#The true wisdom is to not trust my alluring and possible words...

[minty-bubblegum]

for the ask game: 7, 20, 23, and 30?

7. Song stuck in your head?

Technically, I have answered this question, but here's another song I really like that gets stuck in my head easily :3

20. Are you a gamer? What was the last game you played?

I guess I do consider myself as one? The last game I've played was.. *awkwardly stares off into space...*

23. Share a bit of philosophy?

*clears throat*

You deserve that little trinket. Delectable treats are destined to come to you in the future.

*falls off stage*

30. What is your favorite way to create?

...

This has left my mind to quite a few interpretations. The one it likes the most is I like creating spontaneously! It gives restriction yet so much freedom. Random can absolutely have its regrets, it happens often, but it adds a little flare to it. I especially get burnt out easily, so doing the moment I feel is best for my ideas!

As for the other way I thought of this, I like creating in the way I feel in the mood for :3

[writersdrug]

Nectar and Bane - Pt. 1

Pairings: Hunter!König x Witch!Reader

Pt. 2

Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.

Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)

Notes: thought I'd try my hand a fantasy au version of cod, or at least of König. This is really long (over 15000 words) so I split it into two parts. The next part is pretty much done, I'm just exhausted and wanted to at least crank out half. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt 2!

ps if anyone has any suggestions or tips on how to make collages or banners for fics, pleeeaseeee lmk

translations at the end

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Watch your every step. From the moment you step foot into those woods, you can’t trust anything you see.

That’s what the sorcerer had drilled into his head before he had begun his journey. He called you dangerous, cunning… “A sneaky, meddling bitch…” he had grumbled over the table in that crowded tavern.

Two small pouches, one of silver, one of gold, sat in between the two patrons on the table. Stains of ale and coffee rings littered the unvarnished wood. The wax of the thick candle had trickled down and formed small, hardened pools at the base – its flame flickered weakly, casting unflattering shadows against the man’s weathered features, and making the portentous hood covering König’s face only that much more ominous.

He'd listened warily as the sorcerer described the witch – you. Tens of centuries old, too much knowledge and too little wisdom to use it sensibly. You take whatever you want by whatever means possible, and your favored method was using your physical assets and the promise of sexual devotion to coerce those within your web to do your bidding. “Sometimes it’s for her personal gain – sometimes, she does it for fun.” The warlock added bitterly. “Akin to a serpent, she winds you into her embrace, and then crushes your bones before she swallows you whole, saving your heart for last.” You’d done it to him, ensnaring him into your alluring trap, before stealing his spellbooks, his potions, his most prized collections… and vanishing into thin air.

An enchantress, König had concluded.

The warlock’s request? “Kill her. And be quick with it. The sooner this earth is rid of that swine, the sooner we can all rest. And, better yet – bring me her eyes! Potent things, witches’ eyes can be – of course, that is if they’re still working. If the bitch has gone blind, don’t waste dulling your dagger. A handful of her hair would do just fine.”

König had killed much worse for much less, and this sounded like it would be on the simpler side of things. A few days’ worth of hunting and a quick, efficient kill – hopefully, one of his easier jobs, although with the way the sorcerer described you, that might not be. He’d dealt with magicians before; up until now, they had been rather boring to hunt – tedious, but nonetheless, boring. Most of the time, they tried to end him with some elaborate incantation in the few seconds remaining of their life after he’d ambushed them. His silver blade would be slicing across their throats before they could utter five syllables. They were always so intent on murdering their victims slowly and in a flashy manner. With König’s preference for a more immediate result, he was usually the one collecting the fingernails, teeth, and tongues.

(Over time, he’d had noticed that it was always sorcerers ordering the assassination of other sorcerers. He wondered why they had so much of an issue amongst themselves, but he didn’t question it. Whatever kept him fed and paid for his room, he would do it.)

The picture the warlock was painting of you, however, made you seem much craftier and more calculated. You couldn’t resist the glamorous ways of murder via magic – it was written in your nature as a witch. But you played the game with your charisma and wit, too; something magic users didn’t typically rely on (half of the time, because they weren’t charismatic, nor witty). You waited until your assailant would fall to your wicked charm, before dissecting him like nothing more than a toad for your cauldron. If not an easy kill, you at least sounded like you would be an exciting one – but König knew he could get something more from this client for killing you.

“What more can you offer me?” he asked.

The warlock chuckled. “The gold is insufficient, is it?” he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, speaking in a hushed tone. “Tell me, what do you desire? Recognition and respect? Revenge against someone who’s crossed you? To bring back a loved one from the dead? Or, perhaps, to find a love of your own?”

König’s shoulders tensed, and the rest of the warlock’s utterances fell on deaf ears. Could he possibly give him a chance to find himself someone to love? Someone that he and only he can worship? It was true that he would be happier to live alone, in whatever way that would allow him to be independent of society… but the thought of being able to live alone with someone, someone who was devoted to him, someone who could decorate his hut with signs of life and warmth, someone with a kind smile and a sweet voice, someone who he could spend hours upon hours with, memorizing each curve of their body, the taste of their nectar on his tongue…

He called it love. Others would call him insane. He’d heard it all before – how no one would ever love him, given his profession, his awkwardness in carrying a conversation about anything normal other than how sharp his knives are, and how he uses them… that, and the fact that he never shows his face (“He must be hideous under there…” they would speculate). Nonetheless, he still craved the devotion of an obedient, warm body waiting for him in his cabin at the end of the day – once he did get a cabin. Why should he be denied what everyone else wants?

He knew he was a hypocrite; he couldn’t expect someone else to be so willing to leave everything and run away with him. Not with his insane ideations and obsessions – hell, not with who he was as a person. But if he killed enough healthy rabbits to keep her fed, and if he fucked her hard enough that her eyes rolled back into her head and she couldn’t muster enough strength to escape the mattress… would she ever care about what kind of man he was?

The warlock smiled slowly. “Of course… that’s what all of you sick bastards want.” He said, leaning back and folding his arms. “If it will seal our contract, I will give you whichever woman you choose. I’ll make her yours, and only yours, with unconditional love – even for your damned soul.”

A fair deal, König had thought. Which is exactly what had him currently trudging through the dense woods, searching for any traces of a witch – a sack with two loaves of bread and some apples hung over his shoulder, along with his well-worn tashka stuffed with the coin he had earned over time. His sword was strapped to his hip in its sheath, his dagger (a short sword, when it was compared to the average person) stuffed into the lead-lined, deerskin sheath on the side of his boot; and a pelt, heavy and thick, hung around his shoulders. All he had to his name.

König had done a day of research on you – testimonies and sightings of you ghosting the perimeter of the woods at an early age, hoping to lure some poor soul away as your very first victim. “I imagine she was a succubus in her previous life,” the warlock had spoken, “maybe too much of a whore for even the devil to handle.”

He had caught you one night by luring you to his cabin with the scent of a savory meal. Guessing by your inexperience, and the way you avoided using words as you snarled and thrashed in the warlock’s grip, he assumed you had not yet reached one hundred years old. You were still young and fresh-faced, appearing no more than twenty to human eyes. “After a few decent meals, and reintroducing her to the work of her past life – she’d settled in as the perfect student. It almost felt like having a pet.” He added with a smug smile.

König questioned how happy you were with being reintroduced to the work of your past, but he didn’t comment on it.

After living with the warlock as his student and whore for a few centuries, you turned into a strong, young witch. You didn’t care to go into town, preferring to stay at the cabin and watch over the brews whenever he had to make deliveries or run to the shops. The warlock had no complaints about your desire to stay holed up in his home – fewer people to ogle at you, fewer glimpses into a more civilized life that might tempt you to run away. He’d much rather you be a brooding, antisocial bitch, than watch one of his clients stare at you with a yellowed, lustful grin, like you were some harlot in the window of a brothel.

On one particular day, without any indication of what you were planning, he had returned home from his rounds to an empty cabin – not just empty of you, but of his potion stock, his rarest ingredients, and his most prized spellbooks. He’d run into the woods in fury, screeching your name and hurling threats into the trees around him – but you were gone. Not a trace of you could be found within a five mile radius of his home.

It was like you had never been there, save the absence of his personal belongings.

In König’s opinion, you didn’t strike him as an extremely dangerous individual. Sure, the warlock had harped on and on about how cunning and deceiving you were – but all you had done was lie to him. And from the way he had described the conditions you were under, König didn’t exactly blame you for running away. Maybe this job was a waste of his time…

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain, despite the nip of the mid-autumn air, and the fact that he was embarking on what might be one of the most treacherous endeavors of his career. He was getting a decent payout for it – that is, if he lived to finish the job. Additionally, the scenery was a comfort to his journey; wiry birch trees stood high and thickly clustered, their brown and black spots like ever-watchful eyes, staring at the gargantuan hunter as he moved. Their golden leaves mimicked the light of the sun, the real thing blocked out by the overcast skies. A whisper of wind flew by his ears, carrying down and blowing the leaves further along his path with a gentle sigh. As if nature herself was telling the world to be quiet, be still, and prepare for winter.

It was times like this where König became unsure of himself. What if he hated having someone else to care for? What if, deep down, he preferred the silence and the solitude? But then, the loneliness would strike him. The longing to be understood (if that was humanely possible), and the desire to have something warm, alive, and sentient to acknowledge him. It consumed him on those sleepless nights, perfectly warm by the hearth of whatever inn he resided at, yet so hollow without having someone to wrap his arms around.

A swaying movement in the branches above pulled him from his thoughts. Hanging down by a twine thread, tied to one of the spindling birch branches, was a tiny, burlap pouch. It reached a few feet above König’s head, and was drenched in a dark, thick liquid that dripped rhythmically onto the forest floor. Looking to where the drops landed, he noticed the matter on the ground was decaying – a steaming pile of rot was all that was left of the leaves that were once there.

He frowned. The trap was clever – for a witch in their first century. König had expected something a bit more dangerous for someone your age. Maybe the last hunter had been too gullible, and you stereotyped them to all be oafs. Or, maybe you were too old and couldn’t craft traps with the same skill and precision as your younger self.

He drew his dagger from his boot and quickly sliced the twine thread. The pouch dropped to the floor with a squelch, landing in the very puddle of death it had created. The liquid beneath it bubbled and hissed, and the bag soon dissolved to reveal its contents: bits of bone – a kind of reptilian foot, from the looks of it – dried pomegranate seeds, and a fuzzy layer of mold, all appearing to be drenched in some kind of blood.

He carefully stepped around the stinking mess, his eyes turning back onto the path to continue his hunt. He both hoped for and against finding more evidence of your existence. He wanted to get back to town as soon as he could, so he could hole himself up in an inn until his money began to run out – all the same, his mind craved a puzzle and a chase. Though, with how old you were, he doubted there would be much of a chase.

More leaking, swaying hex bags hung from branches as he trudged on, pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t bother to quiet the sound of the leaves beneath his footsteps – the rustling of the wind through the foliage was doing the job well enough. He held onto his dagger tightly, his other hand on his longsword, as he carefully toed through the dense forest. He had to be close – the smell of fennel and turmeric settled around his presence, along with the babbling of a nearby stream.

The sound of a distant tune danced through the trees. The voice was soft, yet clear, and whoever it belonged too was much too confident that they were alone in these woods. König wondered if it was actually you, and not some poor soul who had been foraging for the autumn mushrooms and berries – but he was nearly a day’s trek into the forest. No one would dare come out this far, unless they wanted to be alone. And, they were potentially hiding from something; their own past, perhaps.

He cautiously followed the sound of the tune, still disguising the sound of his own steps within the rustling leaves and wind. His heart thrummed with both uncertainty and excitement; he always did get too thrilled at the idea of a struggle and blood covering his hands. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, focusing his attention on the voice that carried through the trees, pulling him closer and closer… He gripped his dagger tightly as he crept, reminding himself of the warlock’s warning: cunning, sneaky – be on your best wits.

The voice brought him to the edge of a clearing. The birch trees parted and encircled a few meters of earth, and a few bushes huddled along the far edge, dotted with purplish berries and thorned branches. A wicker basket, woven clumsily and rather lopsided, sat on the ground and caught each berry and branch that was tossed into it. A figure knelt in front of the bushes, carefully plucking the berries with thin, delicate fingers, stained purple from the juice of the berries, and nails that might need a trim soon, unless they were intended to be claws.

