#anyway. this is why I said he's like a magpie or a crow :3

[cloud-the-forgotten]

Going further into the "Galacta Knight likes shiny things" post, there are shiny things he won't go near.

Things that are shiny and pink? Avoided. Crystals, jewels, and gems? Avoided. Things that are shiny but clear/see-through (like glass, mirrors, etc.)? Avoided. Shiny rocks are on thin ice.

Coins, glitter pens, and other shiny things though? Those are fair game to him >:D

(One time Prince Fluff gave Galacta some shiny beads! Galacta immediately decided he was his friend and gave him glitter pens in return ^-^)

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Younger Gods: III

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Dangerous magic and old friends lay the foundation of a fate foretold, and Morpheus spends too much time in the library.

Warnings: language, briefly referenced suicidal ideation, self-neglect/harm, extreme sleep deprivation, Dream is still his own damn warning

A/N: First - THANK YOU ALL. Seriously. You're amazing, I love you, and I'm working on catching up on comments. Now for the bad news. Ya'll broke chapter 2. Like, literally. I went to edit the tags list and Tumblr said nope. Imagine a small, family car with dozens of people stacked inside and hanging off the roof. It just won't go. The chapter also didn't show up in the story tags, at least whenever I checked. So...

*The taglist is officially discontinued*

I am making that up with something special, though, so make sure to read the A/N at the end!

Chapter 3: Darker Fates

“Gracious, darling, you look dreadful.”

She collapsed into the rickety café chair. Across the laminate table sat her oldest friend. Her one friend. And she immediately wondered how much to tell him. Only two days stood between her and her involuntary trip down memory lane, between her and the Sandman. She’d seen dark birds from the corner of her eye once or twice, but they always turned out to be crows and magpies. That didn’t mean Matthew wasn’t following her, of course.

She hadn’t escaped the consequences of her actions yet, and she didn’t want to drag one of the precious few people she cared about into the muck.

“What happened to your courtly manners?”

“What happened to your face?” He shuddered delicately, burying the real concern she caught in his sharp grey eyes with dramatics. Signaling the waitress behind the counter, he added, “We’ll need another pot of tea, please.”

The woman blushed and hurried off to fill the order. Doubtless, he’d been flirting while he waited. Damn silver fox. Although he was over one thousand years old, he wore it well. His greying curls and tidy beard looked playful rather than unkempt.

“Do you have what I need?”

He nodded. “Tea’s on it’s way.”

“Not the damn tea, Taliesin.”

The twice-born bard sucked on his teeth, glancing from the front windows to the back counter. Only spilled coffee stains and a sticky smear of jam occupied the other tables. He acted like this kind of deal might draw attention, and he had good reason to think twice about handling magical items in public, but no one cared what two people meeting up at two in the afternoon in a cheap café shared over a cup of tea.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, stoppered bottle. The liquid inside moved like tar, oozing up the side of the glass as Taliesin angled it in the light. Even caution couldn’t banish his instincts as a showman.

“Understand.” He looked her in the eye, his scintillating smile packed away for a stone glower. “This is a cruelty, not a blessing. Now, I won’t ask why you need it. I wouldn’t insult you like that. But it’s my responsibility to tell you this is a bad idea.”

She could think of worse.

Before she could explain herself, the waitress pranced over with the tea. She set the pot between them and provided a fresh cup and saucer. Taliesin grinned, winked, and sent her on her way again with a word of thanks.

“One day your philandering will get you into trouble, old man.”

He sniffed and poured the tea, adding the slightest splash of milk, just the way she liked it. “I never begin something from which I cannot safely extricate myself. And, besides, a little teasing will make her day.”

He slid the cup across the table, and she wrapped her hands around the porcelain to drink in the heat through her chilly palms. She couldn’t seem to stay warm these past few weeks. Anyway, tea wasn’t what she’d come to drink.

“Will it keep me awake forever?”

“Nothing is forever. Nothing you can taste, touch, or smell.” He sounded both chiding and nostalgic. “But this will last seven years and seven days.”

“Good enough. What do you want in exchange?”

Tutting, he tucked the potion back in his jacket, and she sagged in her seat. “Tea first. I have grand and patronizing cautions to give.”

She lifted the cup, maintaining eye contact as she took the biggest, loudest slurp she could manage. It tasted nice, and its warmth felt even better in her stomach and throat than it had on her skin. Why did the bastard have to be right about everything?

The twinkle in his eye suggested he knew what station the train of her thoughts had left, and he slurped from his own cup in merry retaliation.

“First,” he licked a drip from his mustache, “and foremost: this is vile magic. It doesn’t gift wakefulness – it steals rest. The fae designed it with little prisoners like you in mind, to be taken in spaces where time melts and enchanted food will cheat the body’s need for sleep. Since – I dare presume – you do not have those safeguards, this could kill you.”

He left the words to sink in, trying to scare her off the purchase. When she reached out to see if he knew someone willing to make this potion, he’d leapt at the opportunity himself. It was his way of protecting her, and it gave him a chance to interfere with what he clearly saw as self-harm.

Since she wasn’t sure she could survive another nightmare like the one Dream hauled her through, she’d take her chances with death by her own hand.

“Consider me warned, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Taliesin bowed his head over his teacup, groaning. Any fantasies that he could talk her off her current path finally cracked. “You really are stubborn, rain cloud.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, no. That you found all your own.” His smile grew back, wan but alive. His hand settled on the table, palm up, and she abandoned her tea to settle her hand over his.

“Just promise,” he said with a gentle squeeze, “that if you feel anything going off, if you even suspect something’s wrong, you’ll call your old friend Taliesin. Okay?”

She squeezed back, trying to smile for him, but she was too tired to make the expression stick. “Okay.”

Nodding to himself, he echoed the agreement again, “Okay,” and reached into his pocket. He slipped the bottle between their joined hands, and she pulled away to put it in her sweater.

“What do you want in return?”

“Well!” He smacked the table with both hands, grinning in a way that promised trouble. “I thought long and hard about it, but rather than jewels, or secrets, or power, I think what I would most like from a lovely young storm god is…” He paused, glancing meaningfully out the window at the dreary, grey-yellow afternoon. “A walk in the rain with my favorite little cloud.”

He sounded so damn happy about it he infected her with the feeling. It was nice to be needed. Wanted. Even if she’d just lied to his face.

A friendly rain gathered and fell as Taliesin got up to pay the bill. He left the waitress looking pleased with herself – and probably a generous tip. Then he came to meet his rain cloud at the door. An umbrella appeared from some hidden pocket and he grinned, holding out his elbow for her to link arms with him.

“I always come prepared,” he bragged as they stepped out into the shower.

“You say that like you don’t live in Wales.”

“I never said you were the only thing I came prepared for.”

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

Given the mother’s name to track, Lucienne did eventually find the record of the little storm god’s dreams, but they were useless to Morpheus. He studied the handful of pages warped by the curse she wore around her neck with mounting frustration. Apart from reports of which nightmares feasted on her pain during her brief, forced rests, they gave him nothing.

Her mother’s dreams proved more illuminating. They, at least, gave him a line of inquiry to follow.

The woman dreamed about her child from the moment it was born, from the minute the father tore her away to trade. The mother wandered endless rooms, following a crying child’s voice while she slept. She dreamed of little coffins and wailing infants she couldn’t find in nurseries dripping with gore.

Arcane shapes and dead languages shadowed her sleeping hours as she learned magic. In the waking world, she became a capable witch. There, as in the Dreaming, every hope and wish bent to finding her baby.

She never gave up her pursuit.

But in the end, it was the daughter who found the mother.

Her favorite dream grew out of a memory. A rainy afternoon, a crack of lightning, and a knock on the door. A painfully thin teenager stood on the steps, dripping in a thunderstorm, looking up with wondering eyes. If Morpheus had any doubts as to the girl’s identity, the scars around her neck put them to rest. She still had blood in her hair, rusty smudges caught in the grooves of old scars, fresh hurts and healed wounds calling to the mother’s instinct to protect and care for.

Although she had plenty of nightmares about losing her daughter again – finding her bed empty, losing her in a crowd – the nature of her somnolescent musings shifted. Softened.

And a familiar face came to call. The Welsh bard, Taliesin, whom the demi-god child kept safe at the cost of her hands, brought little gifts to the old woman and her young daughter. His winks brought warm flushes to the mother’s dreams, and she rested easier at night knowing that her little girl would not be entirely alone in the end.

She had sacrificed ten years of her life to a fairy bargain that won her nothing but a hand-sized portrait of her baby girl during her long search. By the time the child returned, her mother had grown old. They only had twelve years together before the lost child lost her mother.

The woman died. The record ended. But Dream knew where to look next.

Abandoning his throne for the library, he wrestled against a growing sense that he was running out of time. Time for what? Time for whom?

He was still Dream of the Endless. He still had a realm and billions of dreamers to manage. The puzzle of the storm god who brought home his raven lingered like a toothache, but he could not abandon his responsibilities. Determined as he may be to remove the golden collar from both the Dreaming and the dreamer, the curse had lingered for decades without disturbing anything significant.

It had been months since he picked through her dreaming mind to discover more about her – more about the curse. Only now, as the things settled back into a comfortable kind of order, could he indulge his curiosity, his side-quest as Death mockingly called his interests. And he was more than interested. The longer the questions lingered, the more of his attention they consumed.

Perhaps it was the crossroads. The Fates said he’d already pushed the storm god towards a darker fate, but they never said it was too late to change that course, and the three often left the most important truths unsaid.

If only he knew what to look for. Perhaps that was why he spent so much time and energy researching the collar. It gave him a target. Without it, he felt like a dreamer caught in a pitch-black nightmare, groping blindly for anything with which to reclaim the light.

But he did not have to search alone.

“Lucienne.”

His librarian looked up from a stack of new, peering over the rim of her spectacles. “Did the mother’s dreams help you find what you needed, my lord?”

“In part. Though I need another volume.” He handed over the two records, the mother’s dreams and the storm god’s. Lucienne set down her tower of work and went to shelve the two immediately. They slotted beside each other, the mother’s name in curling script, the daughter’s blank.

“You know,” Lucienne said, “I only found the nameless one’s record because the mother’s kept reshelving itself with the daughter’s book. I fixed it twice before I realized. It’s rather sweet.” She sighed. “If vexing. What volume do you require, my lord?”

Morpheus spared the books another glance, wondering how much of the mother’s arcane studies had influenced her history of dreams. But she’d given him all she could, and now he must turn to the living for answers. “The bard Taliesin’s records, and anything else we have on his history.”

“That is more a section than a collection, lord.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t his first time encountering the bard. “I may need to speak with him, but he will be loathe to leave a story once he is introduced. I’d prefer to find answers in the records. Will you help me?”

“Of course. Give me a moment.” Lucienne paused. “Give me several moments, please, my lord.”

On Lucienne’s first trip, she retrieved the official record of Taliesin’s dreams. He’d lived a long life, and he dreamed vibrantly. The tome was several feet thick, and the library echoed when the librarian set it on the table.

“Thank you, Lucienne.”

“I’ll fetch the rest, sir.”

Taliesin’s early works, recorded on parchment and scrolls, sat between books published under a dozen nom de plumes in later centuries. When the librarian returned with a cart stacked high with history books referencing and theorizing over the man and his myth, Morpheus excused her.

“These should suffice, Lucienne. I will let you know if I do not find my answers here.”

“Of course, sir.” She brushed dust from her immaculate coat, checking the sleeves, before folding her hands neatly behind her back. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Already buried in the works of Taliesin’s unconscious mind, he shook his head. “Not at this time.”

She bowed and left. The library would be chaos without her. He could remember when it was. It was no mean feat, organizing a universe of stories. It made her wise in ways he had only just begun to appreciate.

The man whose dreams he searched enjoyed other kinds of wisdom. He’d gained a third of the world’s knowledge by accident, but he’d spent the better part of his life learning the other two thirds by choice. Advisor to kings, story-weaver, and a natural mage, he had the wisdom and craft to recognize some of the magic wrought into the storm god’s collar. He’d tried to take it off when they first met, and he studied for a means to free her after his escape.

Morpheus wanted to know what the bard found.

However, though his dreams in the past few decades often welcomed a shade of the storm god to play out adventures and tragedies as part of a colorful cast, Taliesin’s attention did not linger on the curse. It was little more than a bright shadow that pricked his conscience.

He sat back in the chair, glowering at the books that had failed him.

It seemed every whisper of progress led to more questions in this riddle, and not for the first time, he wished the library could offer more insight to the happenings of the waking world. He should not need to ask for help so often.

At least, unlike the storm god, the bard embraced his dreams. Like all great storytellers, he had explored his fantasies and fears ravenously. When he next slept, Morpheus would pry loose some answers. It shouldn’t be difficult. The bard dearly loved the sound of his own voice.

