#that either the circle is rocked by rebellion or i think i am actually going to be killed or a large enough group of non-templar circle

[iamthescalesofjustice]

do not have the focus rn to write the whole post in a satisfying way, but know that if i was in dragon age they would try to put me in a circle and make me tranquil, bc of my Symptoms and Behaviors. but that making me tranquil would not work out the way they want, bc 

1) it wouldnt even do that much about my symptoms and behaviors, bc many of them have little to nothing to do with emotions

1b) it wouldnt even severely impede me, bc i have decades of experience functioning through extreme depressive episodes, dissociative states, executive functioning problems, etc and i have been in extremely bad and toxic and punishing environments without chance of escape before and if it didnt make me compromise my principles then, neither would the tower

1c) if anything, and i am speaking from experience with my own altered states here, being unable to feel shame or fear or sorrow, would consequently dramatically reduce my capacity for things like hesitation and doubt, which are fueled partially by emotions but which are not quite emotions themselves. this would actually reduce my impulse control a lot, with only stuff like the fact that anger and annoyance and restlessness and excitement and giddiness and bloodlust not being there either to help balance it out. 

2) the fact that ‘everyone knows’ the tranquil are ‘incapable of using magic’ and ‘basically just soulless automatons’ would be possibly the most effective shield ever. their own brainrot from their own ingrained propaganda would make them blind to my schemes

2b) see the fact that people commonly think the tranquil cannot feel pain despite being outright told, by tranquil, that they can

2c) or the fact that mages can be made tranquil for using, or being suspected of  using, blood magic. obviously some of these mages get killed rather than made tranquil, but mages can and do get killed over anything and everything regardless of the reason. if it was commonly realized that tranquil mages can use blood magic, it wouldnt be used in these cases and they would all be killed instead. 

2cii) yes, tranquil mages can use blood magic. this should be obvious to anyone who thinks about it for a second, but apparently its not. 

2ciib) tranquil can also use runes btw. obviously. if those needed a connection to the fade to use then dwarves would not have invented them or be able to use them. 

2ciic) i also think dwarves could probably use blood magic if they had the chance to learn. possibly there is a subsection of the dwarven population that would be equivalent to mages, and they could do it but not the others, but nobody knows exactly because this kind of stuff just isnt being explored yet. 

2ciid) i also think that across all species ability to use magic is more of a spectrum than a solid yes/no and there probably a lot of people whose capacity for magic falls below the flashier threshold of what most of southern thedas seems to think of as ‘mage’ or manifests in a different way. this includes the people who get approved to become templars because there apparently is some kind of innate trait they look for in the people they are willing to train to use templar abilities, which are definitely a form of magic. 

2d) aside from the sheer stigma, the biggest practical downside of blood magic is that it can dampen the casters connection to the fade, making their ability to use the normal sort of magic weaker or less reliable. for someone whose connection to the fade is already shut down, this is a nonissue. 

2dii) the second biggest issue with blood magic is the need to draw on a source, typically either the caster themself or other living beings. personally, i dont think theres any real ethical problem with using yourself for blood magic, and the problem of using others is far less pressing when you have, say, a bunch of templars around to drain instead. 

3) they literally have books you can learn blood magic from without ever needing to talk to a denizen of the fade. the tower top brass put those books in their own fucking library. as a plant to get unwary mages. 

3b) i am excellent at learning from books. 

3c) if pressed about why i am reading a book about blood magic, i can answer that theres no reason for me not to. now that i ‘cant use magic’, theres no danger in me learning the theory. knowledge is valuable for its own sake. 

3cii) this has the benefit of being mostly true, even. and not feeling smugness or excitement or anger means i would be more easily able to say things with a straight face and not have roiling emotions give me away. 

4) if i were a tranquil who could do blood magic and i saw a templar menacing a mage in an otherwise-empty corner of a tower i would puppet that asshole over to the stairs and make them trip themself down it so their death looked like an accident

4b) and then when the mage looked at me like something other than a piece of creepy walking furniture for the first time in maybe years i would simply say “youre welcome. also, neither of us were here, and no one will ever believe you” and calmly walk away

[virlath]

Hidden Trespasser mosaics

So I was researching some lore for a theory surrounding the environmental artwork in DAI, and happened to stumble upon this twitter post regarding unused mosaics for Trespasser. 

Coincidentally, I’ve been so deep in statues and elven god symbolism the past few days that I thought I’d chime in with some of my own thoughts.

From left to right in these artworks, I think we’re looking at four different gods involved in Solas’ slave rebellion.

Fen’Harel, Dirthamen/Falon��Din, Andruil, Mythal

===

If this hidden game file is anything to go by, it seems to confirm one theory I’ve had for a while- that Solas had help from some of the evanuris with his slave rebellion.

Because when you think about it, it’s kinda hard to believe he could have started a slave rebellion at all with his high profile and attachment to Mythal, especially when slaves seems to have been a big economy in ancient Elvhenan.

===

The gods in these mosaics

From left to right in the image

(Note: I actually posted some hi-res shots of the masks from DAO yesterday if you’re interested in seeing unedited screenshots, but I’ll break down my guesses here anyway.)  

1. Fen’Harel is obviously the wolf.

2. Dirthamen’s mask is easiest to spot because it matches the shape of his statues in DAO. Note that Dirthamen and Falon’Din have very similar statues and masks.

Falon’Din is the statue with the spear (recognised by Tamlen as “friend of the dead”) while I believe Dirthamen is the statue with four arms (this also strongly implies the envy demon in DAI is his corrupted raven, Deceit)

I believe Falon’Din and Dirthamen are two aspects of the same being, but how that actually works remains to be seen. Some people have suggested Falon’Din walks the fade while Dirthamen walks the physical realm and perhaps that explains their togetherness and separateness. 

Regardless, it does seem like both Falon’Din and Dirthamen were involved in Solas’ uprising due to the fact that both their mosaics are found inside the elven sanctuary before we see Solas’ mural removing vallaslin.

3. Andruil’s mask seems to fit most similarly to the third mosaic.

The overall curved shape mirrors Andruil’s bow in her mosaic, and the dotted indentation at the top totally looks like an arrow shaft. The eye placement in both the mosaic and the mask hints to me that this is very likely Andruil.

The big question- why would Andruil be helping Solas?

Perhaps because Mythal turned her to their side after she “sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void.”

Or, perhaps Andruil isn’t as “evil” as people think she is.

Sure, she may have brought on the blight (although even this is conjecture, personally I feel like this could very well could be misdirection) and may have hunted “mortal men and beasts”, but who’s to say these beasts and men didn’t deserve what they got? Who’s to say she wasn’t corrupted by the void before she became the “goddess of sacrifice”?

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss.

This implies to me she could have simply been hunting beings that had given her cause to hunt them. Remember, she was the only god that responded to Ghilan’nain’s cries for help, and at this time Ghilan’nain was one of the People, implying she wasn’t totally evil.

Andruil also has strong links to Falon’Din, because she and Falon’Din share the same symbol of the owl. What if Mythal meted out judgement, Falon’Din brought her judgement to them in the form of the owl (thus fulfilling the role of Andruil’s messenger as well as “friend of the dead”), and Andruil hunted them in turn to render Mythal’s judgement?

“Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know: Andruil might have a message for you.”

It is interesting to see that the owl statue is always carrying what looks like a mirror or even dimension to another world (another prison perhaps?), possibly intended as a way to reflect the viewer’s own self and actions back on to them. 

Anyway, to me there are a number of possibilities why Andruil would work with Solas and co. Perhaps she wasn’t as corrupted as they thought. Perhaps Mythal made her forget so much so she agreed to help them. Or perhaps Andruil was the mole in the rebellion - the person who began the events that led to Mythal’s death.

4. I think the last god represents Mythal, due to the fact the shape is similar to the bronze statues found in the crossroads and deep roads.

There are in fact two versions of this statue - the sun, in the crossroads, and the moon in the deep roads. (brightened and contrast boosted for clarity)

The moon statue is strongly implied to represent Mythal, because a note is found near this statue:

These statues are old. Better shape than anything I've seen on the surface. Many of them are for Mythal, though. And Fen'Harel. Not in a spot of honor, but guarding, attending.

Question is, why would the sun also represent Mythal when Elgar’nan is known as the Eldest of the sun? 

Well, not only does the sun statue look very much the yin to the yang of the moon statue in the deep roads, the sun could refer to Mythal being both the sun and moon to the dwarves. 

These statues are notably different to other elven statues we’ve seen- notable for the fact they have a large base of rock, and they are carved in smooth bronze.  As these bronze statues are only found in this particular section of the deep roads where she controlled a lyrium wellspring, perhaps the dwarves carved these as a representation of her.

In the third note you find in the deep roads, a poem reads:

I am empty, filled with nothing(?), Mythal gives you dreams. It fills you, within you(?), Making our leaders proud. My little stones, Never yours the sun. Forever, forever.

It sure seems to me like Mythal was protecting these dwarves from something. Either that, or she was using these dwarves as slaves or minions in her operation and for some reason, they revered her enough to carve their own representations of her.

Morrigan says this of Mythal at the Temple of Mythal:

Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.’

Similarly, Solas further says:

She was the mother,  protective and fierce. 

Regardless, I think there’s more evidence indicating Mythal was working with Solas over Elgar’nan. You do need Mythal’s passphrase after all to enter the elven sanctuary safely.

And if you want to take this one step further, check out the crown “Andraste” is wearing in DAO. Look familiar??? Maybe reminscent of the moon statue we see in the deep roads?

I don’t want to say Mythal was Andraste but...there are many signs that are hard to ignore.

===

More theory drabble

I realise a lot of the gods’ motives I’ve come up with above are based on conjecture and tbh, the writing for DA4 could go so many ways simply because of the fact that there are so many wide open threads that could be expanded upon.

These unused mosaics does indicate to me at least that the writers have a plan for how Solas’ rebellion actually functioned however, and that to me is exciting in itself.

One thing we can assume with high certainty is that Solas started the slave rebellion before Mythal’s death, because you need her passphrase to enter his sanctuary. Furthermore, even without these unused mosaics there are in-game mosaics of Dirthamen and Falon’Din in the sanctuary before we see the vallaslin mural.

This strongly implies to me that at the very least, even without this hidden game file, that Dirthamen, Falon’Din and Mythal aided and abetted Solas’ slave rebellion.

Further adding to this theory are the the rather compelling links to Dirthamen throughout DAI. For example, the gilded Fen’Harel statues in Dirthamen’s temple’s inner sanctum, Dirthamen’s bleeding statue in the Fade, Dirthamen, Falon’Din, Mythal and Fen’Harel imagery in the Knight’s Tomb, as well as Dirthamen’s statue at Calenhad’s foothold (where it’s implied he had a thing with Ghilan’nain). Not to mention- dual raven standards found underneath Fen’Harel’s sanctuary, as well as archer statues next to the eluvian as you exit (who I believe represent Dirthamen & Falon’Din).

Something clearly happened that led to Mythal’s death, and I’m leaning towards the fact that there was a leak somewhere within Solas’ trusted circle. Dirthamen seems to have been betrayed by someone close to him before the veil was created, because his statue in the fade is stabbed in the back and his eyes are weeping waterfalls of blood. 

As Solas says “...an enemy can attack, but only an ally can betray you. Betrayal is always worse.” 

And, when you tell him you trust your friends? He responds “I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory” 

It is assumed he is talking about Mythal’s own betrayal when he says this, but he could also be referring to the person/people who betrayed him and his trust. Personally, I think Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain could be key players in Mythal’s death at this point. We don’t know enough about the other gods to also make assumptions on their motives unfortunately. 

All in all, it seems to me like every one of the false gods were out to get one another, and Solas never even saw Mythal’s death coming because he was too arrogant/preoccupied with his rebellion.

If Solas really was Mythal’s oldest friend and guardian, his pride would have been absolutely crushed when she was betrayed and killed. The veil was likely a knee-jerk reaction due to his pride and “hot-headedness” more than anything- if he could be outplayed and have his own power and role as “guardian” outright questioned, then of course he would retaliate and raise the stakes even higher. It’s his MO- he has a means to an ends “you didn’t invent war” mentality, disregarding the collateral damage as long as he comes out on top.

This does make me wonder what intentions he has for the false gods once they’re freed though. Obviously Mythal wants her vengeance. But what of Solas? These false gods were his kin after all and the only ones who can truly relate to him on a level no mortal can understand. After all these years of stewing and realising his knee-jerk reaction cost him the entire elven empire, it makes sense he would want to restore what he effectively destroyed when his pride was hurt. 

To me it does seem like he truly hates the evanuris...but could he still be in leagues with some of them? Something I may not put past him, considering I don’t think he worked alone during his rebellion. 

[missblissy]

Rebirth (Chapter Six)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

((THE TAG LIST IS CURRENTLY DOWN UNTIL I CAN FIX IT!! PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT I AM TRYING TO DO EVERYTHING I CAN! I PROMISE TO HAVE THE TAGGED LIST BACK UP FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER)) ((HERE IS THE SONG THAT ALASTOR SINGS))

“You want to summon... A demon? You do know that goes against literally everything I stand by?” Sage stared at you with narrow eyes. She didn’t seem too pleased that you had asked. 

And you weren’t too pleased that three years of friendship turned out to be a twisted lie, “I don’t think I know anything about you,” You said with a little to much attitude, “I thought you were a chemist that traveled a lot for work. Turns out my best friend is actually a magical witch that kills demons for a living!”

Sage knew she had hurt you, you could see it on her face. You expected her to snap back like she normally would. But she showed complete control, she took a breath in and then out, “I am under an oath to not to share this information with anyone outside my bloodline. I’ve have broken that one and only rule twice. For Van, and for you. I’m supposed to kill you now,” Her words were so cold you almost thought she would. Sage did nothing but give you a stern look. You felt like a child under that gaze, she was only four years older than, but she had the energy of 100-year-old pagan, “I’d rather die for it than let either of you be harmed in any way shape or form. Sharing this information with you has put our lives at risk. So long as you play dumb when you need to, everything will hopefully be fine, but I can’t promise that. So you can see why I kept this from you for so long. I hope you understand it wasn’t to lie or deceive you. It was to protect you. But now the only way for me to protect you is to tell you everything you need to know.”

You suddenly felt immature and bratty. She was right. You were blind to the bigger picture and you felt a little dumb, “I’m sorry,” You said, “I just felt... I don’t know. All of this is so crazy. I feel like the who universe is lying to me and you were apart of that. I know your intentions were in the right place,”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. There was a mutual understanding and you both silently agreed to move on, “Why do you want to summon a demon? I need to know your reasoning before I share this information with you.”

You could understand her concerns, “Well, what if I were to learn how to summon Alastor? Maybe for a trap?” You told her with a warry voice.

“Well, I wouldn’t doubt it if he had this place tapped in any way. He’s probably listening to us right now. I doubt he’d dare to step out though.”

“Why?” You were curious to see why she was so confident.

“Because I can kill him. And he knows that. He’s too proud and important to let something like that happen. Because if I kill him, Eon will die too. I have a divine weapon that my father passed down to me and his father before him. The Morning Sword, the same sword Lucifer lifted towards God in his rebellion and the same sword he lost when he fell from grace.”

Holy shit. You had to see this sword, “Where is?” You asked, “Can I see?”

Sage smirked slightly, her blue eyes sparkled a little. She nodded, “Sure,” With a quick wave of her hand, a sword started to manifest before your eyes. It was made of silver and gold, with its own source of blue light leaking between the designs. It fell quickly into Sage’s hand and she swiftly turned it and placed it before you. The blade rested in her open palms, “This sword destroys any soul it comes in contact with,”

“Why isn’t it hurting you then?” You asked, not sure if you wanted to touch it or not.

“Souls are protected deep within our bodies,” Sage explained. 

