following that path back into her own head. It was a one way trip, or so she said.

If anyone could get rid of the nightmares, actually get rid of them, it would be Emmaline.

“All right.” I said.

She nodded once into the dark, “Close your eyes, then.”

I did as she asked. A moment passed, but in the moment the darkness of my eyelids didn’t feel constraining, like I was being pressed against the walls of a prison. It felt almost calm. Like a purring cat under my bare fingers, enjoying the feeling of my touch. It felt like I was back in North America, tucked into familiar sheets, pressed against the side of someone else. But only for a moment.

And then I opened my eyes and Emmaline was gone.

I sat up, wrapped in pink sheets, and stared across the room to the bed I had fallen asleep in. Purple sheets as pristine as if they had never been slept in at all. I should have figured. That kind of comfort and safety could only last a night.

-

Kenji wasn’t confident enough to drive us back, and I wasn’t entirely confident he could either. So, I drove the motorcycle to the compound, stopping myself from taking any unnecessary risks, least Kenji never go on another adventure with me again.

As much as I loathed to admit it, my plan was almost certainly backfiring. I was having fun just making friends with someone new. Socializing wasn’t exactly a skill I excelled in and the fact that Kenji almost didn’t seem nervous to get on the back of the bike with me after spending the afternoon in my company made me feel better than I had in awhile. There was a churning afterthought though, that if he wasn’t who he said he was, if Warner was right; then Kenji would die by my hand. There was no way around it.

Or so I told myself as we parked in the hanger.

I shot a scathing look at the soldier who carted off my bike, knowing they would take care of it, but trying to retain the menacing aura I had accumulated before I started letting myself go soft. Maybe Warner was right and I really should go back to training in the mornings.

It was only a second later as I turned to speak to Kenji that I felt a thrum of energy go through my body. The sensation stilled me to my core, even my lungs refused to take in oxygen as my brain scrambled for concrete meaning. I knew this feeling and I knew it well. My body restarted.

“Kishimoto,” my voice was harsh, “you are dismissed.”

“But--”

“Now, soldier.” There was a bite at the end of my words that I hadn’t ever used in conversation with him before. He registered this and, probably with some sense of betrayal, turned on his heel and marched away from the hanger. I hoped he was fast enough.

When my ability had first manifested, there were a lot of things going through my five year old head. And still it wasn’t anywhere near as complicated as Emmaline’s own mind. My sister, being a year older than me, took it upon herself to compare us in everything. Even before our powers. Shockingly, she wasn’t so far off when it came to this over everything else. Our abilities were simultaneously complete opposites and so similar that they could not be recreated in any test subjects. Though it wasn’t from lack of trying.

I could feel the energy of living things. Around me were spools of thread that tied back to every living creature, I could feel their hearts pumping, I could sense the electricity beneath their skin. By extension, Emmaline was connected to life through their minds. She had her own network that she organized and colorcoded, more orderly than my own, efficient. But our largest connector remained each other, and it was at that moment that I felt my sister’s ability wrap itself around me. As if it wanted me to know she was here, listening in to the private confines of my head. So, I did what any little sister would do.

I immediately thought back to the last time Warner’s lips were on mine, the heat of our breath as I undid the buttons of his shirt. I let my eyes close as the memories washed over me, leaving a singing fever in their wake.

Emmaline withdrew faster than a bat out of hell.

“That was rude.”

I heard her before I saw her. My eyes blinked opened tentatively as I watched my sister walked down the stairs into the hanger. Soldiers stopped, if only for a moment, to stare and wonder. Emmaline looked a lot like our mother. Her hair was two shades darker than mine and always laid flat down her back, her face was older, wiser. And she wore that red lipstick that Mum liked.

It was hard not to think of that woman when I looked at her. “What, like looking through someone’s head? Tell me, is that real rude?”

She rolled her eyes, “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

When she stepped down from the last stair a smile appeared on her face, out of nowhere. And then she held her arms open towards me. I noticed the sleeves of her coat, the collar of her shirt that covered her neck, the gloves that seemed to permanently cling to her hands. This wasn’t a last minute decision, my sister had come to Sector 45 with the full intent to see me.

I tried to walk calmly towards her. I’m pretty sure I failed.

Emmaline hugged me. She squeezed my shoulders and rocked us from side to side like a dance. It wasn’t appropriate, to be so excited to see each other, if our mother was there she would have chastised us greatly. But Mummy dearest wasn’t there, and we could do whatever the hell we wanted.

“This is a surprise,” I said as we pulled away.

“I told you I’d be visiting shortly.”

“Actually, you asked if you could visit and I never got back to you.”

Emmaline huffed as if I’d greatly inconvenienced her, “Doesn’t matter. It’s not as if you’re busy, hiding out from our parents and what have you.”

“They know where I am.” My eyes narrowed on her as a mischievous smile inched its way onto her face. “Mum does know where I am, right Emma?”

“Oh, she could guess, but I’m afraid she’s preoccupied right now.”

I held my breath. No wonder I’d been left alone for almost a month. Emmaline was covering for me and with her powers no less. It was starting to get scary how easily she could deceive the people that more or less ran the world.

