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[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

a brief look at their daily life & random family’ moments

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, cyno, kaveh x fem! reader

cw: different timelines. original characters, maternity, pregnant reader in wriothesley's part, parenthood, use of endearment names, arabic terms & fluff stuff. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

x

WRIOTHESLEY

Amid the quiet hum of daily tasks, you and Wriothesley shared a comfortable silence in his office, broken only by the soft rustling of papers and the scratch of his pen against documents.

The movements in your womb were a gentle reminder of the life growing within you, but it was the swelling in your feet that caused the most discomfort. Taking advantage of a moment to relax, you reclined on the new sofa your husband had thoughtfully bought, balancing a stack of papers on your belly. While you worked through a few revisions, your true attention was drawn to a crossword puzzle from The Steambird newspaper resting atop the pile.

“Wrio, quick—seven letters. Known as Liyue’s enlightened beasts or gods,” you asked, glancing up from the puzzle with a spark of curiosity.

Wriothesley looked up from his form, his lips curving into a smirk as he replied confidently, “Easy. Adeptus.”

You beamed, grateful for his quick answer, and eagerly scribbled it into the puzzle. Before you could move on to the next clue, a soft knock on the door caught your attention. Wriothesley called for the visitor to enter, and the door creaked open to reveal your teenage son.

“Mum, Dad. Are you busy?” Cameron asked, peeking shyly into the room.

“Never for you, sweetheart,” you replied warmly, setting aside the puzzle and placing the papers on the tea table in front of you. You gestured for him to come closer, and Cameron’s shy smile turned radiant as he walked over to sit beside you, quickly enveloped in your affection.

“Is something wrong, buddy? I thought you were in the city with Quentin,” Wriothesley inquired.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Cameron reassured him. “Quentin forgot that today was his parents’ performance day, so Corinne picked him up while we were at the beach. Éveline is busy too, so I decided to come home.”

Both you and Wriothesley nodded in understanding. Rising from his desk, Wriothesley announced, “I’ll make some tea for all of us.”

As he left, Cameron nestled into your embrace while you returned to your puzzle, never letting go of your son. The peace was short-lived, however, as your daughter, still in your womb, seemed to sense her brother’s presence. She began kicking energetically, demanding attention of her own.

Cameron chuckled, watching the movements. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you replied with a laugh. “Sometimes it feels like she thinks my belly is a playground, and even my ribs don’t escape her antics. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Smiling, Cameron gently placed his hands over your belly, where your baby's tiny feet were stretching. His soft touch seemed to calm her, and the powerful kicks gradually eased into gentle nudges. You sighed in relief.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Cameron said softly, his voice full of anticipation.

You kissed the top of his head, your heart full. “She’s looking forward to meeting you too.”

A few minutes later, Wriothesley returned with a tray of tea and a few treats, the sight of his wife and son greeting him with warmth. As he joined you, the love and contentment in the room seemed to swell.

Even after all these years, Wriothesley couldn’t help but marvel at the simple beauty of his family. You, Cameron, and the little one on the way—his heart overflowed with gratitude for the life you had built together.

CYNO

The General Mahamatra was escorting the Lesser Lord Kusanali back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana after a lengthy meeting with the sages and the Akademiya's scribe when a familiar sight caught his eye—you, leaving the Grand Bazaar with the twins by your side.

A faint sparkle crossed his usually composed gaze, a flicker of warmth that most would miss—especially those who would go out of their way to avoid catching the matra's attention. However, the perceptive little dendro archon wasn’t most people. With a soft giggle, she turned to Cyno and suggested he end his day early to spend the afternoon with his family.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her tone light and reassuring. “I’ll take a quick look around and be back home before dark.”

Cyno hesitated, concern briefly knitting his brow. As a protector, it wasn’t in his nature to leave the young archon unattended. He began to decline, promising to join his family at the end of the day. But Nahida, with her characteristic blend of wisdom and playfulness—and perhaps a subtle flex of her authority—persisted.

Eventually, Cyno relented, expressing his gratitude before bidding her farewell and making his way to you.

It was Isaar who first sensed his father’s approach, the boy turning to greet Cyno with a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave that quickly caught both Aryan’s and your attention.

“Cyno,” you greeted warmly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears tinged red, though his stoic demeanor didn’t waver. Amused by his reaction, you chuckled softly as the twins ran up for their customary pats on the head.

“Hey, Baba, guess what!” Isaar exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “We’re having Shawarma Wrap for dinner tonight!”

Cyno blinked, his brow arching in curiosity as he glanced at you. “That’s unusual. Any special occasion?”

Grinning, Isaar puffed out his chest. “I won three rounds against Yan in Invokation TCG! We bet that the winner could pick a special dinner, and I got to order from Mama!”

Cyno nodded in understanding while Aryan sighed, the quieter twin clearly disappointed. “I really wanted to eat Mama’s Panipuri,” he murmured, his tone soft and wistful. “Grandpa Cyrus even helped me pick the best potatoes for them.”

Your heart melted at his words. Smiling, you leaned closer to him, your hand gently stroking his face. “I’ll make them next time, Ary,” you promised in a quiet voice meant just for him. “I’ll even make double the amount, just for you.”

Aryan’s eyes brightened as he nodded, comforted by your assurance. Cyno, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Once again, you had effortlessly resolved a situation that others might dismiss as trivial, yet to you, every detail of your children’s happiness mattered deeply.

Without a word, Cyno relieved you of the shopping bags, holding them in one hand while his other reached for yours. Intertwining your fingers, he began leading you home, his quiet presence grounding and reassuring.

The twins walked a few paces ahead, deeply engaged in a lively conversation in their unique language—a secret code they only shared with each other. Even as they chatted, they never strayed far from their parents’ watchful eyes.

Moments like this were rare, given your respective duties, but Cyno savored every second. The simplicity of walking hand-in-hand with you, watching the twins chatter animatedly, filled him with a quiet, profound joy. These were the moments that reminded him of what truly mattered.

Perhaps, he thought, as his grip on your hand tightened slightly, he should ask Nahida for more days off. Just maybe.

KAVEH

“Daddy, daddy, daddy! I’m going to marry Hakim!”

Those were the enthusiastic words your sweet little girl announced as she bounded into the kitchen. You paused mid-preparation of lunch, glancing over your shoulder, while Kaveh, comfortably sipping his wine, choked violently on the drink.

Concerned but mildly amused, you hurried to help him recover from the coughing fit that erupted—not from the wine itself, but from Zahra’s startling declaration.

“Princess,” Kaveh managed to say after a deep breath, his voice still raspy, “I thought you were going to marry daddy.” He gave her a shaky smile, clearly hoping her young heart still belonged solely to him.

You snorted softly, shaking your head as you turned back to your work.

“No! Daddy is already married to Mommy,” Zahra explained matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ooh! Look at this pretty drawing Hakim made for me!”

She held up a colorful, childlike but remarkably detailed drawing of the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Even Kaveh, reluctant to admit it, couldn’t deny the talent evident in the work. Hakim, it seemed, though a miniature replica of his father, had his own gifts.

“Oh my! It’s so beautiful, Zaza,” you praised as you leaned over to admire the drawing. “Did you thank him properly?”

“Yes! I gave him a rose,” Zahra replied proudly, her chest puffed out.

Kaveh’s heart softened at her response.

Zahra truly was a thoughtful, kind-hearted child. Every day, he watched her grow into a bright, beautiful girl, reflecting the best qualities of both her parents. She was his little princess, the light of his life, and Kaveh would protect that light fiercely. The thought of anything—or anyone—taking away her happiness made his chest tighten.

“Daddy is still against this marriage, though,” Kaveh suddenly declared, snapping out of his reverie. He crossed his arms, attempting to look stern. “You’re too young, and I highly doubt Hakim has the resources—or the qualities—to provide you with a good home. Besides, men, in general, are terrible.” He paused, then added smugly, “But daddy isn’t. Daddy is the best. So daddy is still the best choice!”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a pinch on the cheek. Kaveh pouted dramatically at the gesture, though he didn’t pull away.

“Let kids be kids, Kav,” you said with a fond smile.

Zahra, meanwhile, seemed neither disheartened nor discouraged by her father’s objections. Instead, her little brow furrowed in thought before she confidently replied, “But daddy, Hakim promised we’d get married when we’re big like you and mommy, and his mama and papa. He said that when he grows up, he’ll be a great house artist like you, and then he’ll build a house for us to live in. You can visit us all the time!”

Kaveh was internally horrified. They were already making plans for the future, and Zahra hadn’t even turned seven yet. The idea was unacceptable. Intolerable. His sweet baby girl couldn’t possibly—no, wouldn’t—grow up so fast.

