#The ones with borders are so that it's easier to see the letters in a very light / very dark background

[albacore-fish-or-aesthetic]

[Image description: Six images of the text “Totally aced it!” in all capital letters; the word “aced” is written in a larger font size and has the colours of the asexual pride flag (black, grey, white and purple; one for each letter). End of image description]

[lost-in-fandoms]

A little kitten knight Max AU prompt because honestly, I will never have enough... Also, don't worry about fulfilling it any time soon, just for when the brain worms want to worm, and if they never want to, that's fine too. But I noticed, a common trend in this AU is that Max turns into his cat form when Daniel least expects it and its like a welcome surprise to him when it happens, cue cuteness and love.

So what about a time, well in their established relationship, probably when he's used to Max's shifting pattern, something happens and he's expecting Max to shift, and it doesn't happen? And Daniel is just like ???? but cat form????

OR one where Daniel is the one in the need of comfort at the time, which is rare, despite Max being the Knight Captain and supposedly the tough one, and Max tries to help him in his human form but nothing works, so he shifts into his kitten form and that's the one that does the trick...

I'm sorry, this AU really corrupted my brain now, I will shut up now and patiently wait for another bit at some point

Thank you so much for sending this! It means a lot to me that you enjoy this universe so much <3

It took me a few days, but I hope you like this! I took the two prompts and combined them into one! Also this is accidentally almost 1.8k.

Daniel loves his life.

It's not perfect, and it's not the easiest, he could do with less dead hour watches and more hours in bed, preferably with Max, but it's good. He has a group of friends he loves dearly, even if they're mostly dickheads, and the last time he lost one was because he left the guards to go live on a farm with his family, not because of war and death. The kingdom has been mostly peaceful for years, and even the occasional border skirmishes have become less frequent, mostly solved with words and carefully placed marriages and threats.

And he has Max. Max, who is his own little piece of magic, who would make this life worth it even if it was worse than this.

So yes, Daniel loves Max, and he loves his life, but sometimes... Sometimes, when the nights are long and cold, and the rain seems endless, he can't help but miss the searing hot burn of red sand and the blinding glare of the sun. Sometimes, when one of the guys leaves the castle to have a meal with his family, his own food turns to ash in his mouth, tasting nothing like the things he used to love. Sometimes, when him and Max take three days of leave to go visit his mother or his sister, he can't help but think about how three days would not even cover half of way home for him, no matter a whole round trip.

Sometimes he's homesick.

He doesn't regret leaving, doesn't regret the adventures that brought him here, doesn't regret this life, will never regret putting down roots by Max's side, but he wishes it didn't have to be that far away. He never stopped exchanging letters with his family, with his mom especially, but it's not the same. It's not the same when he thinks about how useless he'd be if someone grew sick, or died. It's not the same when, even if he'll never tell anyone, he misses his mom's arms around him more fiercely than anything.

In those times, he pulls himself away. He doesn't hang out with the others outside of his shift, he doesn't spar for fun, he doesn't sit down with them in the hazy vapor of the baths, doesn't share meals with them. It's not easier to deal with the feeling by himself, but it's not harder, and that will have to do.

He's sitting on top of one of the high towers, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he would suddenly become able to see all the way home, when Max finds him.

He's still wearing his fancy cloak, the one he wears when the King has important visitors and Max needs to look less like a random guard and more like his Captain, he must have come straight from his duties, but he still leans against the wet stone ramparts with Daniel.

For a long moment, they stand in silence. Daniel can feel Max's eyes on him, but he doesn't look, busy trying to pierce insurmountable distances.

"Are you alright?" Max finally asks, shifting closer, their arms brushing from shoulder to wrist, their fingers knocking together. Even if they're alone, it's not safe to touch any more than that, and Daniel appreciates the gesture.

He nods, not really feeling like talking, suddenly wishing Max could hold him right there. He doesn't want to take his eyes away from the horizon, doesn't want Max to move further away. He wants both, always wants both, and it would make him laugh if it was any other moment, how simply the ache in his heart can be summarised in this single moment.

Max shifts again next to him, moving his weight from one foot to another, an unusual show of hesitance from him that doesn't really surprise Daniel. As lovely as Max is, he never really knows what to say when Daniel is like this.

Where Daniel had been raised with gentle hands and words of love, Max had known bruises and reproach, and even if he's come a long way, he still struggles sometimes with reassurances and feelings.

Max shifts again, their arms no longer touching, and Daniel almost expects to look to the side and find a kitten watching him instead. It's what Max does when he doesn't know what to say to Daniel: he turns in a shape where things are easier and then pours out his love in purrs and kitten licks, cuddling as close as possible to Daniel's heart.

But when Daniel looks, Max is still there, taking off his cloak to carefully drape him across Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel shivers, surprise and sudden warmth making his chest feel weird. He hadn't even realised he was cold.

It's not quite a hug, but he accepts it with the best version of a smile he can muster at the moment, and it seems to be enough to satisfy Max. They stand on top of the tower in silence for a long time.

The feeling doesn't go away the next day. Or the one after that.

It's unusual for him to feel this heavily homesick for so many days in a row, but he doesn't know how to make it go away, and it's clear Max doesn't know either.

He's been staying as close to Daniel as possible, taking care of him in many small different ways, holding him tight when they find each other in bed, but it doesn't seem to be enough. There's an ache in Daniel's chest that doesn't go away.

He's walking through the courtyard, limbs feeling heavier than they should be even after a long watch in the city's streets, when his eyes catch on a shadow, slinking away between some crates, and he realises what it might be that he needs.

"I saw a cat earlier," he tells Max.

They're laying in bed, Daniel's head on Max's naked chest, both too tired to have sex but still needing to be close.

"Are you going to make a joke about cousins again?" Max grumbles, chest vibrating under Daniel's cheek. He doesn't have to look up to know Max is frowning and smiling at the same time.

"No," Daniel replies with a giggle, "even if..."

Max pinches him before he can finish the sentence, and Daniel yelps, squirming away and then closer again.

He takes a breath, steadying himself. He doesn't know if this is okay to ask, has never had to ask before.

"Is everything okay?" Max asks, serious again, one hand coming up to gently cup Daniel's cheek.

Daniel nods, then hesitates some more. He doesn't want to...offend Max, or something like that, but he also just. He thinks that would make it right. Maybe.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Max's answer come so quickly Daniel would tease him for it if it was another day.

"And if I am out of line, you'll tell me?"

Finally, Max seems to have enough of this uncertainty and he moves Daniel around until he's able to meet his eyes. There's a deep frown line between his eyebrows, and Daniel almost reaches out to smooth it out.

"You are worrying me, Daniel. Just say it?"

Daniel bites at his lip for a second, but then he nods again. If he drags it out further he'll either end up not saying it at all or turning it in an even bigger thing than it needs to be.

"Can you shift?" he blurts out, almost immediately regretting not thinking of a better question.

Max's frown deepens.

"You mean...I am able to?"

Daniel shakes his head, moving his hands restlessly.

"No, I mean, could you? Right now?" He hates not knowing if he's like making an horrible faux-pas right now, but at least he's pretty confident Max won't hate him for it.

Max tilts his head, eyes studying Daniel so carefully he feels a bit like a miniature in a gilded book, understanding slowly making his way onto his face. Daniel both loves and hates how well Max knows him.

"That would make you feel better?" he asks gently.

Daniel nods again, helpless, unable and unwilling to lie.

"It..he..." Max swallows, frustrated. Daniel is glad that at least they both seem uncertain on what way is the best one to talk about this. "It's better when I am like that?"

And oh, Daniel can't have that.

He shakes his head, hands flying up to cup Max's cheeks, crashing forward to push their lips together.

"No, no! You are perfect, and I..." he kisses Max again, tries to put too much into it. "You have been great, but I think..."

"Daniel," Max calls, half a smile on his lips, grabbing Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel takes a breath, letting Max slow him down again. The next kiss is softer, sweeter. His thoughts clearer.

"I love you, like this and like that, but I would like some furry cuddles right now."

Max smile grows at his choice of words, but he gently pushes Daniel away to get himself some space, not needing to be asked twice.

"I love you too," he says, pressing one last kiss to Daniel's cheek.

And then one second Daniel is looking at his eyes, and the next he has to look down to find the small kitten already fighting with the bunched up blankets.

He laughs, helping him out of them while ignoring the disgruntled little meows. He doesn't know what it is about this, but his soul already feels more settled, lighter.

"Hello baby," he greets, laying back down on the bed in a comfortable position. He immediately feels Max climbing over him, little pinpricks of pain following his journey towards Daniel's collarbone, but he stays still, letting him do his thing.

When Max is settled down, curled up in a little furry ball next to Daniel's neck, purrs already vibrating through him, he brings up a hand to pet him softly, feeling his wet nose press against his skin in response.

He reaches over to turn off the oil lamp, letting the moon take over. He still misses his old home, still misses his family, but the pain of it has subsided in the familiar thrum that always resides between his ribs, bearable once again.

"Thank you, Maxy," he whispers in the silver darkness, brushing his cheek against Max's little body. Max just purrs louder, and Daniel smiles.

Tomorrow he will write a new letter to his mom, will ask about his nephews and about the harvest, but for now he closes his eyes, letting Max lull him to sleep.

[lady-phasma]

My sister is finally watching House of the Dragon and one thing that continues to be brought up in our discussions is Matt Smith's acting through microexpressions. We're going to go back and discuss this shot, but I wanted to make the gif for it and post some of my thoughts about what makes it an incredibly important skill to have have especially for tight close-ups. Many actors have emotive faces (and many actors are better or worse than Matt), but this stands out as an example every time I rewatch episode three.

I slowed the gif to 90% speed just to make it a little easier to see how Daemon's emotions are conveyed since we can't pause gifs. The original clip is 5 seconds (the gif is appx 6 seconds) and there are three distinct emotions expressed in this short amount of time.

Although most of us will know the context, here's a brief reminder: Daemon has just read the scroll from Viserys denying him assistance against the Triarchy. Daemon turns his back on the gathered army and leans on the table.Then the shot cuts to this extreme close-up.

Daemon's first expression is communicated by looking off to a distant point and is contemplative. He is thinking about the contents of the letter, processing the information.

Next, he glances downward, expressing disappointment, which then transforms into a smile. This smile is peculiar and I can't come up with a single word to describe the emotion. It is the feeling of "why am I even surprised? I should have expected this." Mild humor mixed with confirmed (and disappointing) expectations. It also borders on resignation. I stopped the clip here, but the next instance is when he lets his rage out by beating the messenger with his helmet.