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

Taliesin presided over a court of housecats.

He was aware enough to know the royal courtiers of Edward II did not, originally, have literal claws, but it made perfect sense in the moment. Edward and Gaveston were in the corner, playfully wrestling – maybe – while Isabella stalked closer with murder in her vertical pupils.

“This is not the way,” he huffed, plucking a kitten from the mob joining ranks behind Isabella, a gorgeous tortoise-shell with no interest in his opinion. The kitten sprang spread-eagle back to the floor.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

His favorite idiot, his little rain cloud, curled under the steps to the dais. She’d found herself, once again, where she did not belong, and if her eyes didn’t reflect the torches set around the room, he never would’ve known she was there. It was the wrong court altogether, but she had a talent for trouble and a gift for surprises.

Dropping to his knees, he reached under the wooden platform to coax her out. She’d become a fetching little half munchkin, half Norwegian forest cat caught in the lanky middle ground between kitten and grown cat. A menace, to be sure, but too cute to ignore.

“Come out and play with your friends,” he said as she wriggled even farther out of reach. “It isn’t good to hide all the time. You need to do some seeking, too, lovee.”

But she was very determined and his arms just weren’t long enough, so he manifested a trail of nibbles to catch her attention. He could be patient. He could be tricksy. Good friends, he firmly believed, should be both, because sometimes people were just too stupid or too stubborn to accept the help they obviously needed.

He sat up to kneel below the empty thrones and clapped his hands on his thighs.

Well. He’d done what he could for now. Across the room, poor Gaveston was learning the price of being a king’s favorite. The yowls and cries almost distracted him to the point he didn’t see the massive black Maine Coon stalk into the throne room. The cat’s eyes glowed, both literally and metaphorically. In his kneeling position, Taliesin actually had to look up to see those eyes, and he gulped, wondering if he was about to be eaten.

“I have questions for you, bard.” The cat spoke with authority in a voice like honeyed night.

Taliesin recognized it, though it hadn’t come from a cat before, and he dismissed all thought of stupid whot, why, what, how demands.

It may be his imagination at work, but it was not his realm.

“Dream King.” He bowed. Then he remembered he was dreaming and squinted at the cacophonous mess of the long-dead king’s feline transformation. “Ah. This makes so much more sense.”

The cats blinked out of existence, or at least out of his dream, and he sat back on his heels. The stone chamber grew quiet. A plaintive meow from beside the stops, however, proved not all the cats had gone. The junior cat approached and let him sweep her into his arms, even purring when he scratched under her chin.

Still aware of the Endless – no longer in cat-form  – Taliesin allowed himself a moment to enjoy this imagined pleasure. The little storm god made an adorable ball of fur. “You’d never make this so easy in the waking world, would you?”

She sized his finger with claws and teeth to prove she wasn’t easy in any world.

“There is unwelcome magic in the Dreaming.” The Nightmare King didn’t wait for Taliesin’s focus, confident as any monarch that his words would be heard, that the listener would take note and action. “You have studied it.”

Taliesin nodded, taking his word for it and stroking his friend the kitten as he picked through his long memory for anything of interest to the King of Dreams. “I have studied many shapes of magic, lord.”

“This one is close to you.”

Some darker note in the Dream King’s voice snagged Taliesin’s ear, and he looked away from the cat to study his face. Lips bent in a frown, brows pinched, the king had his starry eyes pinned to the creature in the bard’s arms. Taliesin looked back down to see a phantom of the collar growing around the kitten’s neck. She writhed against it, mewling in pain, staring up at him like he could do anything to help her.

He’d tried, and he’d tried again. He still hadn’t given up entirely.

Couldn’t the poor thing’s shade at least find relief in his dream?

She scratched him in her fit, and he bundled her closer, pinning her fast and safe as he’d failed to do when she was small and alone and willing to suffer in his stead. Even if he couldn’t free her, he’d never abandon her.

The truth of the matter struck him. He felt the cat shudder against his heart when she’d been so calm and accepting a moment ago, and he knew.

“So, you’ve met my favorite idiot.”

“Yes.”

The word betrayed nothing, not how they met, not how he felt. But he wanted to banish the collar once and for all, and Taliesin could get on board with that.

“It’s fairy-make,” he said. “Broken in the waking world, but still manifests in the Dreaming.”

“I know. What I do not know is why. What terms closed the circle around her neck? It appeared to suppress her godly half in life.”

Taliesin tried to cradle the cat even closer without suffocating her. “If you do not mind my asking, lord, how do you know even that much?”

“I saw it,” the king said, casually, like it wasn’t one of the worst things the bard had ever heard, “in her dreams, in her recollection of the past.”

Closing his eyes, the bard took a deep, deep breath in through his nose. He had to hold it for a minute, because it desperately wanted to leave his throat with a string of curses Dream of the Endless would not enjoy. When he was sure he could exhale without heaping abuse on the dolt’s head, he let the breath go. He did it all one more time, and then he said, “I think I understand why she wanted to stay awake.”

Eyes still shut, he murmured to himself, “Why didn’t she tell me? Self-destructive little –”

When he finally looked, the world had changed. Gone was the castle, the throne, and the sweet little cat from his arms. He’d imagined a cheap bedsit in Cardiff, the kind of place the little storm god may stay on the run – and she was definitely on the run, from nightmares if nothing else.

The young woman lay sprawled in a puddle of moonlight, half dead, and fading fast. Her skin clung to her bones, eyes sunken, old wounds open and bleeding from malnutrition and scurvy.

The empty potion bottle sat on the windowsill.

Dream of the Endless studied the scene with clear interest, and Taliesin beat down his protective urges in the name of pragmatism. If she was running from Lord Morpheus, she wouldn’t turn to Taliesin for help when the potion dragged her to the brink of death. It wouldn’t be a life lesson she could grow through. It would be a life ended.

“She came to me a few months ago,” he said, hoping the Endless would care enough about the woman shackled to the curse to consider her in his grand schemes. “She wanted a potion to stave off sleep. I told her it was dangerous, and I thought she’d come to me for help soon, that I could teach her something, but –”

The body on the floor laid so still. How many months had it been? How close was this nightmare to reality?

“I said her dreams would be kinder when she next slept,” the king murmured.

He didn’t have to say he didn’t understand.

Taliesin crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Someone, at least, would learn something this night. “Well, she’s a storm, isn’t she? She isn’t capable of moderation. When she’s happy, she’s ecstatic. When she’s angry she’s electric. When she’s afraid she is very, very afraid. And she’s terrified of you.”

Dream looked over his shoulder at the bard, still looming beside the dying phantom.

“I neither wish nor intend her harm.”

“You don’t have to intend harm to hurt her.”

The Endless fully turned to him, and the bard spoke with all the confidence of being truly heard. Just as the king did upon entering this dream. “You, I presume, dug very deep in a very dark place. That hurt her. Frightened her. If you push her far enough she’ll chew off her own leg to get away, or didn’t you see the part where she nearly decapitated herself to escape the damn collar?”

Silence filled the room. An ugly, cheap place to die. Taliesin wondered how long it would take to find her if she really had gone to ground. He couldn’t trust the King of Dreams to care about anything beyond the Dreaming’s borders, and he wouldn’t trust her health with the one who pushed her to ruin in.

He had spells to find her, but he wasn’t sure he could hold her if she went into a panic.

In the stillness, they could hear her death rattle.

“What will your potion do to her?”

His potion. Yes, he supposed it was his fault. The girl really was like a stray cat, hiding under porches to die quietly rather than let someone help. He should’ve known.

“It keeps her awake. Eventually, she’ll feel too ill to eat. She may hallucinate. Her heart will fall out of rhythm and she’ll waste away until her body doesn’t remember how to function.” He smacked his head back into the wall, wanting punishment, hoping to jog some inspired idea free. “I warned her.”

Of all the Endless, and he’d met quite a few, Dream was the most inscrutable. Cold and detached, but prone to dangerous spikes of interest that spiraled into nearly obsessive passion. His vengeance came swiftly and his affection grew slow. But Dream was, usually, just. He didn’t enjoy undeserved suffering, and Taliesin had to hope that after walking through the little storm god’s dreams, he’d understand she’d earned none of her pain.

It wasn’t too late. He’d lost track of time, but a tableau this desperate wouldn’t come to pass for at least a year.

“If you are of a mind to assist, Dream Lord…” He pushed off the wall, suddenly and entirely desperate to move. “I have an idea.”

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

Her fear grew bitter as her strength waned. She could taste it when she struggled to eat, and when she gave up meals, it poisoned the water she drank. Terror tasted like blood from bitten lips and dust on her dry tongue. Her hands shook, and her throat burned from stomach acid, but it wasn’t bad enough to call on Taliesin again. She knew what he’d say.

Whatever happened, she would not fall asleep.

Besides, she wasn’t dying yet. She was only sick. If the Dream Lord pulled through her bloody history again, she wouldn’t survive. If she had a choice, she’d pick a death in the waking world, free of the collar and safe from the Dream Lord who dragged her through horrors so callously.

She wasn’t convinced he believed in her innocence, either. If he knew he’d threatened someone trying to rescue his damn raven, surely he would’ve apologized.

Better to stay awake and ignore the cramps in her belly.

The rain soothed her. Fitful storms plagued the town she’d chosen as a hiding place, and the old folks grumbled to each other at the grocery store about the weather. Maybe they’d gotten used to it in the past few months. She hadn’t been out in a while.

She didn’t sleep, but she still rested. Her eyelids didn’t grow heavy when she sat by the window and watched the drops racing down the pane. She remained awake, aware, and as close to peace as her racing thoughts allowed.

The window became her favorite pastime, and she spent days studying the changing clouds as angry squalls rolled up the coast, how the grey sky trapped the light during gentler showers.

And she grew weaker. Quietly flirting with the line between sick and deathly ill.

She saw impossible things beyond the glass. It took her a few days to realize they were hallucinations, not a fae spell or some petty apocalypse.

When his reflection appeared behind her in the window, she thought she was seeing things again. And then he spoke.

“You are killing yourself.”

She jerked around, stumbling on numb feet to face the monster. The Nightmare King. Her hand wandered her neck, looking for the collar to prove this was a dream, but she found her scarf instead.

“You are in the waking world,” he confirmed. “You hid yourself well.”

He took a step towards her, and she lunged back. The same game in the wrong realm.

“You still think I’m some kind of threat?”

Another step towards her, another step back – she nearly tripped on the leg of a chair, but she refused to look away for an instant, even to save the scraps of her dignity.

“No.”

He moved the way he spoke, aware of every nuance, every shift, slowly drawing closer. Sure and smooth as a stormfront.

What did he want? She abandoned her home, gave up the precious little sleep she could tolerate, and he still pressed her. He didn’t look angry and cold, like he did on the beach. Something sharp glittered in his eyes, though, a keen edge ready to cut her.

They passed through the living room, through the kitchen, and she only had a few more steps before this slow chase met an abrupt end.

“I’m running out of ground to give, Dream Lord.”

“Good.”

A final step, and her heel met the wall. He closed the distance, keeping the same predator’s pace as she pressed herself flat against the peeling wallpaper.

“Do you want me to fight?” Her growing storm raged. Lightning sheered over the sleepy town, turning the evening bright as noon. Thunder rattled the windows, but the Dream Lord didn’t so much as flinch. “Do you want an excuse to hurt me?”

He stood inches away, eating up her personal space until she felt his shadow had already swallowed her.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” A whisper with the desperation of a scream.

His razor eyes cut deep, and she quaked in place, afraid to move but wishing she could shrink, become so small he wouldn’t notice her.

“To turn you from a darker fate.”

He raised a hand, and she cowered from the expected blow. When none fell, she peeped at him sidelong. His palm hovered between them, like he was holding up a gift.

“Sleep.”

Stooping ever so slightly, he blew over his hand, sending a gust of sand into her face. She bucked against him, flinging one arm up to cover her face, the other to shove at his chest. But it was no good. By the time he curled his fingers back, she could feel her grip on the world slipping away.

“Poor little storm god.”

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall, losing herself by inches to the inescapable lure of the Dreaming and its master.

She slept.

Chapter 4 A/N: I've never done prompt requests, but I've never had 500 FOLLOWERS EITHER (holy shit). I'm celebrating, and you're invited. The rules are a little convoluted, I won't be able to do ALL the things, but you'll all get a say in what makes the cut by voting. To join the fun and check out the rules, go here. Even if you don't join in, there will be one-shots aplenty for you to browse.

I'll be working on a chapter each for my other two active fics while I wait for replies, so you may not see another Younger Gods chapter til next week. For those clamoring for more interaction between the reader and Morpheus, it will be well worth the wait.

[haldenlith]

Season of the Thief extras

I said I might do other stuff, like the dialogue lines and such you hear during missions or the messages you hear at the terminal, so... I am!

Again, super discombobulated and not the most well-thought-out.