“And what was your excuse for flying out here?”

Emmaline glanced at me, her lips upturned in a smug expression that made her lipstick seem darker. The color of blood. “I’m allowed holidays just like you.”

There was a palpable moment of tension between us that shattered with a clap of my sister’s hands. She turned on her heel and made her way back towards the stairs. I followed, just as she had expected me to do, and I watched as her hair flew behind her like a black veil. Nothing was different about Emmaline from the last time I had seen her, but I knew my sister better than that. She wasn’t a consistent person in the least.

She had plans. Always.

“Why didn’t you introduce me to your friend?”

I met her eyes as she glanced back at me, “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Emmaline hummed to herself for a moment before we entered the main hallway. She let me move to take the lead as I headed for the nearest elevator. It was just around dinner time now, the sun had already begun it’s decline over the ocean. Well, it would’ve anyways, if it wasn’t for the clouds hiding it. And I was starved from messing around in God knows where for hours.

“Y’know, sis,” she spoke finally after the elevator doors closed. “You can’t exactly lie to me.”

I gritted my teeth.

“And I’m not just saying that because I can read your mind. What, can’t trust me now? Especially when you’ve decided on making friends with someone you think is working for the rebellion.”

“Hush up,” I hissed.

The elevator was still steadily moving up towards the higher floors. That left us with little time left to speak with the comfort of not being recorded. Once we were out in the open, anyone could overhear us and report back to Anderson, Kenji would be as good as dead.

“I don’t know for sure.”

Emmaline scoffed.

“I don’t. Doesn’t matter, I just don’t want you rooting around in his head while I’m trying to do my job. Because if he is with the rebels, then maybe he can lead me to that base.”

“The base Anderson’s on your ass about.”

The doors open, “That’s the one.”

We walked in silence towards the dining room. There was something strange and familiar about wandering these halls with my sister beside me. Maybe it reminded me of when we were children, I scrunched my nose. Emmaline and I hadn’t wandered the halls together when we were little. We barely interacted outside of bedtimes and Sunday breakfasts. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and found her looking back at me. Her expression was blank.

Before I even opened the door to the dining room, Emmaline groaned from beside me. I felt a tinge of a smile make its way onto my lips before I waltzed inside, emulating the grace of a person with the ball in their side of the court. If she was going to be confrontational or then I simply wouldn’t let it get to me, Emmaline could whine all we wanted but this was still Warner’s sector.

A telepath and an empath walk into a bar… I’d hate to hear the punchline.

Emmaline hesitated by the door as I swept inside to take my usual seat beside him. He barely spared a glance at my sister, before turning to me, his side of the table devoid of paperwork for the first time in weeks. I narrowed my eyes, had he heard of her arrival before I had? Most likely.

I leaned close enough to press my lips to his cheek as he whispered, “A nice surprise.” I had to stifle the laugh the built up in my throat.

As much as I liked to taunt my sister, I also found myself increasingly more demure in her presenance. My cheeks reddened and I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I pulled away from Warner and into my own space. I caught Emmaline’s eye as she, now quiet for the first time since I’d seen her, sat down carefully beside us. I braced myself for whatever she was reading, whatever she could feel.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

My nerves blew out of my lungs in an instant. Warner brought a water glass to his mouth rather enthusiastically, he was hiding a grin. I could rest easy knowing that this dinner wasn’t going to be a normal Emma-Aaron staredown, where I was placed in the middle and forced to choose which one I would have to calm down first. Frankly, I found it unfair that they put me in such a position at all.

Emmaline and I had been rivals since the beginning on account of our abilites and the expectations that came with them. It made our relationship difficult to say the least, stressful and even distant. We rekindled what we could salvage the older we got, but it was hard to put the pressures our mother had forced down our throats away. Warner and Emmaline’s rivalry was different. And I couldn’t even be sure when it started. It almost felt like I had woken up one day to the both of them being at each other’s throats with no explanation other than, “Because I hate him, Ella.” on my sister’s lips.

I had my assumptions. But I certainly wasn’t going to tell them that.

“C’mon now,” Emmaline spoke first. “What have you two been up to, spare no details.”

“Is that why you came here? To catch up?” Warner raised an eyebrow and I felt his hand find mine underneath the table.

Emmaline amused herself my looking through the assortment of bottles on the table, in Sector 45 there never seemed to be a shortage of alcohol, before picking one that suited her tastes. “Why else would I be here?” She said as if there was a very obvious, very necessary reason for her to be here. Her eyes met his with something I could only describe as contempt, “To make sure you haven’t defiled my little sister?”

I felt more than saw Warner’s reaction to her words. It was like the walls turned ruby red, the air became almost stifling, but neither of the other occupants seemed to notice. No, Emmaline was reveling in my love’s discomfort. There was a gnawing dread in my stomach that colorfully plated breads weren’t going to fix. I squeezed Warner’s hand.

“Behave,” I said.

Emmaline shrugged, “I haven’t done anything that warrants punishment, Els. Even if punishment is your specialty.”

“For someone so gifted in speech, you’d think you would have learned when to shut up.”

“Bite me.” She laughed and buttered a roll.