You reached out and placed a finger on the glowing blade. A little zap of electricity pricked your finger. You were just about to take the sword in your own hands when a little buzz went off. Sage pulled out her phone, gave it one look, then sighed heavily.

“I have to go,” She said while the sword fizzled out of existence. She opened her mouth to explain but you cut her off.

“I understand. Demon stuff.”

Sage’s smile was small but wholesome, “Everything you need is in this bag,” You had almost forgotten that it was sitting next to you, “I’ll text you, okay?” She quickly got up to her feet and soon she was at the door, “Let Van know if you need anything too. I’ll see you late, (Y/n),”

You waved at your friend and watched her go. You were alone again and you felt a chill. You remembered what Sage said, about Alastor having this place tapped. 

You wanted to see him, and you hated admitting that to yourself. The book had answered some questions. Things like who you were when you were a demon. You were called The Crybaby Demon, and you were the Gate Keeper of Hell. You married Alastor seven or eight years after meeting him. Eon technically owned your soul but since you were reincarnated, he lost his power over it. And even how you met and fell in love with Alastor. 

It was hard to see him as the same demon who was trying to trick you into going to hell. It was more like... someone desperately trying to get back to their life. Or afterlife in this case. 

You stood up from the couch. You looked around slowly then felt stupid as you called out, “Alastor...?” Nothing happened. Maybe he really left for good?

Suddenly Buck came out from hiding. He slowly walked from your bedroom and his tiger eyes watched your every move. That's when you remembered that... Buck had something to do with all of this.

You felt silly as you reached your hand out. Buck rubbed his cheek against your fingers and purred loudly, “Can you bring Alastor here?” You asked quietly.

And that’s when you felt it. That energy that caused your hairs to rise. The soft stale static fizzled in and out of your ear. He was here. What happened to that big screaming portal? Or could he hide that from your eyes too? You looked around and followed the waves as they pulsed from where ever Alastor was hiding. You faced the windows between your kitchen and living room. 

You saw the curtains flutter slightly, then you saw a shadow flash across the floor, “Alastor?” You called out with a weak voice. You weren’t sure where he went.

As you started to take a few steps back, you felt a cold chill on the back of your neck, “You called~?” His voice was loud and muffled at the same time. He spoke through that filter, that old microphone voice. You spun around and saw Alastor grinning at you, “Hello, my darling dear.”

You were frozen for a second. You almost forgot that he was a demon. A murderer. And if you could remember correctly... a cannibal. You gulped, then spoke weakly, “Hi,” You started, “I... I wanted to see you,” As you admitted that you saw Alastor’s smile grow, “I’ve been reading the book you left. And... I want to know more about who I was. Parts of the book won’t appear for me- even with my blood! They just stay blank,” 

Alastor chuckled then began to walk in a circle around you, “I’m aware,” He grinned loosely, “I can’t get all the pages to show for me, either, so I can’t help you there,”

“I thought it wouldn’t work for you?” Didn’t the book say it was cursed or something so Alastor couldn’t read it?

“I found a way in. But the book only shows me what it wants me to see, the same for you, darling, what did it show you?” 

That didn’t make sense... The book only showed you passages about Alastor. If it showed him something different than what he saw... “It only showed me things about you,” 

Something sparkled in his eyes and he took a step towards you. Leaning down into your sights, “What could you ever want to know about me?” His eyes were wide and wild as they flashed an emotion in them that you could barely pick out. 

Your heart raced and you felt a little frightened, “You... were my husband?”

“I was,” He hummed lowly.

“You loved me?” You had to hear him say it. You didn’t know why, but you just had to.

“I did,” Alastor took a step away from you, a smaller smile on his face, “I still do,” You felt something twitch in your chest. Something old and unknown to your mind yet familiar to your soul, “And I know you don’t love me,” Alastor when on, “But I want to change that!” He rocked on his heels then snapped his finger. Suddenly he wasn’t a demon anymore. He was a human, a young man in casual attire, “If you’ll let me, that is, my dear. I want a chance at being in your life again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy,”

He peered at you through his round glasses. A natural smile rested on his face. He held a hand out towards you. A part of you wanted to take his hand in yours and see what would happen. Another part tould you to run. He was still a demon. Weren’t they supposed to trick you with pretty words?

You shook that thought away because you knew Alastor loved you. The book showed you that he loved your soul more than anything in this world. When you looked up at Alastor’s face, you could even see a small flash of pleading in his eyes. You lifted your hand and barely graced your fingers on his. 

As soon as your skin touched his, Alastor grabbed your hand quickly and pulled you to him. You were brought close to his embrace. Warmth radiated off his body and soon you were swept away into a magical place. Music started to play, you realized it came from Alastor. 

Alastor was dressed in a dark deep crimson red suit and matching bowtie. His glasses were gone and you were dressed in matching a long and elegant dress, the same shade of red as Alastor’s suit. He hummed lowly then you watched him sing. His voice was staticky again as if he was singing on an old radio show, “Alooooone~.... At the edge of a universe humming a tuunnee..... For merely dreaming we were snow...Mhmmm..” He leaned in close and you felt something spark in your heart and travel to your cheeks. Alastor was face to face with you, only inches away, “A siren sooouunds!!! Like the goddess who promises endless apologies of paradise... And only she can make it riiight~” He gave you this look, still inching closer, he sucked in a breath and sang on “So things are different tonight!”

Pianos and music leaked from an unknown source, Alastor pulled you through a portal that you didn’t even see open and suddenly as an orchestra of music played you found yourself in a city you had never seen before, “We’ll go toogeetheerr... In flight!” 

It was as if you were in a magical movie. Stars began to fly around you as you realized you were in a graveyard in a hot and muggy city. Alone. With Alastor. He sung away every problem and worry that came to your troubled mind. His voice was so hypnotic and beautiful. It was like you were under a spell as he grabbed your hand in his and began to dance with you. You watched little ghosts appear from behind gravestones that rose above the ground. Gaves were stacked into each other, with statues and cross decorating them. Little ghosts of all kinds fluttered around as little sparkly stars flustered to life.

“It's Now & Never!” He began to sing again, a smile on Alastor’s face, “A reverie endeavor... awaits somnambulant directives to take the helm!” Suddenly the two of you spun so quickly that everything faded into a blur, “Believe me, darling! !The stars were made for falling!” And like that all the little stars he made began to fall, “Like melting obelisks as tall as another realm~!”

You were still in the graveyard, mesmerized the galaxies that started to form out of seemingly nothing. Music still played and Alastor was dancing some kind of tango with you. A smile grew on your face, you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t know he could be so whimsical and magical. He even started to sing in French (or that’s what you thought) and you had no idea what he was saying but it made your heart race in your chest. 

Suddenly he was singing in English again, “It feels like flying~!” You saw his demonic face flash for only a second, “But maybe we're dyyiiing~! A cosmic confluence of Pyramids hologrammed!! She knows you heard her, staging music murder in line before the show began to be where I am!”

The music changed it’s beat and once again Alastor was leading you through the graveyard. Trees grew all over, most of them were weeping willows. Fireflies began to come out of hiding and they were soon spinning into a swarm, obviously, it was Alastor’s doing. The fireflies shot up into the sky and blew up like fireworks. You could hear the voice of a woman softly singing in the background of the music as jingle bells chimed away. You could barely even understand what the voice was singing. Alastor’s voice drifted into the background but his mouth never opened beside the flash of a toothy grin here and there.

As the music slowed down, Alastor had brought you to a large weeping willow tree that protected a gazebo under its long viny branches. It sounded like you could hear the ocean but you knew it was just a trick.

Alastor quickly brought you close to him, close enough that your chests were touching, his arm snaked around your waist while the other held your hand up in the air. He started to waltz with you, looking down with dark brown eyes and a loving smile on his face, “You look quite divine tonight~!” The fireflies were back, flickering away as they spun around the both of you as you waltzed together, “Here among these vibrant lights! Pure delights surround us as we sail! Signed, yours truly, the whale! Joy mirage's kingdom come...No one left at stake~! Now that existence is on the wake, let's see what we can make!” 

The two of you slowed down, only swaying now. You barely even forgot that Alastor wasn’t a human, he was a stranger to you. But the way it felt to have your hand in his was totally intoxicating. There was a wave of energy that flowed from him and straight into your heart. 

Is this what love felt like? To have someone love you unconditionally and for all of eternity? You couldn’t tell and you weren’t sure if you were ready to know. You just couldn’t stop that little smile on your face as you looked up at him. Alastor was only humming a tune now while giving you the softest smile you had ever seen on his face. 

You had no idea, but this was everything Alastor had been waiting for. A moment like this was priceless, it was almost like he had you back for real this time. He knew not to rush this though, he knew that he had to do this right if he was to ever get you to come back to him.

The fireflies started to fly away save for a few dozen that flickered away under the gazebo roof. Alastor’s body against yours was warm and beating with a pulse of life. His radio heart swelled with love and you could have sworn that he was more human than demon.  

You looked up to him with questions in your eyes, “Where are we?” You finally asked. 

Soft music was still playing, you could hear it coming from Alastor’s body. He hummed and gave you a little spin then brought you back to him, “New Orleans,” He said quietly as if this wasn’t freaking huge.

You gave him a look, a raised brow, “Didn’t you say you were from here?” 

He nodded his head, “I’m actually buried a few rows over,” Why was he so casual about this?

You nearly shook your head as you took a double-take on what he said, “Wait.. like... your body?” He nodded his head again and that soft smile was still on his face, “Can... Can we see?”

The two of you were standing still now. Alastor let go of your hand only to snake his arm under yours, linking you together by the elbow, “Sure, I don’t see why not,” His voice was low and sounded like the purr of a cat... or demon. 

You walked with him, still linked by the arm. This graveyard was so beautiful. It was filled with old statues with patches of moss and dirt scattered across them. It was dark and the sun had set but it’s enchanting colors still scattered across the sky. It made a painting of blues and pinks and purples. You could smell the heavy scent of roses drifting in the wind. 

As you neared a tomb at the end of a road, Alastor slowly came to a stop. The headstone was destroyed on top of the grave liner, shattered and broken into rubble. It even looked like someone cracked open the concert vault and had stolen the bones inside.  The second grave next to it was also broken apart and vandalized. You looked at him with worried eyes but he didn’t seem fazed. 

“I-... I’m sorry,” You started to mumble.

Alastor quickly waved his free hand back and forth, ushering your to stop your worrying, “I’ve already killed the fools who desecrated mine and my mother’s graves. Worry not, my little doe, it’s what one gets for being a serial killer,”

You had almost forgotten about that. It was hard to imagine that Alastor was an infamous serial killer, cannibal and radio show host. 

Lucky for you, google existed and you had done a little research on Alastor. You looked at him as you brought a finger to your chin, “It was.. La-...Lafloor?” You tried to remember what that damn google search said.

Alastor chuckled and suddenly his voice took this deep, southern creole accent, “Alastor Narcisse LaFleur,” It sounded like he was speaking a totally different language, but it was his name. He gazed down at you fondly, amused at your lack of understanding, “I was a radio show host most of my adult life while murdering 51 people in the course of seven years,” He spoke fondly of his life, a look of pride on his face, “However one day I got a tip from a dear old friend that my cover was blown. I ran from the police,” He started to chuckle, “They almost got me, but I got pretty far and POW!,” Then he pretended to shoot himself in the head with a smile, “I did it before they could.” 

What a cruel and ironic way to go. Life had a funny sense of humor. You could not understand why you felt so bad for him. You reached out and dared to touch his arm, but you stopped just short. He had noticed your advancement and gave you a look, “Do not feel sorry for me, my dear, I’m already dead!” At least he made you chuckle, “Please, I’d love to leave this place and take you somewhere nice.”

The idea didn’t sound half bad, “Sure!” You wanted to see where this would go. You couldn’t stop craving the attention he gave you. Something wild and unknown to you called out to be by Alastor’s side and you gave into that call. Perhaps it had something to do with your soul, you guessed, maybe it was because your soul knew Alastor better than you did. That gut feeling you normally ignored grew larger and more apparent. 

You were curious to see what Alastor had instore, you were still linked with him by the arm as the two of your quietly strode out of the graveyard. You couldn’t stop the smile that crawled into your face as you happily gave into the magic and wonder that was Alastor. What else could he possibly have in store? Well, you’d just have to wait and see~

[capricornus-rex]

Okay so maybe a fic where Cal keeps having nightmares and visions when he meditates of the reader dying and the events leading up to her death. He starts being really protective and the reader tries to reassure him shes fine. But on a mission things start happening that he saw in the visions before the reader dies and gets really on edge. You can decide how it ends, aka reader dying in cals arms to make me cry or him saving her to also make me cry! Sorry if this is too much!!💕

Hi there~! I think I used too much of my liberty to make this as angsty as I can 😅 Either way, I hope I was able to make you shed a tear with this fic request at least once. And never worry, it’s not too much! 💕

“What You Fear To Lose” | Cal Kestis x Reader

Tags: Near-death! Reader

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of 3

Cal… It hurts so much…

I don’t think I can anymore…

I just can’t…

“No!” Cal jolted up, beads of sweat riddled his chest and neck.

In the bed opposite of his is you, sleeping deeply and peacefully. From that narrow distance between beds, he studied your relaxed features, moonlight radiated over your skin—highlighting the secretive shadows of your collarbones and the slight twitching of your eyelashes. Cal stood up and pulled the blanket up until your bosom before retiring to bed.

The waking image of you is a complete contrast to the visions he sees in his dreams.

And it worried him.

At face value, everything was fine—at least for you and everyone else.

It was only a dream. Cal consoled himself in his mind.

Today was going smoothly and normally as it should in Ryloth. With very little to do and go about, you made yourselves busy in the hideout called the Mound; from the outside, it looked like one big hill, but the inside was a literal labyrinth—paths branching out and connecting with one another. The Twi’leks knew the place like the back of their hand.

For your sake, you, Cal, and the others remained in the easy parts of the hideout.

“Cal?” you called, “Are you okay? You seem a little off today.”

“Am I? Maybe I haven’t been getting enough sleep,”

“Bed too lumpy to for you?” a half-hearted joke repaid with a weak chuckle.

It was evident that Cal was going through something and you wanted to help him. Looking around, there isn’t much to do—you’re practically sitting in the middle of a rock wasteland with just a Separatist base retrofitted into the Empire’s fashion. The most anybody could do—except the fighters who were busy planning out their attack—is help with the refugees, tending to the sick ones, handing over food and drink to them since they were lodged in the upper floor.

The Twi’leks whom you offered help to politely refused, saying that they didn’t want to use your energy for that day, even if you said you could easily regain it with a single good night’s sleep. There was no point in insisting though.

“Hey Cal, you up for saber practice today?”

He managed a smile, the first smile he’s made today, “Sure.”

The two of you found a good place to practice—one of the chambers inside the Mound. It was an empty room and no possessions or other things the rebels might need are stashed there.

“This looks okay,” you commented, gently twirling about, gendering at the spaciousness of the room and the height of the ceiling; it was also well-lit, given the number of holes in the wall varying in sizes acting as windows.

Cal watched you spinning around the room to get a sense of space—not just spinning in one place, but actually circling the room—he smiled to himself when he witnessed your carefree spirit showing itself, but it followed with the heaviness in his heart, a sharp pang jabs him at the temples, white lights transitioned into bleak images before his eyes.

It’s the same images from his dream.

“Cal?” you run up to him massaging the side of his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… I suddenly got dizzy there.”

“We could do this some other time, if you’re not feeling well, you know,”

“No, really,” he insisted. “I’m okay.”

You tilted your head, an expression that translates to “Are you sure?”

He insisted once more and positioned himself in a stance. Minutes later, he was back to normal, he was able to perform his usual tricks in dueling. He was still the little show-off, even in sparring practice, but you matched up to his tempo pretty quickly.

“Where did you pick that up?” you bantered while your blades were crossed together.