So why is this important? Character development doesn't only occur through dialogue, plot, or large actions. Yes, the action Daemon chose next develops his character immensely, but this tiny shot shows how he came to that action. Daemon, like every character in the series, has complex emotions that we don't always see without repeat viewings. Here, Matt does an excellent job of explaining what the current status is of Daemon's relationship with Viserys. As well as Daemon's frustration at always having to do everything himself (in his mind at least), and this helps the viewer understand why he goes after The Crab Feeder alone.

Moments such as this in any film/series are subtle enough that we often don't know that we have even noticed and interpreted them. However, we often do it in real time and it makes our experience of the characters and stories that much richer.

[tawaifeddiediaz]

Hey, I love how you did the B/W strip + the text effect on your margaret atwood set, would you be willing to do a tutorial? 🙈

Hey Nonnie, thank you! Sorry this is a little late, but I did manage to hang onto this PSD for you.

We'll be making this gif:

This tutorial assumes basic knowledge of gif-making, Photoshop, and coloring. I’ve only described the text tutorial in this, but you can reach out if you have any questions.

(This is a different version of my gradient text tutorial, but the same principle applies!)

Tutorial under the cut:

Couple things to note beforehand:

There is a lot of trial and error involved when doing any sort of effect, and this is no exception! You might have to play around with the colors and the settings before you find something that looks good and readable and that fits your set!

This text effect works better on big gifs (540px width) that have quite a bit of movement below the shape so you get that effect.

For this effect, I find that a simple font works better than a cursive one, but play around with what you like.

We're going to start with this gif:

First, I'm going to add my text and center it. For this text, I used the font, Solar vesta Serif, with these settings:

Note: when you do letter spacing + underline, sometimes, the space after the last letter can lead the underline to stretch a little too far past the letter, making it look like the underline isn't centered properly.

To get past this, I just select the last letter separately, and put the VA setting to 0-10, depending on the font/letter.

We're also going to add a drop shadow here itself, and this is fully up to preference, but I used this:

All of that should give us this (yeah, it's the simplest thing because I'm lazy and I like easy things xD nothing too fancy)

Next, we're going to draw our rectangle around the letters. I like to keep even spacing around all the letters on all sides (in this gif, it's 4px on all sides) but just eyeball it initially, and then adjust accordingly.

I changed the fill to white (this color isn't important, I just used white because it's easier to show) and moved the layer in the back so the text is on top. It should all look like this:

Next, we're going to add a gradient map between the rectangle and the text later. I simply used a black and white gradient, and my gif now looks like this:

Here are the settings:

Next, we're going to delete that white box - the layer mask - next to the gradient map. Just click that and press delete (or right-click > delete layer mask). Your layers should look like this:

Now, we're going to add the rectangle as a layer mask. While pressing Ctrl, we’re going to hover our mouse over the square box next to Rectangle 1. Your cursor should show a white box with a dotted border. Click the square box with that dotted cursor and you should get a dotted selection line all around the box, like so: 

Next, we're going to select our gradient map layer, and then create a new layer mask. At the bottom of the layers panel, you should see a box with a circle in it (denoted with a red arrow). Click that - make sure you have your gradient map layer selected, or you'll end up putting the mask on the wrong layer.

The black and white will disappear, leaving you with just the box again. It'll look like this:

Now, just hide the rectangle layer so it looks like this;

And you're done! This is my final gif:

Once you get this basic thing down, you can play around with it all. For example, I like to adjust my gradient sliders so they emphasize the colors:

You can also just change the colors;

Unlike my previous text effect, we're not going for inverse X-ray effect, so for this, I like to make sure the lighter shade of the gradient is on the lighter parts of the gif, and same with the dark shade.

(If that's confusing, here's a side by side comparison of what the "X-ray" effect vs normal color effect looks like)

Anyway - it's fully up to you!

Because of the effect I was going for, I didn't add a drop shadow underneath the rectangle itself, but you always can if you want to make that a little bit more 3D.

You can also do this with any other shapes, too, with the same procedure.

Hope this helps, Nonnie! Let me know if you have any questions.

[faejilly]

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

*

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

*

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

[shatcey]

Lesson of Japanese

Due to anniversary of reading Ikemen games in Japanese

I decided to show you how many words (combinations of words) I have learned in a whole year.

I have no idea how they are pronounced (most of them for an obvious reason), but I already know the meaning if I see one of them in the text. Well… there aren't that many of them…

1. "I'm Ok" or just "Ok".

A year ago, when I was still trying to learn Korean (I had so much free time then), I learned a few words. One of them was a word with the same meaning. 괜찮아 (I hear it like "Khenchanha"). So back when I learned the meaning of this world in Japanese, I read it as "Khenchanha" and thus memorized it. This is weird, to say the least. Literally, I remember a word because I already know the word on another language what has the same meaning, but I never translated it into my native language, I mentally used only English. Three foreign languages… I have no idea why it's easier for me…

2. "Me/I"

Depending on which word/symbol (I'm not familiar with the terms, did you really think this would be a lesson?) is follow next, the form of pronouns will change. That's all I know. I have no idea what the other words mean or even what they look like. And again, I read this 나 (Na). This is an informal form of Me/I in Korean. I don't know why, but I like to read it that way.

3. "Hehe" or "FuFu".

It's the sound of laughter. Gilbert does this quite often. But I found the screenshot with Ellis for some reason...

There are several variants. For example, William's peals of laughter.

4. And...Yoichi.

This is the name of my favourite character in IkeGen.

Highlighted with a red border. I probably shouldn't do that. In Korea it's a sign of a deceased person. I'll fix it.

...

...

How do I find a color that doesn't mean anything bad? In some countries, even white is considered a bad color… I have a headache!

Decided. I never wanted Yoichi to die, so I only use it for HIGHLIGHTING. I won't change it!

So... on the picture written two names: Shigehira and Yoichi.

Sometimes I think that's the main reason I like him so much. I can write his name by hand. It's so simple… especially compared to other names.

Actually, the names in Villains are also pretty simple, but for some reason I still cannot say that I remembered them. Well… I can probably guess by looking at the first letter (or whatever it's called… now I'm ashamed for not knowing), but… It's not the same as being absolutely sure.

I feel so proud of myself! So many words in just a year.

This is what happens when you don't even try to memorize…

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[mister-eames]

"Well this is just fantastic, isn't it," he mutters, switching gears into fifth and checking the rear view again for any pursuers. They've been in the clear for the last twenty minutes but is compelled to look again anyway. "Hmm? What now?"

"Safehouse," Arthur says, clipped, distracted with his phone. "Just over the border."

"You have a contingency for everything, don't you," Eames says, aiming for breezy, but missing the target by a mile. "Bloody Arthur and his bloody back up plans."

Arthur raises his brow, but doesn't stop typing.

"I bet you had a backup plan for this too, hmm?" Eames continues, pressing the accelerator, taking his hand from the gear stick to gesture to Arthurs’ battered body.

"Can you shut up and pay attention to the road?"

"You know,” Eames ignores him, “normal people don't plan for getting hurt. You're not normal."

"Says you," Arthur sighs, finally putting the phone down. 

"Yes, says me, the one who doesn't have a broken wrist and a knife wound."

"It was a letter opener."

Eames scoffs. “And you were too fucking slow.”

Arthur shifts in his seat. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing at all," he turns a corner, hard, jostling both of them. "Was that what I was, Arthur - a backup plan?"

“What?”

“Am I here as a part of your backup plan? A getaway driver?”

“Jesus,” Arthur mutters. 

Out of the corner of his eye Eames sees him shake his head. He opens his mouth to speak but shuts it quickly, shaking his head again. It stokes Eames’ anger even more. Of course he’s just another piece in Arthur’s designs. Part of the strategy. Stupid of him. Of course Arthur would know that he’d be here, that he’d do anything for him. That he’d be willing to hotwire a car for him. To lead when Arthur is down. 

“What? Spit it out.”

“You--” Arthur cuts himself off, jaw visibly clenched. “You’re an idiot.”

Eames scowls. “Fuck you, Arthur.”

Arthur whacks him with his good hand. “I can drive one-handed, asshole. I don’t need you here.”

"Well, let me just pull over then, since I’m clearly of no use.”

“Listen,” Arthur whacks him again, turning in his seat to lean in. “I don’t need you here. We could have split up back there, but I asked you to run with me - can you fucking think about that? Do I need to spell it out for you? You’re not a backup plan -- there. You happy?” Arthur sits back heavily in his seat, petulance radiating off of him in waves. “Asshole.”

Eames eases up on the gas as they approach a border checkpoint, going over Arthur’s words, the ire churning his gut easing bit by bit. 

“You want me here,” he concludes. 

Arthur remains silent.

The car slows to a stop behind a short queue of cars. Eames watches as Arthur busies himself with their passports, mouth pursed in a frown, colour high on his cheeks. 

If it all goes right, they will be stuck in this safehouse of Arthur’s for at least a week. Maybe two. And thats...

... A prospect suddenly much more easier to bear. Eames smiles. 

Slowly, so as to not spook him while he’s defensive, Eames extends his hand out and casually places it over Arthur’s, squeezing twice, stomach somersaulting like he’d just reached into a tigers cage. Arthur doesn’t shake him off. 

The car inches forward, next in line. Eames hopes Arthur realises he means that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, even if they were in a row, or outrunning a storm of bullets. Nowhere else at all.

He thinks Arthur knows. If not, Eames will be sure to tell him properly, later.