But as he looked into her sparkling golden eyes and saw the genuine joy in her smile, he couldn’t bring himself to crush her whimsical dream. With a dramatic sigh, he relented—though not without setting a few conditions.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re not getting married until you’re fifty-nine. And Hakim has to build a palace with many rooms and a beautiful garden. And I’ll visit every day!”

Zahra clapped her hands with glee, her delighted giggles echoing in the kitchen as she threw her arms around him.

Meanwhile, you watched the exchange with mild amusement, a warm sense of comfort filling your heart.

If only Kaveh realized how common the “childhood friends to lovers” trope was, you thought with a grin, he’d surely take back everything he’d just said.

.

.

a/n: i planned to write a part for kazuha and alhaitham but i'm a little bit tired so in the next update? we'll see...

please let me know if there are any mistakes ;)

edited: dec/2024

[amateurvoltaire]

February has finally come to an end, and being the so-called "month of love" (or so the obscene number of pink Hallmark cards in supermarkets would have me believe), I thought—despite being very, very late for Valentine’s Day (when am I not late for everything?)—I’d take the opportunity to talk about Robespierre’s love life. Because surely, he had one, right?

Well... that depends on who you ask. Accounts of Robespierre’s romantic escapades range from total abstinence to secret debauchery and a supposed porn addiction, depending on which political or moral flavour the historian (1) writing the accounts subscribes to.

In case you’re dying of curiosity: there is precisely zero evidence that Maximilien Robespierre slept with anyone—man, woman, or even himself. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Does this mean he didn’t? Was he asexual? Abstinent? Just busy?

No. It simply means that if he did have any romantic or sexual encounters, he was extremely discreet about them (and why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as if he’d start randomly monologuing about his love life mid-speech at the Convention or the Jacobins).

As for his relationships with women, here’s what we do know:

As a politician, he was wildly popular with women, to the point of receiving marriage proposals in the mail.

He never married, and while rumours of his engagement exist, they remain just that—rumours. He died at 36, unmarried, childless, and leaving behind no diary or trove of love letters to illuminate his feelings.

He has been posthumously linked to three women: Anaïs Deshors, Éléonore Duplay, and Annette Duplessis. However, these claims are flimsy at best, often put forth by people with their own agendas.

He did, however, write love poems to several women in Arras: a Miss Orptelia Mondlen, a Mlle Henriette, an Émilie Demoncheaux (on the eve of her wedding, no less), and a certain Sylvie.

In short, if we want to find any direct evidence of Robespierre’s feelings towards women, we have to turn to his poetry. And since this is Robespierre—where everything must have some kind of political dimension—let’s talk about how his one publicly released love poem was used against him in the monarchist press.

Robespierre’s Love Poems

As mentioned, a number of love poems have been attributed to Robespierre, though not always convincingly. He wasn’t particularly eager to see them published, and only one ever made it to the general public during his lifetime—both times without his consent.

The poem in question is a madrigal dedicated, according to the Œuvres, to a “Miss Orptelia (possibly Ophelia?) Mondieu.” It was first published anonymously in 1787 in two different collections, without Robespierre’s knowledge. Later, it was republished—again without his consent—by the royalist writer François-Louis Suleau (2), who used it to mock him.

Here’s the poem:

Madrigal

Crois-moi, jeune et belle Ophélie, Quoi qu’en dise le monde et malgré ton miroir, Contente d’être belle et de n’en rien savoir, Garde toujours la modestie. Sur le pouvoir de tes appas Demeure toujours alarmée Tu n’en seras que mieux aimée, Si tu crains de ne l’être pas.

And my translation:

Madrigal

Believe me, young and beautiful Ophélie, No matter what the world may say, and despite thy looking-glass, Content to be beautiful yet know naught of it, Keep thy modesty always. Be ever wary of the power of thy charms; Thou shalt be all the more loved, If thou fearest not being unloved.

Baudelaire, he is not. But it’s charming in its own earnest, slightly awkward way, no? Hardly the stuff of grand, sweeping romance, but if someone wrote this for me, I’d at least pretend to be flattered.

So why was it mocked? Well, for Suleau and his fellow scribes at Actes des Apôtres (3), this was an opportunity far too delicious to ignore.

The Mockery of Suleau

In a November 1789 issue of the paper, Suleau went after Robespierre with sharp sarcasm, mocking him over a minor linguistic mistake in one of his speeches—using "aristocrassique" instead of "aristocratique"—and dismissing him as a mere "poor scholarship student," while feigning an air of condescending generosity. Then came the poetic insults: Suleau sarcastically presented the madrigal as a work of supreme literary genius, only to rip it apart.

He compared Robespierre’s writing to Tacitus, only to immediately undercut the compliment by drawing a parallel to Montesquieu—before mockingly dismissing the comparison, given Montesquieu’s "aristocratic tendencies."

The pièce de résistance? A biting final flourish in which he ironically declared Robespierre a polymath—poet, historian, geographer, naturalist, physicist, journalist, legislator—before delivering the ultimate insult: if Mirabeau was the “torch of Provence,” then Robespierre was merely the “candle of Arras.”

In case it wasn’t obvious, this had little to do with Robespierre’s poetic talents and everything to do with his politics.

Robespierre’s Response

How did Robespierre react? He didn’t. Not a word—not even to disavow the poem. Clearly, he subscribed to the "don’t feed the trolls" school of thought.

The fact that he didn’t deny authorship was enough for historians like Eugène Déprez (who compiled the first volume of Robespierre’s Œuvres Complètes) to confidently attribute it to him.

What Do His Poems Tell Us About Him?

Is that enough proof? Debatable. But even if we accept that Robespierre wrote this madrigal and the other five attributed love poems (mediocre as they may be), what do they actually tell us about him?

His greatest fan, historian Albert Mathiez, thought these poems proved that "far from possessing a barren heart, as some have claimed, he was endowed with a trembling sensitivity and by nature sought the company of the fairer sex."

Did he? Do these light verses really reveal that much?

Personally—and this is just an opinion, because when it comes to Robespierre’s love life, opinions are all we have—I think what these poems tell us most is that, back in the 1780s, Robespierre understood what was expected of a proper gentleman and was trying to play the part. In short, he was capable of fulfilling societal expectations.

That doesn’t mean he never had romantic feelings, but as far as we know, despite the interest some women clearly had in him, none of these romantic fantasies ever became anything more than words on a page.

Note (1) Frankly, the word "historian" is no guarantee of quality research when it comes to the French Revolution).

(2) François-Louis Suleau, a royalist journalist who attended school with Robespierre and Desmoulins, later becoming one of their most vocal critics.

(3) Actes des Apôtres was a royalist newspaper published during the early years of the French Revolution. Founded in 1789 by Jean-Gabriel Peltier and featuring contributors like François-Louis Suleau, the publication served as a satirical and polemical counter-revolutionary voice. It's actually quite funny to read. 

[theseinfernalangels]

Bet On It - Liam Mairi 🩹

Synopsis: A moment of quiet, sweet competition with Liam (Healer!Reader).

A/N: My first official post for Eden and Liam! You guys have no idea how excited I am — Eden’s one of my favorite Empyrean Gals™️. If you need more insight for her character, click here! 

Includes: Fluff, teeny bit of angst, Reader has chronic pain from previous injury, Healers Quadrant. Takes place during Fourth Wing.

Rain, by all means, is something you find fascinating. You like the sense of peace that comes along with it, what it does for the land and the cycle of life, and you can’t deny that feeling water pelt your skin has always made you feel giddy with excitement.

You also like to bet on which drops will make it down to the bottom of the glass windows faster. You sit alone in the Healer Quadrant commons, the warmth of the nearby hearth doing all it can to soothe the ache in your locked knee as you stare intently at the window clouded by the summer’s humidity.

Oh, yeah. There was one downside of rain — it made your bad leg throb like shit.

You lean back in the velvety chair and sigh, sending thanks to Amari for a moment of solitude in your otherwise-hectic life. Honestly, you preferred this to the Riders Quadrant — it was definitely easier to pick up information knowing you wouldn’t be killed at any moment. That didn’t make the work any less challenging, though. Between taking organized notes on the historic relationships between Poromiel and Navarre and memorizing the skeletal system…You knew which one you’d choose first. 

A set of quiet but steady footsteps coming from behind make your thoughts falter, and you stiffen, your hand flying to the sheathed dagger at your side instinctually. Your shoulders relax, though, when you hear an all-too familiar, teasing voice pipe up from a little ways behind your seat.

“Am I interrupting a moment of pondering, sweetheart?”

You huff out a laugh and shake your head, leaning back into the chair. “A moment of pondering?” You twist your head around to be met head-on with rain-soaked blond curls and a charming grin. “I’m not a scribe, Li. Let a girl enjoy the rain without making the meaning too deep.”