First, what happened with Crow when he found the hideout would probably be a lore tab on a seasonal piece of equipment, probably a class item. What went down is here. And, at the very, very end of that post, where everyone “votes” to jokingly make Crow their mascot, I’d put that probably on a sidearm or not-heavy grenade launcher named “Mascot.” Just a short and sweet (and comedic) bit of dialogue, with the flavor text of [“Please stop calling me that.” -- Crow].

Anyway...

Terminal Messages:

These aren’t in any proper and specific order, except for Message 1 obviously would happen before Message 3.

Also, I don’t feel like I did a very good job with Message 2. Characters like Caiatl and Zavala are both incredibly difficult for me to write and do any justice. That said, I feel like Caiatl would definitely have thoughts on this whole situation.

[Message 1]

Crow: “The Eliksni in the Quarter said you’ve never taken anything from them, stolen or even as gifts. Why?”

Ardwynn: “Crow, The Magpies have three tenets, and only three tenets. The first one is ‘do no harm.’ We aren’t into kicking people when they’re already down, and those guys... The Eliksni are the very definition of being downed.”

Crow: “That seems a bit hypocritical when you're perfectly okay stealing from the people of The Last City.”

Ardwynn: “You show me where people are starving, scrounging, scavenging for a shred of happiness and dignity, because I’ve walked those streets a million times, and I haven’t seen it.”

Crow: “People don’t have to be starving, down and out to be suffering.”

[Message 2]

Caiatl: “So we’re allying with common thieves now? Explain to me how this benefits us.”

Zavala: “Unfortunately, it’s an alliance of... convenience.”

Caiatl: “Convenience, or duress?”

Zavala: “[sigh] The situation is not ideal, and The Vanguard does stand to benefit from it more than your Legion. We have a situation, and we are dealing with it.”

Caiatl: “The Concordat, as you call them. Yes, I’ve heard. It would seem we are both having loyalty issues. I could send some Legionnaires to clean them out. Your Guardians have been helping me with my own defectors. It would only be fair.”

Zavala: “I am not sure if I like the idea of having your soldiers slaughter civilians.”

Caiatl: “And yet you’re alright when taking their supplies and starving them.”

Zavala: “Hnn... I don’t like that either...”

[Message 3]

Crow: “Ardwynn, you mentioned that there were three tenets, but you’ve only said one. What are the other two?”

Ardwynn: “‘Never leave empty-handed,’ and... ‘do some good, or die trying’.”

Crow: “Or die trying? I didn’t expect a band of thieves to be so willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.”

Ardwynn: “I didn’t say ‘do some good or sacrifice yourself trying’. I don’t want martyrs. I want my people to be brave enough to face the odds and roll the dice, as opposed to turning tail the second things get a little hot. What we do isn’t exactly safe, after all.”

Crow: “How is that any different? You’re lightless. You know that you’re basically flirting with death, that you might die on each mission, on every attempt to ‘do good.’ You’re still sacrificing yourself.”

Ardwynn: “The difference is we head in with the intention of living to keep doing this over, and over, and over again. We aren’t looking to selfishly throw ourselves into the fire. Live for the good you could do.”

[Message 4]

Ikora: “I can’t help but notice that some of our Guardians seem to be among your ranks.”

Ardwynn: “Ah, they’re more... contractors. They do something for me, I pay them.”

Ikora: “You sound like The Drifter with that.”

Ardwynn: “Do not compare me to that yeehaw snake in the grass. We are not even remotely the same.”

Ikora: “My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Ardwynn: “Partial offense still taken. You know one way you could make amends for this... grievous offense?”

Ikora: “If it’s telling you sensitive information, the answer is still no, Ardwynn.”

Ardwynn: “... Actually, it was more if you’d autograph my book. I actually really liked volume five.”

Ikora: [laughs] “I think that could be arranged.”

[Message 5]

Crow: “You... said something that struck me in that last mission. ‘There’s the hero I’ve been looking for.’ Why... did you say that?”

Ardwynn: “... I’m going to be straight with you, I do see Uldren when I look at you. It’s hard not to.”

Crow: “You and everyone else.”

Ardwynn: “Ah ah, let me finish. I’m not seeing whatever happened with that murdery-Reef nonsense. I’m seeing a man that inspired a boy to be a hero, to try and be great. I shouldn’t have put him on some pedestal, but, you know, kids hold onto things, ideas, and then become adults that keep holding onto those things. I had this strange, astronomically incorrect notion that Uldren was that hero to look up to. Instead he turned out to just be a guard dog on the leash of a lying monarch.”

Crow: “Whatever you’re seeing in me, I’m not him.”

Ardwynn: “Except you are, and I don’t mean the “Prince of the Reef.” I mean that man that told the small child stories, that hero that some idiot little boy looked up to, all starry eyed. You... you’re the Uldren I wish had existed, instead of the one we got.”

Crow: “I don’t think I’m the man you think I am, but thank you.”

Ardwynn: “Crow, the fact you’re saying you’re not, means that you are.”

Mission Banter

[Mission 1]

Ardwynn: “Alright, my people are in position. Go in guns blazing.”

Zavala: “I don’t recall authorizing you to issue orders to Guardians.”

Ardwynn: “C’mooooon. You’re busy enough as it is. I got this.”

Zavala: “Guardian, disregard his... suggestion. Continue onwards to the front of the outpost and plant the explosives. With any luck, it will draw their attention long enough for Ardwynn’s thieves to grab their munitions.”

--

Ardwynn: “Oh, come on! How is that explosion any different than going in guns blazing?! And why did you not tell me there would be explosions?!”

Zavala: “Is there a problem?”

Ardwynn: “Yes! I love causing explosions! But here I am, on comms, sitting around, not getting to have fun. Ugh.”

Zavala: “[SIGH]”

--

Ardwynn: “Hold on, hold on, hold on. Those crates. Those crates right there. Do they have what I think they have on them?”

Zavala: “That’s the Spider’s emblem painted on them.”

Ardwynn: “THAT FOUR-ARMED BASTARD! He’s still alive?! I thought the Queen killed him!”

Zavala: “It would appear so... and he’s arming our adversaries.”

Ardwynn: “I’d be more worried about how close his operations are to the City if I were you, Commander, especially with House Light shacked up with you now. Sooner or later, he’s going to try and put the squeeze on them.”

Zavala: “I will be sure to warn Misraks. In the meantime, good work, Guardian.”

[Mission 2]

Crow: “Guardian, if you can make enough noise, I can slip in with the thieves and grab the intel. Just... try not to wreck too much havoc.”

Ardwynn: “Oh. No one told me you would be the intel-gopher. My crew should be getting quite the moral boost with having our mascot on site.”

Crow: “Please stop calling me that...”

Ardwynn: “I’ll stop for the duration of this mission... if you keep comms open, so I can hear that sultry voice of yours.”

Crow: “... Killing comms. I’ll be on if there’s an issue.”

Ardwynn: “Aww....”

--

Ardwynn: “So uh... change of plans. We have a problem. More than one problem. Those problems have one of those floaty-ma-bobs you guys have. Please deal with those problems quickly. If they notice my guys, we’re toast. We aren’t exactly, uh, equipped to deal with that kind of an issue.”

Crow: “Wait, there wasn’t supposed to be Lightbearers here!”

Ardwynn: “You are still on comms!!”

Crow: “THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS RIGHT NOW.”

Ardwynn: “Mmm... you sound even better when you’re yelling at me.”

--

Crow: “Well, that could’ve gone better. That was... definitely a trap.”

Ardwynn: “Did you still get that intel you guys needed? We got... some goods. There wasn’t much, so I second the whole ‘it’s a trap’ idea. Which to me says... we got a mole.”

Crow: “You think the Concordat planted a spy?”

Ardwynn: “How else would they know exactly when we’d be doing this and have a trap set up?”

Crow: “Maybe what I found will be of some use.”

Ardwynn: “Wait, so they actually were dumb enough to leave something behind even though it was a trap? Woooooow. These guys need lessons in laying traps. So, by the way, after you make your report, you doing anything later? .... Hello? ... Shot down again.”

[Mission 3]

Zavala: “Guardian, we’ll be doing things a little differently. Caiatl has agreed to once again lend her psions for Light suppression. I’d... rather not kill any more Guardians, if we can help it. We’ll take them in and deal with them. Ardwynn, are your people in position? ... Ardwynn?”

Caiatl: “It would seem your King of Thieves has other ideas. Are you sure your Crow should be associating so closely with him?”

Zavala: “We’ll just... have to assume they’re in position and move on. Guardian, you know what to do. Distract the base, and, this time, draw out those Guardians.”

--

Zavala: “The Guardians are in custody, continue with the rest of your mission.”

Ardwynn: “Ooooh, shiny.”

Zavala: “So kind of you to finally grace us with your presence. Wait... are you actually on site?”

Ardwynn: “No.... Yes. Look, I had intel that they had the good loot at this base, so I just went down and had a little look myself. Just to, you know, verify my intel.”

Zavala: “I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference if you’re at your base or on site. I would appreciate it if you didn’t vanish.”

Ardwynn: “Oh, I think you got a handle on this. You’re doing great!”

--

Caiatl: “So tell me, little man. Do you intend to return the things you have stolen from me?”

Ardwynn: “Ah, yeah, about that. See, the stuff I stole back then, before this little alliance, that’s all been distributed to people who actually needed it, and could use those supplies and munitions to defend themselves out here, as opposed to a race of warmongerers.”

Caiatl: “You are as bold as you are foolish. Might I point out that if you're putting weapons in the hands of people outside of the City, it is likely you are the very one that armed this Concordat?”

Ardwynn: “I... I hadn’t... considered that.”

Caiatl: “Perhaps you should consider that the next time you so recklessly distribute weaponry to the masses.”

[sleepymccoy]

Aziraphale’s demon aspect

As voted by 246 people!

The winner is

Owl

with nearly 26% of the primary vote

many people added in their free form answers that they were imagining a barn owl specifically

Owl was the front runner the whole way through this survey, but most of the time by a very beatable margin. The 40 or so people who voted in the last night really tipped it over, it was a tight race! And the results are crazy split imo, a quarter of votes constitutes a win! I love the different opinions and ideas we all have so so much

Ram/sheep came in a hearty second with 16.5% of the vote

A very regal demon there.

After that it gets a little murky, so I’m going to share the second graph I made when is every animal that got more than 1% of the vote. So it’s the top six animals

Magpie and Lion holding strong! Then Moth and Goat looking very good

The second question let you vote for as many options as you thought were appropriate for Aziraphale! So, there were a lot more write-ins! It’s crazy!

I’m using google sheets so I can’t get it to show you every name, but the raw data will be in a read more so you can scroll through everyone’s beautiful imagination there

Again, Owl winds with a solid 20% of the vote. Ram/Sheep coming in with about 15%, followed by Moth, Magpie, Goat, Lion, then Tortoise.

Tortoise was 11th in the first round, tied with Snake (but pale), and managed to surprise me by coming through so strong in the second. Slow and steady, baby.

Nearly everyone who wrote in about Magpies told me that Magpies hoard stuff, so it’s nice to see the hive mind at work there!

Five people told me they were voting goat because of that one piece of art by @hollow-head​ that shows Aziraphale scaling a bookshelf like goats do cliffs. As an artist myself I found it legitimately moving that this one image had stayed with people so strongly. That’s just beautiful. Here’s an example of just one person’s comment

idk dude i just remember one person posted art of him scaling the bookstore shelves like those goats scale mountains and just eating his clothes while he reads it was so fuckin funny but anyway goat eyes are great or he could have lil stubby horns that r covered by his hair

One moth enthusiast took the time to give me a short essay on their choice of moth. I have included a portion of it, cos it was so great

So if I had to choose an insect, it would be a moth, preferably a Megalopygidae, also known as the Flannel Moth. They are fluffy, white-beige and look innocent and fluffy, but their larvae can cause painful inflammations. A poodle moth would also fit because it's almost pure white.

Here’s a flannel moth for everyone

and a poodle moth, which i honestly thought was a hoax but i looked into it just now and it seems legit? There’s not a tonne of proof, but the og pictures are from a scientists who stands by them, so like, wow

And then a DIFFERENT PERSON put this in;

the moth i had in mind is Acherontia atropos, in polish called Zmierzchnica trupia główka (meaning more or less "dusk death's head"). i have a whole symbolism planned out and stuff 

Fucking, moth fandom come through!!

I’m vaguely scared of moths, fun fact. I don’t like the thick thunking sound they make when they hit stuff.