The cloaked figure confused König. The voice was too melodic, too clear and fresh for an old witch. He had assumed you weren’t much younger than the warlock, but still old. He remained a few yards away from you, shrouded by the trees and dense foliage outside of the clearing.

It was when you turned your head, dropping your handful of berries into the basket, revealing your face, that he realized how wrong he had been in his assumption.

Your skin was soft, he could tell even with the distance between the two of you. Your lips delicately moved as you sang your tune, your eyes sparkled in contrast to the dull autumn colors that surrounded you. Small wisps of your hair danced around your cheeks as the wind caressed it. Your entire body looked soft, warm, and pliable… exactly what he needed. Craved.

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine it: leaves tangling into your hair as he pressed his fingers around your neck, pushing you to the cold ground and watching as you gasped for air. He’d use his knife, but not to kill you. He’d drag it over your hardened nipples, watching them perk up even more at the prickling sensation, before he’d carve his name into your stomach. Smear your pretty blood all over your pretty face, watch as your eyes widen with horror, as you question how someone can be so deranged and cruel, how he can take so much pleasure in something so vile and horrible-

Or maybe, he could convince you that he just wants a fuck. You looked like you could use one – when was the last time you’d had someone’s lips on your breasts, or their cock in your cunt? It had certainly been too long for him… he couldn’t imagine how long you had gone without being thoroughly ravaged, living in these woods all alone. He could take care of that. He could be gentle, for a little while; holding your wrists above your head as he pushed you against a tree, whispering praise and encouragements into your ear, “… so gut, so Schön, genau so…” taking you from behind as your nipples perked up from the rough texture of the bark, listening to you whine and moan in that sweet voice of yours as he lets out months’ worth of pent up frustration by thrusting his cock into your warm pussy, over and over and over until you scream and tighten around his length, milking the cum right out of him as he fucks you deep, maybe sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck-

He growled quietly, palming his rapidly-growing erection as he tried to clear his head. Stay focused. Kill the witch, and then you’ll get what you want.

Remember the warlock’s promise.

Even if he didn’t need you to satisfy his needs, he could still make this interesting. Not like you could outrun him, anyway.

He stepped into the clearing, and as if by some ironic joke, the wind died down immediately. The crunch of his heavy boots was enough to make his presence known to any living thing within a mile radius.

Your singing stopped. You whipped your head in his direction, and immediately a look of fear fell upon your face. For a moment, the two of you were frozen in a staring contest. You reminded him of a doe, staring at the crossbow of the hunter you had noticed, wondering if this being was actually dangerous, or nothing you needed to worry about. He wondered what he must remind you of, and he wished to hear the panicking thoughts flitting through your mind.

Finally, you broke the trance – you gasped, stumbling backwards and awkwardly standing as you ripped a pathetic, little knife from your boot. You faced him and pointed the knife at him – you held it improperly, and if he truly wanted to make this messy, he could easily make you stab yourself in a struggle. He wondered what it would feel like when your nails dug into his rough skin, dragging marks down his forearms (or his back, if he played his cards right).

You pulled the thick cloak tighter around your body – you were tiny. Well, everything was tiny compared to König. But you were unexpectedly small. With the way the sorcerer had described you, he had expected you to reach his shoulders at least. But there you were, craning your neck to look up at him with fearful, owlish eyes.

“State your business!” You demanded, your voice cracking slightly.

König chuckled in response. You really were too pathetic for your own good, weren’t you? He took you in – your lips were pulled into a frown, parted slightly to reveal your perfect teeth, the way the fabric of your cloak quivered where it bunched in your fist… perfectly ordinary things that ordinary people do. But, besides the fact that you were a witch, something about you made it all so captivating.

“Hey!” you shouted, bringing his eyes back to your gaze. Your fear had given way to a judgmental ire. “Gods, have you ever seen a woman before?!”

König scoffed. “Woman? Yes, of course. I’ve seen witches, too. None as young as you, however.”

Your eyes widened in panic once again. You stretched your knife out towards him as he stalked over to where you stood. “S-stay back! I’ll kill you!”

Your meek threat didn’t slow him down. He continued his advance until he had corralled you against a tree, your one hand bracing against the trunk behind you, and the other holding the knife under his ribcage. The only thing between his flesh and your blade was his linen tunic, which wouldn’t do much to protect him should you decide to stab him – but were you capable of that? Your eyes were so filled with fear as they stared at him, your chin to the sky to take all of him in. Your fingers trembled around the handle of your knife as if the prospect of having to nick him made you uneasy.

“Not with magic?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the bush next to you. He plucked one of the berries between his thick, gloved fingers, rolling the onyx sphere between his thumb and middle finger before squashing it.

You pouted (a sight König could never grow tired of). “I’m not a wi-“

He snatched your forearm, and you yelped, dropping the knife to the forest floor. His fingers easily wrapped around you; he wondered how easy it would be to break it.

“Don’t lie, now.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing with a hint of annoyance. “You’re not good at it.”

He released your arms with a shove. You scrambled back with a fearful expression, swiping the blade from the ground. He watched with interest as you stood several yards away from him, pointing your weapon towards him once again.

“Fine.” You said, holding yourself a bit taller. “You’re right. What’s the crime in that?”

For a moment, König was lost. Why weren’t you trying to weaponize your magic? It was almost as if you had forgotten you weren’t a human. For someone who was supposed to be a cunning bitch, as the warlock had put it, you weren’t very smart.

“I’m not here for justice.” He replied, wiping his glove on his shirt. “Just doing my job.”

“Hunter?” you asked.

He extended his arms – gods, he could have crushed a pillar between those arms – as if presenting himself to you. “Was it not obvious?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You huffed. “Well, you’re not a very good one. Most hunters don’t make conversation with their prey.”

Prey. He liked that you understood your position, that he was the one in charge here. Maybe you were a clever girl…

“I like to listen to the begging.”

“Begging?”

“For your life.” König folded his arms over his chest, inspecting you closely. The only thing you had to protect yourself was your cloak, and that hardly provided a shield against the wind. Even though you were obviously wary of him, it wasn’t wary enough. You had spoken too many words with the hunter, and had it been anyone else, you might have been dead long before now.

You seemed malleable – book-smart and spitfire, yet all too gullible. Easily manipulated. Just what he needed to brainwash you into loving him. Or, at least, being his pet. You’d never truly love him, he had come to learn that from experience. But maybe, if he could somehow convince you that you needed a big, scary man, who could protect you and fuck you nicely, it would be enough to make you stay. After all, you were too naïve to be alone out here, weren’t you?

Could the warlock perhaps make you his prize? It’d kill two birds with one stone, he could convince you to return whatever knickknacks you had stolen, and your presence would never bother anyone ever again – besides him, but of course, it would never be a bother to bed you every night.

Your expression turned sour. “I don’t beg.”

The tone of your voice sent a shiver down his cock. He’d have to pound that little attitude right out of you.

“Who hired you?” You asked indignantly. The knife in your hand had slowly lowered, now pointing at his feet. Your initial fear seemed to have worn off. Were you brave, or just that stupid?

“It doesn’t matter.” König replied.

“It does to me.”

“You don’t know? How many people have you wronged?”

You scoffed. “I haven’t wronged anyone. People just don’t like it when you call them out on their atrocities.”

König hummed. You had a point. “Your teacher – the warlock.”

For a moment, you scrunched your face in disgust. Teacher. Only a fool as mad as the warlock himself could consider he was any such figure in your life, other than a torturous one. Then, you sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, the knife now aimed straight at the forest floor. “That old toad can’t even kill me himself…” you muttered. “What payment did he offer you?”

“He promised me anything I desired of your possessions.” König replied, taking note of the change in your presence. He purposely left out the warlock’s promise to find him a “companion.”

“And what would you do with cursed fig seeds, or stag’s blood?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest (which, König noted, framed your breasts perfectly). “I have no gold – not enough to be a reward for the trouble of killing me.”

“He gave me three hundred gold coin, too.”

Your lips turned down into a scowl. “That’s all?! That absolute hypocrite!” You lodged your knife into the tree behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I took everything from him, save that disgusting old shed he called home, and that’s all he’ll pay to kill me?!”

Your outburst pulled König from his obsessive staring. “You’re… insulted?”

You turned back to him and huffed. “Well, obviously.” You retorted. “I stole all he had to his name, and he treats me like a fly buzzing in his ear. I deserve a bit more recognition than three hundred gold coin.”

“You admit to it, then.” König said, stepping closer. You appeared to be too angry to notice how near the hunter was to you. “You are a thief.”

You laughed – a sound that König did not expect to be so sweet. “I’ve done much worse than thieving, mind you.” You shook your head. “And he’s done even worse to me.” You sighed, pulling the dagger from the tree trunk and sheathing it back into your boot.

Once again, he was reminded of how small you were. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Sure, you had the advantage of magic while he did not, but you weren’t even acting defensively anymore. You treated him like a traveler who had stumbled across your path, starting up conversation and sharing your story.

“What has he done?” he asked, his interest in you growing by the second. An outcast, despised, hated by others. He felt that the two of you were kindred spirits, and he would not risk losing a connection so rare – one he had never felt.

“You mean he didn’t even tell you?” you said, sounding more hurt than anything else.

“He did.” König sheathed his own dagger as a peace offering. “But I’m coming to think he was not entirely truthful.”

You sighed, looking down at your basket, then back at König. “I suppose I could tell you, since he brought you all this way to kill me. Walk with me – but keep your dagger away. And if you try anything, I’ll slit your throat. Understood?”

He suppressed the urge to laugh. Could you even reach his throat? “The warlock said you would lure me away to your hut, and carve out my heart.”

You huffed disappointedly, walking back to the bush near König. Completely calm, like he had only ever come up to you with the intention of finding a friend. “And yet, he’s still alive, after all the chances I had to kill him. We can stay outside of my hut, if it eases your mind. I’ll let you make your own tea, too. But if you aren’t set on killing me right this minute, I really should return to start drying these out.” You held up your basket. “Before too much time passes, and I can no longer use them.”

König had never given his prey more than a few moments to try and beg their way out of his crushing hands. He couldn’t believe he had even given so much lenience to your baseless trust in him – what he should have done was take the opportunity to grab your face and snap your neck. But he was starting to doubt the warlock’s testimony; you were a thief, yes, but had you really committed any crime? Or were you simply just taking the revenge you deserved from your captor – or, as the warlock called himself, your master?

König sighed. He gestured his hand out, signaling for you to lead the way.

You frowned. “First, give me your word.” You demanded.

“I will not harm you.” He said, with a hand over his heart. He didn’t care about forcing you to make the same promise – you were harmless enough. He did, however, make sure to avoid saying that he wouldn’t touch you. Although he was developing a few ounces more of respect for you, who knows? Maybe you would find a reason to drag him into your hut and satisfy both of your needs – and, if he was lucky enough to get that far, maybe you’d offer for him to spend the night in a warm bed, and he could be saved from sleeping on the cold earth for one night.

His word seemed promising enough to you. Threading your arm through the handle of the basket, you began marching through the woods, watching the ground carefully as you stepped over roots and twigs.

König followed by your side, watching you from the corner of his eye. You really were helpless – all it would take is a strong push from him, and you’d be tumbling down, maybe hitting your head on a stone, or rolling down the mountainside until your neck snapped. Even if the fall didn’t kill you, he could easily land one hit to your chest and pierce your lungs with your own ribs. But here you were, worrying more about the uneven forest floor than the lumbering creature by your side.

“What did he tell you?” you asked, pulling him from his fantasies. “About the beginning, when he took me.”

König laughed in pity. “He made it sound like he caught you, not that he took you.”

You sighed. “He didn’t catch me… well, I suppose he did. More like how animals are caught.” You adjusted your grip on the basket, still watching the ground beneath you. “I was the botanist’s assistant before he came along. Stared at me like I was naked. He would come more often than he needed to -  asked me where I was from, who my father was – things I didn’t understand why he needed to know. I still don’t.”

König didn’t understand himself. He continued to listen, the sounds of his footsteps drowning out your quiet ones. He began to wonder just how much of the warlock’s testimony was true.

“He came to the shop one night.” You continued to recount the story. “I was lighting the lanterns in the greenhouse. It was storming, and I didn’t hear him. He bludgeoned me and dragged me into the streets like I was some sort of animal.” You paused, turning your own words over in your head. “I suppose I was, to him.