Liam takes a seat next to you, stripping off his rain-battered flight jacket and slinging it over the top of the chair. “Hey,” he defends himself. “I’m not saying you can’t enjoy it. I just know that you tend to zone out whenever it rains. Makes you look like you’re trying to figure out the meaning of life and…You know, all of that fun stuff.”

You snort and shake your head. “I’m guessing which raindrops will make it to the bottom first,” you correct him dryly, pointing to the nearest twin pair of droplets racing down the window. “I used to make bets with my sister for a coin or two when we were kids.”

“Betting money on rain races,” Liam muses, resting his chin on his palm and gazing at the window intently. “Scandalous, Cadet Kiyoko.”

You shrug and lean in a little further, wincing only when a tinge of pain worms its way through the back of your knee. “I was being resourceful,” you huff. “If people here weren’t so square, I’d be running the greatest betting pool in Navarre.”

Liam scoots a few inches closer to you, draping his arm invitingly over the padded arm of your chair with his palm facing up. It was a wordless gesture, one that never required your acknowledgment but always received it anyway. “Right,” he drawls. “We’d all be so hyped about betting on raindrops.”

You scowl, slipping your hand into his wordlessly. He’s warm, thankfully — he always is. The hearth of the commons does wonders for your body, but Liam’s heat — the one that came from being a human furnace — was balm to your weary mind and soul. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, companied with only the sound of the gentle rain and the occasional murmurs and laughs of other cadets from outside the commons. No one would come in here — your classmates knew that you liked to be alone at this time of day, and unless you went out of your way to go seek someone out, they’d respect your personal space; whether it was because they respected you for your own personhood or the fact that you’d almost made it through the Riders Quadrant unscathed, you could never tell.

A light squeeze on your hand brings you out of your thoughts, your eyes flitting over to Liam’s sky-like irises. He still watches the window, but his thumb strokes yours gently. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You hum, fixing your eyes on the clouded glass. “Yeah. Whenever it rains, it aches. I’ve been a bit sore all day.”

“Ah.”

His thumb moves down to your wrist, moving over the skin so tenderly that you’d think he was touching some sort of priceless object. Your arm shifts a little, and your heart skips a beat when his lips replace his finger.

“Liam?”

His eyes snap up to yours, his lips not faltering once.

“Why is your hair wet?”

A beautiful grin, one that you’ve come to seek out in every moment of darkness, spreads across his face.

“Deigh likes the rain,” he explains quietly. “He says he likes to feel the rain in between his scales.”

He pauses as if he hears another distant conversation, and a flat look crosses his features. “Also, it’s apparently good for young ones like me to get outside and experience the joys of nature every once in a while,” he adds dryly, squeezing your wrist.

You chuckle, a small gleam coming back to your eye. “I agree with Deigh. I like feeling the rain on my skin, when I can.”

Liam goes quiet again before rolling his eyes. You guess he’s having a silent conversation with his dragon by the way he purses his lips and sighs. “He says you’re very wise, and—“

His eyes widen, a hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks.

You tilt your head. “And?”

He just shakes his head, his eyes finding the window again. “Nothing.”

You know better than to pry. Even though you never got your shot at actually bonding with a dragon, you figured you should respect the private conversation between dragon and rider — even if the topic of conversation was yourself. The bond was not something you understood in its entirety, but if Deigh approved of you, you’d take that as a win.

“I think,” you say, pointing to the window, “that one there is going to make it to the bottom first.”

Liam studies the little speckles on the glass intently, squinting as if he could see the very molecules within the water. His hand slowly drags up to another stationary raindrop. “That one’s got my vote.”

He turns back to you with an easy smile. “What do I get if I win?”

You hum thoughtfully, tilting your head. “Uh…I don’t know,” you admit. “A kiss?”

He nods in a fake-solemn act. “Ah. I see. I accept these terms and propose the same.”

You snort, reaching over and flicking his arm gently, careful to mind the black swirls that trail up his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

His ruse doesn’t last for long. Liam is the epitome of sunshine, even in  dreary weather like this. A fond smile lights his face up in a way that seems so innocent. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he concedes, bringing your wrist back up to his mouth. “You bring it out of me.”

His words, now muffled against your skin, draw a faint laugh from you as you watch your respective raindrops fall in little bursts of speed down the window. It makes your heart race out of habit — you always enjoyed a little competition, especially when it was so rare in your life now.

Your mouth is tugged into a smirk when your raindrop surpasses his. “For once, I don’t think luck is on your side, Mairi.”

He stares at the window as if considering something before shaking his head. In that time, your chosen drop streaks down the window into nothingness.

He glances over at you. “That’s okay,” he replies. “I’m cool with losing to you every once in a while.”

“Just me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Just you,” he affirms. Then, he smirks, leaning closer to you. “Guess I gotta pay up now, huh, sweet girl?”

You lean into him, ignoring the dull protest of your knee as you shift. “You do,” you reply with an air of faux arrogance. “Hand it over, Mairi.”

You don’t complain about pain or rain or jack shit when his lips meet yours, the soft skin only disrupted by a faint scar that mars his upper lip. His scent, sawdust and orchids with a hint of citrus, clouds your senses. You sigh in content, nuzzling your nose against his before pulling away.

Liam, for as much as you take him seriously, just looks too adorable with his now-pink flush that expands to the tips of his ears.

“Let’s go again,” he suggests, pointing at another new raindrop. “Another kiss says that that one will go first.”

A wide smile stretches across your lips. “Bet, Mairi.”

[entanglingbriars]

I'm having an ongoing discussion with some followers about the Bible and I feel like it's a good idea for me to just publicly state my position so people know what they're getting into when talking about biblical stuff with me:

The Bible is an entirely human creation. It was written by humans, edited by humans, and compiled by humans. Numinous experiences may have inspired parts (or even all) of the Bible, but it is not the Word of God and contains errors, contradictions, inconsistencies, and lacunae.

Similarly, the Bible does not speak with a unified voice. The authors of the different books of the Bible had very different ideas about who and what God is, how people should relate to God, what is and isn't moral, the nature of the Incarnation, the purpose of Jesus' ministry, and the nature of the afterlife.

We do not have access to any original manuscripts (or even fragments of manuscripts) written by the hand or scribe of the original authors.

The errors in the Bible include factual errors and errors in matters of morality and ethics.

The Bible is an extremely important book and worthy of far more serious study than most people give it credit for.

There are passages in the Bible that I find extremely moving and believe contain real and important insights into the nature of the world and humanity.

For Judaism, the Torah does not have ultimate authority. Tradition, including Scripture, gets a vote, not a veto.

Biblical literalism is a relatively recent concept and was first invented to justify the enslavement of Africans.

The historical-critical method is currently the best method we have for understanding what the Bible says and why it says it.

[mukimokai]

Why does nobody ever talk about the fact that all of Alhaitham's voice lines about others are positive while every voice line about him is negative, even from people in his friend group?

the only positive thing said about him by another character is Nahida who shouldn't count because Nahida never speaks poorly of anyone anyway.

Without Nahida, the last nice thing is Kaveh saying "he HAS a personality." and Layla saying "he's lucky that he's the scribe because he doesn't have to worry about essays and stuff."

That's it.

That's literally it.

That's the only "nice thing" ever said about Alhaitham by the Sumeru cast ever.

one of them is backhanded (kaveh's)

and the other is just layla wishing her life was as easy as Alhaitham's job......

[callsign-rogueone]

what was I made for? - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader (continuation of keep her safe) The aftermath of War Games has you questioning your purpose, and what your signet truly is. wc: 4.4k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS (I have 50 pages left, but I just can’t do it. send help.) canon-level violence, injury, canon character death, self doubt, anxiety. oops, I made Dain tolerable again. angst, then happy, then more angst. I also skipped over a smut scene / just made a reference to it happening, so if anyone wants that as a separate post, lmk and I can make it happen 👀 thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on part 1! it means a lot to me 🫶

Riorson House is more your home than Basgiath ever has been, but it’s become foreign to you in the three years you’d spent at the college. It feels like you’re hallucinating as you wander the halls.

Maybe everything that’s happened in the last few days has been a hallucination -- it wouldn't be the first time Varrish or Carr had pushed you to delirium with the amount of pain you’d taken for others.

Maybe it’s a dream. That’s it. A really bad dream. Any moment now, you’re going to wake up in Garrick’s bed and get ready for morning formation, and you’ll forget the sight of Liam dying by breakfast, when you’re sitting across from him at the table like you always do. Violet’s screams of pain will stop playing in your ears, replaced by her laughter at one of Ridoc’s jokes.

But no matter how much you pinch at your skin, you aren’t waking up. This is reality.

“I hear you’re a mender, too,” someone says in a gentle voice, bringing you out of your daze. Violet’s brother, Brennan.