“Something I made up just now!”

“Don’t go easy on me then!”

You didn’t let him outshine you—both of you were like that to each other—and sometimes, your own prowess shines at the same time as his. The adrenaline in both of you kept pumping, making you seek the thrill of duel which wasn’t due until tomorrow. It was enough of a workout, Cham Syndulla’s words of “Save your strength!” has been beaten into your heads for the past few days. Understandably so, it was a rebellion—it meant a great deal not just for Cham but for his own family and people.

“You sure don’t hold back even in practice, do you?” you chuckled, wiping the sweat off your brow with your sleeve.

“You weren’t so bad yourself!”

Cal wished that the day doesn’t go on anymore. He just wants it to spend the day with you. He wondered if it was the perfect opportunity for him to finally say it—after getting constantly coaxed by Merrin and pestered by Greez to “just do it.”

While catching your breaths inside that empty chamber somewhere in the Mound, it was only the two of you inside, sitting next to each other in the stillness of the room.

“I wonder if the moon ever lines up to that hole in the ceiling,” you thought out loud, it was an innocent thought, however, it was still endearing to Cal.

He turned to you, your head tilting up while resting against the wall, staring at that orifice in the ceiling. He examined your expression—curious and filled with wonderment—and watched the way your eyes shift slightly from left to right from one hole in the wall to the other.

A part of him is basically shoving him by the back to tell it to you already, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to say it. There was the hesitation he can’t fight off. He knows he’ll have to say it sooner or later.

He lets off a chuckle after your thought.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you have the cutest thoughts,”

“What? I was just wondering if the moon ever shows up above that hole!”

He tousled the top of your hair, letting more stray strands to fall out of place in that neat ponytail. As revenge, you ruffled his hair with both hands—as opposed to him doing it one-handed—and the slicked-back top of his hair transformed into fringes that draped his forehead.

The hair-ruffling eventually evolved into tickling. Cal quickly got you pinned to the ground, his finger wiggled and poked across your ribs and sides, while you couldn’t even get a single jab at him.

“Alright, I yield!” you burst laughing.

You pushed him off of you until the two of you are already lying flat on the ground. The noise of the laughter has subsided until all that could be heard in the sound of the draft whistling through the windows.

Cal’s eyes never left you.

He carefully pondered and considered whom to confide this to. Obviously, he wanted to leave you out of it—he doesn’t want the worry to overtake you, even if you shrug it off as first. The next reasonable person would be the one who would have had these sorts of dream at a certain point in time.

“Dreams? What kind of dreams, Cal?”

“Nightmares, Cere,”

“And what do they contain? Can you make out some images?”

“Pain, desperation…” He sighed. “Death.”

Cere’s eyes searched the cramped interior of the Mantis. Your voice caught her attention, you were busy studying the data from BD-1’s memory bank from the couch by the holotable. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. She turned back to Cal and upon seeing his expression, the former Jedi truly understood.

“You’re afraid,” Cere pointed out. “You’re afraid that these dreams might become reality.”

“Honestly, Cere, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“And what do you propose to do?”

“I… I’ll just have to protect her,”

Cere released a resigned sigh, she didn’t think that she and Cal would have this talk sooner that she’d hoped.

“And how far do you think your protection will take her?”

Cal reflected on that question for a long time. Cere didn’t require an immediate answer, she wanted him to understand the depth of his resolve. She left the boy to his solitude and he retired to the bedroom in the ship to further meditate on his answer—the real answer lying in the recesses of his mind.

Explosions.

The floor crumbling beneath the feet.

“Please hold on!”

“Cal… Leave me… you have to go…”

More images and voices. Indications of the same premonition, now more lucid before his eyes.

Just when Cal thought he would get at least a fragment of closure in his meditation, it seems that it only amplified the gravity of his dreams.

[mandareeboo]

Unfinished Work #36 (Untitled)

I am really sad I didn’t end up finishing this one. I like a lot of the actual concept of it still; the Horde is anti-love more or less, Adora and Catra are unlearning years of abuse for being in love, etc etc. But it never had a concrete ending. I considered a joke where Glimmer was like “jfc just get together already” and Catra is like “We are??????”, but it didn’t quite fit either. I still think Netossa and Spinny redo their vows after the war, though.

———————————————————————————————————–

"Anything else?" King Micah asks, after what has turned into a three hour long debate as to whether they should name a giant hole in the ground after Prime or She-Ra. They still hadn't decided.

"Is there anything else to say?" Swift Wind replies, his head resting comfortably on Adora's hair bun. "Stuff has to be picked up, lore has to be written down, busywork busywork."

"Ahem," said Spinnerella, standing up. She takes Netossa by the hand and slowly comes to the front of the table, smiling deviously. "May we, Micah?"

The king bowed and stepped back. "Of course."

Spinnerella smiled, grateful. "Thank you." She turned to the gathering of Princesses. "Everyone. As you all know, things have been hectic recently."

Mermista snorted.

"But Etheria has triumphed over all else. Love has triumphed over all else." The wind Princess kissed the back of Netossa's hand. "Do you care to tell them, darling?"

Netossa flung her free hand up. "We're renewing our vows, suckers!"

"Netossa," Spinnerella chided, giggling. "We're here to invite them, not rub their noses in it."

"Can't it be both?"

Catra, who had been petting Melog the past two and a half of those three hours, finally glanced up. She didn't have much to say about a giant hole. She didn't really care about the name. And Melog was fun to pet- soft and surprisingly warm, especially in their mane area. Catra glanced at Adora, hoping to find answers, only to see the familiar blank look she always had whenever she was confused.

Thank stars for Scorpia, who doesn't have issues about swallowing her pride and asking about things. "Congrats! Uhhhhhh…. what is it we're celebrating, exactly?"

"Love," Netossa said, as if that was an actual explanation. "Spinny and I have been married for over fifteen years now. This is just a good way to remember the best choice I've made in my life."

"Follow-up question," Scorpia says. "What is our uniform? Because I have, like, none of the uniforms. I had this nice dress and I think it got lost in the ocean somewhere?" She gestured to her usual outfit with her claw. "So this is basically it."

"We'll find you something," Spinnerella promises. "This doesn't have to happen overnight. We have forever, now." She kisses Netossa's cheek this time. "Isn't that amazing?"

"Isn't that amazing?" Catra repeats a couple of days later with venom, pulling on her tuxedo jacket. "I know this is happy ever after or whatever, but why does happy ever after have to have so many damn clothes?"

Adora adjusts her tie with a shrug. It's a pale sea-green, and easily the best part of the entire outfit. "I asked Bow about it, and apparently they got married in a ditch right after Micah vanished. I guess they wanted to one-up that."

"Stars, I wish that was me."

"Getting married in a ditch?"

"No, in a ditch. Letting the grass reclaim me." Catra scowled at herself in the mirror. Her hair was beginning to grow out a bit, finally, but it'd be ages yet before it was back to its proper glory. "Any chance we could skip?"

"Only if you're willing to get the shit kicked out of you by Netossa." Adora pulled a small headband out from a random drawer. Crude ladybugs littered the blank plastic. "Here."

She bristled, eyeing it suspiciously. "You know I don't like stuff on my neck."

"It's not for your neck." Adora carefully tucked it behind her ears, letting it slide into place. She decided screw it, she was already here, and pressed their foreheads together. "There. Now your bangs are out of the way. Everyone can see your cute freckles."

"Stars, you're corny." Catra's skin rumbled lightly with the force of her purr, but when they locked eyes again hers wavered. "Do you... think we'll ever be important enough to get away with that stuff?"

Adora blinked at her, a bit taken aback. "You want to kiss me in front of the Princess Alliance?"

"What? Ew. No. Affection is disgusting. I guess I just... want to be important enough to everyone to be so open about it."

"You are," she promised, taking Catra's hands in her own. "You delivered the Failsafe to the Heart of Etheria! And that's just in the name of the rebellion. You climbed so high in the Horde."

Catra made a face. "That's not exactly getting me brownie points here."

"Maybe, but it's still impressive. You're impressive."

"Tell me how you really feel," she teased, but her purring had gotten considerably louder.

Adora intertwined their fingers. "One day, it'll be our turn at the front of the table."

———————————————————————————————————–

The problem was less that they were necessary and more of a tenure thing, Catra reflected some time later. She-Ra was one helluva bargaining chip, and Catra hadn't exactly been a slouch during the war.

That said, they were still two very young members of a rebellion almost as old as the stars, and they were very much replaceable now. Memories of history like Spinnerella and Netossa can hug and kiss and be and it's not an issue. Two morons who used to dare each other to eat entire pounds of ration bars had to be a bit more discrete. So it had been in the Horde, and so it would be here.

Somehow, by some miracle, it was the exact same day Sea Hawk had managed to pull Mermista up on stage for karaoke night.

"I hate this," Mermista groans into the microphone. She glares at the snickering. "I hate all of you too."

"Come on, dearest," Sea Hawk encouraged. It'd become something of a pet name for them, if pet name included Sea Hawk bellowing it during his shanties and Mermista chucking waves at him for doing it, trying- and failing- to hide a smirk. "You sang an epic rock remix in a battle! How is this any different?"

"Uuuuh, the epic rock remix was a battle cry about how I would personally rip some Horde scum apart with my bare hands for destroying my land. This is just a shitty mic. Also you've had too many wine coolers."

"NONSENSE!" Sea Hawk cried. He was holding onto the mic stand for dear life. Somehow, despite being a man who spent a good chunk of time in bars, he'd proven to be quite the lightweight. "It'll be an ADVENTURE!"

"I think we've had enough of that for one lifetime."

"I BELEIVE IN YOU," bellowed Scorpia, who had had none of the alcohol and all of the dopamine.

Catra banged her fists on the table. "Do it! Do it! Do it!"

"Don't be a little shit," Mermista said into the mic, then blanched, "Frosta, never say that word ever."

Frosta was busy sipping at her chocolate milk. She stopped and met her eyes, scowling. "Stop being a coward and sing, coward. Or I'll do it."

"I'll sing you a love ballad," Sea Hawk promised with his patented puppy dog eyes.

"I'll literally do this so you don't," Mermista replied, taking the mic with a small smile. "Fine, whatever."

It's disgusting in how sweet it is. Catra watches the spectacle with some distaste, rolling her eyes when Sea Hawk attempts a dip and Mermista flips it around on him. The pirate doesn't seem to be complaining, if his blush is anything to go by. Scorpia claps along and- is that tears? Yup, those are tears. She's crying.

It's not that Catra is jealous. It's not. (She is, but that's not the point). They're just so... brazen about it. Like this is normal. Like this is okay. Ten years of knowing each other and Shadow Weaver had given them shit for holding hands. Fifteen and having a sleepover and getting horrible punishments. Catra and Adora had to claw and spit just to stay on the same squadron, while these chumps could do whatever.

It made her pause. A little. Could they do that? Catra glanced at Adora out of the corner of her eye. The warrior didn't seem all that surprised, watching with a polite detachment, like this was a book and they'd reached a really boring flashback. The idea of standing up and doing something even slightly like what Sea Hawk and Mermista did was... no. Just no.

But maybe she could do this.

Catra edged over a little and stiffly leaned against her. Adora jumped a little, blinked a little, and wound her arm loosely around Catra's waist, thumb softly rubbing circles in her side.

Alright then.

This is okay.

Catra can do this.

[bigskydreaming]

@elfysparkles88​

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.” 

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

[ckret2]

Out of all the human music, what do you think Ghidorahs heads would enjoy most?

It took over three thousand words to answer this question and I enjoyed every second of it.

So!

Did you know that dogs can communicate with each other through their pee?

I swear this is relevant to the question.

Dogs pee to mark their territory. And they have an incredibly sensitive sense of smell compared to humans. From a few drops of pee, they can tell another dog’s sex, whether the dog’s in heat if it’s female, whether the dog’s been spayed/neutered, which direction it was traveling, how long ago it was in the area, whether the dog’s stressed or sick…

So if you ask a dog what their favorite pee scent is, what are they gonna say? Probably something relevant to the data they’ve evolved to put into and get out of dog pee. They’re probably gonna say something like “mine, because it’s familiar and means that I’m home somewhere safe,” or “the smell of a lady that’s dtf” or “the smell of stress because I’m an evil dog sadist that relishes other dogs’ suffering” or “the smell of neutered dogs because it means there’s gonna be less fights in this neighborhood between horny dogs” or “i don’t care as long as there’s LOTS of dogs because play pals!!!” Something like that, probably. I’m making this up as I go.

If you ask a human what their favorite dog pee scent is, the answers you get are probably going to be “They have different scents???” or “idk, whichever pee smells the least" or “my puppy’s pee smells different when she’s sick, so, uh, whichever scent is Not That One.”

Ask a human what their favorite kind of music is, or assign a favorite kind of music to a human character, and it tells you something about them. If they say that they like 90s anime themes & JRPG soundtracks, then that’s going to tell you something about them. It’s going to tell you that either they’re from Japan and grew up with that on TV, or they’re a weeb. “Counterpoint: maybe it just tells you that they like that kind of music?” Yeah but where were they gonna stumble on that music if they aren’t either from Japan or a weeb? If they only like the music because of its sound, then they would also be interested in Hasidic Jewish music, right? After all, anime/JRPG music and Hasidic music sound a lot alike:

https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/187677604232/krakenpocalypse-jewishmagpie-tlbodine

But you never see people say “I like JRPG soundtracks and Hasidic music,” because people don’t like music because of the way it sounds. They like it because of the way it sounds AND because they were exposed to it (you can’t enjoy music you don’t know about) AND because they were exposed to it frequently* AND because they feel at home in a community that values that kind of music AND because that kind of music is accessible to them AND because that kind of music has positive associations for them AND because either they heard a bit of that music and sought out more just like it or because they’re in a place where they were passively exposed to a whole lot of that music… etc etc etc. 

(*Fun psychology fact! Understanding certain sounds as “music” is learned, not just innate—if you hear a new song and it immediately sounds pleasantly musical to you, it’s because you’ve heard enough songs similar to it that your brain auto-interprets it as music. Which is one of the reasons why music in genres that you don’t listen to as often might “kind of sound all the same” or “blend together” or fail to hit any emotional chords in you the way that songs in genres you listen to all the time do. It’s not because you found the One True Emotionally Gripping Musical Genre and everyone else is listening to genres that don’t have that emotional punch for some reason; it’s because your brain is tuned, just like an instrument’s strings, to resonate with those kinds of songs, and other people’s brains are tuned to resonate with other kinds.)

I swear all of this is still relevant to Ghidorah headcanons.

So anyway, if somebody tells you that they’re into anime themes and JRPG soundtracks? It tells you either they grew up in Japan or they’re a weeb. If they tell you they’re into anime themes and Hasidic music? Then they grew up in Japan or they’re a weeb, and also they’re Jewish or close with Jewish folks which is why they were exposed to Hasidic music; OR, they’re a tumblr user who was into one of the genres, saw that same hundred-thousand-note post I linked above, and looked up the other genre. If a millennial says their favorite band is Backstreet Boys, that implies something very different about their overall musical tastes—and possibly their social circle, their fashion taste, their TV and movie preferences—than if they say their favorite band is Evanescence. That’s not to say you can’t be a goth-as-fuck dressed-in-all-black purple-dyed-hair vampire-lit-devouring Grown-Up Emo Kid if your favorite band was Backstreet Boys—but it doesn’t correlate as highly as Evanescence does, does it? Someone whose favorite band sings about the light of Jesus filling their soul probably has very different religious beliefs from someone whose favorite band sings about blowing Satan in a cemetery.

And all of those associations are massively intensified if we’re talking about fictional characters instead of real people. Me, grown up goth that I am, driving to work singing along with Evanescence songs and songs about blowing Satan—when I was a kid I had a phase where Backstreet Boys was my favorite band, and what’s that say about me, my personality, and my overall identity? Ultimately, not a lot, except that they were everywhere when I was a kid, I could name four of their songs (more than most artists!), and I thought three of them were pretty good. People’s tastes are varied, weird, pick up strange chunks, and drift around, and it doesn’t always tell you something deep about their character.