The heat had dulled, but only slightly, and a dull blade was worse than a sharp one. I turned to Warner, who was still fixing my sister with a death stare. I raised his hand to my cheek. If I kept his attention on me, then hopefully they wouldn’t do something I would end up regretting.

“I rode my motorcycle today.”

“You did?” Distraction successful, he answered curiously.

“I missed it. We should do it more often, it wasn’t the same without you.” The room smelled like lilac. “It’s getting pretty cold out, as well, so if you want to go riding--”

“A metal deathtrap.”

“--We’ll have to go soon.” I gritted my teeth again and caught Emmaline’s gaze out of the corner of my eye. “You never have anything helpful to add, do you?”

Emmaline was watching our exchange, eyes shimmering with something that I couldn’t place. But Warner could. I could read his movements better than his facial expressions, as he tilted his body in front of me. The lilac that had misted the air had turned frigid, but hadn’t disappeared. Not yet anyways. Emmaline placed her chin on the palm of her hand.

“Still trying to find a way to break your neck?”

How dare she pretend to be innocent. “Why? Decided to give it a go afterall?” I answered.

There was an ebb and flow to the frequencies that surrounded the table. Emmaline, ever the bringer of chaos, was upsetting my natural balance. I knew she would, hypothetically, and I could handle it. Hypothetically. But what I couldn’t handle was my sister trying to infuriate the both of us at the same time. Though that was what she did best wasn’t it?

“Tell us why you’re really here, Emmaline.” Warner’s voice was serious.

I stiffened as my sister’s lazy smile faded. “You already know, don’t you?”

“Tell her, then.”

“Or you will. I’m familiar with the threat, thank you.” She rolled her eyes and the childish glee she’d been playing with from the moment she’d hugged me, disappeared completely. If I could feel emotions like Warner, I’d suspect any cheerfulness in my sister had blown away, almost like it never existed. “Project Canary.”

My blood froze in my veins.

“They’ve completed it?”

Emmaline appraised Warner’s question, “They believe they have.”

“And that’s all that really matters.” His fingers tightened their grip on my hand and I squeezed back with just as much force. I couldn't feel the rest of my body, I was grasping for anything, and had settled on my power. It covered me like a blanket, extended itself to Warner and wrapped him in it as well. It was protecting us, it would protect us. But not from that, not if they had succeeded.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Emmaline chasitied. “As if I would let them create something powerful enough to neutralize Ella. I’m not an idiot.” That was a pointed statement if I ever heard one.

“What were you doing in Asia?” How could Warner be so calm?

“Testing it, obviously.”

He leaned back, “And?”

Emmaline was silent for a long time. Long enough that I began to count. I hated counting, more than anything. As much as I loved mathematics and sciences, the theory of numbers and how they could organize the entire universe, I despised counting with a passion. Because once I started, it was almost impossible to stop. To pull myself out of that scared little corner of my head that I only fell into against my own will.

1, 2, 3, 4…

Warner’s pointer finger tapped on the inside of my wrist.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.” Emmaline continued, “I could have waited for my sister to come home to see her again, but it couldn’t wait. So, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

It was a message, it was a message and I couldn’t decipher it, but I would keep trying. For him. I focused on the feeling. The soft brushes of the pads of his fingers as they typed out a message to me and only me, heavily coded, even in his mind. Emmaline couldn’t read this, only I could. If I just--

“The Unnaturals they found in the last raid have been wiped out. Overseen by Supreme Commander Ibrahim and Mummy dearest, of course. It wasn’t a diplomatic mission, I lied, Nazeera and I watched the precessions.” Warner could no doubt see what Emmaline was recalling in her mind, “Their frequencies, their signatures, just vanished. Like they were dead.”

“But they weren’t dead, not when they disappeared.”

Emmaline nodded, “It was like a blackhole. I’ve never felt anything so… wrong.”

“I can understand that at least.” Warner went quiet again, and deep inside my mind where reality couldn’t touch me I felt all the more trapped losing that tether. I shut my eyes tightly. Without the sound of their voices, the darkness, the frequencies were consuming the edges of the room, and I could feel them sting across my skin. The hand that Warner held was the only place that cooled, like soaked in water, safe. “Love, you need to come back to us now.”

I was weak. How could I be falling apart so easily? Here the two of them were speaking calmly and I was falling apart at the dinner table. If Anderson saw me, if our mother heard--

27, 28, 29, 30…

“Thinking like that isn’t going to get you anywhere, sis.”

Warner’s free hand came up to tuck my hair behind my ear and slid down to cup the side of my face. It was like balm on a sunburn. If I could just move, then I could disappear into the circle of his arms where I would be safe, and loved, and

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

I gasped and the ticking of a clock. The numbers. The counting stopped.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered to the both of them, my eyes trained on the tablecloth. Embarrassment, shame, weakness burned in my gut.

Warner stroked my temple, his eyes never left my face but Emmaline turned away and I had to restrain my own wince. My mind was not a serene place to be in at this moment, that was for damn sure. Maybe if she learned to stay out of my head then she wouldn’t read things she couldn’t stomach.

“But that wouldn’t be very fun, would it?” She mused.