“Does it ever get easier?” You ask quietly. “Does it always hurt this much?”

“Mending becomes easier. Seeing that kind of stuff every day doesn’t,” he replies, and the exhausted look on his face tells you he’s being honest. “But it shouldn’t hurt. Tell me more about that.”

“The second person I mended was a scribe who’d fallen from a ladder in the library and broken her leg. I did everything right, the bone set properly, but my leg hurt for a week, right where she’d broken hers.”

Brennan is silent, letting you continue.

“They broke Garrick’s arm in RSC. I was able to fix it for him, and I took the pain, but they broke it again two hours later. I mended him and Xaden over and over until I collapsed. I didn’t wake for two days. They both still think it was just exhausting for me. They don’t know about the pain.”

The tears are coming openly now, dripping down your cheeks, and you bring a hand up to wipe them away with the sleeve of your flight jacket. “But it isn’t all bad. I couldn’t save Liam, but I was able to make him more comfortable in the end. I took his pain away, and let him go in peace.”

You don’t tell him what death feels like. No description you could give could adequately prepare anyone for the cold sensation that still lingers in your chest. It will likely remain there for the next few days.

“Hey,” he says softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, just try to get some rest.” 

You nod quietly, looking back up at him. “Can someone please tell Garrick that I’m okay?” You ask in a small voice, folding your hands in your lap. You’d been heartbroken to realize that the rest of the squad had left for Basgiath before you woke, leaving you here alone.

You didn’t get to say goodbye to any of them, and you don’t know when you’ll see them again. Or if you’ll see them, you think, but you push the thought away quickly. They’ll survive. They have to.

Brennan cracks a smile - everyone in the rebel cause is aware of how deeply Garrick loves you. “Of course.”

———————————————————————

“Cadet Mairi died alongside his dragon, who was attacked by a drift of Gryphon riders. Cadet Avan attempted to mend them, and died trying,” Xaden says levelly, staring down the group of professors on the dais. “They both died honorable, but preventable deaths.”

Garrick knows Xaden is lying, knows you aren’t dead — or you hadn’t been when they left for Basgiath, at least, but his friend’s words have him on edge. Have you woken up yet? 

Chradh speaks into his mind, sending a wave of hot rage through him. “Relax.”

“Relax?” He echoes, irate. “You’re telling me to relax right now, when-”

Chradh doesn’t bother to argue with him. “She is safe under the care of the silver one’s brother, where she will remain until the moment is right. It is better this way. She won’t be in pain anymore.”

Chradh doesn’t elaborate further. Fucking dragons and their constant need to speak in riddles.

The rest of the quadrant spends the night drinking and congratulating themselves on surviving, but Garrick doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol. The three of you were supposed to do this together. It wouldn’t be right to celebrate without you.

———————————————————————

“We’re gonna start from square one, with something that can’t hurt you,” Brennan says, placing two halves of a cracked plate on the table in front of you.

It’s simple enough to make the pieces rise into the air, using the same magic required to make a pen write for you. You concentrate, willing the halves to fuse together. They touch, and you think you’ve done it, your heart leaping, only to fall as they crash back down to the table again, splitting into even more pieces.

Brennan touches one of the shards, and they glue themselves back together perfectly; no cracks, no trace of the plate ever having been broken. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let me keep trying,” you begin, heart pounding. Brennan can’t think you’re a failure, not this early.

“You could sit here with this plate all day and it wouldn’t change,” he says gently, confirming what you know deep down. “I don’t think you’re a mender. I think you’re something else entirely.”

You sit with the information for a moment.

“Signets take the form of our base need as a person,” he says. “We need to find out what that is for you.”

You already know. “I wake up every day grateful that Xaden bargained for our lives, but I have done too much harm in my time at Basgiath. The crown has done too much harm to Tyrrendor. All I’ve ever wished for is to fix that, to undo the pain.”

“To undo the pain, or to help move forward and grow?” He asks gently.

You aren’t sure.

———————————————————————

You go through your morning stretches, as always, focusing on your breath to distract from the pain in your side. 

“Your mate has returned.” Tab says, interrupting. “Thought you’d like to know.”

You bolt upright, running through the house toward the gates, bypassing Xaden to sprint straight toward Garrick.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. You still fit together like puzzle pieces, even after months apart.

“You’re alive,” you breathe. “Nobody would tell me anything, I was worried sick,”

“Of course I’m alive, angel. Had to come back to you.”

You trace the Lieutenant’s patch across his collarbone, memorizing the shape. It looks natural on him, like it’s always been there. It sounds good, too. Lieutenant Garrick Tavis.

“I need to tell you something,” you say quietly, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about-“

Footsteps approach. “Sorry to break up the reunion,” Felix says, “but Avan, we need you.”

There’s something in his tone that has your heart pounding. Which of your friends is it going to be this time?

“Tell me later,” Garrick says. “Go. Do what you were made to do.”

You know he means well, but his words tie your stomach in a knot. What you were made to do. Were you truly made to endure the suffering of others?

———————————————————————

Every muscle in your body feels like it’s on fire as you slump into a chair, sitting down for the first time that day. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get some sleep before you’re needed again.

“There you are. I didn’t see you in battle brief.” Garrick says, relieved.

“Haven’t been going,” you mumble. “They need me here. Bren’s teaching now, so s’ just me and one other mender.”

He realizes no healers had come with the riot from Basgiath. You likely haven’t left the infirmary since they’d arrived.

“Come to bed,” he coaxes softly. “You need sleep. You can't pour from an empty cup.”

Yes, you can. You have been for months.

He takes your hand, not giving you a choice. You lean into him as he leads you up the grand staircase to a room near Xaden’s. Your muscles protest every step, but you keep quiet.

You haven’t been in here for years, not since you’d left for Basgiath as candidates, but it’s exactly the same as you remember; dark drapery, bookshelves, a neat display of the knives that he hadn’t taken to school with him.

The sight has you in tears.

“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, pulling you closer, and you whimper in pain at the pressure against your ribs. He lets go immediately. “Angel, I’m sorry — are you hurt?”

You sob, the dam finally breaking and grief flooding out of you. You haven’t seen each other since that horrible day, you haven’t seen anyone from the squad you went with to Resson, haven’t had anyone to talk about it with, until now. 

You shake your head, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t save Liam. I tried, I really did. All I could do was take his pain away.”

So Xaden had told Basgiath the truth, to some degree: you tried to fix Liam, and couldn’t. The boy’s death had hurt you badly enough that Xaden wouldn’t let you return to the school.

“There was nothing else you could do. Nobody could save him, not after Deigh…”

“I know that, but it wasn’t just him. Everyone I’ve ever… fixed, I’ve taken the pain from their body into mine, and I can’t get rid of it for days.”

Garrick’s heart breaks. So that’s what Chradh meant when he said you wouldn’t be in pain anymore if you left Basgiath. Those eight-hour days of mending infantry may as well have been torture for you. 

Torture. RSC. You’d healed his wounds, Xaden’s, Bodhi’s, Violet’s, time and time again without complaint, and he knew it took a lot out of you, but not that it hurt. “Angel, why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known…”

“I wanted to,” you sniffle, “I wanted to tell you a year ago when it started happening. I thought it was normal, that I was just weak, until Brennan told me that this doesn’t happen to him. He just gets tired, like everyone else does when they use their signets too much.”

You try to steady your breathing, but the pain in your not-broken ribs is too overwhelming. “I’ve spent hours practicing and I can’t even fix a broken plate. I’m not a mender. I don’t know what I am. Nobody does, not even the professors. Brennan thinks it’s getting better, but I don’t have it in me to tell him that it isn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He wants to pull you into an embrace, wants to stroke your hair and tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t want to hurt you any more than he already has.

“S’ not your fault.” You sniff.

“But it’s not yours, either,” he reminds you gently. “You’re so strong, angel. You crossed the parapet, ran the gauntlet, you bonded a dragon, and you’ve endured everything else. Please don’t ever think for a second that you’re weak.”

He takes your hand in his, watching your face carefully, but you don’t wince at the touch. “We’ll talk to Brennan tomorrow, together. For now, I just want you to get some sleep, okay?”

You nod silently, having run out of tears.

“Attagirl.”

As you settle into bed next to him, freshly showered and wearing one of his warm sweaters, you swear the pain has dimmed.

———————————————————————

When Garrick takes you to see Brennan the next morning, he isn’t alone. Your professors are seated beside him, along with some of the Tyrrish elders.

Devera speaks first. “We owe you an apology, Cadet Avan. The faculty was unaware that Carr and Varrish were using your signet as a method of punishment, or that it pains you to use it.”

“And I owe you an apology,” you say quietly. “I should have come back after the War Games.”