He brought me back to his cabin – that’s when he started the curse. All I remember when waking up is feeling sick. I tried to stand, but it- everything felt heavy, like I was stuck in mud. I managed to crawl outside, and he was there. Saying my father wouldn’t recognize me, that he had killed the old lady at the botanist, that everyone would think that I had killed her… that I would be burned if I returned to the village. That I would forever be an outcast as long as I lived – as a witch. As what he made me.”

You paused again, for longer this time. König looked down at you, observing how your face twisted in… disgust? Anger? Your eyes were somewhere else, possibly somewhere where you could light the world on fire, drain the life from everyone who had ever done you wrong. König had felt that same hatred before, and he had learned to let it pass. You were still stuck there, wishing you could drive a blade into the warlock’s neck – and more.

“You stayed, then?” König asked, returning his gaze to the trees before him. “Why?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like I could go anywhere, not during the change. For the first fortnight, I couldn’t do anything but crawl on the ground and wail. And he let me – I’d get to the edge of the woods, and he’d be there to drag me back. Drug me into the hut at night and held me, fucked me, saying he was protecting me and similar bullshit. Of course, he was right; at that moment, I was as good as dead if I had ventured out on my own. And once I’d gotten my strength back, I was still a new witch. I’d never be accepted into the village – witches never are, despite the warlocks being the vile ones – and I had no idea how to live as one. So I relied on him for a while, until I knew enough to make it out on my own.”

König hummed in thought. Despite the initial desire to snatch you himself and have his way with you, his fists clenched at the thought of you being dragged around by the warlock. This life wasn’t one you had chosen, and yet the very person who had forced it upon you was killing you for it. It made something within him boil, something deep and buried, that he had thought had been tucked away for good.

You didn’t deserve any of this. He was fighting with himself in that moment, but the desire to show you what you should have been given was consuming him. He wanted to tell you that he knew what it was to be an outcast, he knew what it was like to feel lonely and crave being alone at the same time. To wish that you had the power to hurt anyone you deemed deserving of it, yet to have that someone who would never hurt you.

He would do it. He would be that person for you, he would be the one to kill for you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself – after all, he was hired to kill, you, not fall for you. And he knew it was just another one of his delusional fantasies… but he couldn’t help himself. You were like him, which was something that he had not yet been able to find. Something primal in him told him to sink his teeth in, to hold onto you until you stopped your struggling and realized that this would be good, for the both of you.

He was insane. But did it matter what he was, as long as he could give you what you needed?

“So, yes-“ you continued, bringing König out from the depths of his thoughts. “- I stole from him. Took the books he used to teach me, maybe a few ingredients for potions, a few seeds to start my own garden… but compared to what he took from me, I might as well have taken a loaf of bread.”

You stopped suddenly, and König came to a halt beside you. You nodded your head to the scene before you. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

König looked ahead: the trees parted into another clearing, larger this time. A rickety hut leaned against a wall of rock, made of thin, birch logs and mud slathered on top to keep out the wind. In the center of the clearing was a large stone, positioned near a pile of ash and rocks. A log lay near it, possibly another place for someone to sit. A small garden sat closer to the creek before your hut – it didn’t look to be doing very well, but that was expected as winter approached.

By the creek, there was a large, twisted oak. Its roots hung directly off of the bank and down into the water. Its leaves had fallen to the earth and mingled with the rest of the foliage by now – the entire thing had crimson paths winding around it, hauntingly similar to blood-filled veins. Several pieces of clothing and fabric hung from the branches and swayed in the autumn wind.

As you marched ahead, placing your basket down by the makeshift firepit and disappearing into the hut, König took a few, cautious steps forward. He was both charmed by the simplicity of it, and despondent that you were forced into this lonesome sort of life. He wanted to drag you from this measly hovel and show you something better.

But how? He was no better off than you were. All his earnings were spent on a room at the nearest tavern and a decent amount of ale to help him fall asleep. He never cared about having a home, as long as he had a place to keep out the cold. He didn’t think it would be good enough to drag you back to the village and convince you to spend the night with him in a thin-walled, noisy inn… but, even if he didn’t end up killing you today (something that seemed more and more likely with each passing second), he refused to leave you in this hell. If it was a cozy cabin, built so far away from civilization for the sole purpose of privacy and comfort, he could understand. Maybe even plead his case to you so you would let him stay. But this – this was a last resort. A broken down spot in the woods that you made for your banishment, for hiding. This wouldn’t do.

Call him insane. Call him crazy, hopeless, sick in the head… maybe his desires were founded on the thought that he would give you what he had never received.

You emerged from your hut, the thin, wooden door clanging shut behind you. You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was he still standing at the edge? You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and made your way over to him, your hair blowing across your face.

He watched as you stopped in front of him, your brow creased with question. Your head tilted back to look up at him, yet any traces of fear that you had shown earlier were gone. You looked at him like you’d known him for the past hundred years. It made his heart ache within his chest.

How could anyone have painted such a wretched picture of the woman who stood before him?

“Is everything alright?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said before, if you’d rather we stay outside-“

König interrupted you, reaching down and grabbing the sides of your arms firmly. You sucked in a breath warily, but you were still not afraid of him.

“I- you-“ Scheisse, what is he trying to say? He wanted to take you away, he wanted to show you how similar the both of you were to each other, he wanted to show you what (he thought) love was – slow, gentle, possessive, and strong. He wanted to keep you in his pocket, both to keep you safe from the world, and to make sure you couldn’t be taken from him. He wanted you, you, you –

This is insanity. He knew it. But that didn’t stop the fire in his chest, and the questionable throbbing in his trousers.

You knew. Your eyes said everything as they softened, as your lips pressed together into a knowing, sad smile. Were you going to turn him down? Would you say that you preferred it this way, that you liked being alone and living like a prisoner on the run? You took his face in his hands, and he had a foreboding sense in his gut that you might tell him to leave.

Quickly but gently, he cupped one hand at the back of your neck and pulled himself down to you, pressing his lips to yours before you could speak. It was only right, he thought, as he held the kiss – you didn’t understand that he could help you, he could build the life you deserved and keep you safe from any other hunters and warlocks. He placed his other hand on your lower back and pulled you in, moving his lips against your own and praying you wouldn’t deny him.

Like an angel answering his prayers, you tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes and kissing him back. He tugged his teeth at your bottom lip, and you so graciously allowed his tongue to slip past your teeth, letting him taste you. He whined, flooded with relief that you didn’t try to shove him away and call him deranged.

His cock was quickly growing hard, but he ignored it. Right now, he needed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to make you-

A raven’s call tore through the air, piercing his thoughts. It was much too close than any bird would naturally be.

He tried to turn his head in its direction, but you dug your fingers into his hair, making him stutter and freeze on the spot. He grabbed your hips, about to pry you away-

You pressed your lips firmly to his, and he heard you faintly muttering incoherent words against him. The world around him was suddenly showered with colors: purples like the berries that had stained your fingers, oranges like the leaves that were scattered across the ground, silvers like the thick clouds that blanketed across the sky… The black spots on the birch trees suddenly blinked and flitted across his vision; thousands of them stared at him, and he heard your sweet laughter echoing in the distance as the world spun, spun, spun…

He felt the cold earth press to his cheek, and the last thing he remembered was a sickening ache in his stomach.

He should have heeded the sorcerer’s warning.

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

"… so gut, so Schön, genau so…”

... so good, so beautiful, just like that...

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Hippie Sabotage || Morgan & Evelyn (feat. Cecily)

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thronesofshadows & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan needs a special ingredient for her ritual, and Evelyn knows a woman, Lady Cecily Ashford, who can give it to them. But some things are easier said than done.

CONTAINS: Poshness and sass

Morgan didn’t trust the stars to align in her favor. Not as easily as this seemed to come together. After everything that had already happened, how could Evelyn just happen to know some Baroness with a home museum of dark creepy artifacts, including the bol d’éventre Morgan had been tearing her hair out looking for? Where was the catch? When was the other shoe going to drop? She gripped her friend’s arm as they approached the Haven Hotel where this woman was staying, her face knotted with worry. It was bad form, she knew, to show someone how desperate you were to have something. But she didn’t know how to hide this either. Constance was cruel and slippery and every day she got to hang around the twenty-first century consequences free, Morgan burned as if she’d been slapped. “Do I have to call her Lady Ashford? Mrs. Ashford? Do we..I mean...obviously, you know more about this fancy stuff than I do, but I need the bowl, unless you’re telling her that you need it?” She gave Evelyn a sidelong look, her brow clenched with anxiety. “Am I overthinking this? I’m overthinking this.” Deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. Slong as we get the bowl, whatever else happens.” She pulled on what strings of hope she still had left in her and smiled.

Cecily Ashford only sat on the wretched florals in the hotel parlor because she refused to loiter at the window like a dolt. The world was not as it had once been, but there were still enclaves of auctioneers and traders making do in such rustic, pastoral hamlets such as this. Even the inn, or all its faults, was not without potential. And a visit from a young friend could brighten even a dour day, under the right circumstances. Cecily beamed through her net veil as her visitors arrived. “My dear, Eva, it’s been too long. Let me look at you-- the parties are getting duller by the year, and more of your cohorts are running off to greener pastures. But, at least you seem to be doing fine. Very fine indeed. And who--” Cecily was far too well bred to allow her speech to falter, but her eyes told a most subtle story of surprise to Evelyn. “Might this young woman be?”

She loathed the idea of meeting someone from her past again. Evelyn had run away from England for that very reason, to escape the suffocating feeling that came with living in that house. In that city. In that country. Though she found herself unable to feel true panic, she had been seized with a certain unfamiliar sense of worry upon finding out that Cecily Ashford was in town. There was a certain part of it all that made her feel like a child again, like she should wear the white lace dresses that her father had placed her in, ones that make her throat itch regardless of the fact that they were made with the finest of fabrics. However, if this was what would help Morgan, she would deal with it. Make pleasant small-talk and get the bowl that would rid her friend of her troubles. “I will take the lead, no need to worry.” She spoke in a gentle whisper to Morgan as they approached the hotel. “I call her Cecily, and she is rather fond of me, so I think you might be able to get away with that as well.”

Evelyn opened the door and made her way into the lobby. She had not expected the woman to be there, and led Morgan around until they were in the first-floor parlor. Though it had been a number of years since she had seen the woman, she could still smell the same perfume that she’d been wearing ever since Evelyn was a child. The past is past, she reminded herself as the two of them made their way over. “Cecily.” She offered a small smile, wincing for a moment at the nickname. “It has been too long.” Evelyn straightened her posture, hands running against the skirt of her dress. “I can imagine the parties are getting duller - though I am certain you do your best to liven them up.” She let another grin cross her face. “I am doing fine, and I appreciate that you have noticed. Making my way best as any of us can.” She remained standing, waiting for the woman to motion for them to sit before she did so, though the hand of the arm that was not occupied by Morgan's grip traced the armrest of a chair opposite Cecily. “This is Morgan. We have come to ask you about something of yours. Of course to catch up as well, but when I heard you were in town I could not pass up the opportunity. May we?” She finally said, nodding in the direction of the chairs. “Let me pay for some tea - or something stronger, if you wish.”

“Oh, my dear, I couldn’t possibly drink before three. Although if I recall, you do delight in breaking decorum. I think the Duke of Richmond is still nursing that foot to this day,” Cecily teased, looking the girl over once again. “But, perhaps some sherry. To be among the young is to feel devilish again.” She looked at the woman called Morgan as she said this. There was something impertinent in her face, even as she shrunk behind Evelyn like some Victorian lady’s companion. Well, Evelyn did have an odd taste in playthings, and who was she to make a fuss? “Shall we sit? I was rather surprised to hear about your sudden interest in my collection. You know I don’t part with my treasures so easily, my dear. Not even for friends.” She squinted over at Morgan thoughtfully, then to Evelyn, then back again to Morgan. “And what is your part in this, Morgan, correct?”

Morgan, who could feel Evelyn bristling next to her, gave her best smile. “Oh, I’m, you know, just here to...look pretty?” She waited a moment to see if the bit would land, but her look turned self conscious before she could really find out. “I mean, I just, have a vested interest, I guess. And it’s not every day I get to meet and esteemed gentlewoman, or, uh, lady, such as yourself.” Somewhere in her mind was a faint voice in her head that said she should stop while she was ahead, but with the older woman’s apathy and smugness, clearly so practiced to make her indecipherable on purpose, at least to someone not already fluent in her nonsense. She saw possibility shrinking before her eyes, along with all its potential. Another door closing in her face, throwing her back down into Constance’s grasp. “You do have it, right? The bowl de--eventre?”