Here is the second round but with all the animals that got four or less votes removed for ease of viewing

the one segment there at 12 o’clock that google hasn’t labeled for me is Swan at 0.9%

I cannot believe I didn’t put swan in as an option, that’s all write-ins

So, to summarise, I suggest you take a lot of this with a grain of salt. It is not meant as an instruction to fandom or to railroad creativity. I have a narrow corner of the Good Omens fandom that I interact with, and while this quiz was up for a week I’m not sure it reached a great variety of people. About 250 folks filled it out, which was tonnes more than I expected and I love each and every one of you for filling it out!! But I have noticed that Owl was first on my list and in the free form answers the example prompt I gave included, “such as a breed of owl that specifically speaks to you,“ so I think it’s possible I did that unknowing bias thing that practiced survey folk know now to do. So, grain of salt.

I also think that if animals like Swan and Cat were in the list of options they’d’ve gotten more votes because the people who voted for those were coming up with it fresh themselves. I suspect people would’ve voted for them, but it just didn’t occur to them in the moment. In much the same way it didn’t occur to me in the moment I was writing this survey.

So people know, I got the ten or so animals that I put in the survey from searching the demon!aziraphale tag on tumblr, so it was all stuff that other people had come up with. I was trying to avoid my own bias, but i think in hindsight i could’ve done better!

Having said all that, this was all so much fun and the results are clear!!! Love a good owl!aziraphale

Imma continue to draw my boy as a ram, though. Cos this was all just for a laugh <3

numbers and a few more things under the cut

So some of these have half a vote ascribed to them. That’s for people who in their freeform answer said things like this;

ngl, that one post about him being a swan still makes me laugh

Mourning Dove. Though that Scallop answer was fucking brilliant

And I kinda made a judgement call that that wasn’t a vote, but it was kind of a vote. So I gave them half a point.

There were a few situations where people would write in a specific species. If I got more than one vote for the root animal I just grouped them together, but if it stayed the only vote then it kept the species. Cat got the most specific species mentioned, and in the second vote Bat had a few species mentioned (albino bat being my fave), but I ended up grouping them all just under Cat and Bat to give them a better chance of getting on the graph. There were probably a few other examples but I can’t think of them. The one exception to this is the person who wrote-in Duolingo Owl specifically. For that one I figured Owl is already pretty solid, and that’s just fucking funny, man

I was also pretty generous about some stuff. So, this person didn’t vote for Moose but they clearly regretted it so I added a vote for Moose in the second one where you could vote for multiples. They kept their Ram and Goat votes, of course, but I added Moose for them

I get very bastard energy from my demon az headcanons. Like f-ing shit up for a laugh more than anything, but otherwise indifferent. That's kinda why I like the ram/sheep/goat thing so much because it reminds me of indifference and random chaos. Or a moose. Shit, I should have written in moose

So yeah, it’s hardly a double blind study that’d stand up to any real criticism, but it was fun and I think the essence of it is fun!! Scroll through and have a read. Imma pull a few more of my fave write-ins and put them down the bottom cos it’s great. Esp the ones that only got one vote, the reasonings were stellar on some of those

Here is the first vote results, where everyone could only vote for one animal each

Owl 63 Ram/Sheep 40 Magpie 28 Lion 26 Moth 21 Goat 17 Swan 4 Eagle 4 Dove 4 Cat 4 Tortoise 3 Snake 3 Scallop 2 Rat 2 Rabbit 2 Mongoose 2 Badger 2 Shima Enaga 1 Shark 1 Porcupine 1 Orangutan 1 Mouse 1 Long Furby 1 Hippopotomaus 1 Goose 1 Duck 1 Dragon 1 Cow 1 Cereberus 1 Boar 1 Bee 1 Bat 1 Alpaca 1

Second Vote results, where everyone could vote for as many as they wanted

Owl1 82 Ram/Sheep 136 Moth 108.5 Magpie 98 Goat 96 Lion 72 Tortoise 61 Snake 37 Eagle 33 Cat 9.5 Swan 7.5 Lizard 4 Rabbit 4 Badger 3 Mongoose 2 Dove 2 Mouse 2 Squirrel 2 Bear 2 Raccoon 2 Capybara 2 Dragon 2 Bat 1 Long Furby 1 Rat 1 Boar 1 Goose 1 Peacock 1 Pangolin 1 Lindworm 1 Moose 1 Chinchilla 1 Duolingo Owl 1 Cackatoo 1 Crow 1 Cow 1 Alpaca 1  Dodo 1 Shark 1 Big Dog 1 Snow Leopard 1 Scallop 0.5

All voting was optional. To help explain how scallop lost 1.5 votes from first to second, I believe the people who voted for it in the first question just skipped the second cos they’d said their bit.

In terms of how many people engaged with the questions, Q1 had 245 answers and one skip. Q2 had 241 answers and 5 skips, and Q3 where I just let people talk at me if they wanted to had 84 answers and 162 skips.

So please enjoy my selection of free form answers. They all made me smile but putting all 84 in seems excessive to me, so I’ve chosen the ones that are either full blown mini essays or that make me laugh. It’s still a lot, this project brought me so much joy

-

Shima enaga - It's the hair man

Cow (aka golden calf)

Scallop. He is a snack.

Swan. Elegant but very capable of fscking you up. Mates for life.

basically anything that is both gentle in nature and fiercely loyal, territorial and protective (but prone to anxiety). Also hedonistic esp. with food. For all of these reasons, I think a dog would be the best choice.

Dragon with his hoard of books

it’s about the teeth. just too sharp and too many to be human. (comment from op here, this person voted for shark, just for context)

Turkish Angora cat. Magnificently fluffy, incredibly intelligent, love heights and will jump off crazy high things and land on your head, gloriously dignified until they see a string and run into a wall, love one or maybe two persons to distraction and want everyone else to fuck off, will drape themselves over their person’s shoulders and go to sleep, range from “will jump in the sea to hunt fish and has a murder pit full of seagulls they’ve massacred” to “will fall over at the sight of a baby bird”, very particular about food and will yell at you if you get it wrong. Also the breed that some asshole took three cats from and bred parent to child to make Persians. The cautionary tale has been acknowledged and we love our crazy smart, single braincelled children.

I usually imagine him as an owl because they are nocturnal (and we know that Aziraphale can easily stay awake the whole night reading). Also the image of an owl puffed up is kind of ridiculous and reminds me of him, of how an annoyed Aziraphale would look. However the options above have made me think that a lion would suit him very well, too. A lion or just a very BIG cat. I mean, he makes pleading eyes to get what he wants, likes to be confortable, is a bit of a bastard and often puts himself in awkward situations from which he needs to be rescued. He just... acts very cat-like in my opinion. Also owls and cats are both predators, but are usually imagined (or, at least cats are) as cute little creatures, just like Aziraphale is an Angel of the Lord (a Warrior, actually) but looks all soft and cute and huggable. I dunno. Maybe I just want to pet an Aziracat.

I love all the other people's thoughts about demon!Aziraphale, but what about the honey badger? I try to explain why I have it in mind for demon!azi: its name (I think it's funny, expecially in English because 'honey' can make you imagine it's something sweet (it is for me), while the 'bad' in badger can be an alarm bell (like 'be careful! It is not like it seems!')); its face (ok, who can say its face isn't cute? I think, and hope, nobody can, and like the name, it is a misunderstanding: as always, be careful, it's not like it seems!, I think demons can say something about demon!azi as like "you don't seem like a 'good' demon, you can't be, your face (animal and human) is too f-ing disgusting sweet to be a demon!", I think maybe even angel!crowley, at the beginning, can think something like this ("how in the world somebody so cute like you can be a demon?"), then he discovered how demon!azi can be a very talented demon sometimes, but in Crowley's mind azi is still his little cutie angry furry); its furry's colour (black=demon, white/grey/silver/idkitsname= color of demon!azi's wings, because even if he fell, I can't say no to his white wings 😭); it is a snake's predator (and in my mind angel!crowley is still a snake); its solitary life (demon!aziraphale is alone and he doesn't mind it, unless it's angel!crowley we're talking about, then our cute demon minds it); its behaviour (demon!azi, even if he's cute, can be a really very talented demon: honey badger is fearless and dangerous, it can fight bigger animals if there aren't other chances and it can't escape); its skin is very tough (except for a soft/safe spot, behind its neck if I remember well, that only angel!Crowley knows and sometimes he uses it to calm demon!azi down or make azi do some good deeds); its diet (it has a sweet-thooth, for honey in primis, but it can eat everything it wants... Doesn't it resemble demon!azi?); it's smart (search for Stoffle on your browser if you don't know)... Ok,I think I finish, sorry for the novel 😅

I tend to think of animals that meet three criteria: (1) they exemplify “faults” in his character exaggerated to “sins”—gluttony, greed/hoarding, sloth, (2) they are species that favor fawning or flight as a defense mechanism but can also be bold on occasion, and (3) blend very well or have a keen affinity with human society, specifically thriving in urban (i.e., city) environments. This is mostly because I can’t see “Aziraphale” in a reverse AU that doesn’t preserve some of his core traits as an angel (a little hedonistic, hoarding, anxious, etc.). So I like city-dwelling bastard animals with bonus points for relation to scripture, like a rock dove or a fox or an owl.

Owls aren't  smart, and the pedant in me says not an owl. But, thinking on it, demon aspect, owls are perceived as smart, but designed as deadly silent predators, patient and solitary. So actually demon Aziraphale could take on more owlish aspects. I just like cockatoo better, since they are smart, and showy. Or a crow, although that does amusing things with Crowleys name.

god imagining him as a chimera is !!! (comment from op, there was this odd flurry of mythical animals being voted for one night. i think the survey hit a corner of fandom that leans that way. there was also dragon, another chimera, a griffon, and a lindworm all at the same rough time)

Magpies are great because they’re cute and fluff themselves up (go look at Sophie the magpie) and like hoarding their favorite things but also I’ve watched one just straight up kill another bird before because corvids are sneaky little bastards with no lack of a mean streak if they’re crossed

It’s the duolingo owl, I’m so sorry op but it just is. I genuinely don’t mean to clown on your post, but this take was delivered to me in a sleep induced haze and I believe it’s the god given truth. Demon Aziraphale WOULD try to make you learn a dead language and he’d go about it in a vaguely threatening way (comment from op, you’re so fucking right dude. also, shit like this is made for clowning, i’m with you 100%)

When choosing a demon aspect for a Aziraphale, I usually tried to keep in mind the artistic tradition of which animals are linked with demons. The Good Omens team seems to have drawn inspiration from that source because all the animals we do see are either reptilian or insectoid. Those species were often shown inhabiting hellish landscapes in Renaissance and Baroque paintings. However, Aziraphale never struck me as cold or slimy or hard like an exoskeleton. So if I had to choose an insect, it would be a moth, preferably a Megalopygidae, also known as the Flannel Moth. They are fluffy, white-beige and look innocent and fluffy, but their larvae can cause painful inflammations. A poodle moth would also fit because it's almost pure white.

Ok so the only reason I pick magpie is because those bastards are smart as hell but also know how and when to inconvenience the shit out of you, and if you gain their trust then they're absolute darlings but if they decide "nah, dont like ya" then you're basically done and you'll wake up every morning with shit on your car window. I also chose sheep/ram cuz I mean... idk it suits him. I don't remember my other choice but I'm sure I had a good reason.

I feel like a barn owl would suit him well but I'm not really sure why, I also think that a moth would suit him really well because of the whole "moth to a flame" thing and as a demon he would have gotten burned because of that attitude.

I write a reverse AU fic called Lambs to the Slaughter where Aziraphale's demonic aspect is an albino sheep! I imagine him as a mix between a wild Argali ram and the first woolly domestics. I chose an Argali because they're the largest species of wild sheep, but I wanted him to have traits of a domestic breed because he obtains his animal aspect from a sheep in Abel's flock which would be several generations down from the original wild species in Eden. I really think a sheep suits Aziraphale! They're an incredibly common animal and have been since they were first domesticated. Likewise, since the start of human history, Aziraphale has been living side-by-side with humans, providing for them, and protecting them. Due to how common they are, sheep are often unnoticed, which Aziraphale leans into. Crowley wants to stand out. He has a dedicated aesthetic and an obsession with human invention, where Aziraphale leans more towards simpler, known things and creature comforts. He fades into the background, and that suits him fine. He doesn't have to be outstanding to Heaven or to humans or even to Crowley -- it's enough to do his part, to trust in a bigger plan. People associate sheep (especially lambs) with innocence or ignorance which foils nicely to Crowley as the serpent tempting with knowledge, as well as with Aziraphale's own sharp mind and ongoing embers of faith in a system that is failing him, Crowley, and all of humanity. Sheep are, like Aziraphale, soft, cute, and hiding a hard-headed stubbornness and a surprising strength that makes them absolutely fearsome. Aziraphale is very much the sort to put his head down and push relentlessly forward regardless of the pressure and strain. Rams in particular have thick skulls to withstand the brutal force of headbutting one another in displays of dominance. While Aziraphale is clever, he's not above rolling up his sleeves and getting the job done, as messy and unpleasant as it might be (see: pulling a gun on the Antichrist). Also sheep are associated with Pan, a god associated with food, music, theatre, and the criticism thereof, which hit many of Aziraphale's personal interests and hobbies! I like the idea that in a reverse AU, the demon formerly named Aziraphale might be the original basis for Pan!