Warner pursed his lips and answered her, gaze still trained on me. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Actually, I think that’s enough entirely. You passed on your information, Emmaline, go home.”

“Gladly,” she responded, “if my sister comes with me.”

“No,”

The noise was raw and strained, I wasn’t sure where it came from until I saw my sister’s eyes turn to me. There was a mix of pity and desperation in them that made me feel all the more sick to my stomach. Maybe she believed the best way to protect me was by us staying together, but if her information had solidified anything it was that I couldn’t return home. Not anytime soon anyway.

“Emma, I can’t.”

“And why not?” Emmaline stood to her full height. She towered over the table, but I could feel her unease rolling off her frequencies in waves. It had been awhile since I had fallen apart in front of her. Probably almost a decade.

“Mum, she plans to test it on me.” To my surprise, my lips didn’t quiver. “It will work.”

“And I’ll stop her.”

I shook my head. She didn’t understand, she couldn’t understand what losing my powers even for a moment would mean for me. The vulnerability that I hadn’t felt since I was a child. How stripping me of something so intertwined with my entire being would be alike to killing me. The fact that the Reestablishment could very well kill me using such an object.

I watched the warring emotions on my sister’s face as she considered my thoughts. I wished that I could read her own and understand why she would be so insistent that I return home with her. It didn’t work. Emmaline turned away from me, and away from the table, and walked back towards the door. We hadn’t even gotten the chance to eat anything. I hadn’t noticed until now.

“Els,” Emmaline called back to me. “I’ll see you in the morning. For training, yeah?”

She paused. I bit my lip, “Of course.”

And with that she nodded and left. The door slamming behind her with more force than necessary and a weight settling in my gut that I could be sure would disappear overnight. I glanced to Warner, his eyes still heavy on my face, and I found something in them that perfectly reflected how I felt. How this whole situation felt.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into the collar of his jacket. And I cried.

#shatter me #unravel me #ignite me #restore me #defy me #shatter me trilogy #shatter me fanfiction #warnette #aaron warner #juliette ferrars #ella sommers #kenji kishimoto #emmaline sommers #tahereh mafi #vilify me #this was posted a couple weeks ago on ao3 and im just now getting around to posting it on tumblr #go figure #really proud of this chapter though #there's a lot more plot #I hope you guys enjoy #comment and reblog if you can #when people interact with my work it makes me cry #ive outlined the next chapter so hopefully it wont take longer than a month #tbh I need to outline the rest of the fic #its bothering me that I don't know WHERE im going #I have general idea #but #you'll all have to wait and see

[robot-unicorn-attack]

☽ SUPERNOVA, 40

“From the ashes, a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring…” — J.R.R. Tolkien

Real Name: Assana Sylvain (tends to go by “As”)

Agency: 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸

FC: Natalie Portman

Unicorn Name: MK II [+]

Place of Birth: Eleutheria, capital city of Sky World’s main moon, Candour

Appearance: A little bit earth pixie and little bit tired mom. Petite stature (5′2″), dark eyes, dark hair, iconic beauty mark on her right cheek, and radiant skin (except maybe those dark circles under her eyes), it’s amazing she hasn’t aged much since her heyday. At least As thinks so -  𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  “politely” disagrees. Assana was given an ultimatum to either undergo micro cosmetic surgeries or wear a holo-collar to project a slightly less tired version of herself onto her own face in order to maintain her popularity and compete visually with the younger racers. Caught, as she always seems to find herself, between a rock and a hard place, she choose the holo-collar. When racing, the image projected onto her face is her own face from the end of her career (which coincidentally is messing with her head a bit).

Wardrobe: Honestly, before her comeback she wore whatever was most comfortable. Her public image under 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  is quite polished, graceful, and somewhat demure but fashionable (almost like a Sky World Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly). Her makeup tends to be on the “natural” side of things, but she gets a gold treatment sometimes on her hair and skin to highlight her “divinity” as Supernova. Her gowns flow and sometimes seem to float around her constantly (thanks to pinpointed anti-gravity tech). Occasionally you’ll see her wearing a golden circlet on her head. Her hair, which has been cut pixie short for many years now, is almost exclusively covered by a wig these days.

Having lived on a private estate on the moon of Elysis (picture a Lake Como-esque area) where she kept robot horses and played with her children most of the time, she tends to prefer natural materials and things she can move easily in. She prefers darker colours, finding they suit her better, but as an icon of Sky World, she is forced into pastels and florals. Being older now, she finds the racing costumes a little irksome and tiring.

There’s also the holo-collar she has to wear now in public and holo-visor during races. It appears as a laurel wreath style necklace that wraps around her neck but just slightly parted in the front (the ends of the “wreath” contain the projection cameras to flow the image upward from her neck ... something As finds a little insulting as she’s fairly certain there’s no wrinkles on her anywhere).

Places most likely to be found: Her apartment. It’s lonely, but she’d rather be there than pretending to be enjoying herself at photo ops and the Unicorn City clubs for promotions. She can also be found at the 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  training arena, in the unicorn stables, posing in yet another photo shoot, and, lately, doing promotional talks with the “mature set” as a new 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  tactic to gain more interest from females aged 35-100+ as they’ve seen a significant loss in interest from that particular group. (basically talking to mothers about why racing is ~amazing! As hates this.)