“Well, I have a spirited personality, or so I have been told.” Though Evelyn often supposed that many people who had told her and her father that had meant defiant instead. She was not going to fully deny that, either - though she may have not appreciated the tone with which the remarks had been given, she could hardly deny them, especially given that she had run away on her birthday. “I hardly weighed anything, but I have always been able to make a memorable impression.” She shrugged. “I think sherry could be lovely. “Yes, let us sit.” Evelyn sat down opposite Cecily, not wanting to break away from Morgan just yet. After all, she was here in order to help her, it just so happened that she knew an important player in this. She supposed that in the end, it did make sense -- she knew a great many people and even if they were not themselves aware of the value that items they owned held, it did make sense that they would have had such items. Evelyn made a mental note to inquire at some point or another to see if Morgan or anyone else knew if any of the many items she had amassed over the years held any value outside of a monetary one.

She flashed a grin to Morgan at the looking pretty comment, though it seemed to fall flat on Cecily’s sense of humor. Evelyn straightened her posture. She was not about to let the other woman talk down to Morgan - even if that was not entirely her intent, Evelyn was all too aware of how easy it was to do just that. She knew that she was more than a little guilty of it herself, too. More than just occasionally, but right now was not the time to focus on the similarities that she shared with the woman opposite her. The pull to fall back into old habits was alluring - more than she would have imagined, but in a flash she could see her father reminding her to be quiet, to be everything everyone thought she was. “She does.” Evelyn interjected before Cecily could speak. “Right?” She raised an eyebrow at the older woman. “Morgan is a,” she took in a breath, the word friend still feeling far too foreign, “friend. She is a friend of mine, and I trust her, so if she says that it is something that she - we - I - we,” Evelyn finally decided, “need, then it must be quite something. I do have something of a memory of adoring looking at it as a child, though it was your company and the Yorkshire puddings that your cook always used to make that truly made those visits special.”

Cecily was charmed by Evelyn’s flexible manner, but not impressed. She had no intention of giving up her prize, not if this was some lark and certainly not if it turned out to be more significant than she had first imagined. But she did truly miss Evelyn, and if she could find out the cause for this sudden enthusiasm, so much the better. She leaned back in her chair, still composed, and regarded the pair with a smile. “How very sweet you are, Eva,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me more about this...need of yours.”

Morgan looked at Evelyn, gauging how much she ought to explain. Cecily’s eyes were squarely on her, somehow gentle and intimidating at once. She reminded her of Lydia, but not in a way that gave any comfort. “I’m uh...a scholar in several fields, including some obscure ones. This bowl, when applied in a specific context, can…” Well, it united the energy of the ingredients with the incantation thanks to some skillful carving work. It served as a stabilizing agent for the spell. Negative intentions could be volatile, or so common wisdom usually went. So some structural unity and metaphysical braces were usually in order. At least, hypothetically. Morgan had never gotten around to doing something like this before. “Create some incredible reactions. And this context, this application of the bowl’s properties, it’s going to save a lot of people’s lives and do a lot of good for this community. And your bowl is, as far as I’m aware, one of the very last surviving of its kind. If not the actual last. If the need wasn’t so urgent, I--we--would happily put our energy elsewhere. It’s not my intention to inconvenience anyone. But we...need this. We just need this, ma’am. Very dearly.”

“An obscure life-saving silver bowl?” Cecily said, her brow reaching for the heavens. “My dears, if what you say is true, why in god’s name should I part with it for the good of this place?”

“Well, you know that people always found me engaging, even as a young child.” Evelyn replied in turn. However, she supposed that her years away from London had made her a bit more naïve in that she had thought that it would have been rather easy to have Cecily simply hand over the bowl. However, Morgan was here, and the other woman’s explanations were something that Evelyn found herself in dire need of. Even if Morgan’s explanations did not come out as precisely as she had come to expect from the other woman. However, she appeared to have at least more confidence in the way she held herself than the first time she and Evelyn had met, all those many months past. “Precisely. We would certainly put our efforts elsewhere, but you were due to be in town and I recalled this specific object, and, well, you know I have never been able to get an idea out of my head once I have my heart set on it.” She giggled, twirling her hair around her fingers. “Yes, it is life-saving but just think - you would be doing the world a great deal of good, though I understand that you find this sort of thing rather complicated.” She waved one of the staff over, and requested a bottle of sherry before turning back to Cecily and squeezed Morgan’s hand. “However, I am willing to pay whatever price you might request, I have no qualms about that. Save for returning to England.” That much I cannot do.

“Oh, Eva. You know I care for philanthropy as much as the next woman. The hospital board takes up ever so much of my time, and I’m an investor in a number of nonprofits,” Cecily chided. “But you must be reasonable. Is the bowl even going to survive whatever ‘reaction’ you perform on it? Surely its value will decrease with use. Why shouldn’t I give it up at auction and let the proceeds go to some other, more deserving community? Why not keep it for myself and direct these ‘contexts’ for my own needs? You make this sound like the key to blazing world peace.” She laughed, a cruel, tittering sound that chided them for asking the question in the first place.

“Because you can’t!” The words burst out of Morgan before she could stop herself. She flinched, looking abashed at the woman and Evelyn both. “I just mean… look, it’s a specialized sort of thing and you’re not going to believe me if I told you and you wouldn’t care even if you did. But it’s my life and my family, the family I’ve made here, which includes Evelyn, is on the line. My entire existence is on the line. It’s specific, it’s magic, for crying out loud.” She laughed haplessly. She didn’t know this woman, she didn’t have the code for how to make her remember how to give a damn about something besides these stupid boards and nonprofits and whatever else she would rather be doing. “Please,” she said, no longer awkward or halting, but fully earnest. “Please do this for us. Please…”

Cecily’s face betrayed nothing. She looked to Evelyn, and spoke as if she hadn’t heard Morgan at all. “You should consider returning to where you belong, Eva my dear,” she said. “Your father misses you terribly. I’ll tell him what a treat it was to see you when I return, though, hm?”

“Well, Lady Fowler did have a leg up on most all of us, but you are correct.” Evelyn laughed, twirling her hair around her fingertips. She was more than okay with playing the stuck-up socialite that Cecily knew her if it got them what they wanted. Turning back into who she’d been as a teenager didn’t entirely sit right with her, but she found it far easier to do than she would have liked. “I will pay you anything you want and you can give the money to whatever charity, get another library dedicated in your name.” Cecily’s laugh cut through her bones - she’d heard it before, though not directed at her. She used to join in in such laughter.

Morgan was talking again and Evelyn found herself once again grateful, even if the look on Cecily’s face implied that she was less than pleased, and that in and of itself was never a good sign, not much at all. “We - yes. It will help us a great deal. More than you could ever know.” They weren’t getting through to her, and Evelyn cursed herself for it. Because she had believed so fiercely that this would help, that she’d be able to charm Cecily into doing whatever she wanted. Her lips curved up into a small smile at Morgan’s mention of family, though that moment was cut short by Cecily’s next comment. “I am not going home - not going back to England. I have made a life here.” No. “Please do not.” Evelyn could feel her breath catch in her throat. This was everything she didn’t want. She had escaped her life back home, her life with her father and being forced to be everything she was not. She knew he wanted her back, she’d seen the news when she first ran away. Perhaps she’d gotten far too cavalier with her actions, with what she’d posted. She’d walked into this. “Please do not tell him where I am.”

Of course Cecily had known that Evelyn’s abrupt disappearance would be something of a sore spot. One did not vanish from respectable society altogether unless there was a cause. But she had not expected such an impassioned reaction either. It was good to have such precious information on hand, and to know its value. “You’ve been out of the game too long, my dear,” Cecily sighed. “You’ve shown your hand and you have nothing to offer me of value. Now, I won’t go blabbing to your father yet, but, that may prove conditional later on. Do keep that in mind next time I call, Eva.” She rose from her chair and patted Evelyn’s cheek as she had when she was a girl, for old time’s sake.

“Stop calling her that!” Morgan snapped. “She’s not a child, and this isn’t some game for you to power play!” Her hand was out to swat the woman’s away. She only stopped to think when she found herself struck in turn. She shrank back, too stunned to process being slapped or anything else. The only thing she knew for sure was that this whole thing had been a mistake.

“I have not.” Evelyn practically hissed. She had let her emotions get the better of her once again - which continued to prove time and time again that shuttering away how she was feeling was the better way to go. Better than reacting in far too much of an impassioned way. She ought to have known that Cecily wasn’t here for the sake of altruism. She hadn’t ever been keen on that, not back in England, and clearly the few years that had passed had done little to change that. “Please.” Though pleading was hardly something she wished to resort to, she couldn’t help herself. She pressed her lips together firmly, doing her best not to flinch at the woman’s hand against her cheek, no matter how gentle it was, it now felt little other than patronizing.

Then there was Morgan again, Morgan who was far too good, defending Evelyn. The sound of Cecily’s hand against Morgan’s cheek caused Evelyn to stand up, her height almost even with Cecily’s. “You do not get to walk into my life and hurt my friends. I had heard you were coming to town and I figured that you would be able to assist with something I need. I thought that perhaps you would have been more keen to do some sort of good, particularly given that I remember this bowl collecting dust in a cabinet of yours.”

“Then that makes it your mistake of underestimating me, Eva,” Cecily said the name with emphasis, just to prove how undaunted she was by this childish display from the pair. “You should know I give nothing away for free. But do be in touch, my dear. Pleasure seeing you, as always.” She gave Evelyn a curt nod and swept out of the parlor, back towards her room.

Morgan slumped back in her seat, face in her hands. “I am...so sorry…” she groaned. “I just...I didn’t like how she...and I’ve never seen you like that before either. It was just… I reacted, and I didn’t give you time to think things through, or come up with a better bargaining chip, or a sales pitch or…” she let out a long exhale. “Tell me what I can do, Evelyn. Are you okay?” she mumbled.

She could do little besides blink as Cecily left them - that in and of itself was alarming, given that she didn’t have to. Only blinked because that was what humans did. Evelyn turned to face Morgan. “You do not have to be.” She brushed against Morgan’s shoulder, and reached out for the other woman’s hands, much like they had the first time they had met, all those many months ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and she supposed that for Morgan, it had been. “No - I…” her voice trailed off. “I ran away from home, four years ago.” Morgan’s hand, no matter how cold, felt good. Better than Cecily’s, that much was certain. “My father - he cannot know where I am. I feel as though I am the most myself I have ever been.” She shook her head. “It - it is not your own doing. I should have - I got too caught up in the dream of being able to get her to give this up. I should have thought through this more.” Biting her lip, she looked over to Morgan again. “We will fix this. I will fix this.” She paused, taking in a shaky breath, “I mean, I will fix whatever I can.” She shrugged, in response to Morgan’s question. “Up for debate.”

Morgan slumped deeper into her seat and squeezed Evelyn’s hands. “I had no idea. I didn’t realize you were taking such a risk for me, Evelyn, I wouldn’t have pressed so much if I--” Morgan grimaced. Yes, she would’ve, but she would’ve felt bad about it in the moment and not just in the aftermath. Maybe exercised some more caution, but that didn’t always work out well for her either. Maybe they really would have always wound up here. “I’m still sorry, for putting you through that. Come on, at least one of us should get drunk after all that. My treat. We can figure out the next move after.”

“You are worth a risk.” Evelyn shrugged. “It - well, I had to, did I not? I think my years here have somehow made me softer than I should have liked. More willing to believe in the goodness of others?” She scrunched her nose. It was not entirely true, she certainly still held her reservations but she had come to understand that growing up as sheltered as she did, despite studying human behavior for her degree (and excelling in it) - had made her quite a bit less able to always understand everyone else’s true self. “I think I believed that I would surely manage - well, I do not know…” her voice trailed off. “You need not to be sorry. We can go and get drinks, certainly. I - we will make this work. We just have to be two steps ahead of her next time.” She stood up, dropping her hand from Morgan’s. “I may have a few ideas already.”