“That was my decision,” Xaden says firmly, “and I stand by it. She was in no condition to return to the school, much less to graduate and be stationed at an outpost across the continent from her support system, while still feeling the coldness of Cadet Mairi’s death.”

How does he know that you could feel it? Had you told him in your delirium? Had Brennan told him? Had you even told Brennan? 

“Your friends have effectively plead your case, and we agree that you have satisfied all the requirements for graduation from the Rider’s Quadrant.” Emeterrio says. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Garrick slips your flight jacket onto your shoulders, and you notice the Lieutenant insignia has already been sewn on, to match his. When did he…? 

You accept the handshake Devera offers you, still a little dazed, but there’s one more order of business to address.

“May I rejoin my old squad?” You ask the table of professors quietly. “They are family to me. I would like to ride with them again, and aid them however I can.”

They exchange hesitant looks, and your heart sinks. Do they not think you’re good enough?

“I don’t see why not,” Brennan says firmly enough for everyone else to agree — he outranks the professors with the years he’s been part of the movement.

You exhale in relief.

Garrick cheers. “The dream team is back, baby!” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, knowing you’re still in pain, but wanting to hold you close.

You laugh, not minding the ache in your ribs.

Xaden is unimpressed. “When have we ever once called ourselves the dream team?”

“We haven’t, but I’m starting now. It’ll stick. I’ll have it embroidered on your flight jacket, Xay.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Xaden replies, setting off a brotherly argument behind you.

You look to the leadership once more, bowing your head in respect. “Thank you. For everything.”

Devera gives you a warm smile. “I am glad to see you have found your place here, Lieutenant. Remember that your empathy is a gift, even in times of war.”

Empathy.

“Am I dismissed?” You ask.

“Yes, Lieutenants, you are all dismissed,” Emeterrio answers dryly, looking over your shoulder at Garrick and Xaden. The latter has the former in a playful headlock, messing up his hair. 

“Human boys,” Tab says, exasperated. You laugh in agreement, leaving them in the Assembly room to sort themselves out.

It’s easy enough to find who you’re looking for — he’s the only person sitting completely alone in the mess, a textbook open in front of him that he isn’t reading. He’s gazing into the distance, eyes unfocused, but he looks up when he realizes you’re standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about what I saw in Varrish’s office. I had no idea how much you all have endured. What we are taught in Navarre is only one side of the story, but you showed me the other.”

“I’m glad I could help change your mind.”

He reaches into the pocket of his flight jacket and extends a hand. Your protection rune sits in his palm, complete with a new leather cord. “A peace offering. I stole it back from Varrish, and Brennan mended it.”

You smile, taking it from him and slipping it back over your head. “You’re turning into quite the rule-breaker, Aetos. But thank you. It means a lot to me.”

You’re about to leave, but something compels you to impart a piece of advice. “I know how it feels when people don’t want to trust you because of your family history. It’ll take a while for some of them to warm up to you, but you can make it go a lot faster if you keep yourself out of trouble.”

———————————————————————

Your first flight back with your squad is supposed to be easy, a surveying flight with a small riot, just to check their perimeters, but you can’t seem to quell your anxiety as you take off.

“We will be fine, gentle one. We’re in strong company,” Tab reassures. He stays close to Chradh, knowing Garrick’s proximity will calm you. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Good. I’ve missed this.”

“You have always enjoyed being up this high,” he agrees. “Shall we review some of our basic maneuvers?”

“Sure.”  Maybe that will settle your nerves.

“Hold on.” Tab dips, practicing all the angles — banking right, left, up, down.

“Something is wrong,” you blurt, and Tab straightens his path immediately, falling back into the formation. Every nerve in your body pulses with a sensation you’ve never felt before, standing on end. “Something really bad is going to happen.”

You’re right.

“Wyvern,” Tab warns just as they come into your line of sight. They charge straight at the front of the riot, where Sgaeyl leads the pack. 

You’re outmatched, nearly two dozen of them and only ten of you. You’re going to die here. At least you’ll be with your best friends.

“That kind of thinking isn’t helpful!” Tab scolds, tightening the formation. 

One gets too close for comfort, spewing blue flame, and Chradh banks hard - too hard. You gasp in horror as Garrick is thrown from his seat down to the ground below.

“Dive!” You yell, and Tab follows without hesitation, making a near-vertical drop.

You’ve never been so grateful for the running landing they’d taught you last year. It had been excruciating to execute on top of the pain of unbroken bones, but it’s just manageable now after a few days off from the infirmary.

Clutching Failsafe for dear life, your only defense, you sprint toward Garrick’s limp body, ripping off your goggles.

His heart still beats, but multiple bones look broken, his breathing labored. Touching him is almost unbearable, which tells you he won’t last much longer if you don’t do something.

Deep breaths, like Brennan had taught you, to accept their pain as it entered your body, holding it before batting it away like a fly.

You still haven’t figured out how to make that work.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you start to berate yourself; Why can’t you do this? Compose yourself. Garrick is going to die if you can’t pull it together. Garrick is going to die, just like Liam did, because you aren’t strong enough to fix a fucking plate.

Anger overcomes you for the first time since you’d watched your parents die six years ago. You scream, a sound like nothing you’ve ever heard before splitting the air. The pain dissipates almost instantly. For the first time in two years, your body isn’t aching, and you sob in relief.

Garrick bolts upright, gasping for breath as spring blooms across the snowy plain, trees with bare branches suddenly teeming with green leaves.

Tab roars in pride and the rest of the riot joins in, the cliffs shaking from the volume of their celebration. 

“Lifebringer!” He thunders into your mind. 

Your head snaps upward, and you realize that the ground is littered with motionless wyvern.

Garrick pulls you to your feet, brushing the tears from your cheeks. “Come on, angel,” he says, grinning, “we have a war to win.”

You’re still dazed as Tab brings you back to Riorson house, Garrick helping you dismount and leading you inside.

“We have a weapon,” Xaden says, actually smiling as he faces the assembly. “Something, someone, that can destroy wyvern in their tracks.”

Garrick keeps you glued to his side as Xaden tells the elders what happened, but it’s all in one ear, out the other.

You’re dismissed after a few minutes, heading back out to the mess, where your friends gather around one of the large tables in the library.

“Tab called me lifebringer,” you say, confused. “What is that?”

“I thought it was just folklore,” Violet says from a few rows down, scanning the shelves, and everyone turns to her, listening. “Lifebringers are said to influence healing and growth. In some cultures, they’ve been credited with ending famines by rejuvenating harvests, and saving the innocent from the grasp of Malek and his Death.”

“Wicked,” Ridoc appraises quietly.

“Aha.” Violet produces a thin volume, cracking it open to the right page. The illustration there looks uncannily like you.

“Only the purest of heart can be lifebringers, those who hold no malice toward their fellow man. The weapons they carry are sharp, but unused,” she reads aloud. “Garrick gave you Failsafe as just that — a failsafe. You never drew blood with it. You never hurt anyone except in challenges, when it was kill or be killed, and even then you held back.”

Bodhi speaks next. “With most signets, the stronger the wielder’s emotion, the more powerful the ability becomes. You feel empathy for the wounded, so you can fix them and ease their pain, but when you thought Garrick was going to die, that was another level of distress, and I guess it was enough to overcome the dark magic.” 

Garrick squeezes your shoulder in reassurance that he’s still very much alive beside you.

Violet closes the book, setting it down.

“I’m not in pain anymore,” you whisper, still dazed. You’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, having spent the last three years holding both your own and that of all your friends.

“You needed an outlet,” Xaden says. “Pain makes it harder to channel, and you were in pain 24/7, which is why the professors thought your signet was underdeveloped. Getting angry, and getting that energy out of your body allowed you to use the full extent of your power.”

“If I had known this earlier, do you think I could have…” you don’t finish the sentence. Everyone in this room knows how hard you’d tried to save Liam.

“Maybe,” Violet says quietly, “but that is not a path you want to go down. Trust me.”

———————————————————————

“Do you want to explain why the hallway was full of sunflowers when I went to bed last night?” Xaden asks slyly, dropping into a seat in front of you with a plate of eggs and bacon.

You burn with embarrassment.

Bodhi grins. “You see, cousin, when a man and a woman love each other very much, - ow, fuck!” He exclaims, rubbing the back of his head where Garrick had whacked him.

“At least they didn’t set the vale on fire,” another of your squadmates says, looking at Xaden and Violet pointedly. “You still owe me for putting that out, by the way.”

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots. “So all that dry lightning last year was you two…”

“Okay, changing the subject!” Brennan says loudly, not liking the way this conversation is headed. “We need to figure out how to use your signet without endangering Tavis’s life again.”

“Well, it sounds like they already found another way,” Ridoc says, grinning, but he squeaks out an apology as Garrick begins to rise from his chair.