I wrote in Orangutan for the first question because if I remember correctly they are some of the most violent apes. Although I'd accept bonobo for him too. They fuck alll the time.

mothman aziraphale,,,,, thats it

Snowy owl, speremint's tortoise, and I just adore the goat.

moth - dusty and eats books

Long Furby the way Loni-Capri draws it.

I keep thinking about that Black Philip quote "doest thou wish to live deliciously" because... it fits so much with the general epicurean/hedonism vibe the Fandom has for him ... but in a demonic way and also I think a lot abt that art piece (already referenced many times probably but what the hell) of him climbing his own bookshelves, it's just so good!!

Albino Lion/white lion (matches his hair).  I feel like maybe I should explain why I think Lion would fit him best, lol. Lions actually are rather sedate, inactive for 20 hours of the day (see: Aziraphale reading and unmoving- yes I pulled wiki for this to make sure I didn't spout anything terribly wrong, shhh)  but also there's nomad lions. Lions that range widely and move around sporadically either alone or in pairs (*looks at Crowley after apoconope*) (pairs are more frequent among males who have been excluded from their birth pride)  but also I think of lions as protectors, defenders, and what is Aziraphale if not that? If not an angel who fiercely protects humans, crowley, earth? (When he finally overcomes heaven and it's abuse) lions don't hunt unless they're hungry, don't attack unless they're defending. They've been known to sit directly next to jeeps full of people and just watch them, not attacking or being aggresive.

I saw art once (I have no idea who the artist is) of Demon!Aziraphale climbing his bookcases like a goat and absentmindedly chewing on his sweater while he reads. I felt like the goat aspect suited him perfectly.

Honestly I wrote Az with a rat aspect because, well, it fits who I see demon Az as. He's not super powerful but he is very consequential, like rats carrying plague fleas (this also describes how I see Az tempting). He tries to blend into a crowd, which is arguably one way rats survive, and can get himself into places/situations that should be impossible or super difficult. Like snakes, rats have been unfairly maligned by our culture for a long time, even though they are very social with their colonies, smart, affectionate, and generally good beans. Finally, male pet rats are known far and wide as the lazier of the sexes while the girls are super curious and adventurous.

Somehow his tartan pattern becomes either his colour scheme or his coat/feather pattern.

Eurasian eagle owl. A big, unapologetic grump of an owl that is soft as soft can be underneath. Possessor of the glare to end all glares to be used in such dire situations as being interrupted when reading or being told one has "had enough cake".

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

[the-gay-prometheus]

Can we get a 2, 3, 11, 26 and 45 for Jack, the queen, the absolute madlad(lass)?

,,,How did I know *wheeze*

2 and 3. Relationship with her mother/father

>Jack had a great relationship with her mother and father! I guess we kinda need to dig into some backstory... so... might as well answer both 2 and 3 together and also tell her entire childhood story because why the hell not.

You can jot down that her place of origin was West Yorkshire, specifically in Shibden under tenancy of Shibden hall. Those of you who are aware of a certain person named Anne Lister will likely recognize this place, and yes I absolutely got the name Jack from "Gentleman Jack." Unfortunately Anne Lister wasn't even born until long after this Jack would have left, so the two never would have chanced to meet.

Her mother, Camellia Smith-Wyndham, and her father, Benjamin Wyndham, were tenants of Shibden farmland, specifically shepherds that raised sheep for wool. Jack was born as Sylvia Wyndham, and was an only child. She never really grew up with gender roles, her parents shared most of the work anyways, and pretty dresses weren't exactly great for helping tend to livestock, so she was always pretty masculine and neither of her parents minded so long as she helped them to get work done. Unfortunately, when Jack was about 10 years old, her father up and left. Yep. Just up and left with absolutely no warning - which seemed odd, because despite being often exhausted from work and worried about keeping the tenancy, he was a genuinely good dad who she was very close to! He was the one that inspired her love of stories and fascinations with mythical creatures, and also her interest in sailing since his own father was a sailor before retiring and acquiring a tenancy at Shibden. The truth was Benjamin had been unhappy - he didn't really love Camellia - not romantically anyways, but the two of them had been arranged in marriage and that just was the way it was. So despite loving his daughter very much, the moment he happened upon the opportunity to join a whaling crew while out in town one day, he up and left and never came back. Camellia and Jack were then forced to continue the work there on their own. While her father was the one to fill her head with stories and aspirations, her mother was always there to keep her grounded while still encouraging her to always be bold and speak up for herself. As soon as it was discovered that they were without a man in the family, though, they were kicked out of the tenancy and replaced. And thus, they moved to Scarborough. While Camellia worked on, well, finding work, Jack spent most of her time by the docks with the fishermen, who were amused by the way she acted and dressed and gladly accepted her company if not just to laugh at her. It was actually here that she gained the name Jack, as that's what the fishermen started to call her since she "might as well have been a man anyhow."

Unfortunately, her mother soon died of disease - I won't say what disease - and Jack was left to her own devices. She decided at that point that, considering she already dressed like a man and vaguely looked like a man and sounded like a young man, she might as well just be one if it meant finding work in her area of interest. Well - problem was that practically everyone in Scarborough knew she was actually a woman, but a few of the fishermen who took pity on her for her troubles decided she could get a job in repairing their sails since... "well women are good at sewing, right?" Turns out, she was actually damn good at it, and not only that, but she really enjoyed the work! She became fascinated by how something so simple as a big ol' piece of cloth could make such a difference in sailing, and it pretty much became her hyperfixation. Point is, she got so damn good at it that some of the fishermen recommended she travel down to London and come up with a full alias for herself so she could work as a sailmaker for much bigger ships.

And that's what she did! She became Jack Corbyn, and moved to London where she eventually became a sailmaker for the Royal Naval Dockyards, making and repairing sails for Navy ships. She worked there for a few years until she ended up getting kicked out (luckily only kicked out and not worse) after somebody who had discovered she was a woman made the mistake of threatening her and she may or may not have accidentally or maybe not so accidentally gotten him killed. She ended up moving down to work at the Chatham Dockyard, but everyone hated her there thanks to her very abrasive personality and she hated everyone there too! And uh. Well eventually finds her way to a certain sailor we all know and love.

And that's her whole life story! Bet you weren't expecting that.

11. Most afraid she's ever been

> Oh - oh you thought this would be about her scar? Hah. She likes to make everyone think the scar came from something scary but... actually it came from an accident involving a tree, a sword, and an ornery ram named Brian. Nothing scary, more embarrassing than anything.

The most afraid she's actually ever been was after the guy died at the Royal Naval Dockyards. She was absolutely sure that A. he had told others and others now knew which would then ruin her life and B. that she would be executed for it probably. Luckily that wasn't the case.

26. Behavior around children

>Uncomfortable as all hell around very small children, though very small children tend to like her because she treats them just about the same way she treats anyone else. Absolutely adores hanging around teens because they always seem to be the most interested in her stories while also being much easier to talk to without fear than younger kids (who she is slightly worried she might accidentally traumatize without thinking). In general though, kids of any age tend to absolutely worship her if they're either gullible enough or mischievous enough.

45. Belief in what happens after death

>Jack believes realistically that... nothing happens after death. You just die and your body is reclaimed by the earth and that's it. She's not necessarily afraid of it but she also isn't too keen on dying any time soon. That being said what she wants to believe is the story her father once told her about how when people die, their soul passes into a crow's egg if they lived their life to make no impact on others, a magpie's egg if they had a negative impact on others, and a raven's egg if they had a positive impact, and they are thus reborn over and over again as that kind of bird. It's that story that she actually took inspiration for her last name from "Corbyn" meaning raven 😌

[strivingscribe]

ILIC ~ CH 31

It’s Lost Its Charm by  MsMoon

Chapter 31 ~ A Multi-Pronged Attack Plan

Chapters: 31/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,16, 17, 18,19,20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31,

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age,

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence,

Relationships: I feel like it’s a little early for that…

Summary: Now that Amy's awake, it's time to hammer out some plans...

Magpie had left Siheta and Bull in the Chantry, sprinting towards Amy's new room. She was relieved to see Tunan and Tunen more presentable than they had been... Not that Tunan was much of a chore in the mornings. He was mostly quiet, needing time to wake up fully before being ready to converse with anyone... Tunen on the other hand. She was a feral cat and needed expert care after waking otherwise you'd get swiped.

“Hey! Good. You're both up. Uh...” she stuttered in place, trying to think of what to say next exactly. “There's a council meeting right now, but if you guys wanted to wait in the tavern—”

“Council meeting?” Tunan asked, his voice conveying a sense of puzzling concern.

“Yes. With Amy being...well, back. Mostly. Everyone's gathering to discuss...things.” she shrugged.

“When are we leaving?” Tunen interrupted.

“What?” Magpie felt as cold as everything in her seeped into a deep dread. Leaving?

“Yes, leaving, as in returning home.” Tunen clarified. Had she asked out loud? She must've.

“I'm... not leaving.” Magpie announced, incredulous.

The twins did that thing that they do from time to time where they exchanged a glance that held layers of communication. Magpie could read Tunen's frustration along with Tunan's (strangely smug?) acceptance. It was endearing because she was able to read it...it was also irritating.

One of Tunan's fingers twitched towards his sister. “Um. Why not?” he asked haltingly. “I mean...”

“We came here to find you.” Tunen follows, her manner abrupt. Clearly, it's still too early for her to stray away from that hissing cat inside of her.

“And I appreciate that.” Magpie said.

“Can I just..” Tunan was now actually holding his hand up towards Tunen, attempting to cage the beast. “Can I ask...why you want to stay?”

Magpie blinked at him. “I mean.. you did. Just now.” His expression fell, as if to say, ‘really? now? you're doing this now?’. If she was being honest, she'd have to admit that she was stalling, because...

Because this was an out. She could leave. But she didn't want to... and now she needed to ask herself why.

“I mean... the Inquisition is in a position to actually fix the problem.” The typical excuse was the easiest to fall back to.

“What problem?” Tunen asked.

“Uhhh! The breach? All the breaches?”

“OK, so...” Tunan stepped in again, apparently taking on the role as mediator. “You think the Inquisition can help, and you want to be a part of that?” he asked, and Magpie at least felt like he was genuinely interested in her response.

She took a deep breath and tried to settle herself. “I think... I think...yeah.”

Great work there. So eloquent.

“Look, I just feel like... I need to be here.”

Tunen had been staring at her in complete befuddlement. Her eyes twitched towards her brother, and she deflated with a sigh at the look of obvious reproach on his face.

“Just... tell me you're not doing this for the shems.” Tunen grumbled.

Magpie felt her back teeth grind. Something about that statement rankled her, but she's fighting to keep that from showing.

“I am in a position to help. And I want to stay for me.”

“What makes you think they'd allow you to do anything worth doing anyway?” Tunen countered. “And even if you did do anything worth doing, what makes you think they’d let you own it?”

“Look, I'm technically working for Amy, here.” Magpie argued, dismissively. “That carries a lot of weight.” And that much was true. Even though Magpie wasn’t really working for Amy, she’d managed to convince others that she was… and when people heard that, they kind of fell in line.

“Yeah, and who's she anyway?” Tunen continued, not at all impressed. “Until I got here and you started talking about her, I had never heard of her.”

"Well, she's a big deal right now to everyone.” Magpie snapped.

She couldn't help but notice that Tunan kept turning between the two of them, a single hand stretched in both directions, though his focus shifted as each of them spoke.

“According to who? And for how long? I swear, these shems just give out shit and then take it away. That’s what they do. What assurances do you have that any progress you've made is safe or will last?”

“Alright.” Tunan's voice was very deep, and he typically kept his tone low. Now was one of those rare times his voice felt as though it boomed simply because he wasn't trying to sound docile anymore. The boom of his unfiltered voice shocked even him. He cleared his throat, and lowered his voice again. “Let's take a breath... and remember that we are all here for each other.” he reminded, as though he were attempting to sooth a pair of caged beasts.

“I... want to stay.” Magpie announced, feeling the truth of that and the weight behind it even if she wasn’t certain the motivations in the statement yet. “This has become important to me, and I feel like I am not done here. I appreciate that you came all this way; and I am sorry that I'm the only one that was here, and I'm not being as cooperative as you'd like.”

“That's not—” Tunen began, but couldn’t really finish her thought.

“But!... It all boils down to me not wanting to leave yet.”

At that Tunan nodded, giving his sister a placating look. His head tilting, his brow peaking in his version of puppy dog eyes. She sighed at that, the fight mostly taken out of her.

Tunen shrugged, reluctantly. “Well... at least it's interesting here.”