[elenajohansenreads]

Books I Read in 2019

#166 - Ice Massacre, by Tiana Warner

The Reading Frenzy’s Holly Jolly Readathon -- A book with a wintery word in the title

Rating: 1/5 stars

Another hugely hyped book that was a vast disappointment to me. The concept is cool, I'll give it that, or I wouldn't have picked it up in the first place. But the world-building is thin, the plot full of gaping holes, the characters mostly without personality, and the action is jaw-grindingly constant to the point where it leaves no room for character development or better world-building. And calling this a sapphic love story is just laughable. Literally the last thing in the book is the main character realizing she's in love with her childhood best friend who's also a girl who's also a mermaid--but they spend most of the books at odds with each other because of misunderstandings, because of the fact that they're both supposed to want to kill each other, and because they can't truly trust each other for most of the story. Eventually there's a small measure of devotion, but there's no romance to speak of. Everyone's too busy fighting, and I do mean everyone. But okay, if it's setup for the future installments, I could give that a pass. What I can't forgive is the insanely stupid logic of this thin, nonsensical world-building. First, the simple idea of the merpeople's "allure"--their hypnotizing magic--being effective against the opposite gender only is heteronormative in the extreme. My bisexual self is plenty attracted to women, so for most of the book I felt like it should work on me just fine. (And I can't even address the issues of trans or nonbinary characters, because there aren't any.) When it eventually became obvious that allure working on everyone would break the plot (the two friends can't fall in love with each other if magic is involved because then it's fake, also then the entire idea of sending girls out instead of boys to fight is a moot point and there's no story) I threw my hands up in the air and said to myself, "I'll accept it but I don't think it's good." Second, that leads to another problem; if the merpeople sent their women to fight because the human warriors had always been male before, when they discover the new ship of warriors are female, shouldn't they send their men instead? Oh, wait, they're all lampshaded to be fighting somewhere else entirely, in a different ocean. Except...are they all really gone? Because if they are, then who's making babies? We know there are babies because the crazy girl kills an infant. Which, by the way, is a war crime if you consider the mermaid "people," because clearly an infant is a noncombatant. So that's fun. (Also she ends up murdering a crewmate, but that's not tied to any of my complaints, actually, which almost surprises me. It was terrible but it actually sort of made sense at the time that it would happen the way it did.) But really, why keep sending the mermaids to kill the girls when mermen would have the advantage? Third, the structure of the Massacre itself. Would you have me believe that a group of twenty girls who have been training together for five years can't put aside petty high-school-style drama long enough to not get each other killed? Do you mean to tell me that the position of captain is assigned by their trainer, with a list of captains to follow in case of death or incapacitation, and it never once occurred to anyone organizing this thing that that's a recipe for constant mutiny? Do you seriously expect me to believe no adults went with them for supervision? That no adult women could have been trained alongside them to sail the ship, if not to actually fight? That no adult woman on the entire island was capable or available to be their captain and keep all those little shits in line? Weren't those people fishermen before the mermaids invaded, and that's why they're being starved out now? Sure, in modern military we train people about their age for combat, but we don't send them out on their own without superior officers, older and more experienced and hopefully with a little more wisdom! And if the problem is that they can't send the men who have survived their Massacres because now we send women because of the allure, then why were they ever sending men in the first place? Why did it take so long to decide to train girls instead? (The story's answer: unquestioned patriarchy. Girls aren't warriors. Because.) Fourth: no one has much of a personality, they're too busy getting killed. Of the twenty girls who set sail, I believe only seven or eight survive. They are mostly names on a page who die. Even some of the survivors, I couldn't tell you anything about, be it their physical appearance or their demeanor. They are mermaid fodder, some are there to be Captain Crazypants' cronies, they are faceless and interchangeable in death. Back to the "romance" for a second: I don't read Meela's constant distaste for her compatriots talking about boys or their boyfriends as her actually being in love with her female mermaid childhood best friend. That early, it doesn't even seem to allow for the possibility. It was far easier for me to read Meela as ace and/or aro--she seems completely uninterested in romance with the guy back home who's in love with her, and she says outright at one point that she can't imagine kissing him or having kids with him. Yes, it's all coded, but to me that's all code for aro-ace, possibly even to the point of sex-repulsed ace. The depth of her aceness would be open to interpretation, but nothing about her characterization for most of the book, such as it is, says to me, "no, she doesn't like Tanuu or boys in general but she's got confused feelings for girls she doesn't understand." She just doesn't seem to think romantic love or sex is important. So throwing it out there at the very end that she thinks she's in love with Lysi doesn't ring true to me at all, even though I could see it coming from the structure. Final problem: the plot takes a completely unexpected and illogical turn at the last second. The whole book has been about the Massacre, and then when it's almost over, our main character sacrifices herself (kind of) and gets captured by the mer-king (sort of) who agrees to let her and the few remaining crew go home so she can find a MacGuffin that's apparently a legend of their home island...that none of them have ever heard of. So if they don't know their own legends, how does the mer-king? There's no foreshadowing for this (or if there is it's so subtle as to be invisible), it makes no sense with the rest of the book, narratively speaking it's a deus ex machina to get them home when they're basically doomed otherwise. And obviously it's setting up the next book. But I don't care. I don't care because this one is so bad I don't want to read any more.

[uniquesmalltreasures]

Why is it a good idea to be a multishipper in the Voltron Fandom part 1 - Lance edition

First of all, that way you won’t ever be called an anti, you will never spread ship hate and would be able to get more friends in the fandom! What’s not to love about that?

As a multishipper, you can also see the potential in various pairings, can get ideas about the characters interacting with each other and you’re able to enjoy so much content from splendid artists! 

We can all ship romantically, but platonic shipping is great too! Hell, you can headcanon all characters as aromantics and asexuals or polyamory and that will be great too! There is no limitation to one's imagination and all is fair in creating your own view of the characters when it’s for your own enjoyment without hurting others.

So if you’re thinking about the appeal of each pairing, here is a quick guide to them, where I just state what I adore about each pairing and what makes me see them as a great combination. I write about romance, because that’s my cup of tea, but as stated above: this can be entirely platonic as well. The order is random, but I’m starting with my two favorites being together, Pidge and Lance <3 

Plance/Pidgance

Imagine two meme lords, who will rule the galaxy with their sass and jokes, while being best friends. Imagine Lance falling for someone who isn’t conventionally feminine, the realization sneaking up on him when he already gained a friend, who he always protects and plays games with. Imagine Pidge helping Lance with his insecurities and letting him fret over her, supporting her and letting her take the lead. Imagine Lance using Pidge’s headphones to get rid of his homesickness, imagine him taking care of Pidge when she falls asleep while working late into the night. Lance cheering her up and helping her plan the next Galra infiltration to get information about her family. Imagine them bonding over their families. Imagine him bringing her coffee, listening to her tech-bable, even if he doesn’t really understand and her letting him play with her hair or helping with her beauty routine. Imagine them making strategies together, taking care of Kaltenecker, or goofing off, not caring if the others from the Voltron crew see them as childish or not.

Hance/Lunk

Two best friends, through thick and thin, that just got closer. Every friends-to-lovers trope and plotline apply here, you can take the funny happy route or the really angsty one (with a happy ending though). Think of always supporting each other, having each other back no matter the circumstances. Think of late night conversations about everything: their homes, families, future plans. Think of trust that makes them understand each other without speaking. Think of warm hugs Hunk gives and how he is always able to cheer Lance up. Think of Lance knowing when Hunk needs a pick me up and being the one who cooks for him for a change. Think of Lance helping Hunk being braver and Hunk letting Lance feel needed. Think of Lance giving Hunk piloting tips, trying his best and Hunk teaching him how to repair simple stuff, making sure Lance understand him. And through it all, we have friendly banter, inside jokes and unconditional friendship, which baffles the others.

Allurance/Lanllura

The pairing that allows the other to grow and be a better version of themselves, to mature and be more than meets the eye. Lance understanding that a lovely heart and fiery spirit is more important than beauty and falling hard not because Allura is the most stunning woman he had ever met, but because of her personality. It can take him by surprise when he thought he was over his crush after he really got to know her and witnessed her good and bad sides. Allura, on the other hand, can learn that first impressions shouldn’t dictate how you see others because there is so much more to Lance than just his goofy, flirty attitude. That he will protect his friends no matter what, that he’s insecure, that he misses his family, that he is a great, well, a great Lancer in their group. And he will learn that Allura is not a goddess, but a normal person who misses her family and friends. Lance can make her laugh and always be there for her, whether she needs someone to talk to, or just sit quietly with her. She can make him open up and ease his insecurities with her compassion. They can become great friends first, bonding over their love for the Blue Lion and they can see how similar they are in some ways.

Shance/Liro

The pairing of dreams coming true and endless potential. That feeling when your celebrity crush, the hero you look up to, becomes someone you get to know. And yeah at first you realize it was silly to crush on them but then. Then you get to know them and fall deep. And what you learn about them is more than you had ever imagined. You learn that they have nightmares, a severe case of PTSD, but they’re still trying to hide that from others and they’re not that great when it comes to self-control. You try your best to show them how good you are: first for attention, but once you got it, you just want to help and ease the weight off their shoulders. Deep down both are dorks and Shiro needs someone who will comfort him, help him through his troubles, while Lance needs to find his own footing and purpose. Shiro can help with that: his honest compliments and sweet words can brighten Lance’s day. And he can witness Lance in his quiet moments, where he just shows that he’s more than just jokes. He can learn to rely on him and that’s mindblowing, because he remembers when Lance got hurt while protecting Coran and him making that great shoot when saving Slav and he realizes that Lance is full of potential, if only given a chance. So he does.

Klance/Leith

You can love or hate this pairing and I understand if the fandom sometimes makes you loathe them. But this is a ship which allows you to insert every rivals-to-friends-to-lovers scenario and apply it to them. Take two people, seemingly with not much in common, that argue or bicker almost every time they talk. But then, when it matters, they work together seamlessly. They support each other unconditionally and are surprised themselves what a good team they are. They talk both about trivial things and about their insecurities and they find understanding without judging. When Keith needs it, Lance will be by his side, his right-hand man with advice or wisdom that surprises Keith. And when Lance is feeling down and struggles with his self-esteem, Keith will try to ease his insecurities, even though he has trouble with bonding with other people. It is something that blooms between them like a flower, growing steadily over the time they spend together. Again we get friendly banter and teasing, with a dose of friendly rivalry, but it’s laced with affection and trust.

And special mentions for two crack!ships:

Latte/Mance

I bet you that those two can bond immediately. Either because they both can fawn about Allura or swap big-brother-stories and how they both care about Pidge. Point is, they are so similar in many cases, it would be natural to see them bonding and who knows? Maybe that could turn into something less than platonic if both boys would allow it. They could be playing a game in Lance’s room, or Matt can be showing Lance how he deals with homesickness. They both could learn from each other and be (again like with Plance/Pidgance) two meme lords. And finally think about Pidge’s reaction to this ship: either jealous or really supportive. And the idea of Matt and Lance working as a tandem can make you sigh happily because they’re one hell of a power couple. 

Lancelot/Lotorance

That feeling of shipping two characters who seemingly have nothing in common, but somehow working together perfectly when paired together. We have two guys who have been always fighting to show others their worth. Lance masks his issues with flirting and jokes, Lotor is portrayed as cold and calculating. One can imagine Lotor taking a liking of Lance (much as he did in old Voltron) or imagine Lance falling for a beautiful alien yet again. Again it’s a ship full of possibilities. You want it to be dark and angsty? It is possible to imagine Lotor exploiting Lance, kidnapping him, trying to take him to his side and Lance showing him kindness and understanding. You want fluff? Make Lance the only one who will try to trust Lotor and give him a chance, even if he will keep an eye on him - it could spur a great redemption arc too. You can imagine Lotor being the one to finally see Lance’s worth and Lance being the one who finally will treat Lotor with respect that doesn’t come from fear.    

So yeah, it’s great to multiship and just have fun with your own imagination. Or if you ship just one of these pairings as your OTP, that’s cool - just don’t hate on other pairings, when they’re not your cup of tea. Because - there are many reasons for shipping characters together (as I hopefully shown on this list). Be kind to others, just that <3

[beatsfortheillperth]

Words with Somanyfeels Part 2

Shot by @samuel_thecanadian⁣⁣

Julian aka Somanyfeels abilities with self-directed piecing of artistic trinkets is something we here at beatsfortheill admire about the various artists we get the opportunity to explore future readings and words with, and the big moves Julian is making under his accomplice is beyond the appreciation we are able to give via our blog, but this globetrotter isn't far of more global recognition.