You tug your boyfriend back into his seat by the sleeve, looking past him at Brennan. “I think I need to work a few days in the infirmary between flights,” you propose. “If I build up enough pain, I could probably-“

“NO,” the whole squad says at once, Tab included.

“Your healing is only to be used when absolutely necessary,” Xaden orders, and even though you’re on equal footing now, both newly-minted Lieutenants, you agree quietly without protest.

“See, that’s your problem,” Sloane says, and all eyes turn to her. “You defer to literally everyone. You’re an officer now. Act like it.”

“Pardon?” You ask, looking at her in disbelief.

“That’s exactly what she’s talking about,” Imogen cuts in. “Pardon? You can’t even discipline a first-year cadet. Do you really think any veteran rider will ever listen to what you have to say?”

“Enough,” you say firmly, your nails digging into the wood.

None of your friends intervene, not even Brennan. This has to be another nightmare. There’s no way they'd hang you out to dry like this. Right?

Sloane isn’t finished. “It’s a miracle you made it out of Basgiath alive. You’re too soft. If you won’t kill anyone, what are you going to do when it’s between your life or someone else’s? Their life or his?”

The mention of Garrick is your last straw. “That is enough from both of you, Cadets,” you reprimand. Thorny vines burst from the seams of the table, whipping out toward them, and they stagger back to avoid being cut.

You startle, your heart pounding against your ribs as you realize what you’ve done.

Sloane is the first to apologize. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean any of it. I just thought that provoking you might…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, looking down at the still-twitching vines covering the tabletop.

“We definitely took it too far,” Imogen adds, sounding genuinely remorseful. “That was a really fucked up thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”

Bodhi waves a hand, and the vines slither back into the table, as if they were never there. 

Your eyes widen at the blood on his cheeks — he’d been caught in the crossfire. You touch his face with a shaky hand, only brushing your fingertips across the skin, and the scratches disappear instantly, leaving no trace of the harm you’d done.

Somehow that makes you feel worse.

“Well,” Garrick says in his section-leader voice, “that was certainly informative, but none of you are to ever disrespect her like that again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” both girls answer quietly, heads lowered in shame.

Your breathing has steadied enough to speak. “I understand why you did that, but I’m not going to tell you that it was okay, because it wasn’t.”

With that, you take your plate and leave. Nobody follows you.

———————————————————————

The balcony door slides open, soft footsteps approaching.

“I want to be alone, Gare,” you say quietly. 

“Not Garrick,” Xaden replies, settling down next to you on the stone floor, “and you may want to be alone right now, but you probably shouldn’t be.”

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Xay. You know that,” you whisper. You don’t move your gaze from the potted plant in front of you, as if you’re worried it will lash out at you — or him — if you turn away.

“I know, angel. I know.” He exhales deeply, a gentle cloud forming with the warmth of his breath. 

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks again, just the sound of the cold wind over the valley and the distant footsteps of cadets running on the trail below. “Working through this is not going to be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You’ve come to hate that notion, everyone’s insistence that the pain you’ve been through has primed you for more pain, different pain. Why can’t it ever end?

[falling-star-cygnus]

❗4GGRAVATE NATION❗ come get y'all's food, i have another headcanon :D [semi-supported by canon, once again]

anyway, i was rewatching Alhaitham's trailer bc of a fanfic i read, and i realized that he's probably the most flexible out of all of them. -> think about it:

Tighnari and Kaveh both use weapons that require a lot of arm strength [even if Kaveh levitates his with Mehrak, he's still got those creaky old man artist joints] which somewhat limits the range of motion in the shoulder area that doesn't nix Tighnari from being quick on his feet, just for the record, i am aware of his acrobatic abilities. But a lot of his gameplay is focused on footwork and jumping

Cyno, on the other hand, despite having a weapon that allows for more of a lithe build- fights like a claymore user. He's a very heavy hitter, and his attacks focus more on relentless force rather than the precision of other polearm characters which is kinda cool if you look back at Kaveh, who DOES fight with precision despite having a claymore

and then you have Alhaitham, who in his original gameplay would arc almost completely into the splits to kick his sword down [i'm still so distraught that they lowered his leg, BRING IT BACK-] it is impressive that he can kick his sword whilst in a mid-air flip though, and still maintains a very aerial style of combat -> also, he can teleport- why don't more people talk about that?

Kaveh comes home to find Alhaitham sitting on their divan, reading one of his books like usual His hands are full of blueprints, with his charcoal balanced precariously on top, but he manages to close the door and start towards his room to set his stuff down. The charcoal hits the ground Alhaitham, glancing down at it: ...hm? Kaveh, pausing; ah- shit, Alhaitham can you grab that for me? My hands are full. Alhaitham, looking back down at his book: Yes, I can see that. Regardless of his 'disinterest', he shifts as if to stand up. And then doesn't. Alhaitham arches over the backrest of the divan to pat at the floor until his fingers brush the charcoal. He places it back onto Kaveh's stack and settles back into his book Kaveh: ....you could have just stood up- Alhaitham: I could've not grabbed it at all.

Cyno and Alhaitham get caught up in a fight with some Eremites on their way back from a ruin exploration or smth [idk i have a headache] It's a pretty evenly matched battle for most of it, but one of them manages to pin Alhaitham with his blade. Cyno makes to help him, but is quickly blocked by another enemy Cyno, scowling: Alhaitham-! The scribe dismisses his blade in a flurry of golden sparks, only to wrap his thighs around his foe's neck and twist to have the advantage- now having the Eremite pinned, he resummons his weapon Both Cyno and his opponent freeze mid-clash Cyno's Enemy: ...you wish that was you, huh- The general mahamatra attacks twice as viciously

Alhaitham had gone to Tighnari for some minor medical assistance, having been closer to him than the Birmastan [and also just generally not trust it more than his friend] Tighnari had suggested that he rest a little bit before heading back home, to which the scribe easily agreed and settled down on his friend's couch for small nap When the fox goes to wake him before it gets too late to safely travel back, Alhaitham blearily stretches backwards over the armrest until he's nearly in half- sighing a little as it works out a few kinks in the small of his back Tighnari blatantly stares Alhaitham, pausing as he works his boots back on: ...Everything ok? The fox covers the lower part of his face and offers no more than a thumbs up

[danikamariewrites]

Also I thought of a Liam or Xaden idea but maybe one of them falling for a Healer?

Always Injured

Liam Mairi x reader

A/n: since we don’t fully know a lot of the medical stuff in FW I just kinda made some stuff up lol

Warnings: mentions of injuries, fluff

For the third time this week Xaden was escorting Liam to the infirmary. He rolled his eyes at the blondes wide grin. “You’ve never been so���reckless before. What’s going one?”

Liam shook his head, keeping his eyes on the swinging double doors as they got closer and closer. “Nothing. Challenges have been so tough, right?” Xaden gives him a quizzical look, not believing Liam is having a hard time getting through obstacle courses.

He shoulders open the door while supporting Liam, walking him over to the closest bed. Liam lays back looking around the room for you. His eyes find you listening to your teacher intently as he tends to a ill-looking scribe.

“Ok brother, you are free to go.” Xaden follows Liam’s line of sight. Xaden let’s out a long oh and sends Liam a shut eating grin. He knew there would be teasing later but he didn’t care.

“Get better soon.” Xaden says in a light teasing tone as he exits the infirmary.

-

You saw Xaden bring Liam in. You wanted to go right over to him but you knew your professor would chastise you for leaving a working-lesson. So you stayed with the sick scribe. She just needed cold medicine but learning all kind of symptoms is important.

Once you professor dismissed you to check on other patients you headed straight to Liam’s bed. You gave him a small smile as he held his left wrist out for you to take his pulse.

By now he knew the routine. Liam had been in here practically every other day. “Should you really be a rider? The amount of injuries you get I might as well tie pillows around you.” You joke with him.

Liam let’s out a small laugh as your hands kept checking different parts of his body. When you pressed on his side he winced.

Pulling up his shirt revealed a nasty bruise on his ribs. Grabbing a salve from a nearby cart you scoop out some paste, warming it between your fingers before spreading it on his skin.

“That should help with the pain.” You say quietly. Over Liam’s many trips/stays in the infirmary you grew to deeply care for him. He’s a sweet guy and was always interested in whatever you had to say.

“Thank you,” he groaned out pulling his shirt back down. “That one looks bad Liam. You need to be more careful. I’d hate to see you truly injured.” You say gravely, crossing your arms.

Liam reaches out to pull your hand into his. He gives it a light squeeze and give you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry about me sweets. I’ll be just fine.” You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, well your visits say something different.”

You give his hand one last squeeze before turning to walk away. Liam holds on tighter, slightly pulling you back to the edge of the bed. “Wait, please don’t go yet?”