[vwritesaus]

Thomas drops a handful of broken timber planks onto the ground with a sigh. Sweat pools at the back of his neck and at his hairline, ice cold against his skin. The sun has decided not to make itself present today, hiding behind dour, blackened clouds that promise a frigid, windy afternoon. Not that it bothers him in the slightest. Thomas prefers to be out at the Institute, sorting through debris in a cracked, stained courtyard in poor weather than sitting around doing nothing at all.       After all, sitting around doing nothing at all gives way to dangerous thoughts barging into his head, ones he doesn’t want to think about lest they crush his soul more than it already has been.       No, it is better to be productive. Better to be busy. Better to be surrounded by people he knows and loves than to be at home alone.       His family is out for the day, Eugenia in search of a new set of embroidery needles, and Alastair—the one whom Thomas wants to see more than anyone else when his mind is like this—is babysitting Zachary in Kensington. As per the letter he’d gotten yesterday, Thomas has been invited to see them later on in the day, but the gap between the morning and the afternoon is a long time, indeed. So when James and Matthew’s fire message came to him that morning requesting (namely, begging) his assistance with cleaning up, Thomas rushed out of his home in Golders Green without a backward glance.       At the present moment, both Matthew and James are kicking at loose rock and dry leaves in the distance. The trees bordering the London streets and the Institute seem to have dumped all their broken branches into the courtyard, creating a crooked, spiny cemetery circled by dust and dirt and withered foliage. Shattered roof tiles, odd riff-raff from horse-drawn carriages, ripped shop awnings and jagged pieces from window panes, and general rubble and dirt make up the rest of the unfortunate picture. But Thomas finds himself really not caring about the mammoth clean-up task left to the Shadowhunters of the London Enclave.       It’s easier not to care, he’s found. It helps with this evidently everlasting numbness.       He turns his attention to the handful of broken planks he’s dumped onto the ground and forces himself to count each individual ringed spot and dark-stained grain.       Focus. He must focus—

continue reading on ao3

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SO.

hi

i know it's been AGES since i posted the first chapter of this fic (and, indeed, any fic....) and all i can i say is that the work/life balance this year hasn't been kind to me in the slightest :')

but!!! we're finally here, and the other chapters are getting there... slowly lol

i hope you all had a lovely holiday break and are looking forward to the new year (i know i am, good grief). hope you enjoy this chapter !!

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tag list: @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom @alastairstom @what-ho-christopher-put-in @thomastaircompassrose @faithfromanewperspective (thought you might be interested, but no pressure!!) let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[bonefall]

You've single handedly dragged me back into the warriors fandom with your warriors overhaul and as a consequence I've been dragged back to my ocs, so I decided to give clanmew names a whirl for the biggest one I've got, sheepstrike!

During a particularly hard leafbare, the prey in the moors wasn't enough to sustain windclan, leading to a starvation event similar to the great hunger seen in goosefeathers curse. With many of the weaker cats already having died, the clan was growing desperate, and a then generically named curlyfur (fofwarrlfaf, curled fur, named for a curly fur genetic mutation) stepped up with a risky plan: sneak into the twoleg farm and steal one of the sheep once they were let out in the fields. While the clan cats would normally not do something to potentially provoke the twolegs, at this point they were desperate enough to try, which lead to an eventually successful raid. While the raid was a group effort, the windclan cats attributed their survival to the cat who came up with the daring plan. Curlyfur was then given the honor title Sheepstrike, which I've translated as baabakorren, baa meaning sheep and bakorren meaning to use/make use of. While her original name focused more on the actual acquisition of the sheep, her clanmew translation ended up focusing more on the use of the body, as the sheep not only fed the clan but also kept them warm with the use of its wool, and gave them materials to make future tools with the use of its bones.

Her name would have been easier to translate, but I took it a step further and decided to try and keep the alliteration as a fun little challenge. Maybe it's a fun little naming quirk of the windclan leader? Who knows? All I know is I made things needlessly difficult shuffling through the clanmew lexicon finding any verb that started with the letter b and shoving it against baa to see if it fit.

(I also gave naming her littermate Cornflower a whirl and ended up with Mooheqmwaron, mooheq meaning corn and mwaron meaning bloomed. As a young kit and apprentice cornpaw was rather skittish, but after a bit of socializing she grew into quite the social butterfly, becoming a popular figure at gatherings. The prefix corn was used because of her yellow coat color and her clans close location to a farm, and the suffix flower/bloomed was used in reference to the fact that she grew into herself and metaphorically became a bright and beautiful flower. Her original name is also a bit of a fun jab at cornflour, since I picture her having a grand old time with kitchen duty, specifically the baking of tunnelbuns)

If people keep sharing cool OCs that draw inspiration from BB, I'm going to have to find some way to boost them. Some people understand the assignment and absolutely knock it out of the park!

Speaking of sheep-killing... I am actually planning a minor subplot in BB!DOTC relating to sheep. I think I may have mentioned it in passing at some point, but in a nutshell, there's a point after the formation of ThunderClan where Thunder Storm and the Gang are negotiating with the River Kingdom, Shadow's Clan, and the Wind Coalition.

To stay on their good side, the Wind Coalition employs them for a while to teach them the secret of killing sheep, something that Tribe cats know how to do. But they quickly find out that the reason the Wind's Runner sent them to do this isn't because they're better at killing sheep, but because there is a vicious collie and she wants to see what they do with a sudden challenge.

As a result of what happens here, sheep become much more closely managed and killing them becomes too hard to do casually for future generations. WindClan also carries an important cultural memory from the event; that stealing from humans means more dogs on the moor.

(Also the border collie's name is Hamish, for no particular reason. I just think it's a cute name.)

But anyway! Onto some new words for you!

The word "mooheq" is actually made during the Sundrown Patrol! Corn was only 'discovered' and named after the Clan cats settled at the lake, because of passing through so many farms to find Sanctuary Lake. Before then, all of the strange, unnatural-looking plants grown by humans are called Yoshepe.

It's why they don't have words for most farm animals (chickens, goats) or any other common crop, like tomatoes, potatoes, or lettuce. Only particularly noteworthy human products are given names, like the unsettlingly red domestic rose or medically valuable catmint.

So for Cornflower, if she's from a time before the Lake before they invented Mooheq, I've gone and gotten three plants for you. Two to keep a "direct" translation and one to hopefully keep the "vibe"

Cornflower (Centaurea cyanus) AKA Bachelor's Button = Kerrma This plant (and the next one) are actually named for a very interesting reason; they're 'parasites' of cereal-crop fields. Before industrialization, they carved out a little niche as grain impostors, and humans would unwittingly sew them along with the crop. Kerrma is blue and fluffy, valued for its beauty.

Corn Cockle (Agrostemma githago) = Mwirrma While Kerrma is pretty, safe, and a bit more 'delicate,' Mwirrma is an unkillable weed. Poisonous and seen in cornfields, roadsides, and disturbed areas, this pink flower is seen as a reminder to "be careful" when doing something as risky as visiting a human grain field.

Sunflower (Helianthus annuus) = Awlpon I was actually ready to rule against having a word for Sunflower in base Clanmew, then I learned that sunflowers can naturalize themselves in this area, in addition to being a very common crop. So this is one of the few human crops that Clan cats have a name for. It's yellow, it's grown by farms, it's bright and cheerful and faces the sun. If none of the other two tickle your fancy, here's one for Cornflower's vibes!

[a-dirty-secret]

Johnny's Girl - Part 19

tw: dub/non-con, hematolagnia, dacryphilia, blood, violence, stalking, rough sex

You took a deep breath, your shaky hand turning the doorknob to your motel room. You step inside, turning around to look at the man you'd brought with you. He had light hair that framed his handsome face. He was just barely shorter than Johnny, but not nearly as toned. He closed the door and approached you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you close, his sandy eyes gazing into yours.

"You're so beautiful." The words sounded foreign coming from him, from someone other than Johnny. You'd spent the last couple of nights spending time with this man at a local bar. He seemed to be sweet and understanding, a typical southern gentleman.

He leans in, his lips soft against yours as he caresses your back. You pull him closer and deepen the kiss, attempting to feel something. Anything. Your mind wanders to Johnny involuntarily. His rough hands and overwhelming kiss. His deep voice and hot breath on your ear as he whispered sweet words just for you.

"Mmm..." You moan into the kiss, encouraging him to go further. He breaks the kiss briefly and pulls off your shirt, kneading your breasts gently before giving your nipples attention. The pleasure is dulled by sharp pangs of guilt. You were Johnny's, this didn't feel right.

You pull away, your saddened gaze meeting his. "I'm sorry, I can't do this." You sit on the bed, cupping your face as tears spill out.

"Here." he says, handing you your shirt before sitting next to you. He waits for you to be fully dressed then pulls you close, stroking your hair gently as you continue to cry.

"I'm sorry." you utter sheepishly.

"Hey, it's alright. I'm here if you need me." His words were gentle and kind but brought you no comfort. There was only one person you needed, and it wasn't him.

You let out a defeated sigh. You'd hoped finding somebody else would help you forget about Johnny, or at least prove to yourself that you didn't need him. Instead it did the total opposite. "You should probably leave." You stated, pulling away from him.

He got up and went to the nightstand, writing something on a piece of paper. "If you ever need somethin', that's my phone number. I can see that you're hurtin', a woman like you don't deserve that." He squeezed your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile before leaving you to be alone with your thoughts.

The last month had been slow and painful. You spent most of your time alone, trying to work through your thoughts and emotions despite the depression you'd been lunged into. Your feelings for Johnny bordered on obsession, and you just didn't know how to deal with it. You had to convince yourself not to go back to him daily, and it hasn't gotten any easier. How could you convince yourself that he was bad for you? Honestly, you didn't think you could. His dark side didn't deter you, it drew you in. It made his soft side feel even more special, and it was a side of him reserved for just you.

How would he react if you went back? Would he be happy or would he decide to finally finish what he started? The more time passed the less you cared. Life was colorless without him. He was so intense and passionate, everything else dulled in comparison.

Thoughts of returning made your heart race, causing the pressure in your chest to release ever so slightly for the first time since you watched Johnny drive away. You get up, running around in a whirlwind as you throw things into your bag. You didn't care if you were obsessed and you didn't care if he was bad for you, you loved him.

You grab your keys and run to your car, desperate to get back to him. The thought of seeing him again is almost overwhelming, and for the first time since you left you feel something other than pain and numbness. You were Johnny's, you would always be Johnny's, and you were done fighting it. You rub the letters etched into your skin gently at the thought.

You drove for hours, the anticipation of seeing Johnny warding off any drowsiness. Your insides flutter when you start to recognize your surroundings lit up by the orange hue of the sunset. You look to the side of the road as you get close to your house and gasp, slamming on the breaks when you see Johnny's truck in your driveway. What was he doing here?

You park in the driveway and get out. You felt like a newborn learning how to walk as you made your way to the front door, your nerves overwhelming you. You stand in front of the door and take a few deep breaths, preparing yourself for Johnny's reaction.

You nervously open the door and step inside.

[sxrrandomfanfics]

I'm confused by the Psychonauts timeline. And I don't mean "Oh doesn't it take place in the 1980s cause of the second game having magazines?" vs "doesn't it take place in the 1800s because Fred validly being the great great great grandson of Napoleon Bonaparte and we can look up Napoleon's lineage and see that said great great great grandchildren lived in that age?" vs "Doesn't it take place in a futuristic 2000s because vibes?"