As with writers' block on the mind for myself and then to suddenly, with true suave, have Julian, display his skills toying with human mood after my rough couple of weeks with a mix that truly helped me explore the various healing avenues that music can relate to us as individuals, going through everyday struggles.

So without further delay, let us take a moment to re-explore words with Julian a good friend and previous words with, and found out more about what his mix segment- "Endeavour v1" means to him and let us also dabble in his future endeavors and dreams, so with appreciate enjoy the following words with Somanyfeels.

Let us start with a few random generals to get the conversation flowing, a bit like a repeat from the last time we shared words, so let us see if things have changed up since then?

Favorite Food: A plate full of Al Pastor Tacos with a lot of lime and some horchata.

Favorite Beverage: Matcha tea

Favorite thing to do when you get downtime by yourself:  Take a Nap

Best place to enjoy a wine and view in Las Vegas: Highly recommend any desert area outside of Las Vegas. I love taking pictures and being outdoors with friends. There are some amazing views of the sunset at this place I go right by my house. My friends and I head down to the wash area by this singular tiny mountain and we just talk about life as the golden hour begins and ends.

Favorite piece of clothing and, why you hold a special bond with it: My favorite piece of clothing is actually jewelry. I have this blue-painted silver medallion that I received as a gift while exploring the medina in Fez, Morocco. It reminds me there is more going on in this world than what you see before you, and to try travel as much as you can.

Best song to break it down to at the moment: I would like to mention two tracks for this topic… KALI YUGA - GHOSTMANE & CLAMS CASINO & ANYMORE - FLAUNT EDWARDS

Best song to chill to on a hectic day: THUNDERSTORM - PRODUCERBOIBRAD

Favorite song to listen to at the moment: EARL (INSTRUMENTAL) - EARL SWEATSHIRT

Best Genre of music to listen to when craving emotional connection with one's self: Ambient music heals the soul.

Views on politics: American politicians should be prioritizing the environment over all other political issues. I also believe Americans bought into the illusion that we are in control of what our government does for the countries best interests. I’m not entirely sure about the rest of the world though, so I doubt my opinion has much weight with how things are going nationally and internationally. I think we need to just keep ourselves informed with the use of reliable news resources and we should also put more focus on keeping our planet as clean as we can.

Views on drinking milk throughout the day: Almond milk in a coffee, of course, but if it’s hot often where you are, like it is in Vegas, I would suggest sticking to water. I also think about that scene in Anchorman when Ron loses Baxter!

The Rabbit Hole - Shot By Rosemary Fajardo 

Thanks for answering those little rants, so let us get onto your music. 

You have been guest hosting on radio, sharing tunes with the world,

and also making some of the best blends and mixes I have ever had the privilege of listening to, much love.

What keeps you moving forward with your goals within the music scene? 

Also what have been some of the best tools you have had at hand reach when it comes to creating and delivering quality sets and blends? 

Thank you so much for the kind words about this particular craft of mine <3 I definitely feel that my friends who also make music in my circle, are the people who keep me closest to my love of mixing music and playing shows. 

Witnessing their work ethic grow with wisdom is some type of magic.

I certainly was not expecting to reach this magnitude within the Las Vegas music culture and I was at one time hosting my own radio show but decided to pursue a different route and become more intimate and technical with my musical presentations. 

Hosting your own radio show takes A LOT of time, which at the time was stressing me out. I felt like the quality of work I was putting out on a weekly became biweekly then seldom the basis was in decline. 

To people out there looking to pick up radio, it is extremely fun and teaches you a lot about communication and self-reliance. 

I also think it's totally fine to hit the reset button to keep your spirit up. You can always revisit your past projects and continue to pursue your love for the craft.

Mixing live in front of crowds while on stage is what I love doing now.

When mixing, I can use all Traktor controllers but am also familiar with Pioneer CDJ’s and controllers. 

Traktor is my main resource for feeling comfortable, well most comfortable on stage. 

I stick to using remix decks, 2-4 channels depending on the routine, with effects from both my controller and the house mixer.

Do you always have to schedule in time or does it just fall into a routine, creating I mean?

It is at random for mixes I create at home. When I feel it, I'll just go for it, but for shows, it does take a sort of scheduling presence and sorting of skills to make sure I feel prepared for the upcoming event. 

Keep in mind, not all shows are the same, so you have to really organize and then re-organize your playlists depending on the crowds you will be playing for and the vibe the event promoter will be expecting. 

In the end, as a DJ I believe firmly that it is your job to be the glue between artists before and after you.

You have to learn to look up at the faces in front of you too, sort of read how people are reacting to your song selection and with that, you have to try and adapt on the fly as much as possible.

I’m still trying to perfect this lol.

It has to be mentioned, you are quite a gifted photographer.

I had a scroll with a good friend through your shoots and you def know your angles, much love.

How far do you feel you've come from first experimenting with a camera to what I believe you are now, a self-proclaimed skill shooter down the lens?

Also, what is your favorite style of shoot to portray a scene via the lens?

Also, what's your preference time to shoot: Night or Day?

You are always learning and adapting with a cam.

I absolutely love it. 

I don’t think that I am that profound just yet since there is so much more I need to understand, but if you enjoy light painting images, then I would reference my work to you :) I am a night-time shooter mostly so I'd say night time with the exception of a good golden hour or blue hour shoot. Night shots feel like you and your subject are the only ones on the planet, and the ability to light up the night with a light source is pure sorcery! 

It reminds me a lot of Magic: The Gathering. a lot of the graphics from those cards inspire me to utilize an experimental light source.

Let's bring it back to the reason I am asking to have words with you again, and that reason is your creation, with essence -a new mix, titled "Endeavor v1".

It has to be one of my favorites, of many great mixes by yourself, and I am privileged to be featuring "Endeavor v1" on our SoundCloud alongside this interview, link to the mix is here.

Honestly, thank you!, you actually got me onto a few new artists that I had never heard of thanks to the beauty.

People like marrow with Kafia, Otrapic, and Carlo Frick; all artists that are truly pushing diverse waves and instilling moods all over, that I was yet to hear before Endeavor thank you! While we are on the topic, what are your personal views on these artists in the making? 

These artists are great and I highly recommend that you listen to them!

Otrapic’s sound resonates with me so much. As much as I love that hard gritty and ground splitting bass sound from artists in my library, the storytelling element that Otrapic has just levels me out and makes me want to tell my emotions to someone close.

 Carlo Frick makes your brain swivel in place. I’ve opened many sets with his music at the forefront of the tracklist- in fact - I think any hard set I play will include a sound from his discography. 

Kafia has that haunting element of like a siren’s presence underwater in her musical style. 

Keep in mind, these artists you’ve mentioned from Endeavor v1s tracklist are particularly underrated. 

Kafia shows that you have to really let loose upon yourself when digging deep into Soundcloud, Bandcamp, Spotify etc. 

Trust the flow of the search for music and you will find those gem artists turn-by-turn.

On the subject, again, what bought you to your mix concept for "Endeavors"? What type of day/night was it, and what had been playing in your head before you even thought to put the playlist together? 

It was super late. I came home after a night out in The Arts District of Las Vegas, and I just felt really sad. Anyone get that way after drinking too much and you’re like super on the edge of blacking out but have loads of energy that has been held so close for too long? 

I had to let it out and went into my little corner area in my house where all my plants and records are and just turned on the controller and played what I thought would express my feelings inside. I woke up the next morning and played it back and thought "oh shit this went fairly well", lol. Sometimes sadness can drive you to make some really interesting projects. It's okay to feel these feelings.

Will, there be follow on concepts for Endeavor? Like how you dabbled in your previous works "HUNT//GATHER which came in a 5 volume mix of ambient allure, much love again for that. I loved what HUNT//GATHER represented. I remember you saying "It is intended to put the listener out of their element and into something wild and untamed" talking about the five-volume.

Truly a unique artist you are my friend, much gratitude. 

If you do plan the volume for Endeavour, what would your goals and visions be for the project? Also what journey are you hoping to take your listeners on with works to come?

I appreciate the kind words on my previous mix series <3 <3 <3

and I think I would love to do something like that series again!!

Sure why not ;) This sound could work, I have loads more of this sound just sitting there looking for a home.

I think that could be the theme too!

“Searching for home, all the while achieving the tasks you set before you to prepare for your arrival”.

Something like that?

 A goal of mine would be to make it a journey for the listener to enjoy.

With Endeavor, if you could give one descriptive paragraph for all it embodies from your point of view what would you state?

It’s your interaction with the elements in our world.

It's packed with all beats airy, wavy and blissful to help tell the story of…whatever it is you see after hearing the track order, to be honest! Find someplace relaxing to you, maybe a productive place and play this out. 

I think it’ll bring you into some sort of meditative state :)

Any up and coming artists, music and beyond you could recommend and give us links to? 

INDESCRIBABLE INDY

https://indescribable.bandcamp.com/

WEIRDDOUGH

https://weirddough.bandcamp.com/

ONEONTHEBEAT

https://1blaps.bandcamp.com/

MATT NISH

https://open.spotify.com/artist/5IcGFKFypLHBm9fUCbhl1u

OUMUAMUA

https://soundcloud.com/oumuamua

LO THE DINO

https://soundcloud.com/lothedino

One of my favorite questions to ask, any musical recommendations?

Albums, songs, or a blessed mix like your own for example? 

I would personally recommend an artist by the name of Terekke.

His "Improvisational Loops" Album is filled with some of the most amazing ambient music I’ve heard.

https://www.musicfrommemory.com/release/6031/terekke/improvisational-loops

How have your previous experiences with doing live sets been going? 

I can only imagine the mood you would set. What has been your favorite experience as of late?

Well.. to be clear, I haven’t really done a full live set just yet.

With remix decks on traktor, switching over to those can be a kinetic experience with the audience. 

My real joy is to present sounds as a vibe selection - something that tells a story with energy exchange.

My challenge lately is looking at the crowd and reading their movements and my most favorite experience playing live is just glancing up after a transition and seeing a guy (pristinely dress) spilling his beer all over the floor while getting down.

I just really loved seeing that reaction to music. He didn’t care one bit and was just wayyyy into the song that was playing.

An old memory would have to be from a Halloween show years back at this venue called Velveteen Rabbit in the Arts District of LV.

I specifically remember just dancing harder than I’ve ever danced while dj’ing. Right in front of the small fold up table with my gear with all my friends just throwing their hands at me.

It felt like I was inside of a fireball.

I will forever cherish that night. connection to the crowd, close friends or newly met ones, that will always fuel me to play music.

Any up and coming shows or gigs you'd like to brief us on that you feel readers would be intrigued with checking out?

I just finished 2 sets for the end of October.

My birthday is Halloween, so I just want to spend time with friends and take photos throughout November.

I have a couple of collaborations in the works rn with some friends who need some photos; just have to see how they turn out.

As for music, I’m taking a month off from shows but I would like to play one for NYE. ;)

Any Last Words?

Please bear in mind that life is fragile.

We are on a rock that is highly susceptible to an array of destruction from uncontrollable forces we can’t even see coming from beyond the known cosmos.

Your milliseconds here are precious. what can you do to make the best of those moments?

Support Somanyfeels Here:

Somanyfeels Soundcloud - https://soundcloud.com/somanyfeelsmusic

Somanyfeels Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/_somanyfeels_/?hl=en

Somanyfeels Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/somanyfeelsphoto/

[zephi-dreams]

Thoughts and analysis about S4

This is going to be episode by episode and very long so here we go.

Episode 1: Code of Honor The Blade of Marmora is affecting Keith obviously in more ways than one, we know that Keith felt he was not meant to be the leader of Voltron and the BoM helps him ghost away from his responsibility. This causes something he feels is right, no longer being the Black Paladin, and something he fears, being pushed away by his team. From his vlog, we know he isolates himself on purpose so he won’t get hurt, instead it has the least desired effect this time. Yes, the team supports eventually his decision on going with the BoM, however, they were harsh on him in the beginning and this isn’t what Keith needs.

Despite all the things with Keith, Shiro (Kuron) gaining his trust back with the Black Lion says something, they still have their bond and the lion knew how much he needed to help the team. If we’re still on the clone theories, it’s really interesting Kuron was able to bond with the lion. But, this still throws away all the work in S3, even if Keith didn’t want it. 