But, if you create a goth character but say when they were a child Backstreet Boys was their favorite band, why did you, the writer, assign them a favorite band that goes against their type so hard? What are you trying to say about them? Did something happen in childhood that changed them from the kind of kid who’s into pop (generally perceived in fiction and sometimes reality to mean a person is normal, well-adjusted, optimistic, mainstream, average, boring—or “has good taste” to other people who like pop) into the kind of kid who’s into goth music (generally perceived in fiction and sometimes reality to indicate a person is sad/angry/anxious, pessimistic, counterculture, overtly rejects the mainstream, weird, mysterious—or “has good taste” to other people who like goth music)?

Is it because something sad happened in their childhood and changing their style/music was how they coped? Is it because they met someone important to them who opened their eyes to The Beauty Of The Dark And Macabre? Is it because they were only allowed to listen to parent-approved pop as a kid and chose to dive into the most out-there genre they could find as an act of rebellion? Is it because they became a vampire and that’s apparently just what vampires do? Is it because they realized they were unconsciously faking being attracted to guys because they thought that was normal and picked an appropriate boy band to latch onto, but when puberty was kicking in at age 13 they saw a cute girl with black nails and clothes at the mall and went “hecc im love girls” and grabbed the first album they could find with a female vocalist in similar makeup on the cover?

What’s this character’s backstory? What’s the significance of that decision? Why did you give this character that favorite band? Why did you choose to have this music in this character’s life? Why pop, punk, jazz, rock, metal, rap, country? Why American, Japanese, Indian, Spanish, Arabic, South African? Why that mainstream, or why that obscure? Just the decision to make their favorite artist “Benjamin who plays his guitar at the local coffee shop” versus “Veniamin who plays his guitar in a coffee shop in Greece and puts the videos on YouTube” tells you something about whether they find their Obscure Favorite Artist in the local community or in Internet deep dives (unless they actually live in Greece). All those decisions tell, suggest, or imply something about that character’s position within their surrounding human culture.

That’s the key here: within their surrounding human culture. What music a character listens to suggests a whole lot about the millions of intricate connections they have with their surrounding culture when that character too is a human.

Assign a favorite kind of music to a non-human character, and you say something about them, too. What you say about them, before you say anything else, is “the way that this character’s brain is wired to interpret sound waves into pitch and rhythm is nearly identical to the way that human brains are wired to interpret sound waves; and furthermore, they’re familiar enough with human culture that they know and recognize different ‘categories’ of music and pick categories that they do like based on their assigned similarities versus categories they don’t like based on their assigned similarities.”

And that ain’t something that can be said about Ghidorah.

See I told you all that would be relevant.

To say “Ghidorah likes rock,” you first have to give Ghidorah the capacity to differentiate rock from rap, from country, from Bollywood, from 8-bit chiptunes, from whatever the fuck Tchaikovsky was up to—and even humans aren’t born with the innate ability to sort songs into categories like that. Hell, even humans who are familiar with music have a hard time telling apart different kinds of music the deeper and deeper you get into specific genres. Like, do you know the difference between Electroclash and Filthy Electrohouse? Probably not? Would saying that Filthy Electrohouse is Electroclash with a house kick help? No? What about saying that Filthy Electrohouse is basically the same as normal Electrohouse except that Electrohouse evolved out of House whereas Filthy Electrohouse evolved out of Electroclash? No? Sound like gibberish to you? You probably know the difference between rock and metal, though, even if only vaguely. Try explaining it to an alien who’s never heard either genre before. To the alien whatever you say is going to sound like explaining Filthy Electrohouse because they haven’t got any of the background understanding of the genres to sort them apart.

(And if you want to know more about what the hell is this Filthy Electro French Clash House thing, may I recommend https://music.ishkur.com/# as an absolutely terrifying but very interesting guide to the complete history of electronic music and its subgenres? I like to click on random things and listen to them. The above genres can be found way at the bottom under Eurotrash.)

So the tl;dr is: I can’t give Ghidorah favorite music. Not in a normal “oh, they prefer to listen to death metal/Italian opera/Tibetan throat singing/golden oldies/traditional children’s lullabies” way because all of that, any of that, implies a knowledge of and connection to human culture that not only do they lack, but just imagining asserting a preferred genre/artist like that mentally strains my internal willing suspension of disbelief.

And I had to say all of the above to say that tl;dr because, like, listen. Listen. “I can’t give Ghidorah favorite music” is a boring, uninteresting answer. It’s a lack of information. “I can’t give Ghidorah favorite music because the vast cultural background knowledge necessary to understand music on humanity’s terms is as alien to Ghidorah as the nuances of dog pee smell are alien to humans.” That, that actually says a lot about Ghidorah, and I think that it says something interest.

So with all that said! Lemme tell you what kind of music they do like.

Because they do like music. A whole lot. Lots of music from lots of alien species.

It’s just human music that’s unfamiliar to them. They will gain familiarity with human music—as soon as they gain access to a means to hear human music (and I do have that in the works!)—but the way they interpret and categorize it won’t necessarily have any correlation with how humans do.

Ghidorah’s wired for singing. Loooves singing. I haven’t decided yet whether that’s a natural dorat thing and over time they added in music from other species as they learned it, or if it’s specifically a trick that they picked up after being fused together and needing a way to weaponize their empath abilities. In either case, their singing is tied directly into their empath capabilities. Half of the “songs” they know aren’t “songs” in any conventional sense, but “the sounds that they figured out would interact directly with the way a target species’ brain functions in order to cause whatever emotion they want their target to feel.” I’ve talked about this before in my Ghidorah-as-siren post. https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/185784244462/ghidorah-as-siren

(Things like that—specific sounds that directly cause emotions in a species due to an instinctive response rather than a learned reaction—are precedented in real life! There’s a certain sound frequency that causes humans to feel fear/panic/dread/paranoia and sometimes hallucinate ghosts, and it’s theorized that this sound might be found at a lot of “haunted” locations: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2003/oct/16/science.farout )

So, when Ghidorah does this?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xA-QJUyBdJU

That’s literally a song, from their perspective. It’s a short song, but it’s a song. It’s a “become afraid and rampage against anything threatening (which means everything)” song. At the end of The Glorious Resurrection of Bouvet Island (here https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/187594976987/the-glorious-resurrection-of-bouvet-island ) when Rodan is “ whistling a high soothing note” and then they do this:

“It took him a while to notice that the middle head had started copying his whistle, letting out a single endless note at the exact same pitch. Then the other two joined in, turning it into a high, trilling, reverberating sound, an “ii-lii-lii-lii-lii.” The sound got into his head, made him feel like he was floating. Made him feel like he was in the safest place in the universe.”

They heard Rodan making a sound (something like a single long high-pitched bird whistle) which Rodan instinctively knows as a “soothe somebody” sound; they learned the sound, and from it learned something about how Rodan understands and processes sound; and they immediately turned it around and used it to soothe him. When Rodan immediately feels Super Safe, that’s not just because they’re being all nice to him—that’s full-on song-based dorat empath mind control he’s under the effects of.

So a loud trumpeting roar that induces “be afraid and smash things!” feelings is a song. A single high-pitched continuous note that induces “you’re extremely hella safe!” feelings is a song. So far, those are the only two Earth songs they know, because those are the only two songs they’ve got that work on Earthlings. One they composed themselves, and one they remixed from a song Rodan accidentally taught them.

Based on this, the human definition of “music” and Ghidorah definition of “music” are very different. Our music can be included somewhere inside his definition; but his definition is far broader than ours and includes things we’d never hear as musical.

Ghidorah can sing, like, non-mind-controlling songs too. He does do that. Just sing for fun rather than for megalomaniacal world-destroying reasons. Songs composed for normal reasons! All the ones he knows at this point are alien but he could sing them. There’s a mention in the one-shot from Gigan’s perspective that he likes Ghidorah’s singing and wants to expose him to more.

However, he doesn’t have to separate “normal songs that sound like actual music” from songs that can evoke emotions. Especially if the song itself is somehow intended to evoke an emotion, it’s pretty easy for Ghidorah to learn the emotion that it’s supposed to cause and actually weave that into the song itself. Because, generally, if a species goes “ah yes this song should inspire This Emotion,” then they’re likely to include sounds that physiologically/psychologically help induce that feeling in the brain. Humans do it! So if he’s singing a sad-sounding song with sad lyrics, the odds are good that if a member of the species that produced the song hears it, they won’t just think it sounds sad, they’ll be telepathically forced to feel sad.

The songs they most enjoy singing are ones that can make use of all their musical abilities. Of course, they’ve got their voices—and when they’re singing, they tend to go for higher pitch ranges. You ever hear this?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1eogtlyDg4Y

Dude can pull off soprano if he wants. If they do hear enough human songs to be familiar with them, yes, they’re going to sing along with the music—and yes, they’re going to do it even if they don’t know the words, which they won’t, because they’ve probably never heard a human voice except when it’s screaming loud enough that they can faintly pick it up from five hundred feet above. They’re going to sing anyway. Don’t pretend you’ve never tried to sing along with a song in a language you don’t know and ended up going “AAA LALALA DA DADA GSDKLFJGLKJ” as you sing.

But like it’s not gonna be limited to human voices because they’ve been all over the galaxy, what separates a “voice” from an “instrument”? Nothing! They can sing violin & viola parts. They can sing brass instruments. They can sing piano.

You know that their tails rattle? Like rattlesnakes? They’ve got maracas on their tails. They can keep rhythm to music with their tails. Or their feet, if they’re on a hard enough surface that they can tap their claws.

You know this scene? With the wing thing?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhDdXXr9dfQ

Ever heard a tesla coil sing?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f6GijQXaBI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ee5evlN8Bbs

Yeah they can do that. Probably with greater actual range than a tesla coil. I imagine it works best on synthesizer music and some electric guitar. Probably other things too that I haven’t thought of, but uh I listen to synthesizer & electric guitar so that’s what I think about when I imagine singing space dragons lmao.

Their preferred music, therefore, is going to be stuff that 1) give all three heads parts to sing, 2) also lets them use their tails and wings, and 3) ideally, gives them some interesting emotions to steal/replicate/inflict on others. Which is very broad! Covers a lot of things, no doubt!

Eventually, yeah, they’re going to probably develop more specific human musical preferences—but the preferences are going to be based on their own alien criteria, and it’s also going to be based on what human music they have access to. At least initially? That means that their musical taste is going to be limited to whatever music they can pick up on AM radio in the Gulf of Mexico just off the northeast tip of Mexico. Which, depending on the exact stations available where the Rio Grande dumps into the ocean will probably mean “the current chart toppers in Mexico & the US” and “extremely local Mexican music.“ 

It took over three thousand words to reach that answer. I hope you found the journey rewarding.

[prairiesongserial]

14.7

Val had been holding the same beer bottle for what felt like several hours - or at least, for so long that his body heat had warmed the glass and the condensation was no longer cold. He hadn’t drunk from it yet. The bottle was mostly something to keep his hands busy with, his thumbnail picking at the corner of the label and slowly peeling it up. He had only accepted it because he had gotten tired of refusing a drink every time it had been offered to him. If he was holding a beer, at least people would stop offering.

He was sitting slightly removed from the fire, close enough to get the warmth but not close enough to be taken as part of the group sitting and talking in a loose circle around the flames. None of them had tried to rope him into the conversation, either, which Val was grateful for. Too much had happened today for him to be in a group that large, laughing and pretending no one had been in mortal peril just a few hours ago. Maybe that was how the circus coped with things, but, well. Val preferred time to himself.

The fire flared up and sparked as one of the circus members poked at it with a long stick to shift the logs around. Val quietly shifted further back on the rock he’d chosen to sit on. He was beginning to have reservations about being too close to fire, a nervousness he had noticed in himself lately and elected to ignore. Val ran a hand through his hair where it was shorn close to his scalp, and bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe Friday had earned that particular freakout. She hadn’t earned blaming the Kill Devil Hills incident on Johannes, though.

She’d gone into the lake after their fight. Val had watched her do it from afar, then averted his eyes, deciding it wasn’t his business. He’d lost track of her for a while after that - not that he was her keeper, he just hadn’t been keeping an eye out. Hadn’t been doing that since he’d begun to be irritated with her, after Everglades City. It was strange, no longer being innately aware of where Friday was at all times, like she was some phantom limb. Friday had turned up at the campfire well after sundown, the flames illuminating the sequins on the new dress she’d put on, her hair hidden once more under her blond wig. The phantom limb feeling had dissipated after that, with her plainly in front of him, sandwiched between two other burlesque girls on a decaying log.

Friday was still there now. Evidently, she had bounced back from their conversation, and was now talking and laughing with the rest of the circus as though she had never argued with Val. Val didn’t get that, how she could just let things roll off her back that easily. Val supposed that the few hours she’d spent in the lake probably had something to do with it. If he had been the swimming type, he might have tried it.

“I’m gonna grab another beer,” Friday was saying, getting up from her seat at the campfire. Val watched her cheerfully wave off several burlesque girls volunteering to come with her, and then she was gone, weaving through tents and around cars and slipping off into the darkness, well past the barrel of lake water keeping the beer cold.

Val thought about following her. A part of him had an urge to apologize, to keep her from getting into trouble. Or at least to tell her that a sequined dress wasn’t the best choice for sneaking around in. But the rest of him was still annoyed. Again, he wasn’t her keeper. If she was going to get herself into trouble, she could do it without him.

“Well, don’t you look lost in thought,” a voice said from over his shoulder.

Val yelped. His beer sloshed in its bottle, overflowing the mouth and spilling onto his fingers as he twisted in his seat to find Johannes grinning at him.

“Goddammit, Johannes,” he said, putting the bottle down and wiping his dripping hand on his shirt.

Johannes’s grin stretched wider, showing teeth. “No need to use the Lord’s name in vain on my account, preacher.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, Val,” Johannes said easily. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet in the grass, idly entwining his fingers and twisting the rings on them. It amazed Val how he could do that, be constantly in motion even when he was standing still. “It wouldn’t kill you to have a good time, you know.”

Val exhaled out his nose. “Someone almost died today.”

“A couple of someones, actually,” Johannes said. “Including my brother. So yes, I am painfully aware that people almost died today, and I’m telling you with all my authority as ringmaster -”

“I wasn’t aware you had any.”

“- with all my authority as ringmaster, that it won’t kill you to cut loose a little bit.”

“I don’t want to drink,” Val said, flatly. The last time he’d had alcohol had been on the beach in Kill Devil Hills. He knew that this was not the same as what had happened then, but the smell of alcohol combined with the fire and the sound of the lake’s waves lapping at the shore was enough to make him feel profoundly unsafe. Drinking like this would make him more nervous, not less.

“Right,” Johannes said, and there was a spark of something like recognition in his eyes. “Right, I guess not.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, either,” Val added. Just so Johannes knew where they stood.

“I wouldn’t dream of asking,” Johannes said. “Listen, preacher, do you smoke weed?”

Whatever question Val had been anticipating, that wasn’t it. He sputtered, choked a little on nothing in particular, and finally settled on, simply:

“What?”

“I thought it was a pretty simple question.”

Val looked down at his hands and held a laugh back in his throat, his lips twitching. “Johannes -”

“Don’t ‘Johannes’ me, do you want to smoke or not?” Johannes was grinning again, almost eagerly, his hands now shoved in his pockets. He clearly sensed an in, and now he wasn’t going to stop. “You could stand to relax, and I could stand to take a load off, myself, and I’m offering very nicely to share my weed with you.”

The fire sparked again, and Val turned away from it, facing Johannes instead. “I haven’t smoked in years.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t changed much.” Johannes bent slightly, and offered him a hand up.