No no no no no.

I'm talking about what events took place in what order?

Like... Ford and Otto meet and decide to go to some place in the woods to study this thing called Psitanium. Many people think they dropped out of college but they could have also been like... geology majors...

And apparently Otto knew a hydrokinetic woman named Lucy from Grulovia so...

Mark that actually first in the timeline, Otto knew Lucy and knew a war was happening in Grulovia. Sometime after that, Otto and Ford meet and start studying Psitanium. Lucy's husband, Gelsin, dies in the war so she leaves. Leaving her sister behind.

Lucy and Ford start bonding long before other psychics join them, but then we don't know the exact order that people came in.

Compton, Cassie, and Bob are somewhere in the mix with Helmut being last but... which of them came first!? Was it Cassie who struggled to socialize with the others and only bonded with Ford? OR was it Compton because his psychic abilities were having trouble being honed and Ford was like- why don't we try to help? OR was it Bob who had no one else around and was probably aimlessly wandering or drunk? We don't know. Make it up yourself.

Helmut and Bob have a wedding, which... includes... Truman. Wait how old is Truman!? I thought he was younger than Augustus but Augustus is clearly around Raz's age (maybe older) in the memory vaults but now looks older than Truman.

Do we need to put THAT on the timeline, too!? *sigh* just... plot things out...

After that wedding the next point in the timeline is Lucrecia's return to Grulovia because the war eventually breaches its borders, and fearing for her sister's life, Lucrecia heads back. This is now a lot easier to plot out. Lucrecia heads back, turns the tide of war (pun intended), and becomes the War Minister under the Malik Crown. Lucrecia eventually creates mild floods at protests, and gains the moniker "Maligula" from either those of the crown, or the protestors. During this time, her letters start to no longer show up in the mail and Maligula gains a big name for herself (as we see with Psychic Times Magazine). The Deluge happens. Marona and Lazarus are killed and then she is left to succumb to her primal fight instincts that try to protect her from feeling the guilt and aiming her rage at those she blames to be the real cause of her sister's death. Other protestors, or even the crown. The Maliks flee, and after many militaries cannot get to Grulovia, they send in the small group of Psychics that have also probably been published in similar magazines (most likely thanks to Otto). The fight with Maligula happens, Helmut "dies," Ford "kills" Maligula, and he takes Maligula and Helmut's brain to the Heptadome.

Things get messy here again. Because while it may seem that Maligula's, Augustus's, and Ford's rewrites happened back to back in Helmut's memories of the incident, there's implications that it wasn't the case. Ford recalls at the end of "Tomb of the Sharkophogus" that "I had my Lucy back." This implies that he first used it to isolate Maligula. Afterall, it he remarks he had his Lucy. Ford goes on to say "But I knew the world would never forgive her. So I had to hide her somewhere safe."

Perhaps this was him still having her in the astrolaithe, BUT it could also be that he and Lucy came up with the plan of hiding her further from herself. Remember: Lucy accepted the name of Maligula before the Deluge (Cruller's Correspondence). It was even the name they featured her with on the Psychic magazine before the Deluge. But we don't know. This is a hole in our understanding. It's an even bigger hole with Raz saying that Ford was "the greatest leader the Psychonauts had ever seen," back in PN1 (before Maligula was the reason that Ford's mind became fucked up). Meaning that not only should Ford have at least a FEW missions under his belt, it would mean the back-to-back memory wipe makes no sense. But if the back-to-back memory wipe makes no sense then there would be no reason for Otto to have not known the brain in the jar was Helmut Fullbear! ESPECIALLY when Ford is supposedly out of it during Helmut's funeral and when Ford is at the founding of the Motherlobe.

Another hole in our understanding is even where Ford got the idea of the circus. Was it from Lazarus Aquato and his famous national aquatic circus that Augustus tells Raz about? Was it from the fact that the Galochios were supposed to have been a rival circus in the past? We don't get anything with that!

So what are we left with? I suppose it would have had to have been something like this - Ford rescues Lucy, but between all of her friends she believes she killed Helmut, as well as her sister. Possibly unable to deal with the grief, She begs Ford to help her redeem herself by saving Augustus. But Augustus, traumatized by the loss of his mother to his aunt rejects her until they're both locking their memories away. And then Ford... well there's another grey period.

What makes the MOST sense is that he was HAILED as the best leader the Psychonauts had because he was 1. The First, and 2. Took down Maligula. And basically immediately after tried to seal the memories of Lucy away with the Astrolaithe and accidentally broke his own mind by the time they had Helmut's funeral.

THEN we get into the New Leadership of the Psychonauts. Mostly led by Otto, but we also have Truman as the only other leader. Who is clearly old enough to have been at Helmut and Bob's wedding given the figments you can find in Bob's Bottles.

I'm guessing that Ford and Otto had their time as leaders, but when Cassie left, Truman was the one in charge. But that's only guess work. Truman could have just been leading the Psychonauts as the organization we know it since the beginning.

But the most IRRITATING part of the Psychonauts timeline is the current batch of agents. No, not Raz and the Juniors, I'm talking about the Senior Agents. The superstars.

Where did Sasha Nein, Milla Vodello, Hollis Forsythe, and Morceau Oleander come from?

Like... we know their backstories and where they were BEFORE the Psychonauts. But we only see Hollis recruited. And she's able to call the Psychonauts and get Truman to come on a mission to fix her mess.

But like... if the Psychonauts are just a phone call away, they're clearly established for the populous rather than the way they're called in like... the E3 reveal trailer by military. So HOW did she become SECOND HEAD? Who was Truman's second hand before her? Did he have one before her? Was this during a time that like... Otto and Compton were in charge?

Were Morceau, Sasha, and Milla already there? That would make the most sense, considering how popular and available the Psychonauts are. But then again, why would someone who got into the Psychonauts so late become the Second Head??

And it's not even that Hollis was an immediate field agent, as she dropped being a nurse and got a graduate degree in mathematics. So she either took off away from the Psychonauts and got that degree then came in later, or under the Psychonauts got her degree.

We don't have the order of half of the founding members, and we don't have the order of the modern psychonauts being recruited.

All. We have. Are Headcanons. And even then those clash a lot.

Like, I can say: "Oh I think Truman became leader fairly quickly thanks to his age being around 20s or 30s at the latest and Otto and Compton were struggling with trauma" but at the same time it's equally valid to say: "Ford was the leader who lost himself overtime rather than shattering immediately"

And sometimes that's great. But sometimes that can cause people to yell at one another.

What am I trying to get at?

Nothing I'm just neurodivergent about numbers and timelines are something I'm VERY neurodivergent for.

[mariacallous]

Believe me when I say I could jump on my high horse and denounce Donald Trump. Nothing would be easier than to go on (and on) about his racism and brutality, his corruption and misogyny.

I could cry with polemical indignation about how he encourages insurrection, tells lies without end, and presents a clear threat to American democracy.

Of course I could. I could do it in my sleep.

Instead of moralising, however, I want to offer a factual proposition no fair-minded person can contradict. Donald Trump is a threat to European security. No patriotic European conservative – or patriot of any other political persuasion –can support his return to power

Trump and his followers see NATO as a globalist plot by elite warmongers to suck America into paying for Europe’s defence, and their ideology is already having consequences.

At Trump’s instigation Republicans in Congress are blocking US aid to Ukraine. At first, observers thought it was just a negotiating tactic. Republicans would get tougher controls on the US border with Mexico in return for agreeing to Biden's aid package.

But Trump does not want a deal. Compromise would help Biden, which he has no intention of doing, and it would help Ukraine, and he won’t do that either.

If Trump wins, the US deterrent will vanish. If Russia attacks, there will be no guarantees that the US will respond, and Russia will know that. The UK and the EU will face a full-scale military crisis.

Conservatives, who say that national security is their first concern, simply cannot endorse Trump without making a nonsense of their lives.

 Yet a nonsense is what they are making. The worst Conservatives are now prepared to put love of radical right ideology before love of country.

Boris Johnson is to the fore.

He declared that “a Trump presidency could be just what the world needs”.  And even I was faintly shocked by this treacherous performance.

Many of us who opposed Johnson, thought that, say whatever else we liked about him, he had shown courage and principle in his willingness to defend Ukraine after the Russian invasion.  Now he is prepared to abandon it.

Johnson covers his betrayal by wailing that “I simply cannot believe that Trump will ditch the ­Ukrainians”. It’s a worthless caveat given that Trump has said he will ditch the Ukrainians, and his supporters in Congress are indeed ditching the Ukrainians at this very moment. 

At no point did Johnson discuss the consequences for NATO of a Trump victory. Or warn that the UK’s Conservative government may soon need to stop thinking about lowering taxes and start thinking about increasing defence spending.

Instead, and tellingly, Johnson delighted in the discomfort Trump provoked in the “global wokerati”.

Like so many others, Johnson is prepared to throw away Ukraine’s security and to betray the security interests of his own country for the greater good of owning the libs.

Reading through the work of the pro-Trump British Conservatives one learns that hatred of progressives is their alpha and omega. They would rather see the smile spread on Vladimir Putin’s face at the news of Trump’s r​eelection than concede an inch of ground to Western progressives.

Lord (David) Frost, whom Johnson appointed to negotiate the UK’s disastrous departure from the EU, was explicit on this point.

In a Telegraph opinion piece that read like a love letter, Frost began by confessing his loathing of rich American liberals, who apparently believe in forcing people to use less energy and eat less meat in the interests of restricting greenhouse gas emissions.

Their environmentalism may seem a mild source of irritation but it was enough to send Frost careering to the far right. (And Trump is “far right” in the proper sense of the label because he threatens democracy.)

Trump’s viciousness and his sadistic desire to humiliate all who cross him is alchemised in Frost’s mind into an endearing “brashness” and “indifference to convention”.

Frost has no condemnation to make of the incitement to insurrection and all the other charges against Trump.  On the evidence of his writing, His Lordship cares nothing for the fate of Europe should Trump win again.

Instead, Frost displays the ghoulish admiration of the wimpy kid for the muscle-bound bully.

He thrills to “Trump’s humour, [and] his one-liners, cheap though they are sometimes.”  He confesses “I’d love to hear it if he were ever to come up with a nickname for Keir Starmer.”

There you have it. Frost’s hatred of the left is so deep, nothing else matters. Not American or Ukrainian or British security. Nothing at all. As long as the playground bully can land his punches, the weaselly boy egging him on will clap his hands in delight.  

In the coming months the urge to go along with the right-wing gang will consume many British and European conservatives.