People mostly likely to be with: Typically her teammates, Flower and Sunbeam. Otherwise, holograms of her children (if she’s on a call which she will take anywhere, no matter what), 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  higher ups who like to trot her out for show and for meetings (investors just love~ meeting the Supernova), Glimmer (her agency assigned PA), and Atraxys (personal manager, also 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸 appointed). Otherwise, surrounded by other racers and various support staff

Strongest character trait: begrudging determination

Public Image: As has been directed to maintain a similar public image to what she presented when she first started, but somewhat matured since it’s public knowledge that she is a mother of three. As the original circuit celeb, she’s a goddess of pure light - regal, caring, quiet grace, virtuous, clever (well-timed) yet tasteful quips, disciplined, influential, and a leader. Originally, she had been promoted as being something similar to Sunbeam’s image, but leaning into an athletic and youthful goddess-type (like a combination of Nike, Athena, and Artemis). She is now meant to add a motherly air to her persona (but without having it feel “old”), something she is struggling with. Her public image is a facade she finds easy to put on since it is somewhat close to her actual personality, but it also helps to hide the fact that As feels like she’s falling apart at the seams.

Racing Strengths: As a racing veteran, Assana has had the privilege of working with MK II for 24 years and the two of them are more in sync than any racer could hope to be. Her background in show-jumping and dressage has been to her benefit a hundred times over, and flows well with MK’s abilities. Stamina, steadfastness, and style have taken Assana far in the arena with clean lines and show techniques. They adapt well to situations and have fairly good advantage with foresight to compensate MK’s inability to make tight maneuvers.

Absolute trust and teamwork between racer and horse has been a must, which creates a strong bond such as that shared between Assana and MK. The unicorn is a tad on the surely side these days, and tends to try to bite at other handlers, Assana being the only one MK will let within an inch of her stable. As sometimes wonders if she an MK are intuitively linked as she finds her mood often reflected in her beloved horse.

Racing Weaknesses: Speed, mostly. Assana falls back in the routine of show-jumping when she’s racing. MK is not a fast unicorn, but he makes up for it in other areas. Agility when it comes to difficult turns and trickier tracks.

Assana and MK tend to not take risks, which has both worked for and against them in the past. Adapting a bolder style might become in their interest for the comeback if they want to keep up.

Personality:

as Supernova - serene, calm, regal, takes a loss with grace, elegant, eloquent and intelligent, distant, steadfast, resilient, honourable, smiles easily

as Assana - guarded, eager to please, thrives under pressure, caring, loving to those she is closest with, warm once you get to know her, a bit scattered off-track, still somewhat inclined toward perfection, a little sad, on the quiet side, eloquent of speech, sometimes distant, feels more at ease with the horses than people, almost a less heightened version of Supernova, determined, true to her word, somewhat mechanically inclined, likes a good laugh, passive aggressive, stays away from drama-mongers

Biography: Once upon a time, a little girl was born unto one of the most prominent and elusive families of Eleutheria, the Sylvain clan. A beautiful child with a blinding smile, she fit into the family’s picture of perfection, but as with most facades, this one was rotten underneath. Hardly adhering to the key values of most Sky Worlders, [redacted] and [redacted] Sylvain pushed their flawless image upon their young daughter, forcing her through trials of training in various arts and sports, seeking the right one for her to excel in, often locking her up in her gilded room when she failed to meet the lowest standards. It wasn’t until show jumping was foisted upon her, that Assana Sylvain found her calling.

Despite the heavy pressures of being perfect and demands for golden laurels from her parents, Assana truly felt at ease and in her element in the arena. She endured mental and emotional manipulation on a daily basis, but felt free when riding, her parents’ sibilant threats melting away into the crowds. That freedom made her want to win and winning was the one thing she could do of her own free will … and gave some respite for days after. She soon became well known for her jumping and technique, attracting the attention of a recruiter for the newly established Sky World racing agency, 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸 . By sixteen, she was far away from the influence of her parents and quickly became the golden child of the circuit as Supernova. Her iconic appearance as a youthful goddess of victory took her far, beloved darling of galaxy. She was happy, for the most part, but not so blinded by her own celebrity to how both 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  and her parents were profiting and exploiting her. But that celebrity did come with perks – an apartment of her own, getting free things by endorsing products and places, a meager allowance (whatever wasn’t being siphoned off by 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  and her parents), and a support team that did seem to care, which was a strange experience for her. And then there was MK II. A dream of a robotic horse – they became so in sync and their motions fluid, critics praised them to all the moons and back, fans went wild just seeing their images plastered on billboards, products, and in their homes.