Val took the hand. He levered himself up to his feet carefully, wincing at the stiffness in his knees and back from sitting hunched over on a rock for so long. This was - well, thinking of it as silly didn’t begin to describe what it was. He hadn’t smoked with anyone since he and Valentine had gotten high together in the convent as teenagers. It had been novel, then. Had felt like a rebellion. He wasn’t sure what this was going to feel like.

“And if it has?” he asked, mostly to be difficult. He didn’t like going places with Johannes without at least a little bit of a fight, he decided. It felt like a refusal of whatever push-and-pull they’d had going on since Kill Devil Hills, constantly orbiting and bouncing off one another.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Johannes said.

Val rolled his eyes.

“How kind of you,” he said, and was going to say something else before Johannes’s hand let go of his and shifted to Val’s back instead, between his shoulder blades. Val could feel the warmth of Johannes’s palm through the fabric of his shirt, and swallowed, and didn’t shake off the touch.

“Oh, no, you’ll owe me,” Johannes said, clearly enjoying himself as he led Val further away from the fire. “I don’t know how you’re going to pay me back. You live like a monk.”

Val was slow to respond, distracted as the pebble beach turned to a dirt trail. They were walking into the edge of the woods. The trees were dark silhouettes, gently shuddering in the breeze off the lake.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Johannes replied. It wasn’t the question Val had asked. His hand slipped from Val’s back and into his jacket pocket, where his rings softly clinked against a lighter, a pipe, or whatever other jangling things he felt the need to carry around with him.

“Fine,” Val said. “You know what you’re doing.”

14.6 || 14.8

[azuresquirrel]

OKAY FOLKS, MY INTITIAL HOT TAKES ™ ON STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI, BEFORE I EXPOSE MYSELF TO ANY OF THE DISCUSSION OR DISCOURSE. UNLESS IT IS NOT CLEAR, THIS POST IS SPOILER-TASTIC.

Alrighty, before we get to the meat of the thing let me give ENTIRELY too many disclaimers:

-I would not consider myself a Star Wars Expert. I’d say I’m a fan and about a half-step up from the standard casual moviegoer. I love the movies, the original trilogy was a big deal in my childhood. I have encountered the EU in small bits – a novel here and there, an episode of a cartoon here and there. But I am decidedly not a person who is Keeping Up with the billions of Star Wars media out there so I want it clear that’s the perspective I’m coming from.

-Also my Overall Take on the movie is generally positive and I also think I will enjoy it more on a second viewing, whenever that may be. But I did go into it, given the non-spoilery rumblings I’d heard to either Love It or Hate It. I’d say neither is the case. I Liked it, which really is something of a disappointment, but perhaps that second viewing would move it up. Also I will likely be more detailed on the stuff I had problems with than the stuff I liked, but the stuff I liked did outweight the stuff I had issues with.

-As to “where” I would rank this movie in my personal rankings . . . bros, I don’t know. I have immense childhood built-in bias to Episodes IV – VI. Better than the prequels, OBVIOUSLY (which let’s be real, the prequels had SOME good stuff in the them but it sure is a lot of bullshit to wade through). I never really gave my Official Take on Rogue One because IT WAS THE DAY THAT CARRIE FISHER PASSED, and I honestly think it will take me a while to be ABLE to watch it again because I associate it so strongly with her passing. But here’s my Take anyway: it had good concepts and a goddamn killer third act, but the first two acts were a goddamn SLOG and I just could not find Jyn an investing protagonist for all that I tried. I’d rank The Last Jedi over Rogue One – I had a similar “when are we going to get to the fireworks factory” deal with it, but still the stalling period was more enjoyable in The Last Jedi than in Rogue One. And it falls short to The Force Awakens to me. The Force Awakens felt more focused, and it had more of what I personally was looking for – that “SHIT YEAH I’M WATCHING STAR WARS” feeling. The Last Jedi got there EVENTUALLY but it got there really really late. I pretty much enjoyed The Force Awakens the whole way through whereas I was feeling a good deal of FRUSTRATION a ways into The Last Jedi.

So, let’s get to specifics:

-Well, I mean I think it’s clear why I think a second viewing will improve my opinion on the film. I spent a LOT of it WAITING and FRUSTRATED and thinking “WHEN ARE WE GOING TO GET TO THE FIREWORKS FACTORY/THE POINT.” I had Concerns about things, not knowing where they were going (AND I THINK VALIDLY SO AT THE TIME), so since it largely ended up in places that I LIKED maybe I’ll be able to enjoy the waiting period a lot more in the future.

-Look, I know that Star Wars movies are Events and are never short but fucking, this movie was still TOO LONG. Felt the same about Rogue One (but less so here), didn’t feel that way about The Force Awakens.

-Well let’s see, in my mind there were basically four plots in this movie – Rey and Luke, Finn and Rose, Poe and the Rebels, and Kyle Ron Bullshit (I suppose some would argue that Kyle Ron bullshit was pretty much a part of the Rey and Luke plot. Technically, they are probably correct. IN MY NON-TECHNICAL MIND, IT IS A SEPARATE THING GIVEN I THOUGHT “OH THIS SHIT AGAIN” WHENEVER HE CAME ONSCREEN). The overall: Finn and Rose was GREAT THROUGHOUT, THE MOST MOVIE-ISH OF THEM AND THE MOST ENJOYABLE AND I LOVE THEM AND ALSO BB8. Rey and Luke I ALSO LIKED A WHOLE, WHOLE LOT, THOUGH I IMAGINE THERE MAY BE ~CONTROVERSY~ THERE. However I also felt a good deal of Frustration and Concern thanks to all the Kyle Ron Bullshit inserted there. Poe and the Rebels . . . . . oooooooooooooof. Yeah. That was a thing.

-On a more shallow note: one thing that was uniformly good throughout was all the NEW STAR WARS CREATURES. Icicle-foxes on mineral planet (and actually being of MINOR PLOT IMPORTANCE), stupidly adorable giant rabbit-horses, JUDGEMENTAL FISH NUNS, and the godawfully adorable merchandise mandate of the porgs. We didn’t get that much in the way of exciting new Star Wars planets/worlds, but the creatures made up for it.

-Okay I don’t count it as new because we saw it at the end of The Force Awakens, but I was extremely appreciative of Ireland: Luke’s picturesque Cranky Jedi Exile Planet. THE SOUTHWEST COAST OF IRELAND, LAND OF MY ANCESTORS, IS BEAUTIFUL.

-I HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS ABOUT LUKE SKYWALKER: MY DEAD GAY DAD/SON (courtesy of spaceoperetta, that joke). I just . . . loved . . . my heart . . . .

-OLD CRANKY LUKE HAVING RETIRED TO HIS ANGRY GAY PICTURESQUE EXILE PLANET BECAUSE HE HAD THE HUBRIS ™ AND FAILED ™. JUST. RELATABLE.

-REY JUST FUCKING FOLLOWING HIM FOR ALL HIS CRANKY EXILE DAYS, BEING JUST A FUCKING STUBBORN.

-All the stuff Luke had to say about The Force and why the Jedi were crap was just . . . GOOD. I APPROVE.

-And Force Ghost Yoda ends up burning the damn tree anyway, what a troll.

-. . . why do I have the feeling that Luke in The Last Jedi is going to become my new AA4 Phoenix? I just have a HUNCH. YES HE MADE SOME BAD CHOICES ™ AND IS OLD AND BITTER BUT. I GET IT. FOLKS, I GET IT.

-And the whole END when he ASTRAL-PROJECTS AWESOMENESS ONTO MINERAL PLANET. BEING AWESOME AND OLD AND SASSY. PULLING SOME STRAIGHT-UP AIRBENDER MOVES ON KYLE RON.

-I was keeping the tears back throughout the movie but the Leia and Luke scene BROKE ME.

-And then he dies (as I expected), looking out at the double sunset just like in A New Hope fucking forty years ago. I CRIED SOME MORE.

-I HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS ABOUT LUKE SKYWALKER.

-Okay REY. Somehow felt like there was . . . less of Rey in this film than in TFA? Like probably actually not but it felt like she got to do more STUFF in TFA. And the CONCERNS did not help. BUT YES, REY WITH A LIGHTSABER, REY PILOTING THE FALCON, REY MOVING SOME FUCKING ROCKS. REY!!!!!!

-Also can the third movie NOT go back on the conclusion that we came to re: Rey’s parentage from this film? Her “coming from nothing” having just regular-ass junker parents, she DOESN’T have that ~special Skywalker blood~. PLEASE. PLEASE DON’T GO BACK ON IT, SERIES. BECAUSE I LIKE IT. She “doesn’t have a place in this story” in the Multigenerational Skywalker Family Drama. BUT SHE IS REY!!! SHE IS HERSELF AND CAN BE GREAT ANYWAY!!!! THE FORCE IS NOT “A POWER TO MOVE ROCKS” AND IT’S NOT MIDICHOLIRAN BULLSHIT, IT ISI WITHIN HER AS IT IS EVERYTHING! THAT STRENGTH COMES FROM HERSELF DAMMIT.

-(okay bad joke time, you all know I was totally thinking “YES REY, FIND YOUR GAY DESTINY IN THE GIANT SEAWEED VAGINA” re: the Empire Strikes Back ripoff cave that only shows you your own face).

-Before I get to The Issues – FINN AND ROSE WERE GREAT AND I LOVE THEM!!!! I AM GLAD THAT ROSE ARTICULATED THE REBELLION SO WELL!!!! THEY WORKED GREAT TOGETHER!!!! FINN CONTINUES TO BE A JOY!!!! BOTH OF THEM ARE THE HOPE OF THIS REBELLION!!!!

-AND SHE SAVED HIM AND I HAD THE EMOTIONS. AND I WORRIED SHE DIED BUT THANK GOD SHE DID NOT. AND THAT KISS WITH THE EXPLOSION IN THE BACKGROUND! FIGHTING FOR THE THINGS WE LOVE! EMOTIONS!

-ALSO SHOUTOUT TO FINN FOR HAVING MY REAL FIRST “SHIT YEAH I’M WATCHING STAR WARS” MOMENT WHEN HE GOES AT CAPTAIN PHASMA IN THE FUCKING BURNING DOWN SHIP. THAT WAS GOOD SHIT!!!!

-ALSO FINN RALLYING EVERYONE IN MINERAL PLANET BASE WITH HIS HOPE – YOU ARE THE TRUE FUTURE OF THE REBELLION!!!

-(okay but for the next movie can we have more than like two minutes of Maz Kanata? PLEASE?)

-Okay so circling back to Rey because of KYLE RON BULLSHIT. You can probably tell what my Concerns were. Like . . . I mean geez, I want to root for that hopefulness but CHRIST, COME ON HERE.

-I was happy that it turned out that their stupid ~connection~ was forged by Snoke, who is unimportant anyway and dies, that was frankly a bit of a relief.

-OKAY, BASICALLY I HAD WORRIES ABOUT THE SHIP I DARE NOT NAME, BUT LUCKILY REY IS GOOD AND KYLE RON CONTINUED TO BE AS HE IS, AS I EXPECTED. But can you blame me for the CONCERNS about their ~omg special Force connection~?

-But . . . . honestly it IS a problem with this new trilogy that I don’t care about Kyle Ron. So much of these movies are hanging on the fact that we have some investment in his decisions and his fate and I . . . don’t. Like when Leia was reaching out to him with The Force I should have Felt Something and I did not. I perhaps should have been slightly less “eh, can you really blame him” at the reveal that Luke did indeed for a moment consider offing him.  He is so important to so many of the characters but I just . . . . they’re trying to make him into a Zuko but he ISN’T. HE’S JUST SHITTY. I DON’T CARE ABOUT HIS SUPPOSED ~CONFLICT~. AND HONESTLY THAT’S A PROBLEM. HE *SHOULD* BE A COMPELLING VILLAIN THAT YOU FEEL CONFLICTED ABOUT. YOU SHOULD *WANT* HIM TO BE REDEEMED LIKE HOW YOU WANTED LUKE TO SUCCEED IN REACHING VADER LIKE IN RETURN OF THE JEDI. BUT I JUST. DON’T. CARE. HE’S JUST A SHITTY WHINY SPOILED MANBABY.

-So like on the one hand I was happy that SNoke and his stylish gold robe essentially ended up being UNIMPORTANT. He dies and it made little difference. Because I didn’t really care!

- . . . but then again, isn’t that similar to the Kyle Ron problem? Because like . . . if the whole dealio of this plot, that Kyle Ron was corrupted to the Dark Side and Sith Ways thanks to his Andy Serkis CGI fucker, then SHOULDN’T it matter a bit? WHO IS THIS GUY AND WHERE DID HE COME FROM? WHAT IS HIS MOTIVATION BESIDES “EVIL?” WHERE DID THIS SITH FUCKER POP UP FROM AFTER PALPITINE WAS OFFED? Like . . . I don’t personally care but for the story itself it SHOULD matter. Instead it’s just “and then Kyle Ron became Dark Side because The Evil Guy said so.” If you want something actually compelling you need to fucking put MORE into it.

-So then the part where we needed to care about the tracked and almost out of fuel Rebel Forces. One would think I would given that Leia was there (for like five minutes and also SHE USED THE FORCE TO SAVE HERSELF AND I HAD THE EMOTIONS) But. Well.

-Oh, and pausing to point out that Star Wars is getting BETTER with women as it has more women onscreen than ever but like – I was concerned about Rose dying with ALL THE DYING ASIAN WOMEN ONSCREEN. Yes the bomber ended up being her sister and important and it was a badass scene but like – could we not have killed her off IMMEDIATELY? Also was that Jasika (I’m not sure) who got unceremoniously blown up in her X-Wing? I’m just saying, STAR WARS STILL HAS SOME WAYS TO GO EVEN WITH REY AND ROSE.

-Also movie thank you for ultimately validating Purple-Haired Laura Dern as a good leader and a badass but I somehow doubt that will be the takeaway that most people have.

-BECAUSE I GUESS DREAMY POE DAMERON OF THE FORCE AWAKENS IS GONE AND REPLACED WITH A HOTHEADED CLONE WHO HAS A PROBLEM WITH WOMEN IN AUTHORITY OR SOMETHING.

-Like . . . why was it necessary . . . for this plot . . . for Poe to talk over and mansplain to and disobey orders from his fucking commanding officers who all just happen to be women.

-And I guess we’re not supposed to find him a rank hypocrite at the end when Finn disobeyed his orders to pull off from the Death Star But a Battering Ram (???) even though THAT’S WHAT POE’S BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE FUCKING MOVIE.

-Like god cutting back to those ships every time was TIRESOME and frankly I’m glad I did not have a ton of investment in Poe as a character before this or else I’d be RIGHT PISSED instead of just annoyed that the movie turned this character into a sexist and pretty much did not do ENOUGH to refute his ways. STILL ANNOYED THOUGH.

-Also is there any problem that the Empire/The First Order has encountered that they didn’t go “throw a Death Star” at it? I think a barked a laugh when they were like “IT’S MINIATURE DEATH STAR TECH.”

-Other disappointments – I THOUGHT KYLE RON WOULD STRAIGHT UP MURDER HUX AT LIKE TOO POINTS AND HE DIDN’T. I would’ve at least appreciated that ginger asshole getting murdered (especially when he slapped Finn I thought “M U R D E R”), but NOPE, KYLE RON MUST BE A DISAPPOINTMET IN ALL THINGS.

-THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE LEIA!!!!! AND NOW WHAT WILL THEY DO WITH THE NEXT MOVIE!!!!! BECAUSE CARRIE!!!!! I AM VERY UPSET!!!!!!!

-Oh Christ, this is so long and I’m kind of trailing off into shitpost territory, SO IF I HAVE MORE SHITPOSTY THOUGHTS I WILL HAVE THEM LATER.