In a rare moment of lucidity Frost spat out the reason why.

Biden and Starmer are worse than anything the right and indeed far right can offer. Progressives may look moderate, Frost says. But, once in power, “you just might find they turn out to be a woke diversity obsessional, a believer in open borders, an open-the-spending-taps socialist”. 

Paranoid fear and irrational hatred justify abandoning the defence of your country.

It was said of the worst of the French right in the 1930s that it would rather see Hitler invade than the left in power. Today the worst of the British right would rather see Putin’s forces advance on Kyiv than a Democrat in the White House.

I cannot overemphasise how the seductions of extremism are luring at least some British Conservatives from their traditions. We could be about to witness a reversal of the pattern of the late 20th century.

In the 1980s I along with many other leftists became a passionate supporter of unilateral nuclear disarmament. We thought we had good reasons – just as today’s Conservatives do. The Cold War was heating up. The United States and the Soviet Union were pouring medium-range weapons into Europe. It looked as if they were preparing for a “limited” nuclear war that would have reduced the continent to ashes.  

Although there were communists and Soviet agents in the anti-nuclear movement, most people had honest concerns.  

And yet our solution threatened the security of the country. The left of the 1980s proposed that the UK should remove all US bases and decommission its own nuclear weapons – while asking nothing of the Soviet Union in return.

To most people watching us, we seemed insane. The UK should disarm without getting concessions from Moscow? How did that ​work?

We looked as if we were collaborating with Moscow, and that hint of treason killed the movement and the wider left. When Neil Kinnock led the Labour party in the 1980s, he spent years trying to persuade it to abandon unilateral disarmament.

He knew that Margaret Thatcher could use many arguments to justify her cruel rule. And defence was always high among them. Labour would leave the country defenceless, Conservatives said. It would aid the UK’s enemies because it hated Western society more than it hated the Kremlin.

Now in an irony​ of history it is the right who look like the leftists of the last century. Conservatives (or as I must keep reminding myself to say the worst Conservatives) hate progressivism as we hated Thatcherism and Reagani​sm. For them, as it was for us, it is better to endanger their country and please the Kremlin than make the smallest concession to their domestic opponents.

If the right does not make a decisive break with Trump, it is at least possible to imagine that it will suffer the fate of the left of the 1980s. It certainly deserves to.​

[demcnsinmymind]

@dyslexic-fool sent 39. Heartache - One Word Writing Prompts - Accepting!

who needs a short drabble when you can make this thing a freaking novel?????? All the Lasha feels.

Unlike all the others, Sasha's vanishing is a slow one.

Little by little. Bit by bit.

Like an infection. Spreading ever so slowly, digging deeper and deeper into her. Scratches, letters no longer just etched into her back, but seeping into her very essence. Mind. Lungs. Muscles. Bones. Her whole body. Taken over. Failing. Breaking apart.

It starts when she has trouble breathing. Probably just from all the moisture and mold down here, it's gonna be alright.

The blood she's coughing up begging to differ.

Then she has trouble walking. He does too. His feet are fucking killing him after god knows how many hours or even days of walking down corridors and stairs that don't make any sense. It's gonna be alright. Just a little bit further. You can do this. Keep walking.

Her weak knees and continued stumbling and tripping making it obvious that this is happening. That this is unstoppable.

For a while, he's doing the best he can with it. Walking slower at first. So it's easier for her to keep up with him. Then helping her walk. Supporting her. Keeping her battered and exhausted body upright. Tries to carry her next, when she keeps falling down. And he hates to admit it, but he's too weak to carry her. Can barely walk himself.

They need to stop and rest, he knows that, too. But still. He keeps them walking. Just a little while longer. The exit's gonna be there any minute now. You'll see.

Soon enough though, it's not just her back that's hurting anymore. Or their feet. His feet. Or his head from the lack of water. Or his eyes from the lack of sleep. It's his heart that's starting to ache too.

Because hers is a slow vanishing.

And he's getting to watch it live and in color. Slow motion. Getting slower still.

Crawling.

And he knows that keeping her going like this is just....cruel at this point. Every gasp that escapes her. Every sob and every whimper...drives that point home. Like a knife diving right into his chest. Every single time. Stab. Stab stab. More pain. Aching right along with her. Because even he has to admit that keeping her walking at this point is bordering on torturing her. A selfish thing to do. Just for his own sanity. Because - that he knows too- stopping...that will make her vanishing a definite fact.

A certainty.

But one he has to submit to eventually. For her sake.

Getting them stranded somewhere in the middle of this never ending tunnel. Stuck. Even more hours that make no sense. Is it even hours, still? Does something like that even exist in here anymore? Maybe it's been days. Or just a few minutes. Whatever the measure, he can feel her getting weaker and weaker...and weaker with each passing of it. Not just that, but she's getting colder, too. Like a corpse at this point. Even with his jacket wrapped up tightly around her small figure.

He tries to keep her in good spirits next. Be there. Comfort her. Because what else can he do now? Keeps talking and talking, not just to the camera, but to her. About the most random shit. Laughing, chuckling, smiling and whatever he can do to try and keep their spirits high.

Hey, remember that time Matt went skinny dipping in that filthy motel pool and the receptionist dragged him out and threatened to sue his skinny ass. Hey, remember Houston's terrible Hamlet reenactment. You know, I never told you but I really liked when you stayed over and forced me to just watch a movie with you. Remember that stupid twist in there? You got so mad at me for 'not getting it'. And he keeps talking and talking and talking even when he knows, no, feels that she's out of it by now, doesn't respond anymore, doesn't seem to even hear.

He keeps it right up anyway, because slowly but surely, it seems like the state of his sanity's directly tied to just that one single fact now. Her. Still being with him. Right by his side. Listening or not. Just living and breathing. Against his neck at first. Then his shoulder. Then his chest. Then his lap. As she crumbles in on herself more and more. Falling asleep at last. After days of not being able to at all. That's a good thing. It's not her dying. Just falling asleep. A deep sleep by the feel of it.

Breath shallow, but steady against him. Not stirring in his arms which he's keeping around her like an iron cage, falling silent. Just watching her. Pale face still speckled with blood. Looking so tired. The sight of her has him on the verge of breaking, breaking, breaking all over again, but not quite yet. Not yet. Never. Because he still has her to look out for. To keep encouraging. To keep going. To cling to. So that's what he does.

I need you to do this with me. I can't do this alone.

He told her, not too long ago. Somewhere over there. No...there. A shaky sigh. Eyes traveling up at the ceiling instead. Red from crying and lack of sleep, but narrowing. A mixture of desperation and determination.

You're not taking her from me, too. Not her.

He's telling the building now. All around him. Making noises. Ominous, but distant. Almost subdued by now, down here. Like it's just watching them. Waiting. After having taken so much already.

Matt.

Somewhere back there in complete darkness.

On the ground like that. Covered in blood. Head and limbs at a weird angle. Eyes wide open and unblinking. That had almost been enough to crack him the first time. But not quite yet. No, not yet. Not after T.C. either. In that bathtub. In a rush of blood. Or Houston. One second he's behind them, then he's just....gone. All of them. Gone. So suddenly. So abruptly. So...violently.

But everything has been slowing down to a crawl now. Ever since Matt fell. And she's still here now. In his arms. Hasn't been taken so abruptly. Not letting her go. And even though he's starved, thirsty, exhausted and at the absolute bottom, Lance is still an optimist at heart. And he's starting to think that maybe, this is just it.

Her vanishing is a slow one.

Crawling.

One that he can still halt. Hold on to. Suspend.

Just enough for them to be found. Or for him to find the exit. Soon. It has to be down here after all. Kenny said the tunnels connected all the buildings together. So soon enough...they'll pass a threshold. The threshold. Where this fucked up building ends and the others start. Normal ones. And they'll get out of here. And he'll get help for her. She'll be helped. By people who are physically strong enough to bring her to safety down that last mile. Carry her right out of here.

No. Fuck it. He'll carry her himself. Tomorrow. They're getting out of here. She's getting out of here. And he most definitely is.

All he has to do is rest. So fucking tired. Get his strength back. For her. For them. They can do this. Anything happens? He'll be woken up anyway. By more screaming. And running. That's the way they've all been taken, right? And who knows.

Maybe it doesn't want to take her. Maybe it is done playing with them now. Maybe it got what it wanted with Matt. And T.C. and Houston. A thought in itself that almost fucking breaks him, too. His mind. His soul. His fucking heart. Making him cry all over again, cling to her harder.

But hey, at this stage...he'll take anything. If them having been chewed up means that at least she gets to make it out of this alive....let it be this way. A horrifying, but necessary sacrifice to one fucked up fucking monster. He can take it. He will take it.

They will get out of here. Away from it. Take their chance.

This time, it's exhaustion.

Sleep. Taking him abruptly. Without warning.

Arms still wrapped around her small figure in his lap. Going limp. For just a second. Or a minute. Or an hour or however long. Just a second. He'll keep telling himself for years to come. Just a second and she's gone. In a cloud of smoke and nothingness.

Taking the last remnants of his sanity right with him.

It's the first time he experiences true and unfiltered, utter heartache. Heartbreak. Waking up. Not finding her. Needing her. Suffering. Instantly despairing. Screaming her name over and over again only to find himself.... alone.

I need you to do this with me. I can't do this alone.

That's what he'd told her and in a fucked up way...he, or they or it, whatever this fucking monster is...it seems to have heard the message. Acted on it. Twisting it just like everything else it does in here. Time. Corridors. Tunnels. Halls, his mind and even.....people.

Her vanishing, a slow one.

But never quite a full one.

Its twisted form of mercy on him. The only survivor now.

Because even now, in this room, at night, she's still there. Keeps coming right back to him. In the corner sometimes. Words upon words upon words framing her like a halo on yellow walls. A true testament to his state of a failing, shattered mind. Staring at him with bloodshot red eyes, past tear stained cheeks. Front of her white robe stained red from the blood coming out of her mouth in a steady flow.

Ice cold hands and fingers digging into his chest and stomach next. When she's right behind him in the excuse of a bed, making it creak from the weight of two people who shouldn't even be here. She most definitely shouldn't be and he knows she's not, but still.

It sounds real. The way she's making the bed creak with each shiver and shake from her body. Her sobbing. Coughing. Crying. Begging for her mom. Shouting into his ear, asking him all these questions he keeps asking himself over and over again, too. Why'd you lock the door, Lance? Why did you keep shooting your stupid show even when we started dying? Why did you tell me we'd get out of here when we're still here, will always be here because of you? Why did you let them take me? Why did you fall asleep. Why...