Episode 2: Reunion (AKA MY FAV EPISODE) Oooohh boy!!! I’ve been waiting so long for this!! Prepare for super analysis and detail because the Holts are my life. 

So, the episode starts Katie staring out the classroom window, until something in the school lesson catches her interest. She gets excited and shares her own knowledge on it, it shows how much passion she has for science. Only for her to be shot down by pre-teen assholes. This affects her to the point of tears, showing she wasn’t confident about her brains, even giving up studying for a brief period. 

Let’s take a break to say, because of this, I suspect Katie didn’t have many friends. It’s middle school, a really tough time for any teen and she’s struggling. The only thing that keeps her sane is her older brother, he shares his wisdom and supports his little sister. At a point later in the episode she even says something along the lines of: “I can’t believe I have to go through middle school without you.” She’s later praised and known for her brains. Nerd power!!

Also, it turns out Matt gave Katie the nickname Pidge and used it as her alias. I have my own headcanon on how she got it but that’s a post for another time.

Okay, back to the present and Pidge is out searching for him. That Pidge Jedi aesthetic? My aesthetic. Bargaining Pidge? My fav. Now, she’s got a lead and helps freedom fighters she encounters. Okay, here comes the part where I super analyze Pidge. 

Pidge witnessing someone die right before her eyes, when she knew she had the chance to save them. She’s crying, frustrated and feels helpless. We know how much Pidge thinks and rambles when she’s nervous. Imagine her now. “I could have done more.” “I should have been faster.” and etc. She knows the casualties the Galra cause, but seeing it up close and alone is different. 

Back to the past! Honestly, this small moment of the siblings sitting on the roof, Matt teaching her codes and frequencies, and them going past their curfew is adorable.

Now here’s where I get emotional. With Matt’s code, Pidge arrives on a destroyed planet, there resides a massive burial and cemetery honored rebels who fought in the cause. Everything about this scene screams heartbreaking: the music, scenery of the 120,000+ graves, the flashbacks, everything. I knew from the spoilers that Matt was alive and well, but the feeling of over a year’s work of finding your family, only to reach their grave, is devastating. This hit me hard and it’s the only episode I recall crying at.

Thankfully, encrypted in his grave, there are hidden coordinates. (HUGE FUCKING SIGH OF RELIEF AFTER THAT HEARTBREAK)

after small scuffle, her bayard knocks off his mask and cue a very happy and sweet reunion. Matt loves his sister and thinks she’s amazing, literally all that matters. Also a bounty hunter was looking for them since the Unilu meeting. 

“Stand back, Matt.” “Stand back, Pidge.” SHOW THAT GUY WHAT THE HOLTS ARE MADE OF!!! The animation in this fight scene is awesome like I’m in awe. The siblings using their brains to weaken their opponent and BOTH KNOCK HIM OUT!!! LITERALLY EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE ASKED FOR!! Matt is a tall bamf and I love him.

Some pictures of the Holt family in front of the Garrison is shown (also pre-Kerberos Shiro and Keith in the background, I’m assuming he knew Keith at some point). Matt no longer needs his glasses and passes them on to Pidge, I’m sure they’re mostly for sentimental purposes and she wears them for that. Pidge can knock down Matt like omg. And it ends with a shot of her putting on the glasses and looking up to the sky. 

Okay, honestly. This is one of my favorite episodes, it’s just great. I have no words for it. I love Pidge, I love Matt. I LOVE THEM

Episode 3: Black Site Haggar/Honerva looking at her true self, using magic to hide her her true appearance because she can’t bear to look at herself. 

We get to see how Matt really is and I love this memelord. Fanon Matt is Canon Matt and it’s amazing. Honestly, he’s relatable when first seeing Allura. Like that Ouran vision is amazing AND THEN THAT SHOUNEN SHOT I’M DYING. JEALOUS LANCE!!! 

Okay, here’s where I’m a little disappointed. The reunion with Shiro is a little stale and stiff, yes there’s a hug but there’s nothing about Shiro saving Matt when they were prisoners. Him calling him ‘Sir’ is a little strange, I’m sure he was higher up than him, and him being a Paladin is intimidating, but in a reunion none of that really matters. 

zarkon’s going like darth vader with the suit to keep him alive. also CARRY ON MY WAYWORD SON

CUE MONTAGE OF PIDGE BEING ADORABLE AND SHOWING HER BROTHER THE CASTLE

Matt: “Hey, this is pretty goo- d.” HE MAKES FUCKING PUNS I LOVE HIM

I love Pidge’s messy little room, she kept her trash versions of the paladins and even some of the trash bugs. AND MATT JUST LOVES HIS SISTER SO MUCH AND IS VERY PROUD AND I’M SURE THEIR DAD IS TOO

Color coded or you’re an animal is the holts’ mindset. Matt calling Hunk and genius and HE’S SO SMUG ABOUT IT!! HE KNOWS HOW SMART HE IS!! 

Hunk: “This one time, we went to another reality. It was pretty lame.” Matt: “Wait, you what? You were in another reality?” Pidge: “No big deal.” hovers away Matt: “My little sister.”

HE!! LOVES!! HER!!!

i’ll never get over how coran and allura talk to animals and like milkshakes. adorable!! Lance playing video games to blow off steam and jealousy. Honestly.. same. I’m so happy they got their video game set up. Lance knowing how to milk a cow. Iconic. HE CHUGS MILK LIKE DAMN SON AND DRINKS MILK BY ITSELF??

TECH TRIO!! I LOVE THEM!! THEY ARE ALL SO SMART AND I’M VERY PROUD!!

CO PILOT MATT!! CO PILOT MATT!!! I LOVE HIM!!

I’m still trying to figure out why Narti was a spy and was given Kova to begin with? What where her intentions? Haggar just wanted to keep an eye on Lotor, she knew something was up with him, and Narti was the only option. Like the death seemed to be for shock value, they could have gotten rid of the cat. Idk at this point. Ezor and Zethrid obviously begin doubting him at this point, wanting to save their own skins, while Axca is trying her best to say by his side. But we see how that plays out later. 

Episode 4: The Voltron Show! Now, I’m a fan of this episode because: Coran focus and it gives us a moment to breathe. But, it has it’s iffy moments, AKA the ‘Humorous Hunk’ joke. I hated it so much, like poor Hunk I felt so bad for him. Of course, we know something was manipulating Coran but that’s just mean and humiliating. The Yuri on Ice, Jurassic Park and Star Wars references are great, plus aerial dancer Lance. 

And the iconic: Coran: “Allura, you’ll be playing Keith.” Allura: “HEAAHGHG”

Shiro: “I will save the princess, even if it means taking on the Galra Empire with my bare.. hand.” i’m dyingg 

literally everyone else is reading the script deadpan as possible and LANCE IS THE OVERLY EXCITED THEATER KID I LOVE IT.

“holds bayard dashingly- oH.”

hip talking coran is so bad i love it.

brief cameos of the mermaids and varkon.

i don’t have much to say on this episode.

Episode 5: Begin the Blitz Wow, we get to see Keith again! 

Axca is still trying so hard not to doubt Lotor by telling herself he’ll protect them. 

Hunk is accepting of Nyma and Rolo while Pidge is still unsure, that’s unexpected, but she can’t stay mad at a cute robot. I love how she loves robots it’s adorable.

ALLURA SPEECH!! I LOVE HER!! 

PIDGE AND HUNK FIGHTING TOGETHER!! HUNK BEING A BAMF AND KILLING A MAN BY ELBOWING HIM IN THE FACE AFTER HE HURTS PIDGE!!

that really hot galra commander like mmm

I love the rebels so much. But like a third of them gets fucking wiped out... jfc

FInALLY MORE KEITH!! 

God Lotor looks so defeated when visiting Daibazaal. I feel bad after his plan fails and his generals turn on him. They suspect after his failure he’ll just turn on them suddenly, but they don’t know about Narti being a spying and it’s frustrating. He didn’t even explain it to them, so both sides are at fault here. He wasn’t even expecting their betrayal. Like yikes.

THE WHOLE COALITION FIGHTING!! REBEL FIGHTER SHAY!!

god this scene with lotor’s bONES LIKE OMG I’M DYING LIKE  DAMN SON I LOVE IT

Episode 6: A New Defender This episode is wild.. like wow

Lotor flies barely above the surface of a star and lives?? He’s desperate to complete his plans, whatever they are. 

Haggar is awesome this episode like she’s crazy and i love it 

This episode was tense and had my heart racing, I knew they would be okay but this situation was insane. The fact that the camera is on Lance and goes for Allura first when she’s being electrocuted, then asks if she’s okay. 

ANOTHER ALLURANCE MOMENT AND I’M LIVING!! Lance cares so much for Allura and supports her in every way he can. Allura’s magic is back and it’s beautiful!! I love Princess Allura!!

Allura: “Thank you, Lance.” Lance: “That was all you.”

MY HEART

GOD KEITH’S ALMOST SACRIFICE FUCKED ME UP SO BAD

ONLY MATT AND THE REBELS WOULD HAVE SEEN HIS DEATH

FUCKING CHRIST HE DIDN’T EVEN TELL TEAM VOLTRON

AFTER LEAVING TO GO WITH THE B:ADES THERE’S THIS SAD FACE HE MAKES AND THIS IS NOT THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR HIM OK

HE ALREADY HAS ABANDONMENT ISSUES AND NOW HE’S PUSHING THEM AWAY EVEN MORE, TO THE POINT WHERE HE’S FULLY WILLING TO SACRIFICE HIMSELF. HE’S NOT SUICIDAL BUT BELIEVES THEY’D BE FINE WITHOUT HIM LIKE 

I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE THANKFUL FOR LOTOR

After rewatching it, I like this season a lot more. It’s pretty good! Now I’m off to read meta posts about Keith.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 44. In which a wolf struggles against taming

Read the full fic on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (desktop)

The horses were exhausted by the time they finally stopped for the night. They were only a half-day's ride out now, and Solas nearly growled with anticipation. These mages, these fiends who had taken his friend, they would pay for their insolence.

"It's going to be alright, Solas. We'll get there. We just need to let the horses rest for a few hours."

Solas gave her a tight smile. "I know, lethallan. It's just... hard to be easy when you know a friend is in danger."

She gave him a sympathetic smile as she removed the saddle and groomed her horse. Solas did the same. Then she began gathering sticks and twigs to start a fire.

"I could just cast a warming spell over us if you like."

Evana paused to look at him strangely. "You can do that while you sleep?"

"It's a spell I developed for sleeping in cold places when I'm exploring the Fade. Much like a ward, once cast, it will remain in effect for several hours. Long enough for us to get some sleep. The only problem is that the area of effect is... rather small. It would require us to sleep closely."

She looked down, and he could practically feel her discomfort. After a small pause, he started helping her pick up branches.

"Or, we could build a fire."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Ma serannas, lethallin."

Solas merely tilted his head. He berated himself for feeling disappointed. It was ridiculous. But as the days and weeks marched on, his affection for her only seemed to grow - and all this despite the unmistakable fact that she had been claimed by their commander. He'd been surprised by her attraction to a shemlen, but he'd been more surprised that she'd acted on it. It wasn't his place to judge, though. Neither was it his place to keep her warm at night.

It didn't mean he didn't want to.

With the flick of her wrist, fire burst to life between her fingers, and she lit the branches they'd collected in a pile in the middle of the clearing. Soon a blazing fire fought back the dark chill of the night, and they threw out their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire. The horses stood nearby, dining on withered grasses as far as out as their tethers would allow. Solas and Evana then walked around the perimeter setting wards so they wouldn't need to take watches.

They settled down, and Solas expected to fall asleep immediately. The crackle of the fire, however, kept him just on the edge of sleep. He opened his eyes to see her facing him, eyes closed in apparent slumber. Because they typically used tents when traveling as a group, Solas had never had an opportunity to study her features so closely. Now, however, with her slumbering face slack and open to him, he found himself memorizing her features. The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that had grown more pronounced since they'd spent more time outside. The soft, natural purse of her lips. The slight upturn of her thin nose.

He wasn't sad that she'd chosen another. Not really. Even if he'd given in to his early feelings and attempted to woo her, he wouldn't have been able to stay with her. His mission was too important. He must retrieve the orb from Corypheus, no matter the cost, and she offered him his best chance. That she also happened to turn his head around and muddle his brain was of no consequence. It merely revealed his weakness.