Tunan continued nodding as well, seemingly relieved.

“But we aren't going to keep sleeping on the floor, are we?” Tunen pleaded.

Magpie chuckled, shaking her head. “Doubtful.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Tunan murmured, preaching against the wall now that he didn't feel the need to dive between the two of them as a negotiator. “And your Amy is pleasant enough.”

‘for a shem.’ Went unsaid, but Magpie had a feeling that was very much felt. Even if Tunan didn’t voice it as much as Tunen, he had never been overly fond of operating near or with humans.

But that was a discussion for another day.

“Great.” Magpie said. “Good talk. Now...if you'll excuse me. I have a meeting to get to.”

“Oooh. Fancy.” Tunen cooed, her tension seemingly defused now that they’d talked.

With a soft snort Magpie left them, making her way to the council chamber. She was relieved that the map room was enormous (at least in comparison to Josie's office) and that she wasn't the last one here.

Seeing Amy was a bit of a shock. She was between Josephine and Leliana — odd because they usually flanked the table at opposite ends. Cullen was glaring down at the map. Madame de Fer was there as well, near Leliana's usual spot.

Magpie was a little shocked to find Amy in...well...nice clothes. Amy always had to make do with whatever she could find. Seeing her in something fitted was...strange.

She was wearing a very delicate looking white tunic with long sleeves that billowed, but over that was a tightly fitted dark leather vest, very tailored breeches, and knee-high boots. There were various straps and belts, both to keep things in place and to string sheaths onto.... Her hair was mostly down. The braid had been undone, a thick ponytail hanging low on the nape of her neck while errant curls leaked out to frame her face....

She looked good. Even better, she looked…healthy. Not leaning or waning as Magpie had seen after her previous episodes.

Thankfully, Magpie noticed Sehita in the shadows behind Amy. The towering woman caught Magpie's eye and nodded for her to join them. That put a halt on her next internal crisis, as she had no idea where to really put herself. She trotted over, relieved when Amy's eyes lighted on her and she smiled.

Amy reached for her hand once she was in range, the gesture instantly assuaging her tension. The fact that it was easy for Amy to turn away from the others to greet her was…comforting. She could deal with the questions of why she didn't want to go home, and if she had a proper place that would affect any change later. Right now, she was needed and wanted and that counted for something.

“Well damn.” Varric said, entering with Sam right behind him. “Would you look at this.” he said, motioning to Amy.

“Yeah, they can't keep me down, and honestly that's what matters most.” Amy said with a conspirator’s grin and a stubborn gleam in her eyes.

Again, Varric seemed to come up short, blinking rapidly and holding his hands up. “And with complete sentences this time.”

“Every time I go down, I come back with upgrades.” Amy warned. “One day I'll be invulnerable.”

Cullen half scoffed half laughed at that.

“I said 'one day'.” Amy defended.

Sara and Blackwall were the last to show up, and Sara couldn't just show up without making a fuss.

“Ooiii! Lookatchu! All gussied up!” Sara crowed with a leer.

“I mean, I don't know what you've been doing, but I—” Amy reached down, griping, and pushing up her own breasts as though she were situating them properly. “was getting fancy.” It seemed to be the right response, as Sera giggled, and Blackwall looked elsewhere with a grin.

The room filled up soon after. Solas, Cassandra, and Bull finally making their way into the chamber. Even this big room seemed a little crowded.

“So, we have our Charmer back and better than ever.” Varric noticed as a way of kicking off the meeting.

“Indeed.” Leliana confirmed. “And considering that the information she has shared with us has been verified, I believe we are ready to move.” Gazes sharpened as that was dropped in front of them.

Not that Magpie ever had any real doubts about the things that Amy was saying. With everything going on, a human touched enough to predict the future wasn’t that crazy. She’d seen Sam use a glowing hole in his hand to close rifts, after all.

“Verified? Then…?” Cassandra’s questions went unspoken as she couldn’t find the proper words or the paths for those words to take.

“Our two-pronged plan will begin tomorrow.” Cullen stated with the certainty of steel. “Cassandra will disguise herself as a Lieutenant with a regiment under her to reinforce our position on the Storm Coast. Simultaneously, Sam will make his way to initiate contact with the mages at Redcliff. According to Amy, after the initial contact, Sam will be invited back to Redcliff formally. This will give Cassandra and her team time to deal with whatever is going on at Caer Oswin.”

“Our scouts have confirmed that while Caer Oswin is inhabited, there is very little in the way of noticeable traffic.” Lelianna informed. “It should be easy for a regiment and a team to secure the grounds.”

“Considering the time it will take for Sam to initiate the plan with the mages, Cassandra’s team could potentially be finished and on their way to Therinfall before Sam is finished with Redcliff.” Cullen estimated, though whether this is his opinion on the time it would take traveling back and forth between Redcliff, or his high estimations of Cassandra, it was difficult to say.

“It is not the entourage that I had hoped for,” Josephine began. “however, I was able to secure a few prominent Orlesian nobles to accompany our concerned party to Therinfall.”

“Abernache?” Amy cut in to ask.

Josephine eyed her first, eyes drifting to the ever-present paperwork in front of her before saying, “Yes…Lord Abernache is among those who are interested in confronting the Templar order.” She seemed only slightly put off by Amy’s insight.

“A prominent figure?” Madame Vivienne asked, though by her tone one may think she were inquiring about the weather.

Amy shrugged. “No more or less than anyone else. He has his part to play, and that is enough to note his significance. That should be enough on its own.”

Perhaps Amy didn’t see it as she wasn’t really meeting anyone’s eye, but Magpie couldn’t help but notice the slightest arch in Vivienne’s brow. As though Amy had said something she had not anticipated… What that meant, Magpie wasn’t sure, but she did know look of reappraisal when she saw one.

“How far is Caer Oswin from Therinfal as far as traveling time?” Amy asked.

“It would take a well-armed troop of men moving with purpose less than a full day’s travel, given the terrain…and the need for secrecy.” Cullen shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps a few hours more, but not by much.”

“After the hubbub at Redcliff, I intend to take my team and hustle towards Therinfal Redoubt.” Sam announced.

“That might be unsafe…” Amy murmured, concerned. “Mostly because you will have already undergone so much.”

Sam smirked at her. “Ease up, mum. We’re all grown, and we can take care of ourselves.”

Amy’s eyes scrunched up as she glared at him, but it was more for being called ‘mum’ than anything.

“Bull, Solas, and Varric will be accompanying me during my tour of Redcliff.” Sam announced. The three people he had called out nodded their assent. “We’ll have another team waiting in the wings to help Cassandra. Madame Vivienne, Sera, Blackwall, that’ll be you. Don’t imagine any of you will have a problem handling rogue templars.”

“Not at all.” Madame Vivienne replied coolly.

“Cullen will move some troops into the Hinterlands after the initial contact, under the guise of reinforcing the camps we’ve established and surveying the damage that the Mages and Templars have reeked. In truth, he will be in place should anything happen that requires us to take Redcliff from the mages and the magister.”

Sam paused and surveyed Amy. “We don’t have much time, but while this is all happening, at least in the day and a half it’ll take us to travel there, make contact, and return, we would like it if you met with a few tutors that could assist you with your magic.”

Amy gave a single, decisive nod. “I would like to begin that as immediately as I can, actually.”

“I don’t see why not.” Sam murmured with a shrug. Everyone was already on standby as it was. “It shouldn’t be too difficult wrangle everyone together after the noon meal.”

“Tutors?” Solas asked, his eyes darting back and forth. “What tutors are those?”

“Madame Vivienne has brought a magic user with her. One who relies on his music to work his magic.” Lelianna announced.

“Zither??” Amy asked, half laughing already. “Oh, this’ll be a wild ride.”

Again, while Madame Vivienne’s face revealed nothing, Magpie noted her eyes darting to a very smug looking Lelianna. Lelianna hadn’t told Amy anything about anyone named Zither, that much Magpie was certain of… whether or not the mage recognized this wasn’t entirely clear, considering her consummate poker face.

“From what I understand,” Josephine began, flipping through some of the pages on her clipboard. “we have several mages that are more than willing to weigh in their opinions as well. Norton, Baxtien, Elossa, even Siheta will all be present and capable of aiding Amy if their expertise should be needed.”

“Oh good. Always better to perform for a crowd.” Amy half grumbled with a taxed smile.

“If you can perform at all.” Bull grunted with a smirk. Amy flicked her middle finger up at him with a dazzling smile. “Seriously, Charmer, maybe you’ve got everyone else convinced you’re almighty, but I’m still on the fence here. You haven’t really given me anything that’s impressed me.”

It was a bluff, but the tension that spiked through the room at Bull’s words was very real. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see how Amy would handle this.

She smirked. “I can give you eleven reasons.” She said with honey-sweet words, and her grin only depend when Bull’s attention snapped away, obviously trying to pair the number 11 with anything significant to him. He didn’t have 11 chargers… so… She held a finger to her lips as though she were telling a secret. “The first hit’s free.” She used the same finger tracing the secret on her lips to point to the hinterlands. “She’s right here… and she’s so pretty.” She said, leaning over the map almost suggestively, her eyes never leaving Bull’s. “All orange and yellow with such majestic curling horns and livid fire. I know you’d love to take her.” He smile was positively feline.

Bull blinked hard before taking in a deep breath through his nose and letting it out.

“Wait…” Sam’s face went slack. “Are you ….talking about a dragon?”

“A Ferelden Frostback, right under your noses. Weak to cold but resistant to fire damage. She cannot be slowed or disabled, and she’s got a whole mess of drakes to protect her and her dragonlings.” She straightened before looking to Sam with a more serious air. “There’s a pass leading to Redcliff that’s being guarded by bandits that aren’t bandits.” She waved off his look of confusion. “One mystery at a time, Sam. I can explain later. One of your scouts will warn you of this when you try to take the road, that is if they haven’t already.”

“They…haven’t. We’ve been focusing on the people and the cult, and you know, that whole mage/templar fight thing that’s going on.” Sam grumbled.

Amy ignored Sam’s cross tone to continue explaining. “The bandits are set up in a nice little nook. Beyond that nook is a natural stone archway that leads to her lair.” Her eyes bore into Bull. “I wouldn’t advise entering that archway and her lair until you’re completely ready to take on a high dragon.”

“I’m always ready to take on a high dragon.” Bull practically growled; his enthusiasm high.

“Bull.” Sam murmured, attempting to regain control.

“Boss.” He whined.

“Priorities.” Sam reminded. “Take out the bandits, set up a camp there to fall back to if things go south with the mages, take on the mages. Then, once we’ve gotten the mages taken care of…maybe after we’ve sealed the breach, we’ll go after the dragon. It isn’t as if we’ll never be in the Hinterlands again.”

Bull seemed mollified even if slightly petulant.

“There were some names that you mentioned that I’d like to revisit.” Lelianna noted. “Names of some mages that you said Sam should talk to.”

“Yes!” Amy said, snapping right back into the gravity of the situation before them. She righted herself, and her attention was now back on Sam. “Clemence will be the easiest to find. You’ll be asked to meet in the tavern, and he’s there. He’s a tranquil alchemist, but Alexius doesn’t want the tranquil around. So, he’ll volunteer to go with you and join the inquisition.”

“Lucky.”

“Talwyn is at the bar in the tavern. You can speak to him after Clemence. But you should keep these interactions subtle.” She scowled, sounding disgruntled as she continued. “I’m sure Linnea will be watching you, and she could be a problem.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Next is either Lysas or Hanley. Hanley’s a human mage standing near the statue to the hero of Ferelden, and he’ll be very happy to see you. He hates the involvement of the mages with Tevinter. I don’t think it would be hard to convince him to go to the crossroads to wait for you. Lysas is an elf mage who you’ll find against one of the stone archways that lead to the chantry. He voted to abandon the chantry, but the alliance with Tevinter has him shaken. He’s another one that I might be persuaded to leave if promised some protections.”

“Considering that all rouge mage and templar activity has been thoroughly halted, none of them should have a reason to stay.”

“They might not have the choice, considering that they’re Tevinter chattel.” She growled. “I don’t know if they realize it yet, but Alexius will confirm that when you meet him.”

“asshole.” Sera spat.

Amy’s face pulled into a complicated frown. There was disapproval there, but her expression seemed… almost sorrowful as well. It made Magpie wonder if perhaps there wasn’t more to this story…

“We all have our missions.” Cullen said, with what felt like finality. “If there’s nothing more, be ready to move out a dawn.”

Magpie watched as everyone began to filter out of the room, and Amy zoned in on one person… She made a beeline for Solas.

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: Bugger

FAR too many assumed we’d be having the biggest grand final in over 30 years this time last week 

Half-time Friday night we all thought we’d got it wrong but alas regular programming prevailed and they then expected Saturday to be the breezier of the two prelims .