Regardless of the suffocating nature of her existence, of the things no one could control was Assana’s heart. It had been closed off and guarded for so long, suspicious of any kind gesture for fear of what would be expected as compensation (such were the transactional nature of all of her personal relationships to date), that the galaxy’s sweetheart never expected to trust someone enough to fall in love with them, to let them know the real her, until she met Draca. They tried to hide their relationship from 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  until the paparazzi got wind of it, which led to RISE capitalizing on it, boosting Supernova’s image as not only a victrix, but a romantic as well. When they became engaged, their wedding was The Event of the Year – highly publicized, featured everywhere, and was all anyone talked about even for months after. Assana and Draca decided on an intimate ceremony away from prying eyes before the big Event, an agreement that allowed them privacy for a special moment, something the cameras and 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  couldn’t take away. The publicized wedding itself was massive – over a thousand guests in attendance, cameras and candles floating all over, decorations to the heavens, and their gowns – oh the gowns! – Supernova never looked more like a goddess to the public, now joined in union with her own heavenly partner.

Assana went on racing for a few more years after that, during which time her private life became increasingly busy as the public craved more. Strangers followed with a hunger the adoption of an 11 year old girl from the mines of a Lava World labour camp, how the family interacted during racing season, the birth of their other two daughters, and the purchase of the glorious estate on a lake in Elysis, and soon after. Supernova and Draca were the power couple on top, but Assana still felt suffocated. Her parents continued to drown her in criticism, demanding to be given privilege to their grandchildren’s upbringing and more funds for their own ventures until Assana snapped. Buckling under the pressure, she took up drinking as an outlet and made a bargain with 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  to have her parents put into cryogenic rest “for their health” in exchange for an even larger share in Supernova’s profits, as well as an extended contract.

This did not sit well with Draca, who had spent a vast part of their relationship every race season worrying over Assana as she saw the races to be far too dangerous (particularly the increasingly close encounters Supernova seemed to be having with golems), as well as the expectations placed on Assana as Supernova, her public image, and the façade created around their private life as counter-intuitive to the core beliefs and values of Sky World. Assana shrugged most of it off, but it began to cause a rift between the two of them, each fight pushing them further apart. Draca begged Assana to retire before she killed herself on the circuit and to enjoy spending time with the kids as they grew up. Assana agreed, but signed on for spot cameos and promotions with 𝑅 ��� 𝒮 𝐸  as part of their agreement for her retirement. Draca wasn’t particularly happy about this, but Supernova’s job was more infrequent than before, allowing Assana to nearly slip off the radar beyond a passing interest. Her retirement lasted for 10 years, during which time things became more heated between Assana and Draca until they ended things with a trial separation. The breaking point came following an incident wherein their youngest child was permitted by Assana to take one of the robotic horses kept at their estate out, during which time it was found that Assana had been drinking. The child, frightened after pushing a button by accident causing the horse to speed up, was thrown from horseback and sustained several non-serious injuries. Assana was declared negligent by her ex-wife, the final blow coming through the divorce proceedings when Assana was denied custody rights.

Alone and feeling defeated, Assana turned to the only other life she knew – racing. 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  was only too happy to take her back. She cleaned up her act, moved into the agency provided apartment (very luxurious, very large, very … lonely), and turned her focus on getting back into the game. She shies away from drinking, hates making club appearances (though thankfully much, much fewer than in her youth), and talking to her kids through hologram once a day to make it seem like she’s there. Overwhelmed by the changes to the industry since her heyday, Assana is determined to forge ahead and to make things right again in her world. Even though she sometimes feels like she’s falling apart at the seams, she will never let them see her fall – as her parents once cruelly told her, weakness is failure and failure is no option for anyone worth their existence.

Relationships:

Snow -  As might be a little distracted on a regular basis, but she hasn’t not noticed Marivana’s indifference toward her ... which has frankly been a relief. She knows of Marivana’s past on the circuit (at least the official story, anyway) and did compete with her once before retiring, but Marivana was fairly forgettable then - something she certainly isn’t now. She’s good, and As appreciates that. She’s curious about the other racer and would almost like to get closer (friends only, lbh) since she’s never starstruck, but the ice queen act is hitting a little too close to home as it reminds her  of her ex.

Sky -

Ice -

Sunbeam -  𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  teammate.

Flower -  𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸  teammate. As is almost uncomfortably aware of how closely Flower watches her, and how embarrassed Flower seems to become every time they’re in the same space. (Is it because the poor kid puked in front of her that one time?) Ultimately, As does find her a little endearing and should probably try to be a good teammate and give her pointers. If anything, her innate mothering may come out and she might try to take the younger racer under her wing.  

Flame -

Nyx -

Widowmaker -

Playlist:

high school sweethearts - melanie martinez

violence - grimes and i_o

show and tell - melanie martinez

waves crashing on distant shores of time - clint mansell

mothercreep - fka twigs

kill this love - blackpink

are you hurting the one you love? - florence + the machine

moon river - audrey hepburn / frank ocean vers.

cellophane - fka twigs

star treatment - arctic monkeys

recess - melanie martinez

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.ca/sempero/rua-supernova/

Headcanons: (tba)

Family:

Draca {ex-wife, 42}

Jaina {adopted daughter, 18}

Xanthippe {daughter, 12}

Indigo {son, 7}

[redacted] and [redacted] Sylvain {parents, resting in cryostasis}

#supernova #racers #mk ii #racer info #assana #semp's writing

[happymetalgirl]

Tool - Fear Inoculum

I didn’t actually intend to review the long-awaited fifth Tool album so long after its release, time and life got in the way of things, but I’m kind of glad in a way that I’m talking about it now after all the inevitable and ridiculous hysteria surrounding it has mellowed out, which is (spoiler) kind of a sign of the album’s relative quality next to the band’s other four records in and of itself. And, while now I get to talk about it without the confounding noise of the loud clamoring on about it, I don’t really think my words would have really been too different a month and a half ago than they are now.