Icecold fingers digging deeper and deeper into the skin covering his stomach, oh the beauty of the pain of starvation, and his chest, oh the beauty of true and gutwrenching grief and heartache.

Just like in those tunnels, her hands on him, her body against his, her dying breath in his ear is gone each time that he wakes up, turns around to look at her.

Alone and in a bed, room, building, time he does not belong in.

But right now? In this very moment? Despite the pain, the terror, the guilt?

It's an act of punishment, of mercy from it that he'll gladly take. That pain the only true reminder of what once was, could've been. Should've been. That she was there. That she was real. That they all were real. In 2003. Despite what everyone, what Friedkin wants him to believe.

[tada-no-honzuki]

Ascendance of a Bookworm (29) Part 5 Volume 8 Extra Chapter 3

This translation is not supposed to replace the official releases of the light novel series and is purely made for my own entertainment. Please purchase the official light novel when it becomes available!

Since the title of this chapter contains spoilers, it has been hidden beneath a “read more” for your safety!

[The Battle for Ehrenfest] Philine - Evacuating as practiced

"Philine, we have to hurry. We are running late."

“You’re right,” I replied. “Let’s go. It would be rude to make everyone wait."

Gretia and I hurriedly left the dressing room in the main building and headed up the stairs to the retainer's room that was attached to our lady’s room in the castle. Since Lady Rozemyne went to Ahrensbach to rescue Lord Ferdinand, she wasn’t presently in the castle. However, each day at second bell, those of us who remained in Ehrenfest gathered in the retainers’ room for a debriefing session. We would exchange information, before going about our daily tasks.

"Good morning, everyone,” I said. “I apologize for the delay."

"Philine, Gretia,” Ottilie spoke. “It’s unusual for you to be tardy. Did something happen?"

She gave us a concerned look.

"The dressing room was a bit crowded is all,” I explained. “Ever since Lord Bonifatius left for Illgner, everyone has been eager to exchange information..."

Retainers of the archducal family were usually arch- or mednobles, so they generally brought attendants from home to take care of them, even if they lived in the castle. There were few people who, like Gretia and I, didn't have the financial means to hire someone and depended on others in a similar position to help them dress in the dressing room. On top of that, since we were minors with a weak status and position, we were easy targets. It had been hard to escape the hordes of people hungry for even the slightest bit of information.

"I see,” Ottilie said. “Next time you are running late, please send an ordonnanz.”

“I’ll come and fetch you,” Bertilde added with an excited smile.

As an archnoble, she had no reason to set foot in the dressing room under normal circumstances, but it made sense that she was curious about the current state of the dressing room.

Once Gretia and I took our seats, Ottilie looked around at everyone.

“Then, let us begin. First, I received an ordonnanz from Rhiyarda.”

Since Lady Rozemyne was currently absent, Rhiyarda and Lord Melchoir’s retainers would update us on any vital information. It was Ottilie’s job to receive their ordonnanzes since she was always at the castle. Additionally, Ottilie's husband was one of Lady Florencia’s scholars, so she was in a position that made it easier to get information.

“Suspicious movements have been reported not only by Illgner and Griebel, but by Gerlach as well. Lord Bonifatius remains on high alert.”

The evening before yesterday the atmosphere inside the castle had suddenly grown tense when Lord Bonifatius and a unit of knights were teleported to Illgner as reinforcements. Yesterday, we had been informed that enemies had appeared not only in Illgner, but also in Griebel, and that the battlefield was becoming more widespread and thus difficult to manage. This morning, it was Gerlach. Everything indicated a battle was approaching.

"Then, I also received a letter from Clarissa. She says that Lady Rozemyne has not woken up yet, but Lord Ferdinand is currently heading to Ehrenfest with Dunkelferger’s knights in tow. I have already reported this to the Aub.”

Ottilie showed us the envelope. It was impossible to know for certain whether Ahrensbach’s border gate had fallen into enemy hands or not, but no letters other than those sent by Clarissa, who belonged to Dunkelfelger, made it through. We realized this after Clarissa wrote, “As Hartmut reported in his letter…,” but no such letter had arrived.

“Bertilde, how is the situation with the archducal family?” Ottilie asked while looking at her.

Bertilde quickly took out a sheet of paper. With Lady Rozemyne away, Bertilde was currently assisting Brunhilde during the day. This was partly because Brunhilde still had few retainers of her own, and partly because this allowed us to get information from someone in close contact with the archducal family.

“Since last night, Lady Charlotte has occasionally been taking over as the knight’s order’s liaison and overseeing commander,” Bertilde read. “Thus, there will not be any issues while the Aub is holed up inside the foundation. The day before yesterday, provisions and rejuvenation potions were distributed to the knights under the supervision of Lady Florencia, but yesterday my sister took over that role. Each can take over for the other as necessary… she says."

The report had likely been composed by Brunhilde, because Bertilde was clearly reading out the text on the sheet of paper. It sounded like the main building had descended into a state of chaos as nobody knew when the archducal family might need to take the battlefield.

“Even so, I still cannot believe that Lady Rozemyne acquired Ahrensbach’s foundation,” I said. “Is something like that truly possible?”

This was probably because I was a laynoble and had no idea how the foundation’s magic worked. The idea that the position of Aub was hereditary was deeply ingrained in me, so the thought that someone could just come and steal it seemed absurd.

“Well, Lady Rozemyne knew it was possible. In other words, it is entirely possible for Lady Georgine to steal the foundation of Ehrenfest,” Damuel said with a troubled face.

Ever since Lord Bonifatius went into battle, Damuel had been posted at the knight’s order instead of the temple so that he may obtain any information shared with the order as quickly as possible. I could almost feel the tense atmosphere radiating off him.

“Philine, Roderick,” Damuel said. “Are you still continuing the evacuation drills at the temple?

I looked at Roderick, then nodded firmly.

"Yes,” I replied. “We are now able to smoothly coordinate with Lord Melchior’s retainers."

At first, we did not look beyond the tasks assigned to each of us. Naturally, this led to many gaps in the chain of communication. However, after practicing the process several times, we became able to communicate smoothly. Blue priests and gray priests could not use ordonannzes, so without practice, even something as simple as contacting someone might become impossible in an emergency.

“Lieseletta, Gretia,” Ottilie said. “Are you ready to receive the Gutenbergs?”

“We have finished preparing the necessary bedding and two days' worth of food,” Lieseletta replied. “Since this is an emergency and they are all commoners, we concluded it would not be necessary to prepare a separate room for each guest. Instead, we decided to prepare two rooms, one for the men and one for the women. Although it does seem rather simple, so… we are currently considering whether it might be better to use the beds in the servant rooms.”

As attendants of the archducal family, they seemed dissatisfied to be not fully prepared to receive guests, whether they be commoners or not. Upon hearing their words, I remembered I had something to report of my own.

“Um, we received a request from the Plantin Company,” I said. “They request that should we come under attack, the unfinished clothes and the seamstresses of the Gilberta Company be evacuated to the Library along with the Gutenburgs who are to accompany Lady Rozemyne to the Sovereignty. They do not want the clothes to be damaged in the chaos of the battle.”

Since Lady Rozemyne was due to be adopted by the king and move to the Sovereignty, it was of the utmost importance that her clothes were completed as soon as possible. It was a matter of great concern, especially to her attendants. Lieseletta and Ottilie briefly glanced at each other, before nodding.

"It will be a problem if her clothes aren't ready in time,” Ottilie agreed. “Lieseletta, Gretia, coordinate with Lasfam and prepare to receive the seamstresses as well. Preparing a sewing room may be difficult for a man."

Lieseletta and Gretia nodded at Ottilie's words.

“Then,” Ottilie continued. “Today, as usual, Bertilde will be assisting and gathering information from Brunhilde. Lieseletta and Gretia will be preparing for our guests at the library. Judith will accompany Philine and Roderick to the temple. Damuel will stay with the knight’s order. Everyone, please be ready to act when called upon. Now, off you go."

After the meeting ended, Roderick, Judith, and I met up with Lord Melchior and his retainers, then headed for the temple.

"Good morning, everyone."

Lord Melchior and Lady Rozemyne's attendants welcomed us into the temple. Even though Gill would normally be in the workshop at this time of day, he was there to greet us too. I suspected he was hoping I had an answer for the Plantin Company.

“Gill, permission has been granted to the request from the Plantin Company. Please inform them to evacuate Lady Rozemyne’s clothes and the seamstresses as well in case of an emergency.”

"Understood,” he replied. “I will inform them right away."

It clearly had been the answer he was waiting for, for he immediately turned on his heels and left for the workshop.

“Lady Judith and Lord Roderick,” Fran said. “This way, please. Monika, I will leave Lady Philine in your care.”

Following Fran's instructions, Judith and Roderick headed straight to the High Bishop’s room, while I followed Monika to the orphanage director's room to get changed into my blue shrine maiden robes. Although I was given the orphanage director's room, I could not actually live there, because the attendants and personal chefs to be assigned to me still belonged to the High Bishop’s room. So, at the moment, I was a commuting blue shrine maiden apprentice.

“Lady Philine, the battle in Ahrensbach has ended in victory, did it not?” Monika inquired with a worried expression as she helped me put on my blue robes. “When will Lady Rozemyne return? Have you received any news?”

I smiled softly in return. She had asked me the exact same questions yesterday.

“We haven’t received word yet that Lady Rozemyne has woken up,” I replied. “However, we expect her to wake up sometime today.”

Although Monika must be used to Lady Rozemyne being absent from the temple due to spring prayer and the harvest festival, her master was currently not only in another duchy, but out in battle as well. It made complete sense to me that she would be worried about her. Besides, it was not just Monika, Fran and Gill would also casually check in with us on Lady Rozemyne’s situation.

“Like everyone else at the temple,” Monika smiled. “I am praying for Lady Rozemyne’s speedy and safe return.”

After I finished changing, I called on Judith and together we went to Lord Melchior’s room to get some paperwork done. Meanwhile, Roderick would stay in the High Bishop’s room to transcribe books. Since he would accompany Lady Rozemyne to the sovereignty, there was no need for him to learn the ins and outs of the temple's work. So instead, he was working hard to transcribe as many books as possible for Lady Rozemyne, since books would be few and far between in the sovereignty.

“Today we will check the income and expenses of the Rozemyne Workshop and the orphanage.”