-So good movie but I had FRUSTRATIONS.

-In conclusion: I LOVE LUKE SKYWALKER, MY DEAD GAY DAD/SON.

[crowkingwrites]

War Creatures (Ch. 12)

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Summary:  In a crossover of the Nine Realms and Westeros, you find yourself in the dawn of a rebellion. Odin, Lord of Pyke, has made alliances with your family, House Grover of Highgarden. Your father’s army will join Odin’s army to overthrow the King and take the Iron Throne. There is just one cost to this alliance.You must marry the dark, young prince Loki.In a world where Kings do as they wish, where war is an oncoming storm, and peace is nothing but a dream, you are lost but brave. Loki is more powerful than he seems, and love will grow from the flames of war.

Words: 2650

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11108748/chapters/27758892

After a little over a month, we almost arrived at Hornvale. Loki and I had greeted the first banner men to guide us the rest of the way. We rode in front of everyone else. I looked behind me, and I noticed the exhaustion and the frustration of being on the road for that long. I was tired too.

Loki wore his green and gold attire, and I matched. My dress was mainly green, but Elise had added golden leaves to it to be similar to Loki’s. The more we looked like a married couple, the better. Of course, one thing I didn’t think about was the colder weather. We were going north, and very few of my dresses were not built for the north.

“Lia?” Loki called out to me. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I told him.

“No, you’re not,” Loki responded. “You’re rigid. What’s wrong? Are you nervous? Because I can assure you, you could read and write circles around my brother and his wife.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m cold,” I admitted to him.

“Oh,” Loki went to undo his cloak.

“What are you doing?” I watched him take off his thick green cloak and hand it to me.

“Take it,” he offered to me. “I’m used to this climate. You’re not.” I took his cloak, and wrapped it around me. I noticed the metal snakes. When I clicked them together, I realized they were the same snakes from his journal.

“These snakes,” I commented. “They are not your house sigil.”

“You noticed,” Loki almost chuckled. “They are my sigil.”

“Are you not proud of your own house?” I asked him. Loki hummed.

“You’ll see.” We entered into the gates of Hornvale. I saw soldiers and knights in red scattered everywhere. They mixed themselves with Hornvale soldiers. Hornvale was set on hill, so the walls were not high. It seemed like a thick and wide fortress in the middle of a forest.

“Brother!” I heard someone bellow out. I heard Loki groan and get off his horse. I looked in the direction of the greeting and saw a muscular blonde come walking towards us. Another young woman followed him.

“Hello, Thor,” Loki greeted begrudgingly. Thor hugged Loki tightly. He was just as tall as Loki, but not as thin. Thor had a warrior’s stature. His smile stretched for days. He was like a golden sun in the north. They couldn’t be any more different from each other. If I had to guess, I wouldn’t even think of them as brothers.

“And this must be Lady Cecelia of Highgarden, or should I say of Pyke?” Thor smiled down at me. I offered him my hand, but he came in for a hug. I felt him crushing me. “You are just as beautiful as mother described!” I felt myself blush.

“T-thank you?” I said. Thor let go of me, but he did not stop smiling. The woman stopped next to him and smiled at both of us too.

“I knew mother was right,” Thor commented. “Both of you look unstoppable together.” Unstoppable? I looked at Loki hoping he could explain some of this to me.

“I’ll explain later,” Loki said to me in my ear.

“This is my beautiful wife, Sif,” Thor gestured to the woman next to him. She only looked a couple years older than me. Her thick, dark hair cascaded around her. She wore a deep red dress with gold embroidery. She had a golden necklace around her neck that looked heavier than a dagger. She was of Casterly Rock, and she showed it.

“You must be Lady Cecelia,” she held out her hands for me. I took them. She kissed my cheek. “I believe we are going to be good friends. Welcome to Hornvale.” Sif let go of my hands and took Thor’s hand. She leaned against him.

“How was your ride here?” Thor asked.

“It was long,” Loki obviously did not like this small talk. I watched Sif entwined her fingers with Thor’s and I felt a pang of jealousy inside me.

“So much has been happening,” Sif said to all of us. “First, the weddings, and then the battles, and now you’re here! How did everyone fare at Highgarden?”

“We lost a few,” Loki told her. He glanced at me and then back at Sif. “It could have been worse if I had to be honest.”

“Well, I think Lady Cecelia is lucky to have you protecting her. Thor protected me with everything he had,” Sif placed her hand on Thor’s chest. He kissed her on her head. I felt my stomach drop. They loved each other so much. “Our children will be so safe with their father watching over them.”

“You’re with child, my lady? So soon?” I asked. Sif giggled.

“Not yet. I am a bit ahead of myself. I cannot wait for the day I carry my husband’s children. It would be honor,” Sif smiled.

“It would be an honor for the both of us, my lady,” Thor kissed Sif’s hand. He lost himself in her eyes. I looked away. It hurt. It hurt to watch someone else have the marriage I wanted. I wanted to be so hopelessly in love at first sight like that. I couldn’t let Loki know that especially not after the past month. We had been getting along so nicely with each other even if we hadn’t consummated our marriage yet.

I let my eyes wander to Sif’s belly. Did Loki want to have children? Did he like children? Thor’s mouth oved and I didn’t hear exactly what he said, but we started to move throughout the castle. Nowhere in Loki’s journal did he mention his desire to have children. Maybe it was something he didn’t think about? No, he had to. He was in love with someone else. He had to have thought about it.

I felt Sif interlock her arm with mine, and I snapped out of my thoughts.

“Lia, I heard that House Gardener is always lost in thought. Seeing you, I’m assuming that’s true,” she smiled at me. Part of her hair swayed forward.

“I apologize, my lady,” I shook my head.

“Oh no, don’t apologize. Don’t call me your lady either. You are not my servant. You are my sister. Call me Sif,” her gold chain jingled. She was so kind. Whenever an ambassador visited Highgarden from Casterly Rock, they would always be decorated in gold chains. Sometimes their pompous and arrogant attitude would put me off, but Sif was an exception.

“Forgive me, Sif. I have never been outside of Highgarden before. I had always assumed those of Casterly Rock thought they were better and richer than everyone else,” I admitted to her.

“That’s half-true, I would think. Most of my father’s advisors and men think themselves better than everyone else simply because their cloaks and weapons are made of gold. Speaking of assumptions, is it true that your father filtered news of the capital to you?”

“It is true,” I sighed. “I did not know of the true horrors of the capital until just recently.”

“They are horrific. The actions of our King make me sick inside, but this rebellion will change that. Odin will be king, and all of this will go away, hopefully.”

“Have you met him?”

“Oh yes, he attended our wedding,” Sif began. “He was very happy for Thor and I. He even danced with me that night. He’s a very good dancer, I would say. He offered kind words to me, but he also assured me that this alliance would prove to be fruitful. He promised me that when he takes the throne, he would make it safe for his grandchildren and any child here in the nine kingdoms.”

I never thought about it. Of course, Loki and Thor’s father would take the throne. I hadn’t met Odin, but from what Sif said, he seemed to be the right kind of man for the job.

“Has Thor told you what your next move is?” I asked Sif. Thor and Loki still walked ahead of us, speaking to each other.

“Next move?” Sif kept her arm in mine.

“Where are you going after here? What you are going to do?” Sif shook her head.

“Thor and I don’t talk about those things,” Sif told me. “Not because he doesn’t wish to. Thor shares everything with me, he trusts me. I just prefer not to know.”

“Why?”

“Battle plans and travelling in dangerous places seem abstract when you speak about them, but when they actually happen it’s different. Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Things change. I would rather not have an expectation of what the future holds.”

“The battle at your home,” I trailed off.

“Yes, we were all ill-prepared,” Sif looked down and away from me. “We lost quite a few that night, including my septa. She was so good to me. The original plan was for me to go to you actually. I was supposed to meet Frigga, but then the traitor happened.” Sif’s eyes narrowed and her grip tightened.

“The traitor. Was he close to your family?”

“Yes,” Sif answered. We turned down another hallway. We watched soldiers march beside us two by two. They headed off to the training grounds I assumed to meet with Loki and I’s army. “He worked for my father. My father noted that he had been vocal about their different opinions. The traitor thought the boy army was a good idea. Training and raising little boys to be career warriors is what the nine kingdoms needs.”

The soldiers moved past us. Some of them were older and experienced. They moved slower than the others, but their postures were upright. They were proud to serve their house. The younger soldiers slouched, and some of them were scared, but they hid it well.

“If that traitor never went off, my septa would be here with me now,” Sif continued. “And we would have met earlier under safer circumstances in Highgarden.”

“Did your septa love gardens?” I wasn’t an idiot, but I knew when was compassion was needed. Sif nodded her head. “She would have loved Highgarden. The whole palace is a garden.”

“I heard how beautiful it is,” Sif commented. “Tell me more.” I held onto Sif as we walked towards our unknown destination. I took Sif on a mental tour of the gardens hoping that it would ease her thoughts away from the battle at Casterly Rock.

We stopped in front of a set of doors. They weren’t as ornate as Highgarden, but they were practical, like the Braxes.

“This is where you’ll both be staying,” Thor announced to us. I nearly froze. Both of us will stay in the same room. I side-eyed Loki, and he met my eyes. He had the same feeling.

“Thank you, brother,” Loki nodded with a dry tone. “I’m sure my wife and I will find it comfortable.” He wringed his hands together. We didn’t match each other’s gazes.

We entered the room to see a decently sized bed and all the amenities. The Braxes always favored practical use over decorative use. Everything from the tables and soft chairs were made of wood from the trees just outside their castle. Their craftsmanship was never rivaled.

Their beige curtains and blankets covered the room. Their biggest masterpiece was the fireplace which had an enormous stag head hanging above it. It stared forward with its dead eyes. Its horns looked sharp and polished.

“This won’t be as bad as we think it will be, right?” I asked Loki for validation.

“No, but I did promise my honesty to you,” Loki looked around. “It doesn’t look good. We haven’t slept together since the battle.”

“You were a good sleeper.”

“I was exhausted. I’m still exhausted,” Loki started a fire in the fireplace. It sparked alive in a small flame, and grew slowly. We both grew quiet as the small fire crackled and burned along the logs. I studied Loki’s face. The new light highlighted his face. “You’re wondering what’s on my mind.”

“I am,” I acknowledged. Loki stood up and sat again in one of the handcrafted chairs. His fingers ran over his bottom lip.

“A lot is on my mind. I was wondering why you read my journal. Why you would invade someone else’s privacy like that.”

“Are you still angry with me?” I sat across from him.

“No,” Loki simply answered. “I’m just curious. I was upset the day my father told me I was to be married to you. After I stormed off, my mother found me. She told me all about you. How kind you were, how intelligent you are, how you loved to read. That we would good for each other.

“Of course, I knew my mother would never lie to me, but I had to confirm it all. I talked to people from different kingdoms. All of them agreed on one thing with you that you were a beautiful person inside and out. So why? Why would you have done an awful thing like that?”

I had thought about what Loki said. I looked down at my hands. I knew from the beginning that it was wrong to read his personal thoughts.

“I wanted to know you,” I began. “Your parents gave you the luxury of time and knowledge of this marriage. I had no idea it was coming. They just told me, and the next day you were there. Everything felt so rushed, and I was scared.”

“Scared of marrying me?”

“No. Yes. Scared of my idea of marriage and a husband being broken,” I frowned and bit my lip. “I wanted to know what kind of a person you were. My mother warned me about you. I was told how cruel you were. She told me to be careful with you. I wanted to believe that you were different. I wanted to know you.

“I wanted to know if there’s a difference between the Dark Prince and Loki. When I read your books, I saw the small opinions and thoughts you had. They were so poignant and deeply thought out. I wanted more. You never accepted any of my invitations, so I felt desperate. Reading your journal was wrong, but I felt so close to you. Knowing who you were, who you grew up to be fascinated me.”

“You’re fascinated by me?”

“Yes. I must admit that I have a hunger to know you. You’re very interesting to me.” Loki stood up and walked over to me. His fingers touched my hands.

“No one has told me that before,” he said. “In the future, would you be interested in hearing about my thoughts more often?” I nodded my head.

“Yes, I would, but I think for right now, we should rest,” I eyed the bed. “We had a long journey.”

“May I sleep with you again? Just like after the battle? Nothing has to happen. We can just sleep next to each other,” Loki asked. I nodded my head. A warmth flushed over me. Sleeping with a man still hasn’t matured me even if he was my husband. I had hoped Loki didn’t see it. Did he know I was a virgin? Was he a virgin? There was so much inside my head and all of it was burning me inside.

I took off my green dress and I let my white tunic air out. I crawled into the bed quickly as I could. This whole ‘sleeping together’ thing was still embarrassing to me, but I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Not now. He made vows to me, and he was doing his best in keeping them. I must do the same.

I had to try. I wasn’t angry anymore, but I wasn’t in love with him. He was a friend. Only a friend.

[rhetoricalrogue]

Inktober for Writers - 26. Realization

Warning for violence and murder.  Prompt list here.

This is probably one of the starting points to the whole fake marriage thing that @alittlestarling and I have been talking about doing for some time now.  This is also 2 AM writing without editing, so I apologize in advance.  

“We need to talk.  Follow me.”  Years of ingrained habit had Vincent blindly nodding and following the Templar into the cover of night.  Ser Abernathy had been stationed at Ostwick for as long as Vincent could remember, and while he had never been outright cruel to his charges, he’d been stricter than most in finding any minor infraction and punishing severely for it.

“What can I help you with?” Vincent asked, habit again having him clasp his hands behind his back and rounding his shoulders to present the image of a cooperative, peaceful mage.  

He knew exactly what Ser Abernathy wanted to speak with him about.  The Templar hadn’t been quiet about publicly accusing Roz of blood magic.  Vincent figured that he was going to confront him privately to see just what the newly named Inquisitor would do about it before taking matters in his own hands.

“Rosalind.  She’s a maleficar.”

Vincent closed his eyes and decided to play stupid for a little while more, just to see what proof Ser Abernathy had.  “Roz?  Are you certain?”

“I’ve seen her perform firsthand.  I would have struck her down in Ostwick, but she moved out of my range.  I’ve been tracking her ever since; I have strong reason to believe that she’s one of the catalysts of the Circle rebellion.”  Ser Abernathy stared at him.  “She needs to face justice, be it by your hand or mine.”

“I understand.”  He sighed heavily.  “And I believe you.”  Vincent looked out to the small rocky clearing that Ser Abernathy had led him to.  It was remote, away from the main road, and no one traveled the currently unstable path this late at night.  No traffic meant that Ser Abernathy would have no witnesses, should Vincent stray from the expected Good Mage script.

Ser Abernathy seemed to be surprised by Vincent’s words, almost as if he had expected a fight.  Vincent thought it was strange, seeing that the Templar had neglected to wear any sort of armor.  Perhaps the fact that Vincent had a nearly thirty-year history of not rocking the boat had put him at ease when it came to his own safety, or maybe he figured that all he had to do was smite Vincent and easily overpower him if things came to it.  Either way, Vincent was on his guard.  “I thought that you would deny it.”

“I should be honest with you.  I’ve had my own suspicions for some time now, mostly scratches and cuts on her arms that could be easily explained away, but to hear that someone else has firsthand experience...as much as I want to, I can’t deny it.  Is there anyone else that was there that can back up your accusations?”

“No.  The Templars who were at Ostwick all died, save for me.”

Vincent nodded.  “Then I guess the big question now would be, what do we do about her?”

Ser Abernathy was quick to answer.  “Death or Tranquility.  They’re the only options that will suffice.”

Vincent felt his stomach knot and his heart jumped up to his throat at the thought of Roz suffering either fate.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and knew what he had to do.  “I can’t see Roz turn Tranquil.”

“Then you choose death for her.”

Vincent took another shuddering breath.  “Yes. I choose death.”