Tool are a band, of course, who need no introduction; their cerebral brand of progressive alternative metal has become signature and iconic, and their four albums from 1993 to 2006 that preceded this one have served as an influence, if not a lofty aspiration, for thousands of artists since then. Like any self-respecting Tool fan, I consider Lateralus and Ænima to be roughly neck and neck at the top for my favorite spot in the band’s discography (the joint “Parabol” and “Parabola” together being my personal favorite Tool song). Those two albums show the quick crystallization of the band’s progressive metal psychedelia from their rougher, grungier beginnings earlier in the 1990′s. Though I do hold a lot of respect for how accomplished of a debut statement Undertow was, and how much ground it laid for the two albums to come. And even Opiate served as a strong prequel EP to that album. The band’s fourth album, 10,000 Days, however, took a perplexing turn from the heady, yet still metallic prog hallucinations the band had worked up to, and into more drawn-out, spacey experimentation, which I’d say haven’t really aged into anything and sound about as unnecessarily dilute and jam-band-ish as the day the album released in 2006. The album had its high points like the thundering bass of “Vicarious” and “Jambi” and the alternative metal oddity of “The Pot”, but it’s a largely tiresome and less rewarding listen than its predecessors. And that was the last we heard of Tool for thirteen years.

The tremendous wait for the album of course drummed up a lot of speculation of what it would sound like in relation to their previous works. Would it be a return to the beloved progressive metal of  Ænima and Lateralus? Would it be a culmination of all their sounds in retrospect into one gargantuan crowd-pleaser? Or would it be something totally new for the band. Not to toot my own horn, (and not like I can prove this anyway), but I had this hunch that this album would probably be just a delayed continuation of what the band were doing on 10,000 Days, and, while there is the occasional reinvigoration of their sound with some stylistic callbacks to their middle two records prior, lo and behold, as much as I wish I didn’t, for the most part I guessed right.

Coinciding with the band’s acceptance of the times and the advent of streaming with their release of their catalog onto digital platforms, Fear Inoculum was released as a single-disc CD and as a longer, digital version, with three extra instrumental interludes sprinkled throughout the track listing stretching it past the limits of the CD format to nearly eighty-seven minutes, and it sure feels like the hour-and-a-half-long listen that it is, and not in a flattering way. Like I said, the album is largely a continuation of the atmosphere-focused prog of 10,000 Days, which is only somewhat updated from the band’s 2006 effort. The main songs are all over ten minutes long, and the similarly low energy across the marathon track list doesn’t really make a great case for this direction in contrast to what the band have shown themselves to be great at, namely vibrant, untethered prog adventurousness.

The opening title track layers together plenty of diverse tom percussion and the band’s recognizable guitar reverb into a slowly growing and whirlpool (kind of like the album cover) of Tool’s 10,000 Days sonic pallet that gradually cascades into a thicker, distortion-fuzz-driven finish. The abstract, cryptic lyricism about shedding the influence of manipulative fear mongering is more cryptic than poetic, but I can see the vagueness of the subject being a good way to make it widely and appropriately applicable in its commentary and play into the paranoia of refusing to acknowledge exactly what this deceiver is. As a tension-builder, it’s a great way to start the album off, but it doesn’t really seal the pay-off as the heavy bass line tries to usher in a climax while the other instrumentalists mostly just coast on forward to the end of the song like a tired distance runner giving a bit of a burst to finish the last stretch. And that’s one of the shorter tracks, with over an hour left to go.

The second song, “Pneuma”, is structurally not too dissimilar, with a synthy bridge this time connecting the meditative tom-drum/reverb-guitar build-up to a relatively hum-drum metallic non-finale. It really only marginally feels like it’s that kind of progressively building song, clearly being more focused on its meditative ambiance than its intentional trajectory. In which case, I would have honestly probably preferred the band taking that approach more holistically, rather than trying to fit it into a prog metal formula. Lyrically, the song centers around a lot of transcendentalism that Tool have written about before, not really adding much new beyond perhaps a slightly different angle to meditate on it from. The song is followed by the first of the instrumental interlude tracks, “Litanie contre la peur”, which plays around with a melodically manipulated vocal inflection over some humming ambiance for about two minutes.

The third big piece on the album, “Invincible”, which finally plays a little more to the band’s progressive strengths. The guitar groove is actually allowed to drive the song and shine in a more energetic manner as Danny Carey gets to get a lot more bombastic behind the kit, as do the rest of the band during the instrumental sections throughout the song. It’s not only a more metallically groove-driven song whose heavier elements are actually used to cultivate a sense of meditation from a much more signature angle, but also a more interestingly progressive song that does more than just slowly swell up to a mild crescendo for ten minutes. The worries of the song’s warrior speaker are pretty transparently transposeable to the worry and struggles any aging artist (especially a long-absent artist like... Tool, maybe) to maintain their importance and the meaningfulness of their work.