Plopping yourself on the edge of his bed you narrow your eyes at him. Giving him a knowing smirk like you just figured out his secret. “Not all your injuries have been real.” You say matter of factly.

Liam’s face turns crimson and he looks down avoiding your gaze. “Well, uhh not all of them. Maybe like a headache or two.” He mumbles.

“Any reason?” You tease, poking at his thigh. You desperately wanted to say he has a crush on you too. If he does you would much rather spend time with him outside of this room.

He looks up at you, suddenly shy like he’s speaking to you about a very awkward medical matter. “I keep coming back for you. You’re amazing and I didn’t know how to talk to you, but now I do and I want to get to know you more outside of here.”

You grasp Liam’s hand in yours, taking him by surprise. “I do too Li.” His eyes go wide with joy. “Meet me tonight? At the Bell Tower?” You nod enthusiastically.

He lets out a sigh of relief as you stand. “I have to check in other patients.” You say quietly. Liam nods giving you that boyish grin again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

[larissa-the-scribe]

Aasdfasdfasdfa beautiful

I was going to try and draw a response but I ran out of steam, so, if I may.....

Benn could almost see the exact moment Kathryn's mind changed. The strange long-eared fae creature was still offering food and flattery. Kathryn tried saying for the third, maybe fourth time that no, it was okay, he didn't have to do this, she was just a person-- Then she let the green swirls start, and she got a glint in her eye--part mischievous, part calculating. She coughed, cleared her throat. "You are wise and smart indeed to persist in giving me offerings, good... sir," she said, striking a pose. The fae's ears pricked up. He was watching her carefully. Wise on his part. Benn wondered if he caught her hesitation in addressing him. "You have passed the test," she declared magnanimously, with a sweeping bow. "And so, I declare you worthy to help me and my companion on our quest. Do you happen to know where we can find more food? And lodgings?" Benn sighed and resisted the urge to facepalm. Impersonating deities rarely came to anything good.

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Kabos [Kingdoms @thedailyvio]

Kabos is a young half fae seeking a life of ease. He thinks he can con his way to a better life if he can appeal to the entirety of the pantheon, often investing in things that are said to make you favorable to them, or even just small lucky charms. He doesn't pay much mind to what's legal in his efforts to live a carefree existence. It's only when he has the misfortune of running into Ariella Riems that he rapidly must begin taking the law more seriously, as she (rather rudely in his opinion) took some kind of offense at him trying to steal from her. She threatened to see him put to death up until he offered her some very choice information on how she might be able to accomplish her impossible goals. Secrets spread around among thieves that had long entered the realm of legend, yet Kabos had recently heard the first kernel of truth with regards to the last dragon egg, said to contain an entity capable of granting wishes. With a promise to direct her to the source of information, Kabos saves his skin, but gives up his freedom.

Kathryn Carvalho Bethaz [Rifters @larissa-the-scribe]

She's just a silly little gal who loves her husband, traveling, adopting kids, the power of friendship, and having repression issues because she is fully aware that she is wayyyy too OP for anyone's good and could go nuclear if not properly managed (and has done so before). When that's not haunting her she's having fun! Life is fun!

[larissa-the-scribe]

Hello, and welcome! This is my writerblr blog (but also kind of my main one). I have a second, more fandomy blog over at @firefletch (which is also where I do reblogging that isn't related to my original content). If you like clean, character-focused stories with magic, angst, multiverses, and shenanigans, you've come to the right place!

Current WIP:

A Four-Dimensional Plot

In one dimension, an agent is trying to hide an interdimensional fugitive she's been harboring; in another, a scared kid tries to find the courage to investigate the dragon shape-shifter his grandmother made a deal with.

Semi-interactive serial story, released bi-weekly via email newsletter and, two weeks behind, on my website.

Completed Stories:

Terrarium Lights (novella, first draft)

Mission: Fallen Star (short story)

Whumptober 2021 (well, they're individual scenes, but I completed the month, so--)

Upcoming Projects:

Once I get the serial story running smoothly, and all the technical stuff with Ko-Fi/Patreon/website/whatever else dealt with, I'll be returning to either one of two stories:

Fallen Breath:

A lawful-good noir-style detective teams up with an eccentric sailor to solve the supernatural curse sweeping Santa Juliana.

Loch's Story (name still pending):

A Scottish water fae ends up in the old Wild West with nothing but a copy of the New Testament, the Constitution, his friend the water dragon, and a grizzled outlaw he got stuck in jail with.

Links:

Website / Ko-Fi / Patreon / E-mail list / ArtFight / Pinterest / Redbubble

[azen13]

So sadly I didn't get the chance to write today because I had a bunch of stuff going on. But! I had a lot of time to think so I have ideas (for once!).

CW: Yandere Themes, Stalking

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader, but both of you are reincarnates of King Deshret and the God/dess of Flowers respectively. All those centuries ago, you drove each other mad. Deshret drove you mad by encaging you in gardens built upon honeyed words and sweet lies, and you drove him mad by fleeing from him and dying soon after.

Let's fast forward to Sumeru's Archon Quest. Let's say something goes horribly wrong, and when Alhaitham uses the Divine Knowledge Capsule, it turns out it's the real one.

He is flooded with memories of the past. Of flowers in eternal bloom. Of love, pure and unbounded. You are its focal point. You, a normal Amurta scholar working part-time at the House of Daena, are the missing variable he has sought all his life. He doesn't know how he knows it, but something in the depths of his heart has clicked like the opening of something long hidden away.

While he does care about this discovery of a past life, its importance is superseded by you. Almost immediately, he begins doing...data collection. Your hobbies. Your favorites books. Your sleep schedule. Where you live. Friends. Family. All of it. Alhaitham records every piece of information in his mind with an almost zealous focus.

His plan to bring you back in his arms is flawless; slowly, almost painfully so, he worms his way into your life, latching onto any possible connection he can find between the two of you. You like this book? Alhaitham has read the entire series. If you'd like, you can borrow the next one from him. You're studying the impact of Ley Line abnormalities on the forest floor of Sumeru's rainforests? Alhaitham knows quite a bit on Sumeru's ecology from all the papers and the theses he's read. After all, as the Scribe, he's aware of many of the inner workings of the Akademiya, including many different research projects. Including yours. Do let him in, otherwise he might have to resort to...more unsavory methods, like cutting your funding.

After all, in the end, he's doing this for your benefit, right? He failed to give you paradise once. With all this new knowledge under his belt, he will succeed. No matter what.

[atopvisenyashill]

What do you think about the dynamic between Dany and Missandei in the books? Also do you like their dynamics better in books than show?

Better in the books by far. I'm sorry to all the show Missandei fans but oh my god. She's like, definitionally the Black Best Friend who gets beheaded for White Pain. It does not get more basic and more offensive than that. Show Missandei exists to make Dany look good and that's literally it. She snaps at people for having mild criticisms of Dany, she is never challenged on her loyalty to Dany, she just exists as a mouthpiece for supporting her and that's it. I also think, just as you completely lose a lot of what makes Dany tragic by aging her up so severely, you lose a lot of the commentary & conversation around Missandei by aging her up. And the Missandei thing genuinely pisses me off because they obviously did it so they could have more naked women onscreen. Like, her first romantic scene with Grey Worm has him spying on her while she's bathing. Come on.

In the books, she's so much more complex. First of all, she's not won over by some ~girlboss shenanigans, she's won over by Dany actually showing her personhood. The change to "yes but we are not men" and Missandei's lil smile genuinely pisses me off. In the books it's

"All men must die," Dany agreed, "but not for a long while, we may pray." She leaned back on the pillows and took the girl's hand.

She says this while talking about Missandei's brothers though she doesn't realize it yet. That's what Missandei is interested in, that's why she so readily agrees to work with Dany - being able to secure a long life of freedom for herself and her brothers. To have a life again that belongs to only them. And she's so much smarter in the books - her little eyes see everything and some of her actions are a little curious. She's the one that brings up Dany taking a profit from continued slavery, she reverts back to "this one" talk without anyone really noticing in adwd, and she seems to get increasingly despondent and clingy throughout adwd after her brother dies. All of which to say - I think she’s planning something. Not necessarily a scheme, more like she’s planning ahead for several worst case scenarios. Idk if she is only thinking about her brother or thinking about the Unsullied as a whole or even all of Meereen, but I think there’s a plot going on in her head that she’s reluctant to let Dany & Barristan in on because she’s not quite sure if it’s safe. I don’t think she trusts Barristan very much, and I think she worries about what happens if Dany disappears for good or comes back with an agenda Missandei doesn’t like.