Ser Abernathy came up to him and clasped his hand over Vincent’s shoulder.  “I know that this was a difficult decision for you.  You’ve been friends with her ever since…”  Ser Abernathy didn’t finish, his breath seeming to hiss out of his mouth, his eyes wide as he stared at Vincent before looking down to the dagger stuck in his belly, belatedly realizing that Vincent had been armed.

Vincent’s expression was blank as he pulled Ser Abernathy closer. “I never said I chose death for Roz.”  He twisted his wrist and shoved the dagger deeper, moving aside as the dying Templar weakly clawed at him before collapsing, his eyes glazing over as he finally died.

Vincent stared at the body, alternating between relief that Roz was safe and wanting to throw up for killing someone.  He stared at his bloody hands, realizing they were shaking.

“You’re going to have to hide the body.”  Vincent spun around to see Rolfe slip out from the shadows.

“How long were you there?”  He’d never even heard anyone follow.

“I’ve been following the two of you ever since you left Skyhold.  I got a bad feeling from this guy and thought that he’d try something once he had you alone without any eyes.”  He crouched down and inspected Vincent’s handiwork, his fingers pressing against the dead man’s throat to check to see if he really was dead.  “I figured you could use someone to back you up if things went south.”

“I never saw you.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes.  “I’d be a shitty bodyguard if you would have seen me coming.”  He sat back on his heels.  “You okay?”

“He was going to hurt Roz.  He said that she was a blood mage, he…”

“I know, I heard. Slow, deep breaths.  This looks like it was your first kill; the first ones are always the worst.”

Vincent frowned at his brother.  “I’ve killed people before.”

“Yeah, and they’ve always been nameless faces, people who’ve attacked you first or that have done something to justify their deaths in some way.  Those are different kinds of deaths, ones you can go to sleep afterwards and not have them haunt you.  This was personal; you not only knew him from the Circle, but he was threatening someone you care about.”

“He was going to hurt Roz,” Vincent repeated.  “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And I don’t blame you.  If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”  He tipped his head.  “Maybe not exactly like this, it’s going to take some messing around to make it look like an accident or some bandit attack, but I’ve worked with less before.”

“How can you be so...so...flippant about this?”  Vincent clenched his hands into fists, realizing that they were tacky with Ser Abernathy’s blood.

“Because you didn’t answer my question if you were okay.  I needed to get some sort of reaction out of you.”

“I’m fine,” Vincent said woodenly.

“Don’t stare at his face.  Committing what they look like in death to memory only fucks with you later on.”

“Have a lot of experience, don’t you?”

Rolfe shrugged.  “My place with the Order of the Sacred Flame wasn’t just keeping Chantry higher-ups alive from would-be assassins.  I have my share of assassinations under my belt, all in the name of Chantry politics.”  Rolfe pulled out the dagger from the body and wiped the blade on the dirt.  “How attached are you to this blade?”

“Not very.”

“Good, because I’m going to take a visit to the blacksmith and melt this down in the forge, get rid of the evidence.  You should head back to Skyhold.  I’ll hide the body for now, then get with Leliana and explain what happened.  Together we’ll dispose of it more permanently, make sure it keeps quiet.”

“I didn’t think that we’d have to involve Leliana in this.”

“It would be hard not to.  Besides, it’s better to get her involved at the start instead of waiting and chancing something gets complicated. Ser Abernathy’s accusations were already made out in public; people don’t believe them of course, but there’s still a few rumors we’re going to have to do some damage control on.”  Rolfe pulled out a canteen of water from his belt.  Vincent numbly wondered why Rolfe would have it, but then he noticed that Rolfe was wearing an unfamiliar cloak that he more than likely brought with him for the express purpose of rolling up a body in.  He’d come prepared.  “Hold your hands out, Vincent.  You’ve got blood on them.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re my little brother, Vincent.  I’ve never had a brother to care for that would actually want me to look out for them before.”  Rolfe unscrewed the cap and poured water onto Vincent’s hands.  With his free hand, Rolfe began to rub at the already drying bloodstains.  “And because this sort of thing is for someone who has more than their share of blood on their hands.  It isn’t for you.  Your path doesn’t need to be as dark as mine.”

Rolfe’s expression was unreadable in the dark, but Vincent caught his tone of voice.  “Thank you,” he said quietly, drying his hands on his pants.  “This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

Rolfe shook his head.  “I think you underestimate your spymaster and your diplomat.  They’ve been working on angles to spin the rumors even before the first one reared its head.  You and Roz are in good hands.”

“Roz is all that matters, Rolfe.  I’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

“I know.  And right now you need to go to her.  If I read her right, she’s planning on running.  She hasn’t had a chance to bolt yet, but she’ll probably try to go under the cover of night, try to take herself out of the equation.”

“What?”

Rolfe raised an eyebrow.  “You aren’t the only one who would do anything to keep the ones you care about safe, Vincent.  She probably figures that if she’s not around, then the Inquisition won’t be known for harboring blood mages and your reputation will be intact.”

“So you believe it?”

“Not at first, and that’s a point in her favor.  She’s so unassuming that it makes accusations like this suspect.  And with no one alive to corroborate this one’s story, I’d say it won’t be difficult to put rumors down.”  Rolfe unclipped his cloak and spread it out close by the body. “When did you know?”

“After Redcliffe, after seeing what happened to her in the dark future.”

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Not directly.  She knows that I know, but we haven’t really spoken much about it.”

“It might be something you want to discuss.”  Rolfe rolled the body onto the cloak and efficiently wrapped it up.  He grunted as he hefted the body onto his shoulder and stood.  Ser Abernathy had been a solidly built man, even in his older years.  “Now, I need you to walk back to Skyhold as if nothing had happened.  I was watching and no one was around to see the two of you leave together, so his disappearance isn’t going to be something linked to you.  If it is questioned, I’m sure that we can say he was ashamed for accusing Roz with something so dire without any proof and left, never to be seen again.”

Vincent looked down at himself.  He was wearing dark clothes, but he could feel wetness against his stomach from the blood that he’d come in contact with. Hopefully no one would notice before he could get rid of the offending article of clothing.  “It’s pretty late, I should turn in.”

Rolfe nodded.  “You do look pretty tired.  It’s understandable; you’ve had a few big days recently and things tend to catch up with you when you least expect them to.  I think you should go straight up to your room after your little walk.”  Rolfe hitched the body higher on his shoulder and turned to go further down the way.  Vincent could barely make out the shape of a few decent sized boulders in the distance that would be excellent for temporarily hiding a body.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.  Tell Roz hello for me.  I like her; it wouldn’t be the same around here if she did decide to leave.”

“I will.”  Vincent started down the path he had come from, but stopped after taking a few steps.  “Your path doesn’t have to stay dark, Rolfe,” he quietly said.  “And you’ll always have a brother who cares about you, no matter if he needs your help or not.”

Rolfe didn’t say anything, he just squared his shoulders and slowly took off in the opposite direction, his gristly burden making him walk slower than he usually did. 

Vincent watched him for a while before the darkness hid him from view.  Taking a deep breath and willing his hands to stop shaking, he made his way back to Skyhold, hoping that he’d make it in time before Roz did decide to run.

He just hoped that he could make her change her mind and stay.

[collieflowah]

The Bucket List

This piece is for @shiningprincelotor.

This was written for the @vldlunarladies exchange! It was super fun to do and I hope you like it!!

Rating: T+ (For mild marijuana use)

Characters: Acxa, Lotor, Ezor, Narti

Additional Tags: Modern au, College/University, Very Mild Drug Use

Word Count: 1994

Notes: Thank you so, so much to @littlepennycandy for beta-reading this and helping me through the ending. <3

Lotor brushed his hair from his face, tucking the strand behind his ear; Acxa watched the movement closely. Her pen tapped against her chin distractedly.

Lotor hummed, flipped the page of his textbook and sighed dejectedly. He tore his eyes away from the book and looked up, glancing around the four girls in the dorm room. He met Acxa’s eyes with an eyebrow lifted in question.

Acxa shook her head and went back to her German textbook.

She periodically glanced over to Lotor and watched as he waged the constant battle concerning his hair. Every time he would tuck it behind one ear, it seemed four more strands were freed to tickle his nose. He would crinkle his nose, wiggle it a bit and then run a hand through his hair, fighting it out of his face.

Acxa rolled her eyes at him. He had a hair tie on his wrist. He could solve this problem in seconds if he so wished.

But no. Of course not. It was all about rebellion for Lotor.

It was about Lotor’s micromanaging parents, the freedom of college that told Lotor he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Including growing his hair out.

He’d been at it for a few years, now. It was well past to his shoulderblades - an improvement on the short style his mother always had him keep. And that was good, it was a healthy release and it was certainly tamer than other methods he could have gone with.

So he grew his hair. He was a regular at a local hairdresser to keep up the white color of his hair and to get it trimmed as needed. It was an improvement by far, Acxa thought. The long hair suited him.

And that was all well and good.

Rather, it would be - if he would take care of it properly.

Lotor Oubea was one to care about his appearance. This was a fact you could tell at first glance. He was one with a style about him. Well, maybe he just wore things well, but that wasn’t the point here. The point was: Lotor takes care of himself stylistically in all ways but with his hair. That was an area that he usually left to one of their friends, Ezor.

Ezor’s skill was very apparent in the way she regularly dressed her own hair on a day to day basis. She was the only one in their collective friend group that was allowed to play with Lotor’s hair. She had a soft touch Acxa associated with her mother, able to sort through Lotor’s mess of hair without causing so much as a wince of pain.

With any and all of his presentable looks save the occasional “messy bun”, Lotor had Ezor to thank for them.

Lotor had to be taught the ways of hair care. There was no way around it. They were graduating college soon, and Lotor wasn’t going to have Ezor’s gentle hands to comb and style his hair forever.

But every time Acxa would suggest something to him, or mention the sore concerns she had, he would brush her off. She offered to show him a few tricks she started out with and he would blanche, his expression screaming War Flashbacks. He would ultimately refuse in some roundabout way, giving a classy excuse that made sense, but never failed to give Acxa the distinct impression that he still hadn’t let go of the Sophomore Incident.

That, being the first (and only) time Acxa ever convinced Lotor to let her get her hands in his hair. His hair reached just below his shoulders, and was an ashy-blonde color, then. A few drinks in and a loose-tongued “I want to play with your hair,” had Lotor nestled comfortably between Acxa’s thighs.

Everything was good and right in the world for all of twenty seconds. Lotor put on a brave face for a few minutes, but then he practically yelled for Acxa to stop before launching himself across the room, head in his hands, whining about how Acxa tried to pull out all his hair and give him - gasp, God forbid - bald spots.

So Acxa was banned from ever touching Lotor’s Luscious Locks ever again, ever.

It wasn’t like she was bitter about it. (She was, actually.) Definitely wasn’t hung up on the fact that her drunken mistake practically messed up any chance she ever had of styling that amazing head of hair.

Insert annoying smiley face here.

The whole debacle left her very frustrated.

Acxa was never very handy. With anyone. Physical affection was very rarely her thing, and it wasn’t even a thought if it concerned a person outside of their friend circle.

So it was odd, her constantly wanting to fix Lotor’s hair for him. Maybe it was because it was so soft, or the irritation she held for him when he complained about his hair being unsightly but never lifted a finger to fix the problem.

Whatever it was, it made her want to have Narti hold him down while Acxa vigorously brushed through the knots in his hair.

Which actually, all in all, wasn’t entirely a bad idea.

She was yanked out of her introspection by Ezor flipping her book shut rather loudly.

“Alright everybody,” she sighed. “Time for pre-exam questions.”

“Did any of you have a bucket list?” Lotor asked. Smoke trailed out of his nose as he spoke. His eyes were red-rimmed and dry as he looked off to the side, over the waves rippling peacefully across the shore.

“I didn’t,” Acxa admitted. “I don’t see the use.”

“The use? Whoa. Acxa,” Ezor flipped up from her towel, flinging granules of sand in the air from her hair. “Bucket lists are fantastic! They make sure you really get the full college experience.”

“Sounds like a cheap excuse to make a fool of yourself.”

“And that seems to be a fad these days,” Lotor sighed. “Narti, if I could.” Narti held her hand up, slowly, as not to accidentally burn anyone. Lotor took the joint carefully from her long, delicate fingers.

They were in an odd little arrangement, with Lotor sprawled over Acxa’s lap, and Narti lying with her back heavily on Lotor’s knees. Ezor was the only one separated from the group (save Zethrid, who chose to stay behind for this trip, purely out of her fierce hatred for all things sand), and she had been booted from their tangle earlier because of the debacle resulting from her attempt to connect two roasting sticks together via marshmallows… just so she wouldn’t have to get up to roast another marshmallow for a s’more.

“Narti, did you have a bucket list?” Acxa asked curiously, hoping to have someone who was in the same boat she was in.

“A small one,” Narti said quietly, “it’s been completed.”

Acxa sighed and Ezor’s eyes gleamed. She laid back down and propped her chin up on her knuckles.

“Tell me more,” she said, putting all of her excitement into her voice.

“Not a chance,” Narti said, reaching over to flick sand in Ezore’s direction. She missed by a long shot, sending little grains of sand into the fire.

Ezor deflated, groaning as she dropped her head to the the ground. “Fine,” she moaned.

Lotor shifted, sticking the joint between his teeth so he could untuck his hair from under his head. He laid his head back down on Acxa’s thighs and sighed. “If you had to outline a bucket list, Acxa, what would it feature?”

She hesitated, thinking. “I suppose I would list perfect scores.”

“Doesn’t count,” Ezor told her. “You’re a genius. It was a breeze.”

“It wasn’t,” Acxa told her, taking the joint from Lotor. She inhaled deeply and let her eyes slip shut. “I don’t know of anything else. Give me examples.”

“Going rock climbing,” Narti muttered, first.

“Going on a roadtrip with your friends!” Ezor added, smiling.

“I have done both of those. They don’t count,” Acxa said, frowning.

���Learning how to surf,” Lotor suggested, looking up to her.

She considered it for a second before shaking her head.

“Hopeless!” Ezor huffed, dropping her head again.

“Oh, hush, you,” Lotor reprimanded, waving a hand at her.

Acxa’s hand dropped to Lotor’s head, her nails scratching gently at his scalp.

“You don’t have to have a bucket list, Acxa,” Narti told her, holding up her hand. “Can I?” The joint was passed and Acxa’s fingers combed through Lotor’s hair. “Most people put a ‘physical change’ on their lists,” Narti continued after a moment.

Acxa hummed. “How so?”

“Such as changing their hair, or getting a tattoo.”

Ezor poked her head back up. “Hey! You’ve done both of those,” she grinned.

“I have,” she mused. A bundle of peacock feathers coming up her ribcage certainly counted. “Do you remember when we all changed our hair in sophomore year?” she asked no one in particular.

“Do I,” Narti said, a slight smile on her mouth. “You made me shave half my head.”

“It was so pretty though!” Ezor protested. “And that was great. We should totally do that again before graduation.”

“I vote we shave Lotor’s head this time,” Acxa muttered, fingers still combing.

Lotor jolted. “Excuse me!? Why?”

“Because you never take care of your hair!” Acxa told him. “Knots everywhere. Never brushed. It’s a mess.”

Lotor deflated. “My hair is perfectly fine.”

“That’s it. There’s my bucket list. The only thing on it, ” Acxa said suddenly, her knuckle getting snagged on a knot in Lotor’s hair. He yelped slightly and tried to pull away. “Either I get you to take care of your hair, or I am shaving it off.”

“I don’t think that counts,” Ezor muttered, her face scrunched up in thought.

“It does, now,” Acxa said.

Lotor made a miserable little sound and rolled over, surrendering, resigned to his fate.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned it!” Ezor grinned cheekily.

Lotor scowled, much resembling a child. “I am prepared to offer you a deal,” he said, turning back over so he could look her in the eyes. “You may help me with my hair-.”