Yeah nah.

Now we have third playing sixth in a Grand Final no-one saw pre-season, mid-season, to start the finals or even last week when it was a one in four chance.

Expect the unexpected they say. And they are usually right on that.

 1.       Tigers just win, by five goals plus. As soon as that siren went Saturday, and thousands of male Collingwood supporters suddenly sprouted innies, thousands of Richmond fans grew really firmly in the trouser knowing it was only the expansion kids ahead of them next week now. Giants have won two games by under a kick in the dying minutes, once lucky, twice you’re kidding yourself, three times though, yeah nah.

2.       Actually, lets knock out some Brownlow before getting back to the on field. Interesting year, probably the greatest field of live chances going in for some time. So much analysis available these days that someone out there will get it right but about a dozen others, whilst looking super schmick with their spreadsheets and formulas, will be way off. This column has no idea although liked Fyfe for a while. Gets 2 or 3 votes in each Dockers win. Nice platform.

3.       Otherwise, three randoms to watch – Boak, Yeo and Treloar, could easily podium. And a real smokey from the clouds? James Worpel. One for the exotics.

4.       Back to on field, let’s go back to Friday. Cats missed a Scott Selwood type in the midfield. Getting ahead was one thing, and they did that well to their credit. But when it got tough in the second half, when the Tigs were coming, they lacked grunt and determination like the Giants showed in the final term Saturday, to get the job done. And to be honest its plagued them since the bye too. Can look flashy, can score, but when it needs to get ugly for 15-20 mins, think back to the first half of the first final too, no dice. Kinda like when its past 2am on a Bucks night, usually phantom, usually pass out, usually Ryan Babel.

5.       Alrighty, Saturday. Yikes. Wet weather clearly didn’t favour the Pies. No excuse but it mattered. Why? Well would you like to know who trained in a down pour midweek? The Giants, in their main session. Probably the best training session in that football history given the conditions that eventuated.

6.       So – and thanks to Rohan Connolly for this, who I’m shamelessly stealing from – between 2008 and 2015 only one Qualifying Final winner of 18 lost a prelim final. The last four years where we’ve had a pre-Finals bye, it’s a 4-4 record. Look at the Pies, didn’t turn up until three quarter time, the Tigers at least turned up after half time. Plus last year, the Pies had no right in their matchup with the Tiges and jumped them something shocking in that first half. Might be something to it. Might not be wrong, but there’s something to it.

7.       If you look at the Pies, Tigers and Giants, on balance this all looks about right. Richmond since 2017 probably deserve at least one flag and a go this weekend at a second. The Giants these last four years probably deserve a Grand Final appearance for their body of work. And Collingwood these last 18 months, a toss of the coin Grand Final result probably sits about right for them too.

8.       Difference between Richmond and Collingwood? One covered their injuries a lot better and was better set up for the pointy end as a result. Injuries aren’t the reason the Pies lost Saturday or that they would have been underdogs to Richmond had they won, but it’s the reason Richmond has a better list and is likely to win a second flag in three. Case in point – Richmond’s reserves win the Grand Final a week before their Seniors probably win as well, the Collingwood reserves didn’t even make the VFL Finals.

9.       Bucks getting questioned a bit in the media, ‘oh, that’s 22 years now without a flag, ho hum indeed’. Relax. On that basis we should give Bob Skilton a call, interrupt his midday movie to let him know despite his three Brownlows and everything else he means to South, his Hall of Fame Legend status is getting revoked coz he never won a flag. And that his spot will be taken by Tom Barrass instead, because he has actually won one. That Buckley hasn’t got a flag isn’t news, it might be factual but its not a story. The idea that obviously would clearly yearn for one is also factual, but not a story. Please be serious.

10.   Matt De Boer was excellent on Saturday but then again the Collingwood mids weren’t requiring a tag to be kept quiet. Does he got to Dusty and try and ruffle him again like he successfully achieved last time in Sydney? Won’t matter, Martin goes forward and kicks four on him in that case. Whether Martin gets shut down in the midfield by De Boer or not won’t prevent a Tigers’ flag anyway, lets not bother about that discussion all week.

11.   Norm Smith tip – no Tiger is in better nick than Shane Edwards, otherwise Bachar Houli for a little value with you preferred corporate bookmaker. But Titch onball will be as dangerous for Leon Cameron as nailing your Tinder date in Bali. You better put a clamp on that otherwise you’re in big trouble.

12.   Marlion Pickett was BOG in the VFL GF yesterday. We know that the Tigs have held over Jack Ross and Kamdyn McIntosh in lieu of the incredibly-stiff Jack Graham being doubtful to get up for Saturday. But back on May 28th we said this lad, who was playing for South Fremantle four months ago “would be best 22 by year’s end”. We’ve left it late but whilst McIntosh might be the safer play, Dimma will go very close to debuting the Western-Australian in the hope his mercurial style might just be perfect for an occasion like Saturday. If he’s picked, remember where you heard it first. Or read it first, even.

13.   Presume Kevin Sheedy is on standby to present the cup to Phil Davis and Leon Cameron should the Giants salute, the link to Richmond notwithstanding. The GWS best and fairest is the Kevin Sheedy medal, and unless you’re looking to Chad Cornes or Izzy Folau it has to be Sheeds. On the Tigers side, I think about Dale Weightman, otherwise Matty Knights or even Chris Newman if you want to go more recent.

14.   So yes, Richmond has been the pick for a while and it remains the pick. They are beatable though. Last four games their opponents all had strong chances they didn’t take. Eagles down here, in the wet, stuffed it and lost by a kick. Brisbane the week after got spooked but did a lot right but too late. First final, Brissy again, they kick straight they’re in it up to their eyeballs and then Geelong was leading by 21 points at half time, kick straighter its over five goals and the Tigs are staring down a repeat of last year. They’re not invincible, but it was only ever going to be a hot Essendon or hot Collingwood who stood a chance this finals series. Yet the Bombers lasted as long in September as Saturday Night Rove and then the Pies made a mess of it like The Veronicas on a Qantas flight.

15.   This column gets it right far more often than most and has banged on about the Clarkson-assistants theory for some time. This week’s Grand Final coaches, both ex-Hawthorn assistants. It will mean that after this weekend the last seven premierships will have been coached by Al Clarkson or one of his ex-assistants. Incredible. By this column, that is.

16.   More people in Sydney watched the Giants on free to air Saturday afternoon than people in Melbourne watched the Storm on free to air that night. What do we make of that?

 I love Victorian footy as much as the next Ted Whitten. This column still lapses occasionally and refers to Fitzroy instead of Brisbane, and it’s only been 20+ years. And whilst this column’s position on the Gold Coast experiment is well documented, the idea of a team in Western Sydney has always made sense to me. The population out there alone is more than Perth, Adelaide and Geelong combined.

 So to see GWS successful, largely on their own merit now (Gold Coast with the same concessions stuffed it, and you didn’t see Toby Greene playing on Saturday did we), is a good thing for the comp. Leave Gold Coast and Tassie aside, mind you.

17.   Speaking of Victorian footy, can we just kick the AFL reserves team out of the VFL into a legit reserves comp, and let Williamstown and Port Melbourne and Werribee actualy duke it out for a proper VFL title? Williamstown are long-storied VFA club who were looking for their 15th flag in 155 years of history. They lost to a team who sat out two of their players because they might be needed this coming weekend in a different comp. Don’t like it. Split the AFL reserves from the VFL. And the SANFL…

18.   Great to see Glenelg, another historic club in this country, win its first flag in 33 years. And yes they were playing Port Adelaide, their biggest rival, but half the opposition Sunday were Port Adelaide’s reserves, not SANFL players, so it’s a similar story. Great for the Bays to get up, but let the SANFL Magpies be just that, and then Port and the Crows can have separate reserves teams playing reserves footy.

19.   Speaking of Williamstown, feel for Willie Wheeler. Just a knockabout VFL footballer who had the win on his boot twice in the last term, so to lose by under a kick is devastating.

20.   Still not bothered by trade chatter. It’s all glorified brainstorming and suggestion permeating from the Herald Sun lunch room. When something remotely close to an actual story emerges I’ll get interested. Until then I’ll pass on Ralphy and Sammy and Jay-Z getting far too eggplant about what boils down to guesswork or stuff they dreamt about the night before when their partner slept at her friend’s house once again.

[chaoticblades]

Wing Meta: Kalas

Now that the holidays (and extended family interactions =____=) are over, let’s talk about our favorite fuckup! :D

I think this one has even more spoilers than the Xelha post.

Wing Meta: Xelha

Wing Meta: Savyna and Lyude

So, good ol’ カラス. There’s little point in speculating about the inspiration for his wings (since the game is very, very clear on the raven theme), buuuut I’m gonna do it anyway ‘cause that’s just the kinda guy I am.

Well, that and the fact that they’re no ordinary corvid wings. They’ve got a distinctive hook off the wrist, which is most likely an unusually pronounced alula (aka bird thumb), meaning that what we’re looking at is exposed bone. Spooky! (Also appropriate, given the whole carrion bird/harbinger of apocalypse thing.)

Fun fact! According to Wikipedia, “alula” translates to “winglet”! And it’s also called a “bastard wing”. And Kalas has no parents, so....

Anyway, his wing is otherwise a fairly standard shape for that family... except for the pronounced secondaries. Alas, I’m not actually a bird person so I won’t speculate further about that (so as to spare myself any more hours of futile corvid research. The winglet diagram comes in real handy here, since it’s basically a mirrored skeleton of his other wing). Finally, he’s got falcon-like stripes on his pinions resulting in a mix of browns and greys.

Even expanding into other corvid species, I could’t find any that truly matched these details.

In any case, onto symbolism!

Ravens are consistently depicted across cultures as tricksters and omens of misfortune and death, though the latter is isn’t nearly as universal. 

Trickster Ravens

Corvids in general are considered highly intelligent birds, an attribute that they mainly use for theft. For example, they’ve been known to yank the tails of other birds/animals in order to distract them from a tasty, tasty meal. Magpies in particular have such a rep for stealing End Magnus shinies that they’ve become synonymous with the act in much the same way as we use “packrat” to describe a hoarder and “chicken” a coward.

Ravens As Omens

In Greek tradition, a white raven was Apollo’s messenger. Ravens are more relevant in terms of the practice of augury, a form of divination in which certain birds are observed for signs of favor/displeasure of the gods. Ravens (and crows) fall under the label of “oscines”, or birds whose omens are determined based upon their calls. They aren’t regarded as being inherently unlucky (that dubious honor goes to the owl).

According to Wikipedia (citation desperately longed for), in Serbian folklore ravens “appear in pairs and play the role of harbingers of tragic news... in combination with female characters as receivers of the news”.

Unlike black cats, there’s an emphasis on ravens as a sign of misfortune to come rather than an embodiment of it. Similarly, they don’t directly symbolize death; instead they’re merely associated with it, much in the way one might associate the fall colors with the coming winter.

Ravens in Japanese Folklore

I went through many layers of questionable research to get this info, so it damn well better be accurate.

Yatagarasu, the 3-legged crow, was a guide sent by Amaterasu to Emperor Jimmu in order to guide his lost ass to his future seat of power.

Seen here: Yatagarasu and Jimmy’s lost ass (left).

After Google Fu’ing for awhile to figure out the meaning behind a sentence found word-for-word and lacking citation in nearly every article on Yatagarasu, I finally managed to track down an additional piece of lore: he is apparently an incarnation of Kamo Taketsunumi no Mikoto, god of good fortune and founder of the Kamo clan (???? Maybe??? All those articles weren’t kidding when they said the legends of Yatagarasu are contradictory).

Color Symbolism

This is, of course, something the varies from culture to culture. The relevant symbols here are black and white.

Black

West

death/void

authority

evil

mystery

Japan

evil

bad luck (take this with a grain of salt--I don’t trust my sources on this)

White

West

purity

peace

holiness

sterility

Japan

death

mourning

simplicity/purity

Interpretation

Kalas and Fate

So how does this shape how we can interpret Kalas?

It’s best to start with how he got the name in the first place.

Hearing you were not the perfect being [Geldoblame] had envisioned, he called you an ill omen, a cursed premonition of things to come. He named you Kalas, which means Raven in a long-lost language.

Larikush, on the origin of Kalas’ name

I guess it was the reason for my existence, and my hatred.... Something I just couldn’t get rid of.

Kalas, on why his name was the only thing he remembered after Alfard

And, of course, straight from Emperor Gelnochill himself:

I found you Kalas, you sickly raven!!!

Geldohead, triple exclamation his

I find Kalas’ comment the most interesting, since it’s an explicit reference to the theme of destiny yes I said it that is woven into the Baten Kaitos as a whole. One of the things I really like about this series is the interplay between fate and choice--many characters have fated roles (Kalas, Xelha, Melodia, Mizuti, Sagi, Guillo, people touched by the Dark Brethren in general) but even as they fulfill them, the narrative never treats it as if free will is antonymous with these events.