And let’s get into “stuff Missandei doesn’t like.” She's also constantly sneaking up on Dany, as well as Barristan too, and she asks a lot of questions about Viserion that are kinda weird and pointed-

“This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night,” the little scribe said as she was washing Dany’s back. Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. “No one was scratching,” said Jhiqui. “Scratching … how could they scratch?” “With their hands,” said Missandei. “The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city.” “This would take them many years,” said Irri. “The walls are very thick. This is known.” “It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

^^ note that we find out that Viserion has taken to clinging to the walls like a bat and hanging from them.

Missandei turned as if to go, then paused a moment and said, "It is said that the Yunkai'i have ringed the city all about with scorpions, to loose iron bolts into the sky should Drogon return." Ser Barristan had heard that too. "It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded." Missandei nodded. It was hard to tell if she was reassured. "Do you think that they will find her, ser? The grasslands are so vast, and dragons leave no tracks across the sky." "Aggo and Rakharo are blood of her blood … and who knows the Dothraki sea better than Dothraki?" He squeezed her shoulder. "They will find her if she can be found." If she still lives. There were other khals who prowled the grass, horselords with khalasars whose riders numbered in the tens of thousands. But the girl did not need to hear that. "You love her well, I know. I swear, I shall keep her safe.”

First of all - not even true lol, Meraxes is taken down by a scorpion. But secondly CURIOUS. It’s not just that she’s associated with Viserion on an imagery level, she associates herself with him. She has his golden eyes, she has his clinginess, and she wonders about him and she's sneaky. Is this gearing up towards an out and out betrayal? I really just don't know. I think what's interesting is that she and Arya share very similar associations - the scratching/rat in the walls, the sneaking up (Arya is literally working on her High Valyrian accent right now), they're around the same age, they're both smart and small and quick as a whip. It's all just kinda weird like we're missing a piece. Why is Missandei so heavily associated with the color gold, when that tends to spell bad for Dany? Why is she so associated with the dragon everyone thinks is most likely to "betray" Dany by being claimed by someone else? We just don't get enough of a glimpse at Missandei from the eyes of someone actually paying attention to her to really know why. I've seen it floated she might actually claim Viserion herself as a mirror to Nettles, certainly I think that's interesting but I also don't think it's super likely - rather, like Tyrion, I think her association with Viserion is more foreshadowing a break between herself and Dany.

[truly-sincerely]

IS GORTASH ENTHRALLED?

(tl;dr: yes)

In this essay I will…

Okay, but seriously I did write an essay.

I got here after chasing a very different rabbit down its hole. I'd noticed that Gortash seems to have been throwing out a lot of his stuff (read: mostly employees).

Waldemar Prinski, a loyal banite, sold to a devil for a corn chip

Dark Breaker Antiope, sahuagin wrangler, A Negotiation

The Steel Watch Foundry, Orders to Black Gauntlet Rives

Scribe Yanthus, my beloved, sent on a wild bhaal chase

Vance Farnol, journalist, tho you could argue he had it coming

Goblin Worg handler at Flymm Cargo, plus the Worgs when they run out of Goblin to eat

And, of course, everyone at his Coronation

Was killing all of the patriars and their staff a grim necessity, Enver? Was it?

(Also, he's installed a giant portrait of Bane and a bust of Bane in the penthouse, but he doesn't have a single picture of himself, or any mirrors, for that matter. Food for thought.)

My initial diagnosis was macabre, but obviously I’ve moved away from that line of thinking. He's just way too happy to brag about how much danger he's put himself, us, and the entire world in. It freaked me out the first time I met him (as a Tav). Like I see him glancing at the ground and smiling coyly while saying, "If we're lucky, we'll become slaves," on the back of my eyelids when I go to bed at night.

For the love of all that is holy, could you please turn it down a notch?

I've been obsessed with The Ultimate State since I first read it. It's absolutely absurd nonsense. The item description says it's, "the philosophical ramblings of Enver Gortash." and I feel like it's worth noting that he doesn't write his own propaganda; he has the banites do it for him. But I mean, it really does read like he's twisting himself in knots to connect "unity" and "progress" together, but babe, those jigsaw pieces do not go together like that. Anyway, while thinking about this subject it dawned on me:

They're the same picture.

You know what other line of thinking these two have in common?

They both look so sad when they say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned you.

I know we all love to joke about Durge or Gortash feeding the Brain the "Handsome, Younger Man" line, but what if that was just a smokescreen and it's been the other way around this whole time?

Netherbrain: You think you know why you are here. You think you can atone for giving me my power, child of Bhaal, by destroying me with the Netherstones. You are wrong. The Emperor: It’s messing with your mind. Don’t listen to it. Use the stones. Netherbrain: By eliminating Ketheric and Orin, you have simply unbound me. Exactly as I intended. The Crown is now mine to command - mine alone. The Emperor: Don’t listen to it! Focus on the Crown! Netherbrain: You placed the Crown upon me in the depths of Moonrise Towers, and there I was born. The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am. Gortash: You are delusional - the Crown is how we controlled you! Netherbrain: I respected Bhaal’s child once, but not you, Gortash. I allowed you to control me as long as it suited my purposes. You have played your part. The next order to be given is mine and it is this - die. Gortash: (crumples like a piece of parchment) Netherbrain: When the parasite entered your ruined mind - you became a pawn in my design. Who do you think told the Chosen about the Astral Prism? Who do you think planted the knowledge of Orpheus’ power, and the fear of what it could do? When the Chosen sent my thralls to retrieve the Prism - who do you think let the ‘Emperor’ slip its leash, knowing it would be the one to bring you to me? The Emperor: We were part of its plan… Netherbrain: I only needed one Netherstone loosened from the Chosen’s grasp to guarantee my freedom. You brought all three back to me. In doing so, you have liberated me. This was your role - and it is complete. Now you will witness the Grand Design.

The face of a man who has 20 INT and 16 WIS and is definitely not the brainwashed pawn of a giant brain that's been manipulating him in his sleep.

You think his puny +7 WIS save is gonna beat the Netherbrain when it's been working on his ass every time he goes to sleep for the last nine months? I say thee nay.

Also, and this is probably oversharing, but my dad, who I used to think of as a really smart guy is now a huge Trump supporter. He's an atheist but he'll parrot conservative christian talking points that I've seen clipped from Nazi talking heads. The words that come out of his mouth and the way he smiles when he says completely insane things is haunting.

What all of this means at the end of the day isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's kind of sad, and it definitely says something about his characterization. This man is floundering in a soup of his own making. A tragic puppet. A poor little meow meow.

There's an interesting line of demarcation between the various writings that he dictated to Scribe Yanthus, the things he wrote himself, and the things he says to us in the game.

Elder Brain Domination (from Ketheric, but about Gortash)

Suspended Ceremorphosis

The Grand Design

Studies of the Elder Brains

Accelerated Grand Design

Memoir Notes With Recent Addenda

Journal of Enver Gortash

He's so much more motivated and insightful early on, epitomized in Ketheric's entry, "Gortash fears that, energised by the dark energies of the Crown, the brain we now call the Absolute will eventually metamorphose into something new and more difficult to control." And he was right! But that guy's nowhere to be found by the time we meet him.

This one makes me particularly sad, "No weakness but the unexpected. It seems I shall need unexpected allies," because, again, he's right, and we could've saved him if the game had given us the opportunity to say, "No, there is another way. Let's not walk into this obvious trap." He wrote us a roadmap; left a trail of breadcrumbs; and we weren't given the option to follow them.

But I guess that's what fixfics are for.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TAVtalk!

[poorlemons]

your interest in fish, is it ever projected onto the characters you draw/write? I.e does clear michael have a favorite fish or visit aquariums to calm down? are there fish versions of your ocs? Share Them.

oh my god a fish ask. i fucking love fish. ok ok. its not like, an indepth knowledge of fish but i love em anyways. weirdly enough ive never reeally done that? tbf i also dont make characters that are into horses or drawing that often so like, who knows. but i do like making fish based ocs and fishy aus- usually mermaids but. whatever, tomato tamto anyways i think Michael would like whale sharks- does that count a as fish? probably not but i say it does anyways. i think she likes how gentle they look and that their backs are like stars. Just big and gentle. she's always been pretty tall so she likes that about them. hmmmmm yknow what? that's her favorite animal now. I've decided. she has a decent sized whale shark plush she got from Tim and she loves it and named it Duke.

wait pause. i forgot i literally have fish people. i have an entire worldbuilding thing i chip away at, centered around people based on olms n axolotls n stuff

These two are named Tourmaline and Seal and theyre on a journey to collect stories. Seal is a scribe and Tourmaline is a Scroll. And by that I mean they have the stories they collect/live through written onto their skin- by Seal, its bonding. Some day Tourmaline will be eaten by a mountain but thats OK. Theyre semi aquatic- needing water bathes regularly to remoisten but can handle themselves fine out of water- and theyre entirely bald. They've got frilly gills lining their neck, though