He forced his eyes to close and gradually slipped into the Fade.

 **

 Excitement built inside him as Solas realized he'd never traveled this part of the Fade before. Here in the Dales, there were many ancient memories of elves and wars and marches. Although he loved seeing the here and now, the "then" of every new location was a never ending well of new memories, secrets and explorations. The knowledge of his friend in danger, however, tempered the excitement.

Nevertheless, he stood on a pathway and let the memories slip past him, sifting through the ones he might want to step into. As he watched the ghosts of scenes change before him, a snippet of a faint but alluring tune caught his ear. Memories forgotten in favor this new mystery, he turned to follow a path behind him, and the voice grew louder - and more familiar - as he approached. He crested a hill and, as he'd expected, found Evana lying on a grassy river bank, singing an old elven tune to herself. The melody differed slightly from what he remembered, but her voice rang out confident and beautiful. She appeared to be in her traditional Dalish robes, and her silver hair spilled out behind her in a halo as she absently mangled a stalk of prairie grass in her fingers. She seemed unaware of his presence, and the secrets of the Dales slipped by him unnoticed as he focused on her completely.

Solas had observed her several times as they dreamed side-by-side during their travels, but he'd only interacted with her once shortly after they arrived at Skyhold. In the dream ruins of Haven, they'd spoken of his time watching over her after she had been spit out of a Fade rift but before she'd regained consciousness. Then she'd cornered him about a turn of phrase, a careless use of the word felt, and his world had shifted yet again, only for her to end by calling him a good friend - the first time she'd used the word in reference to him. Then he'd blurted out how much she threw him off, affected him, and essentially pushed her out of the dream to cover his lack of composure. He had not attempted to find her in the Fade since then.

Even now, he knew he should leave, but he always felt a little bolder in the Fade. He also trusted her forthrightness. If she didn't want to speak with him in her dream, she would tell him.

The sun hung high in the sky and became clearer as he walked more fully into her dreamscape. All at once, the sounds of summer surrounded him - the buzz of insects, the gurgle of the river and her voice now humming the tune instead of singing. She turned her eyes to him as he neared her, and a brief look of confusion passed over her face.

"It is me, lethallan," he assured her in a quiet voice. "I heard you singing and came to listen. You have a wonderful voice."

She blushed but remained lying in the grass. He took it as a sign of her comfort and relaxed a bit himself.

"I... I know," she replied. "I felt you, but..." After a moment, she shook her head and gestured to the space next to her. "Will you not sit with me?"

A slight shock of surprise rippled through him at her admission, but outwardly, he simply smiled and sat down next to her. "Certainly."

"You've never visited me in the Fade while we're traveling," she finally explained. "Wouldn't you rather be out there searching for more secrets?"

"I would, but..." Solas felt a strange need to be as honest with her as possible. He couldn't about everything, but in this one thing... "It feels wrong to enjoy the pleasures of discovering new memories and places when my friend is in distress."

"Then you'll stay and keep me company?"

Solas smiled again. It was always so easy to do around her.

"Of course. I do have some questions for you, if I may?"

She gave him a surprised look but then smiled. "I'll answer them as best I can. What would you like to know?"

He took a moment to glance around him. She had not really changed the geography of their location, only a true dreamer could do that - but she had made it still, more real. The sun felt warm on his face and the grass slightly damp as he leaned back on his palms.

"What were you like before the anchor? Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?"

"I don't believe so, but - I'm not sure how I would know if it had."

"Ah. Yes. That is an excellent point."

"Why do you ask?"

Solas sighed almost imperceptibly. "You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected."

Evana looked away from him, a slight tinge of pink forming on her cheeks. "I don't think of myself as different from anyone."

That frustrated him. Modesty did no one any good. Perhaps she truly didn't see it?

"Not in the form of your body, no. Most people are predictable, but you have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours... have I misjudged them?"

Evana sighed. "I certainly don't hold the Dalish up as perfect. Most of the Dalish I know care more about impressing other hunters with a good shot or talking about how awful humans are. They care little for knowing the truth."

"But you would know the truth, even if it conflicted with what you had been raised to believe?"

"I don't know that I ever truly believed the things I was raised with - especially not after my first meeting with other clans at the Arlathvhen. When we come together, all we do is fight over whose version of the truth is ‘right.' How can we hold up our old ways when we don't try to reconcile these legends with real history? What do we have but glorified bedtime stories? That's why I tried to read as much from non-elven writers as possible, even though it eventually caused... trouble. My version - my understanding of elven history - is much different than that of my clan. And you have only added to that knowledge, lethallin. For all that you have shown me, I thank you."

It was a moment before he could respond. Her answers, her insight into the world, her practicality all clashed with what he'd come to know of modern elves. When he finally spoke, he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Perhaps that is it, then. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world... but not you."

"So what does this mean to you?"

Thoughts roiled through his mind as warmth bloomed in his chest. It frustrated him that she could have this effect on him. Why did she have to be so intriguing? So unique? He wanted to kiss her as she lay there on the grass, but even at his bravest, here in the Fade, he wasn't so foolish as to think it would be welcomed. She had gone out of her way to demonstrate friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. He looked away from her eyes. Those familiar eyes. The eyes that reminded him of a time long past.

"It means that I will always respect you, Evana, no matter what may happen in the future."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sit up slowly, a concerned look on her face. "Does... does this have anything to do with the secret you hold?"

Solas turned quickly to look at her, a sliver of panic running through him. But her calm demeanor told him he had nothing to fear.

"Yet another example of your discernment and wisdom. Yes, in a way, it does. Once our work is done, I must continue, alone, on my own journey. I cannot say more."

Her eyes bore into him, and for the first time in eons, Solas had a strong urge to confide his secrets in this uncommon elven spirit. It would be a mistake, but it was one he almost wished to make. With her by his side...

No. What I have to do must be done alone. Once they recovered the orb from Corypheus, he must take it and leave the Inquisition.

In another moment, her face had turned from concerned to accepting. "I understand. Each of us has a path. We may not choose it, but it is ours to walk, regardless. Mine is with the Inquisition until I'm no longer needed."

The urge to kiss her, especially now that she sat so close to him, grew stronger. He forced himself to look away from her and out across the river.

"Yes."

A long pause settled between them before she spoke again. Her voice was small and hesitant.

"I know you said you'd rather not right now, but maybe some other time, you could show me how you walk the Fade - how to find the memories?"

He felt the warmth in his chest grow. "I don't feel right walking and enjoying the Fade, but teaching you to safely engage with memories would not be a conflict. Come, lethallan."

He saw the familiar spark of excitement in her eye as she stood and looked up at him. That ardor for learning was one of the many things that endeared her to him. They spent the remainder of their dreaming hours wandering the Fade together. Solas showed her how he let go of the concrete to allow the memories to take shape around him. She had trouble with this at first, but at his coaxing and direction, she gradually began to point out slivers of memories. Solas then showed her how to focus on a memory so she could watch it play out before her or even step into the memory itself. For this first foray, he deliberately chose the benign memories. Perhaps if they traveled together again, he would let her go deeper into the memories. Deeper memories, however, carried more risk of running into demons, and he warned to not go too far on her own.

After many hours, Solas felt the tug of wakefulness. He turned to find that Evana had disappeared, so he closed his eyes and willed himself to wake. His eyes opened to see her staring at him over the dying fire, frost catching on the tips of her strangely dark lashes. A gleam in her eye and the slight smile on her face spoke her gratitude, and he warmed under her attention. But the smile faded as she sat up.

"Ma serannas, Solas. Once again, you have been my guide in learning more about our world."

"Any time, lethallan."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, and then her face fell further into a look of concern as her eyes turned up into the darkened sky. A faint hint of light played at the eastern horizon.

"Dawn approaches," she murmured. "We should break camp."

Solas disarmed the wards as Evana mixed some heated water with dried porridge. To simplify, they both ate out of the same small bowl, taking turns tipping the bowl up for a bite. Then, they quickly saddled their horses and set out west.

They rode for several hours until the trees began to thin out and large rock formations jutted out of the ground. It was nearly midday when they finally reached the location Solas thought they would find his friend. As they approached, a purplish light shone over a small hill. He dismounted and began running. He crested the hill to find a giant pride demon bound in a small clearing.

"My friend!"

Evana gasped and turned to him. The sadness in her face mirrored his own.

"The mages turned your friend into a demon."

Solas could only growl out a, "yes."

"You said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter."

He was beside himself. Although he knew he'd regret it later, he couldn't help his angry tone.

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose."

Evana nodded in understanding. "So they summoned it for something opposed to its own nature, and it was corrupted. Fighting, maybe?"

As they spoke, a man in mage robes approached them. Solas could barely hold back his anger. If he were at his full power...

"Let us ask them!" he growled.

The mage spoke before Evana could. "Mages! You're not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We've been fighting that demon..."

Solas thought his head might explode. "You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose."

"I- I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can-"

Solas seethed through his teeth. "We're not here to help you."

Evana held up a hand to the mage. "A word of advice? I'd hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here."

The mage threw his hands up. "Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle-"

He'd had enough. "Shut. Up. You summoned it to protect you from the bandits."

Finally, the mage hung his head. "I- yes."

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned." He turned to Evana, the realization dawning on him. "It's the summoning circle. If we break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon."

The mage became panicked. "What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now."

Solas turned to Evana. "Inquisitor... Evana, please."

She placed her hand on his arm briefly, reassurance permeating her tone. "I've studied rituals like these. I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly."

Solas breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. We must hurry!"

But she was already off and running toward the demon as the mage ran in the opposite direction. Solas took a very brief moment to admire her courage and skill as they quickly destroyed the bindings holding the pride demon while dodging the giant's lightning attacks. As the final binding tower was destroyed, he watched as the demon dissolved into his familiar friend, wisdom. He crouched down before his friend, holding back tears as he spoke.

"Lethallin, ir abelas."

"I'm not sorry. I'm happy. I'm me again. Ma melava halani. Now you must endure. Guide me into death."

Solas had to look away. This isn't how it's supposed to be! Wisdom must endure, not die at the hands of bumbling fools! Finally, he looked back at his friend.

"Ma nuvenin."

He raised his hands and concentrated on guiding wisdom to the next stage, whatever that might be. The spirit's form gradually fell away in the wind until he was left staring at the river bank beyond. Wisdom was dead.

"Dareth shiral, ma falon."

He could feel Evana's presence behind him, but she said nothing. He was again overwhelmed by how much he'd come to trust and rely on her guidance. She held the wisdom in his life now. Finally, he rose from the ground and turned to her. Her eyes glistened with tears as she spoke.

"I heard what it said. It was right. You did help it."

Solas hung his head. "And now, I must endure."

She approached him and placed her hand on his arm. Her touch burned him, and yet he craved more. A deep longing to pull her into an embrace rolled through him. Her soft, kind words did nothing to alleviate the desire.

"Let me know if I can help."

"You already have, lethallan."

He gave her a wane smile, but as he looked over her shoulder, he suddenly saw the mages responsible for this mess, for killing his friend. Fury burst into a flame within him, but he kept his voice a low growl.

"All that remains now is them."

The mages approached now and the same man they'd spoken to before stepped forward. "Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

He'd barely finished speaking before something snapped inside Solas. These fools would pay. They could not be allowed to continue summoning innocent spirits! He stalked toward them threateningly.

"You! You tortured and killed my friend!"

The mage cowered before him and Solas reveled in the power. This was familiar. This was right. But the mage was speaking again. Why did it keep speaking?

"We didn't know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!"

Uncaring, Solas raised his staff and began an immolation spell. They would burn for this. Somewhere behind him, though, a soft voice cut through his rage.

"Solas..."

He froze, breath coming in short gasps. One more twist of his wrist and they would be gone... but he dropped his staff to his side instead. The spell fizzled with only a slight shimmer in the air indicating the power he could have unleashed on them. His voice, filled with every ounce of venom he could manage, spit out the only words he could think of.

"Never. Again. If I ever hear of you summoning spirits again, I will find you. And I will kill you."

The mages turned and ran, and part of Solas wanted to run after them, to strike them down. But her soft presence held him steady. The rage, however, had not been quenched. He couldn't even turn to face her.

"I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold."

And without another word, he mounted his horse and rode away from her. She could not help him now.