Dr. Georg’s experiments were aimed at creating a Magnus of Life. This would be the exact opposite of the End Magnus, which are symbols of death and destruction... Kalas and Malepercio may have been destined to fight one another....Kalas could be said to be a bad omen for Malpercio, a harbinger of the god’s demise

Lyude, on something that’s really sad once you’ve played Origins

Love and hatred... Melodia[sic], and Kalas... She is Malpercio’s curse to the world, Kalas must be his prayer...

Xelha, ditto

“Fate” is largely played as being somewhere between divine intervention and the consequences of choice (e.g. Malpercio seeking power from the Dark Brethren put everything in motion), hence why the Magnus of Life could and did choose not to oppose Malpercio at first. It makes for an interesting hierarchy of power, like an arch.

The Dark Brethren can be considered the keystone and Malpercio the arch itself--it is by their power that Malpercio is what it is, their locking the gods into position that keeps them from acting of their own will. Melodia and Kalas are outside forces, bound to--but unfettered by--the conflict between master and unwilling servant. Despite their role as pawns, they’re the ones with the most power. Influence can be asserted over them, but in the end it’s their hands that decide if the keystone is restored or removed.

Kalas’ identity as the ominous raven is the perfect example of this theme at play. He’s repeatedly acknowledged as an entity of misfortune, but ultimately it’s his will that decides whose. He’s no passive auspice--bad things may happen to those around him, but only by way of his own agency (and the of others. Looking at you, Geldoblameworthy-for-his-own-problems). Even at the very end, when Melodia chooses to surrender to fate, it’s he who rescues her and tells Malpercio to rest.

He and Melodia can be considered the pair of ravens, Xelha the receiver, as per her witnessing them discuss their plans in Moonguile.

Kalas the Trickster

Kalas is possibly the most wily protagonist who isn’t straight up a villain I have ever seen. Street smart, people smart, and a fantastic actor, he’s able to pull the wool over the eyes of basically anyone who isn’t already aware of what he’s trying to do. It can be surmised that he’s also gifted at sleight of hand, given that no one noticed him slip an ever-glowing magnus to the ducal heir of Mira.

The entire first half of the game is an elaborate trick on the Guardian Spirit and Malpercio, fooling them about their memories and using them as a buffer against Malpercio’s power (though one has to wonder if that wasn’t just a trick on Melodia’s part, as Kalas was already exposed to that power. It would absolutely be in character for him to nope out of the picture if he thought that coming in contact would turn him into a boob monster).

As is common in the trickster archetype, he rarely relies on brute force to achieve his goals, to the point that one of the major character shifts in the late game is him swearing to take down Malpercio. Giacomo is his other blind spot, his mere appearance sending Kalas into an otherwise unseen rage. It’s easy to overlook that these are the exceptions, given how prominent they are (and how they launch you into one of the more dreaded fights in the game).

However, when it comes down to it, most of his work is done so quietly, it becomes a major reason to replay, just to see if you can catch him. Right from the get-go, he uses Xelha’s reference to Moonguile as an excuse to head on in. When she gets mad at him for looting, he restructures his argument to appeal to emotionalism and lets her believe what she wants. And while he initially resists joining up with her, he has no problem travelling together for convenience sake (and later, presumably, to stay close to the Earth Pendant and Chaotic Trio). Then there’s his efforts to direct suspicion onto Lyude. Despite coming across as the brashest member of the party, he frequently hides behind the others in this manner.

Yatagarasu

This section won’t be as carefully constructed as the others, but I believe the allusion is intentional. For the purpose of this argument, I’m going to have Kalas’ 3 arms--his arm arms/winglets and his natural wing--stand in place of Yatagarasu’s 3 legs. (Alternatively, one could count his original wing and the white wings, but I’m not going to for reasons to be indicted.)

Xelha takes the part of Jimmu, the royal wanderer. It was, after all, her dream of Kalas that was the inciting incident for her entire part in the story, returning him to the role of omen. It lead her to send out the witches, spy on Geldoblame, and bring Kalas along even knowing his intentions. In times of uncertainty throughout the story, she turns to her desire to save him as a source of strength and guidance.

Kalas: Black and White

Melodia refers to him both as “dark-winged stranger” and “white-winged darkness”. Kalas’ treatment in the narrative is interesting regarding the idea of purity. His lack of a second wing leads to him being ostracized by everyone from Geldoblame to some Miran randos. Larikush links the single wing to Kalas being “excessively human” and Balancoir Asshole #2′s “Malformed wings are the direct result of a malformed heart. His soul must have been tainted at birth”.

Of course, once he’s touched by Malpercio, he gains a (literally) shiny new pair of wings. This is also the point where he goes from morally distraught antihero to unrepentant mwahaha’er, only changing back when he makes the choice to rip out his additional wing.

The color symbolism is a little hard to decipher here, given that it’s an Eastern game but Kalas’ design is more West-inspired than just about any other character. From a Western perspective, it’s a fairly clear-cut juxtaposition of contrary symbols--his dark wings initially foreshadow his betrayal but ultimately are associated with his good side while the white represent the acceptance he seeks but are tainted by evil.

Kalas is the fallen angel, right down to Xelha being drawn to him like a moth to flame. I could probably make a whole section on Kalas being a croc-wearing anime Lucifer but I’m kinda really uncomfy with the Church, so I’d rather save myself that stretch.

In Japan it gets more complicated, assuming that that info regarding black’s symbolism is accurate. Because while the white of death is suitable for the dark harbinger, black isn’t terribly befitting of the Divine Child. It’s possible it’s a reference to the fact that Kalas wasn’t originally the Divine Child but *shrug*

Uh, so yeah. There’s plenty more I could say but this is already too long ^^;

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: Lest We Forget

A month of footy behind us, three teams remain undefeated, three teams remain winless. We might have thought Hawthorn would be in that first group, perhaps Richmond in the latter, but no, the world has been turned on its head and all of what we thought might happen in 2017 has been thrown out the window.

Let’s bust some myths, let’s disagree with some hard opinion, a lot of what many think is real is not, and a lot of what is being dismissed already should not be hastily so just yet.

 1.      Damien Barrett wrote a column on the AFL website suggesting Dion Prestia used his crystal ball and Medium qualities to see the future, to see that Richmond would start the season 4-0, Hawthorn 0-4, and thus chose the Tigers over the Hawks towards the end of last season. Rubbish. Richmond offered a young man more cash than Hawthorn did, it’s as easy as that. Who was so confident nine months ago that Richmond would start 2017 so much better than Hawthorn, who thought then too that the Tigers might be closer to a flag than the Hawks, who still thinks that now anyway? It was simply dollars Damo, don’t get sucked into sexy hindsight, for goodness sake.

 2.      Who has Richmond beaten? Carlton offered very little in Round One, narrowly edging Collingwood in 2017 is far from a glowing endorsement, West Coast in Melbourne in monsoonal rain will always be a coin toss and was anyone surprised in Brisbane losing another game? The Tigers are a fraudulent four and zero, let’s see how they are going in a month – they are still every chance to still miss the finals.

 3.      Before we move back to Hawthorn, who have Geelong beaten? Fremantle didn’t turn up this season until Round Three, North Melbourne found a way to lose a game they should have won, that’s the zero and four North Melbourne, Melbourne should have had Geelong all wrapped up by three-quarter-time yet somehow lost, and then the Cats defeated Hawthorn by as much as the Suns did the week prior. Still every chance to not make the finals as well.

 4.      So, the Hawks. Up the proverbial without an oar, paddle, boat, lifejacket, whatever you like, it doesn’t look good. To make matters worse, the compensation of a great pick in this year’s draft to facilitate the bounce back isn’t there because they have traded most of this year’s and last year’s good picks away to get O’Meara and Mitchell in. So they’ll need to be ruthless in the trade, and that means the likes of Rioli, Gunston, Smith, Puopolo and Breust. And if that sounds too fantastical, they’ve got form in moving big names, Mitchell and Lewis, so to not repeat the dose this year would be massively inconsistent, especially when it’s now even more important to do so.

 5.      David King is suggesting Jordan De Goey needs to come in ahead of time to help the Magpies out. De Goey did a seriously dumb thing and his three-match whack was on-point. To then say that he can come back early because the team needs him is awful – firstly, what kind of message is that sending about how strong your club is, and two – who made De Goey Chris Judd suddenly and that influential to a side with clearly more problems than just missing a 21-year old who hasn’t really proven anything yet?

 6.      And then Kingy’s second howler – sending Ben Reid forward. Sure, he is a nice catch of the ball and maybe a better target than White or Moore right now, but who’s to say he’ll kick any straighter, or even get a chance to hit the scoreboard with the way the Pies are butchering the ball going forward anyway? And even if Reid looks ok as a forward, what impact does it have the to the back six who are thin as it is for reinforcements. Not a good week for you David my man.

 7.      Any muppet who thought Jack Ziebell or Josh Gibson should have gotten weeks, a fine, anything for their hits, seriously needs to consider professional rubix cube or kite flying. Yes, protect the head, yes, heavily penalise those who take cheap shots or show a lack of sportsmanship. But a suspension, please, it’s a contact sport, sheparding and clean, fair hits are still promoted, I have no idea what’s going on sometimes.

 8.      The loser of Tuesday’s game is done for 2017. For Collingwood, to lose to an Essendon side that is vulnerable, beatable, and other than a rousing win in Round One are showing they are not yet on the way back up from 2016 – it would be the lowest of lows. Buckley will then be looking at when, not if, will be the right time to exit, during the year or at year’s end.

 9.      For Essendon, after that big win against the Hawks, it’s been flat since. Nothing gets a season back on track like a massive Anzac Day, and to take down Collingwood and get to 2-3 will be huge, the confidence it would provide the whole club can’t be measured. Lose though and its curtains.

 10.  How are the Demons not 4-0? Maybe ask Lewis and ol’ “Benson and Hedges” Hogan, but like I said earlier, they had Geelong on the ropes in the third quarter but still lost, and then Fremantle were admittedly great but the Dees should be winning that game every day of the week. They’re a good footy side, but they are dropping points which will hurt them down the road.

 11.  As for the Dockers, the eight is on track. They were MIA the first two weeks but should still win enough games to give seventh or eighth a real show. Any team that is coached by Lyon and has Fyfe, Mundy, Sandilands, Neale, Walters and now a couple of Hills will do well this year.

 12.  St Kilda are building a very strong case to maybe even host a final this year, let alone scrape in. They weren’t super last week against Collingwood but have all the ingredients to at worst win more games than they’ll lose, maybe even win 13-14..

 13.  A lot of talk about Collingwood’s pressure, especially the tackling. What’s been missed is the Sydney game was a false result. Because of the way the Swans dictate games you will always get more tackles than usual. So the mass spike in tackles by the Pies was not because of greater intensity but because of how that game was played. It’s like saying “oh, Richmond is usually great at set-shot accuracy but last week they were really bad, what’s gone wrong” if that game was played in the wet. So last week wasn’t so much a regression of effort per se against the Saint just that the week before was an outlier.

 14.  The Crows look great, but are they too hot too early? Can they sustain what they are doing, most certainly not. There’ll be a patch where they might cool off, but they need to make sure that when the whips are cracking they are able to turn the form they are currently showing back on, because it’ll win them a flag no question.

 15.  Hawthorn are in the dumps, and it’s a big fall from grace so I can get why it’s sexy. Yet, Isaac Smith kicks that goal after the siren in Week One of the finals and the Hawks make the Prelim. He doesn’t, and now they have won only two of their last eight games – not good.

 16.  However, how about North Melbourne just quietly. Many have forgotten their horror back-end to last year, so with their poor start to 2017 the Roos have now lost 14 of their last 16 games. They might be rebuilding, but still.

 17.  The third man up ruck rule fiasco is heating up. I like the new rule; it definitely helps ruckmen out. But the nominate thing, why do we need that, it’s just adding confusion. How about two ruckmen go for it, if a third player gets involved for whatever reason, free kick against? The nomination aspect seems totally excessive and redundant.

 18.  Three big games this week to highlight – firstly Melbourne against Richmond Monday night. Melbourne is a much better team, have been losing games they should not have, and Richmond is not too dissimilar to the likes of Geelong and Fremantle, so if they lose they’ve stuffed up big time.

 19.  Sydney take on the Giants on Saturday, the eighteenth franchise has never won at the SCG and in theory should do so quite easily however a slip up is a big chance. The Swans aren’t that bad, sure, the Giants are good, but has the potential for an upset this one.

 20.  St Kilda has Geelong this week in a monster game. The Saints are the superior team, no question. A reality check for Geelong backers is in store, St Kilda will show they have leapfrogged the once-mighty Cats.

  (originally published April 21)