Checking the income and expenses once a month was said to be the most important job of the orphanage director, as it directly affected the lives of the orphans. And, to make sure the orphanage director could not embezzle any of the money, this had to be done in cooperation with the High Priest and the High Bishop.

Monika lined up numerous wooden boards and sheets of paper in front of me, the current orphanage director, Lord Melchior, the next High Bishop, and Lord Kashmir, the next High Priest. The documentation had been provided by several sources. It included documents submitted by the Plantin Company, logs recorded by the workshop, and records compiled by Wilma at the orphanage.

"Food costs have suddenly increased,” I noted. “Is there a reason for this?”

"Since we are no longer trapped inside by snow and the market has opened again,” Monika explained. “We are spending more on food."

"There should be earnings from our winter handiwork, right?” I asked. “I cannot seem to find them... "

“Those will be included next time,” Monika replied. “Although we have received the money, we have yet to receive the final report from the Plantin Company.”

While comparing the income and expenses not only with last month’s report but also with last year's, we checked for any mistakes or problems.

Dong… Dong….

When third bell rang, we still had not fully finished checking the flow of money. Lord Ferdinand had been able to point out mistakes and irregularities just by glancing through the documents, but that was still beyond our capabilities. Although I bemoaned my lack of experience, I found that leisurely comparing documents like this with everyone was quite enjoyable.

"This is the list of apprentices who will have their coming-of-age ceremony this spring, and this is the list of orphans who will be baptized this summer. We are preparing their rooms and robes accordingly, as you can see here."

"...the amount of money is completely different from what I spent when preparing my room,” Lord Melchior noted. “It makes me feel like I indulged myself too much."

"Lord Melchior,” Kashimir said. “Please don't think your own room and that of an orphan to be the same."

As we were having this conversation, an ordonnanz soared into the room. I expected it to head for Lord Melchior or Lord Kashmir, but to my surprise, it landed on my arm.

“Philine, this is Damuel.”

All of us instantly fell silent and turned our attention to the ordonnanz.

“According to information we received from a commoner, suspicious noble-looking people, whom we believe to be Lady Georgine and her entourage, boarded a merchant ship heading to Ehrenfest in Leisegang. When we contacted Leisegang, they informed us that the ship is expected to arrive at Ehrenfest’s west gate around noon. I would like you to evacuate the temple before fourth bell. There is still plenty of time, so there is no need to panic. Just evacuate as you practiced."

Although Damuel had just told me to remain calm, my heart was already pounding in my chest. Lady Georgine and her associates were really headed our way. My hands started shaking, making it hard to hit the yellow feystone with my schtappe and send a reply to Damuel.

“Philine,” Lord Kashmir spoke. “I will contact Lord Melchior’s guard knights and inform the blue priests to evacuate. Do you remember what you need to do after you send a reply to Damuel?”

Still trembling, I automatically replied, “I must inform the orphanage and the gatekeepers to evacuate.”

“Good,” Lord Kashmir nodded.

Only then did I calm down enough to regain control over my schtappe.

"This is Philine. Thank you for contacting us. We shall now proceed to evacuate the temple. Damuel, good luck out there."

With a flick of my schtappe, the ordonnanz flew off. I stared at it until it was completely out of sight, then put my pen away. Monika had already cleaned up the documents, and Judith had sent an ordonnanz to inform Roderick.

"We received word from Damuel to evacuate by noon. Philine and I shall proceed to the orphanage. Roderick, please proceed as we practiced."

First, Roderick was to contact the Plantin Company using a magic letter. After that, he would prepare the High Bishop's room.

“Let’s go, Philine,” Judith said.

We left Lord Melchior's room while Lord Kashmir started sending ordonnanzes all over the place. There were no nobles in the orphanage and workshop, so to contact them we had no choice but to go there in person. We swiftly moved along the hallways, calling out to any gray priests and shrine maidens we came across, telling them to quickly put away their cleaning tools and evacuate to the orphanage. I found my younger brother Konrad cleaning in the hallway just outside the noble’s section.

“Konrad,” I called out to him. “Please put away your tools and evacuate to the orphanage.”

“Are Dirk and the others okay?” Konrad asked, sending a worried glance toward the noble’s section while putting his cleaning rag away in a bag. Dirk and some others had already been baptized as nobles. As blue apprentices, they lived in a different place now.

"Don't worry, I will check on them later. If you don't evacuate quickly, Dirk and the others will be the ones worried."

"I see," Konrad nodded.

Just then Fran's voice rang out from behind us.

“Lady Philine, I am going to the workshop to make sure that Lutz and the others return home.

Several people from the Plantin Company were currently present in the orphanage’s workshop. Since some of them were Gutenbergs who had to evacuate to Lady Rozemyne's library, it was vital to contact them immediately.

"Please do,” I said. “Meet us in the dining hall once the men’s wing has been evacuated. As we practiced.”

Fran nodded and turned right, toward the men’s wing of the orphanage, while we turned left and headed towards the women's wing. I called out to Wilma and the others as soon as I stepped through the door that Monika had opened for me.

"We have received word from the knight’s order. We must evacuate right away, but there is no need to panic."

Wilma nodded with a stiff face, then swiftly left to check if there were any gray shrine maidens on the third floor. At the same time, Delia ran down the stairs, yelling, “I will check if there is anyone in the rooms on the first floor.” Lily went over to the children playing in the dining hall to inform them it was time to go to the basement.

“We shall be evacuating just as we practiced the other day.”

Everyone knew exactly what they needed to do.

After assigning Monika to instruct the gray shrine maidens who were returning from work, Judith and I descended the stairs to the basement to inform the gray shrine maidens who were about to make soup for lunch that the order to evacuate had been given. On our way down, an ordonnanz landed on Judith’s arm.

"This is Fonzel. I have arrived at the noble’s gate. Dedrick is headed towards the front gate."

Lord Melchior's guard knights were arriving at the temple’s gates one after another.

"Philine, I shall be going to the back gate to relieve the gray priests and activate the schumil,” Judith announced. “After you have confirmed that the orphanage has been evacuated, return to the High Bishop’s room with Fran and Monika.”

"I know,” I replied. “I will leave the gate to you. Please be careful, Judith."

Judith nodded and went outside through the basement door. Soon after, the gray shrine maidens who had been working in the workshop returned.

“Lady Philine, this is everyone. There are no more shrine maidens in the workshop.”

"Then, let's close the doors."

In the past, the basement doors could only be opened from the outside, but nowadays, there were bolts on the inside too, so it could be opened and closed from the inside as well. I didn't think Lady Georgine would try to enter through the orphanage, but to be on the safe side, we used some pots and pedestals to block the door as well. After confirming everything was in place, I returned to the dining hall.

“There is no one left upstairs,” Wilma said.

“Everyone is gathered in the basement,” Lily reported.

As I was listening to Wilma and Lily’s reports, Fran entered the dining hall and informed me that the evacuation of the men's wing had been completed. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to know that I had successfully fulfilled my role as the orphanage’s director.

"Very well then,” I said. “Please be quiet and stay inside until someone comes for you."

Fran, Monika, and I left the orphanage. I heard the door lock behind us, and the footsteps of Wilma and the others moving away.

"Then, let us return."

We locked the door to the noble’s section to lower the chances of any enemies entering. Then, I checked on Dirk and Laurenz’s little half-brother Bertram, just as I had promised Konrad.

"Be quiet and stay inside. Don’t open the door, even if you hear screams or any commotion. Is that clear?"

After giving them a firm warning, I went up to the third floor to check on the blue shrine maiden apprentices. Since the floor was reserved for women, Lord Melchior and his retainers were not allowed to go there unless it was an emergency. Therefore, it was up to me, a fellow woman, to check up on them.

"I understand it may be scary, but do not leave your room, no matter what happens. You will be safe as long as you stay inside," I told the blue shrine maiden apprentices, before returning to the High Bishop’s room.

“Welcome back, Philine,” Roderick said upon our return.

Gill, Fritz, Nicola, Hugo, and the other kitchen personnel were already gathered in the room. Normally, commoner servants were not allowed to enter the High Bishop’s room, but Lady Rozemyne had told us to use our mana to protect everyone with a magic barrier.

The table and chairs had been rearranged, and a magic barrier tool had been placed in the middle of the room. Lady Rozemyne had created it to protect all the non-combatants remaining in the temple. Once it was activated, hiding in the High Bishop’s room should be as safe as hiding in her Library.

"This is Philine. The evacuation of the orphanage has been completed, and the door to the noble’s section has been locked. I also checked on the blue shrine maiden apprentices on the third floor and warned them to stay inside. All the High Bishop’s attendants have returned to the room, so we shall now proceed to activate the magic barrier.”

After confirming that everyone was indeed present, I sent the ordonnanz to Lord Kashmir.

"Very well, is everyone ready?” I asked. “Once the barrier is activated, no one will be able to leave or enter the room until it is turned off."

I looked around at the people in the room, then nodded towards Roderick. He immediately downed a rejuvenation potion that greatly restored only one’s mana, then touched the magic tool with a nervous look on his face and allowed his mana to flow into it.

Although it was reassuring to know that the magic barrier created by Lady Rozemyne would be able to withstand any attack, it required a ridiculously large amount of mana to be activated. Moreover, since it absorbed a lot of mana all at once, Roderick and I were at risk of mana depletion if we removed our hands a second too late. So, I nervously waited for my turn while holding the same rejuvenation potion as Roderick had used.

“Philine, get ready!” Roderick warned.

I quickly downed the rejuvenation potion and placed my hands on the magic tool. Only after confirming my hands were securely in place did Roderick withdraw his own, making sure that the mana flow would not be interrupted.

...yipes, my mana!

Even though my overall mana reserve was increasing due to the potion, mana kept flowing from my body whether I wanted it or not. The unfamiliar sensation made me sick to my stomach. However, unless I endured it, we would not be able to protect the people that were entrusted to us by our Lady.

...this is absolutely nothing compared to what the guard knights outside must deal with!

Much like my own, Roderick’s mana was also recovering at an unusually rapid rate, so he looked similarly sick and was breathing heavily with furrowed brows.

"Ah, the feystone’s color has changed,” he mumbled. “Just a bit more."

 Enough of his mana must have recovered, because Roderick replaced his hands on the magic tool after taking a deep breath. A few seconds later, the feystone flashed and a yellow light filled the room. The barrier was complete, and mana stopped flowing from my body.

The moment the cord of tension was cut, I was hit by a wave of exhaustion. I guessed the same went for Roderick, because we both slumped down, putting our hands on the floor to keep ourselves from collapsing completely.