The ominous bass hum of the second interlude track, “Legion Inoculant”, leads into the fourth of the album’s main epic songs, which keep getting longer and longer with the thirteen-and-a-half-minute environmental apocalypse warning “Descending”, which pleas for an end to the apathy that exacerbates the compounding climate crisis. Musically, the song plays into the somber melancholy of the lyrics, while taking a more balanced approach between the spaciness of the band’s last album and the heavier elements of Ænima in particular, perhaps intended given the similarity of that album’s title track’s subject matter. While some of the later sections feel a bit over-indulgent, this song deserves its length as it cascades through emotive defeatism via progressive metal ebbs and flows into this impending metallic crescendo that actually fits nicely with the melancholic rock build-up and the lyrical implications; it sounds like its tracking the collapse of , much like the title track of Ænima., starting and finishing with the sound of waves upon the shore that will continue to crash, just as they did before our takeover of the land, after our demise.

While the lyrical concept revolving around self-doubt and  of “Culling Voices”, is fascinating and all too tangible, the music falls more on the mild side again, with the band’s softer, more meditative atmosphere crashing just twice into explosive, but unimpressive climaxes of muscular, but not too creative, guitar riffing. The longest of the interludes, the wind-chime-laden and effects-doused electronic pulsing of “Chocolate Chip Trip”, features a tasty little drum solo to kind of make up for the lack of spotlight Carey gets on this album as he does so much of the rhythmic legwork, which I certainly appeciate and welcome.

The closing epic, “7empest” was the song fans were fawning over the most as a monstrous riff-fest after the album was finally released, and the riffing across the song’s almost sixteen minutes, as well as the repeating of the lyrical mantra, do capture some Ænima vibes, which makes sense knowing it was pieced together with motifs written during that era. The song’s lyrics once again call back to that breakthrough album with the repetition of the mantra “A tempest must be just that” in reference to the convenient muddying of the waters of responsibility for disasters caused by said chaos once it arises. It’s a song about those in power managing to use the chaos they create through their mismanagement to hide their guilt and just divert the blame on the chaos itself. The song is proggy in Tool fans’ favorite way and indeed dense with churning effects-laden riffage and a faster, much more aggressive vocal performance from Maynard James Keenan. While it is the longest, heaviest, and most vintage-Tool of the tracks here, I’d say it only stands a bit above the rest of the track list, and honestly maybe not surpassing the magnificent “Descending”.

The digital version wraps up with the odd, but disposable coda of the two-minute chirping sample manipulation of “Mockingbeat”, a strange note to end this version of the album on, but ultimately nothing destructive.

I had talked about Rammstein’s self-titled album and Slipknot’s We Are Not Your Kind as being among the year’s biggest of the biggest metal releases, but the long-awaited arrival of Fear Inoculum tops them both. Yet for all the drama building up around this album, all the hype that was inevitably going to hoist hopes and expectations to astronomical and similarly inevitably unrealistic levels, Fear Inoculum sits average at best, if not rather low in the band’s small catalog, and the rather quick hushing of this hype from fans and the metal sphere in general shows that I’m not alone in my relative underwhelmedness after the thirteen-year wait. While that sounds harsh, it is just because this album had such incredibly high expectations to live up to that it was most likely never going to meet. Fear Inoculum isn’t a terrible album by any means, but it does suffer from being drawn out the most by its weakest elements, its least creative ideas stretching it out in hopes of finding purpose for doing so, but coming back empty-handed. A little while after the album came out, Maynard made some kind of comment about this album being great eight years ago, which suggested that it had been in the works for a long time but perhaps held up by frivolous reasons, but also that it was composed largely near the time of 10,000 Days, as I thought it might have been, and it just kind of bugged me that this album probably didn’t need to be the huge prodigal event it was, maybe just an acceptable transitional moment for Tool to figure out what they wanted to do with their expanding sound arsenal. Instead we got arrested development dressed up as a comeback at a time when we might otherwise have one or two more albums from this band (by their releasing pace), possibly more accomplished. I had mentioned in my review of Opeth’s newest album that they deserved the patience with their prog rock transition, and that album showed it. It took four albums to get a record that could stand tall alongside their progressive death metal classics, but it came, and the journey did come with some good highlights along the way too. The journey to this album was a test of patience with clumsy publicity for several years more than anything else, not quite as rewarding, no music to offer along the way (aside from side projects), and still a sense of a band just picking up where they left off years ago without really assessing their direction. I’m glad Fear Inoculum is finally here, but I think others will share this sentiment with me even if they haven’t said it to themselves out loud. Yes, we got a few strong highlights out of this record, but I’m more relieved that the fiasco surrounding the wait is over than I am excited to have this batch of new songs (the latter of which I wish outweighed the former).

6/10

#Tool #Fear Inoculum #progressive metal #psychedelic rock #psychedelic metal #progressive rock #experimental metal #experimental rock #new music #new album #metal #heavy metal #album review