“Lady Philine! Lord Roderick!” The attendants around us exclaimed.

Monika and Nicola pulled me up, while Fran and Gil moved to support Roderick. We both breathed a sigh of relief as they sat us down on the chaise lounge.

"Are you alright?"

" ...the High Bishop’s room is secure now,” I stated. “We did it, Roderick."

Roderick looked at the magic tool with a relieved expression, likely thankful that the barrier activated before our mana ran out.

"We have completed our duty,” Roderick replied. “Even Hartmut won't be able to scold us now."

Before leaving, Hartmut had told us, “Although you two will be completely useless in battle, you are still nobles. So, you should be able to activate this magic barrier and protect the commoners that Lady Rozemyne needs.”

“Well done, Lady Philine, Lord Roderick.” Fran smiled appreciatively.

Zahm handed each of us a cup of fruit juice, while the other attendants and the chefs continued to praise us, calling us “amazing.”  Hearing their words of appreciation, an indescribable sense of accomplishment filled my heart. Looking at the barrier that we activated with our own mana, I felt proud that I had been able to complete the role entrusted to me.

Then, an ordonnanz soared in.

"This is Judith. I received a message from Damuel. A ship has arrived at the west gate. They have spotted several people wearing silver cloth. I was told to prepare."

The faces of all in the High Bishop's room stiffened. It was finally starting.

"...may victory be ours. May everyone be safe. O mighty King and Queen of the endless skies, O mighty Eternal Five who rule the mortal realm, O Goddess of Water Flutrane, O God of Fire Leidenschaft, O Goddess of Wind Schutzaria, O Goddess of Earth Geduldh, O God of Life Ewigeliebe! We offer you our prayers and gratitude. Praise be to the gods!”

As we offered up a prayer, fourth bell rang.

[thelextheluthor]

Sometimes I find it scary how much I love.

How much beauty I can find in things.

Like- I love people so much.

I love so much it hurts.

I love how one of my friends has braces that show whenever she smiles.

I love how she has acne and its scars all over her face as if they're painted onto her.

I love how another has a big, hooked nose and curly hair and she always squints when she laughs.

And I love how she laughs like there's nothing wrong in the world.

I love how one of my other friends has a button nose and the most expressive eyes.

I love his curly hair and the way he shows his creativity.

I love how yet another has long, straight hair, and a rounder face and body and the softest voice.

She's the gentlest person I know; a picture of serenity.

I love how my best friend is the greatest person to be around and how we have so much in common.

I love how we never have dull days and how he's never failed to make me laugh.

This love for people isn't sexual or romantic and I doubt it ever will be.

If I'm attracted to them, it's like being attracted to an airborne melody in a busy, crowded place.

There is so much going on around you, you should have more important things-

but you find yourself wanting to chase that blissful song.

Where it goes, you follow.

It can be scary for me sometimes.

How much I can love people.

So I think it is easier sometimes to express my love for other things.

I love colors and nature and all sorts of things that are okay to love- a concept I've never gotten, because why on Earth would you only ever care for some things? - and I love them all so deeply .

I love how I can express myself.

Through letters that make sentences and sentences that make paragraphs and paragraphs that make stories.

Stories of love and loss and people and places and fictional fantasies that I think of and share.

And they are real, because I feel them.

I love how art is everywhere and how people can show others how they feel.

I listen to music in languages I don't know and look at paintings from countries I've never heard of.

It's beautiful how emotion has no borders.

I love simple things too.

But how can anything be truly simple?

Everything has a bit more to it.

I love the sound of rain and the smell of candles and the way both feel like home.

I love how I hold my pencil when I write and how my hand cramps up when I do it for too long.

But for some reason, love- deep and unconditional love- is seen as foolish and gullible.

It's for teenagers who believe in soulmates and children who believe in fairytales.

I know how this world works. I've been hurt by it more times than I can count.

I will keep loving it anyway.

I will love the world until my heart stops beating.

I'm not religious- but I'll love it from beyond the grave if I can.

This is a broken, hurt world. It needs tenderness, compassion.

I don't care if others think it doesn't deserve it.

So, yes. It hurts me to love people.

But it hurts me more to see them unloved. People are my world.

So I'm writing this, hoping that maybe someone can see their world through my heart.

And if you are seeing this, I love you too. No matter what. Don't forget that.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Footsteps of a Stranger

Written in 2019 to be part of an anthology that I don't think ever quite got off the ground. Spawned a good character, tho. Short story that I broke up into chunks for Tumblr. Inspired by the Noir Princesses art by Ástor Alexander.

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WC Total: 6289 -Part 1, 628 -Part 2, 1276 -Part 3, 1163 -Part 4, 686 -Part 5, 1851 -Part 6, 685

Warnings: Guns

Summary: A PI is on the case to discover who has been setting forest fires. And a clue presents itself.

The walk back was cold and lonely. Not many folk out this time of morning. Not many with a reason to be. A small pair of squirrels were slung over my shoulder by the tails, my only show for the whole night. Not that it mattered. I was the only one eating wild game. Thomas was a lamb and did his best to eat clean.

The rain was clearing, a fog spreading across the streets as the sun came up. My office loomed from the mist, a solid brick blending into the shops around it. It was the closest thing I had to a home out here, the private office doubling as a bedroom with a rollout.

I got there first, dragging the rain in behind me. It may have finally stopped, but I was soaked through and couldn’t stop the parade of water leaving a dark stain of evidence as to my path.

My coat added a sloppy circle around the coat rack as I slung it into place, hanging the squirrels above it and sliding my rifle against the doorframe. I nabbed a dirty towel from a nearby chair and wiped down, squeezing the rest of the rain from my black hair. The sun finally rose outside the window, golden light catching in the thick fog. I could barely see the street below. I switched on the nearby radio and began to change.

Danny Kaye was finishing up Civilization when a knock came at the door. I closed my private office and went to answer. The man standing opposite was shorter than me, clean-shaven with brown hair dangling down to his cheekbones while his baby-blues stared up at me.

"Morning, Miss Becka!" he greeted me with a smile, placing his umbrella next to my rifle. He shook his coat off and slipped off his hat, placing them both on the coat rack. "How's things?"

I tapped the door with a knuckle, showing off the wide letters on the glass window that read “R. E. Beck”. “You know that isn’t my real name, Mr. Bayle. Just a bit of gobbledygook to throw off the fuddy-duddies and fat-heads so both of us can work and eat in this town.”

"I -- I know ma’am. And you know Becka is easier for me to say.”

I smiled and moved to one side. “I suppose Matoaka is a bit of a mouthful for you.” He nodded his thanks, ducking as he squirreled his way inside. “Although you’ve been working with me long enough to have figured out how to say it by now, haven’t you, doll?”

“You would think so,” he said, immediately going to the desk and eyeing the papers. “Yet ‘Rebecka’ has always rolled out easier.”

I swung the door closed, Thomas rifling through the papers. “Good job staying on the beam last night. How were the farmers?”

“Shaken, but good. No harm.”

“Close the case with them?”

He nodded, glancing up at me. “Easy as pie, boss. Especially since the pair attacking them are now both dead. Almost an open and shut case. They’ll be coming by to pay the last of our fee and give their thanks.”

“Then I’ll wait in the wings when they come, per usual.” I didn’t like the feeling of hiding, but this was part of the business. We got more clients once we made the switch and came up with a name that could be either of us, which meant more money came in on a regular basis. He never treated me like the other guys, mostly because he wasn’t like the other guys. He was fine acting the stiff gumshoe for the clients, and so was I as long as I got to wear the shoes.

I heard a shuffle of carpet by the door and started towards the back out of habit, assuming it was our client. They had us investigating a murder of an uncle, someone that owned a farm out near the border of cement and woodland. The police had written it up as a hunting accident, something I was able to disprove, mostly on the grounds that the uncle didn’t hunt and his farm was nowhere near hunting grounds. I had tracked down the triggerman and closed the case, but couldn’t shake the suspicion of something larger going on.

“Uh...Miss Becka?”

The stammer caught my next step, halting it from its goal. I turned to see Thomas kneeling by the door, poking at a small enveloped package. I joined him, giving it a quick check with my magic sense before touching it.

The contents were bits and pieces of a puzzle I recognized: reports about a recent string of farms closing down only to get bought by a local landshark company. Sitting next to them were pictures of several forest fires.

I dug around our desk, pulling reports I had already dug up on the fires. All began at night, with no specific start. There had been one a night for about three nights last week. They stopped as suddenly as they started. These new reports furthered a suspicion I was already building: the fires were in relation to the farms not selling.

While I stared, Thomas tossed another component onto the desk. A handful of reports from the company itself. Things I hadn't been able to get my hands on so long as I wanted to keep them clean. But these had showed up on their own.

I turned to Thomas. "Anything else?"

 He held up a single page with a handcrafted note. "Take a close look," he read aloud. "You might find someone you recognize." He hesitated. "Someone you recognize?"

 I looked again, asking idly, "What's the ink at the bottom?"

 "Uh…" he scanned it before flipping it around, "J.Smith."

 Hah. Anonymous. Luckily smoke never threw me from the trail. I scanned the pictures but found no overly familiar faces. A knock came at the door, and I barely noticed a poke at my shoulder.

"The clients," Thomas reminded me.

Ah. Right. That was my cue to keep up appearances and scram. I gathered the notes and envelope from my guy, taking it all into the back room to look over. "No new clients after them," I said over my shoulder. "Get the money and toss ‘em back."

 He nodded, the doors taking turns opening and closing.

I spread things out on the floor, crossed my legs and sat. Someone I recognize…? There was no one. Not anyone overly familiar. I recognized some of the faces from the ones in town but only from flashes of exposure. I wouldn’t say I knew them.

My eyes slid from the faces to the forest. Trees sat stacked on top of another, the trunks bitten away by flames. The empty husks sat in the pictures, black and white and grey displaying the cruel nature of life. Smoke was rising from the branches in thick, black clouds, and…

Wait a minute.

I peered closer.

Got up.

Grabbed a magnifying lens, I fixed it over the corner of the mess. Among the blackened tangle of branches was a different kind of limb−the kind that belonged to an earth sprite. Someone had caught an earth sprite in the fire and subsequently killed it. How did I miss this?

I shook my head. Doesn’t matter. I shuffled through the papers and found where this photo had been taken, gathering a few things I might need. I needed to see the site; if this was intentional, it was murder on a different level. And I was one of the only ones who could follow these tracks to the truth.

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[Part 3]