“And teach you how to do it yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Fine. You may brush my hair, style it, teach me how to do it myself, if…”

He paused for a moment and she lifted an eyebrow at him.

“What is it? I’m not taking your exams for you.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he tutted. “Just come home with me for the holidays. Mom has been on my back for the better part of this year about never bringing any friends home. Especially ones of the female persuasion.”

Acxa’s nose crinkled. “Are you kidding me? Your mother is a helicopter parent with questionable morals. I changed my mind. I'll bribe Zethrid to hold you down and we'll just shave your head after all."

Lotor scoffed and took another drag. “You wouldn’t need to bribe her. She would help just for the hell of it.”

“I would help,” Narti offered.

Acxa grinned, reaching over to pat her on the shoulder. “I am taking it under consideration.”

Lotor looked between them. “Oh, please tell me that you are not actually considering this.”

Acxa tapped the bridge of her nose and said ominously, “I must not tell lies.”

Lotor protested again but a little yank on his hair quieted him down. In mere moments, the group was all settled in again, taking in the breeze and the air that they shared.

Acxa combed her fingers through Lotor’s hair; taking liberties as the man muttered tiredly, just on the edge of dozing off. Satisfaction from a battle won, pulled a smile across her face.

Tomorrow, the new battle for his hair would begin, but for tonight, the victory was hers.

The breeze that came off of the water was cooling, the taste of salt on their tongues mingling with the taste of cheap thrills and simple joys.

[leebersnowy]

Not the Only Targaryan

Jonerys Appreciation Week.

Day 1: Favorite episode 7 x 3. Word count 2883. Rated for late teen.

Content: How did Dany and Jon go from “open rebellion” to “we sail together”? I started with the tension when they first met. I didn’t touch the throne room scene, which remains my absolute favorite,  but I wrote a little patch that takes place when Dany allows Jon to mine the Dragonglass, and how she might feel about a rival at this point.

Coming next- Jon runs into the Queen and finds her armed.

    Dany had arrived in glory, but lately she hadn’t felt entirely like a queen. The moves she’d made lately had taken more of her nerve, more sleep from her nights, and more time from her dragons. She never considered her first military loss would actually hurt, like a sturdy punch to the stomach. And she was cold. Somewhere along the way, she’d grown used to the soft, warm winds of the East.

     From where she stood watching her children play in low drafts over the bay, the Seven Kingdoms were so close she could smell them. How easy it would be to fly straight to Kingslanding, rouse my people, show them Drogon...and then visit the Queen face to face. Never had the thought been more persuasive, like a lover pulling insistently at her hips. But you’re not the queen of ashes...

    A sharp wind struck her then, and she shivered. The long night is begun.

    Her mind wandered back to the meeting earlier today, with the other contender in the game, the so called King in the North. Perhaps she’d grown attached to the notion that her power would seduce or overthrow any and all men she met in Westeros. It usually did. But this Jon Snow rebel seemed recklessly undaunted by the threats all around him, and equally determined not to pledge for her. Even when she tried to seduce him with her words, and perhaps her eyes, albeit subtly. He was young, and usually the young ones fell hard for her within the first moments. Maybe all Northerners were as stubborn, she considered. Maybe I will go there last.

    Tyrion always told her there was more to foreign strangers and Northern fools than people knew. But the king in the north was hardly more than a boy, and even he wouldn’t trust her. Her hand seemed to think he was an ally, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Jon Snow had found his way off this rock already. He and his onion knight. The envy of that freedom awoke a fury in her. That, and she could picture a table of northern men laughing at the yarn their “king” threw at the Madking’s daughter. The peals of laughter about Night Kings and Dragonglass, and herself a gullible child, a joke. And yet, Tyrion urged her, trusted the boy, and was willing to ask her to help him.

    Perhaps the emphasis of what lie ahead drove her to look behind. At what ifs... Raegal swooped  over her head, and screeched. He’d grown so much she wasn’t sure he’d ever stop. He could easily have his own rider. If Drogo was here... Her heart longed, and strained, as it had so many times before. Had he crossed the sea with her, Drogo would have demanded battle by now. Together, they would have rode-

    “Amazing thing to see.”

    She broke from her thoughts at the words, and knew by the accent who it was behind her, approaching.

    “I named them for my brothers, Vyseris and Raegar. They’re both gone now.” She watched her precious ones race each other into the sky over the island, and then turned around to face the man properly. “You lost two brothers as well.”

    He nodded and grew distant.

    She could tell their deaths meant more to him than her brothers had to her, but there were other things to address. “People thought dragons were gone forever, but here they are,” she allowed. “Perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know.”

    The rebel came closer, to take in the full view of the bay and without looking at her, he said, “You’ve been talking to Tyrion.

    She sighed and leaned on the wall. That feels like an accusation. “He is my hand.”

    Jon Snow scowled. “He enjoys talking.”

    “We all enjoy what we’re good at,” Dany said impatiently.

    After a pause, he said, “I don’t.”

    Danaerys couldn’t stop herself from reading his face, which was still turned diligently away from her. Killing. she decided at once, like the brother I never met. He doesn’t enjoy killing but he’s good at it. His face was grave, almost too much so for a man so young, and it was alluring at the same time, even with the scars. Or maybe because of them. He certainly looked like he had the gravitas of a King, but she could not be made a fool of. There was too much at stake. At the very least Jon Snow must be made to realize that she would win this war.

    “You know I not going to let Cersei stay on the Iron throne.” she told him and at last he turned and faced her.

    “I never expected that you would.”

    “And I haven’t changed my mind about which Kingdoms belong to that throne.” she shot back at once.

    He inclined his head in a rather challenging way. “I haven’t either.”

    For a moment the only sounds were waves crashing and seagulls crying. After staring hard at him she turned away angrily,  and heard him breath loudly in and out, as though exasperated.  She’d never felt more like a young girl again. As though they were two children demanding a bigger portion of pie. But she somehow found herself tempted to trust him. So, despite the doubt she found herself saying, “I will allow you to mine the Dragonglass and to forge weapons from it.” His face was shocked. “Any men or resources you need I will provide for you.”

   “Thank you.” he said, and seemed to be taking her in anew. Shock changed to something softer, something she suddenly had trouble looking at. Hope, eagerness even, and something like admiration all flashed through his face briefly, but long enough for her to catch. Slowly, she turned to face the sea again.

    “So you believe me then, about the Night King and the Army of the Dead.” he said so close she could feel his breath against her cheek.

    Without having to look at his earnest face again she answered, “You’d better get to work, Jon Snow.”

    He delayed only seconds longer and then strode away so fast that she turned and watched him go. Every man, every single man she’d come in contact with wanted her. They bowed and scraped, or they stared and craved. They wanted either her power or her body, and they usually had neither. They would pledge men, arms, gold, gifts...Why not him? All she ask was he pledge to her. She’d even given him the chance to do it, warmly offering the position of steward. Here he could have bowed without losing much, but he didn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. And he so seldom looked at her, she was wondering if she’d lost her charm somewhere along the long way here. She turned back to the sea in frustration.

    “Nothing is the way I thought it would be.” she complained to Missandei later, as she was preparing for dinner. Despite how skillfully the scribe was fixing her hair for the evening, Dany wore a forlorn expression. She’d dressed with more care than usual, choosing something that may have caused her to look more pretty than powerful. She’d even smoothed a balm of crushed red minerals on her lips but was still troubled by her tired reflection.

    “Your Grace?” Missandei puzzled.

    “I feel as though I have waited a hundred years, and suffered a hundred fold  to gain my peoples trust, and now I come here, and find I have to do it all over again.”

    “You’ve more than one kingdom, Your Grace.” the girl reminded her, “And an entire land that loves you, and owes you it’s future. They love you because you waited and suffered. Perhaps, trust is best gained with pain.”

    Daenerys smiled, “Always something wise.” But it didn’t change her low spirit.

    Missandei smiled back, slightly pink of cheek. After a moment she asked, “Does Your Grace expect the King in the North to come to the dining hall for evening meal?”

    Dany sighed. “No. Not really.” He’d kept to his rooms the night he arrived, and with the friction of their first meeting she expected he would try to avoid her all her could.

    “He is quite young to be a king,” her little scribe braided deftly, “This one thinks he is around Your Graces age.”

    The queen nodded, thoughtfully. She had noticed that the very first time she saw him. Too bad all he can talk about is ghosts in the North.

    “He is very handsome too, in this ones opinion.”

    Dany frowned. “So what?” Missandei shrugged gently and began to wind the long plaints craftily up on Danys head. “You are playing matchmaker, I see. But maybe I am through with matches. Hizdar tried to have me killed, Daario will love a thousand before he dies, and Drogo- Well, losing him was the worst pain I’ve ever known. Why would I want to place myself in that position again? Open my heart to betrayal, or worse...”

    “This one thinks it is not always a matter of want,” her scribe had moved to smoothing a flowery oil into the skin of Danys arms. “Sometimes one has no control over it. Ones heart opens anyway.”

    Daenerys warmed to her little scribe again, thinking of course of her budding feelings for Greyworm “The best ones happen that way.”

    She felt almost foolish in the stone halls, flanked by her khalasar. They wouldn’t leave her be, since the Northern King arrived, insisting on following her everywhere. Missandei kept eyeing them, when they grew too loud or brutish, but it wasn’t until she was in the presence of a man that they truly became overbearing. Like proper brothers, she felt. Each one had sworn himself to her uniquely, and each had a strength that made her protective circle complete, and utterly impenetrable. No one would be sneaking to her chambers like Daario had, anymore. Unless I want them to.

    Tyrion fell in by her side, close to the dining hall and Dany quickly said, “I’ve followed your advice.”

    “Words I will never tire of hearing.”

    “I’ve told Jon Snow he may play with dragonglass all he wants. But do you think he will have a conversation about living armies eventually?”

    Tyrion smiled, “We can only hope. He’s had his own victories in battle, he could be very helpful.”

    The dining hall hosted a longer table than she’d had before. Supper smells were hearty and all around, and Ser Davos was present and of such good spirits, his laughter could be heard before she’d even entered. It was as merry a room as she could walk into, under the circumstances. And seated in a place of honor, though not looking comfortable with it, was Jon Snow himself.

    As she was about to join the young man at the table she lowered her voice to say, “Helpful or not, if the man is mad-”

    “We don’t know that, yet.”

    Daenerys shot him a look and they sat at the center of the table, side by side. Missandei stood just behind her, as the little scribe preferred, and Varys sat at her left, with the King in the North a little further from there. At the first course served, a singer with several players sang them songs from Westeros, and Ser Davos had many entertaining stories at hand. Soon Dany felt more comfortable with the Northern guests and leaned over Varys to catch the Kings attention.

    “Is this the farthest South you’ve come, my lord?”

    “Aye,” his eyes smiled, “Your grace.”

    “And what do you think of it, seeing new lands I mean.”

     “Seeing new lands?” Jon Snow seemed rather set off by what she had said. “I suppose I thought it would be harder to breath, but so far it hasn’t.”

    Dany did her best not to twitch her nose in annoyance. Was he purposefully being dull? She tried again, mostly because she could feel Tyrion prompting her, though she wasn’t looking at him. “I’ve heard rumors you’ve raised a direwolf. I could hardly believe them, but many insisted it was true. Even Tyrion said he rambles about following your every step.”

    Jon Snow stared, as if begging her to arrive at the point.

    “And yet he is not with you.” she finished.

    “No.” Jons answer was clipped.

    She sat back at once, and eyed Tyrion hard. This man is as gracious as a stable hand. “I wasn’t sure he’d be safe,” he answered at last, “ if the rumors I’d heard about the dragon-queen were true.”

    Daenerys turned back to him at once, and her eyes narrowed on his face. “Dragon-queen.”

    His head shook once, “Not my words, theirs.”

    “Have we not had our share of labels placed on us both?” she pushed him a little. Are you not a bastard?

    “I’ve found labels to be helpful, when you’re deciding who to trust.”

    Admittedly a little bothered by his quiet but quick tongue Dany decidedly changed her approach. She raised her brows slightly, and allowed the smallest hint of a smile. “Do you fear me, Jon Snow?”

    “With three full grown dragons at your call, Your Grace, I’d be foolish not to.”

    “Many have told me I am little more than a child.”

    Jon Snow now held her gaze steadily, “Then they were very wrong.”

    “Do the Northern people even have cause to hate me?” she cried.

    “It isn’t you they hate, it’s your last name.”

    She huffed once, “You a very bold, to throw a name back in my face.”

    “Targaryans are so bound to their duty, they can’t see anything else.” Jon Snow downed what was left in his cup.

    Dany stared forward, angrily.  “As the only Targaryan you’ve met I can decidedly disagree with that.”

    “You aren’t the only Targaryan I’ve met.”

    A moment stretched out, where the lilting strings of the players was the only sound. Everyone at the table had ceased their conversations and were watching the two of them closely. Daenerys wanted to look aloof, but in truth she was astounded. Her head turned quizzically, and all at once her anger with the northern king was shifted to the side. “Who? Please, tell me who you met?”

    Jon Snow dipped his head and finally looked a little softer., “He was maester at the wall, Your Grace.”

    “Aemon.” Tyrion said suddenly, his eyes wide.

    Jon nodded.

    “I’m a fool.” the dwarf said.

    “I felt the same.” Jon smiled, and to her he explained, “He was Your Graces uncle, a sworn brother of the Nights Watch.”

    “Was?” she was flooded with dismay.

    “He died, I don’t even know how old he was. Older then the wall it felt like.” Jon was saying, but Dany felt like a sudden well spring of hope had just been shot through with an arrow. “He read everything there was about you, to anyone who would listen. He would say he wished he were young again, so that he could find you, and that a Targaryan alone in the world was a terrible thing.” She glanced up at Jon sadly. “When your family died, Maester Aemon stayed at the wall. He put duty above his family, as we are all taught to, but I truly believe that he regretted it, every day.”

   Dany felt her her discontent return. “I’ve no family left to put duty above, my lord.” she rose without warning. “Your father’s best friend saw to that.” Everyone was scrambling to their feet and she said, “Don’t rise, but do excuse me, I am tired.”

   She left the room then,  her pace so quickened Missandei had to run to keep up with her. No part of her wanted to see the king in the north again, with his deep eyes, and lofty opinions. She’d been fine so far, a queen in her one right, she didn’t need a pretender to coach her.

    “Your Grace,” Tyrions voice slowed her slightly, “He may not be the softest of speakers.”

     “Does he wish for me to imprison him?” she could hardly keep from shouting. “Or does he intend to advise me, because I am just a queen.”

    “Now now, he never said anything like that.” Daenerys glowered. “You don’t have to speak to each other. But keep working together.” Tyrion urged, “At least do that. Truly, you could use any ally you can get.”

   Dany threw Tyrion a dry look, and walked the rest of the way in a steady but determined pace. The king in north will never have to speak to me again if he so chooses, she decided, and in turn, I will stay as far from him and his opinions as I can. But even with him sleeping somewhere far from her own chambers, Dragonstone was beginning to feel rather small.

[putittosleep-blog]

Black and White.

Flick.

The click and immediate heat of my lighter has somehow become therapeutic for me over the years.

Through the ups and downs of attempting to quit this nasty habit since the day I graduated high school plagued me. What started as a bout of teenage rebellion began something I, almost ten years later, could not seem to break.

I’d never get addicted to this shit. I got this.

Ha. Yeah, right.

My New Year’s resolution has been somewhat successful. Drinking and smoking have certainly coddled me through a lot of stress and celebration during college and beyond, but I guess this year I just got tired of the bullshit. I’ve only slipped up a couple of times, I swear. Okay. Maybe that’s not true either. The drinking cessation is easy as hell, but smoking...well, that’s another story.

Hiding my sneak smokes from my girlfriend the last two months hasn’t been too hard considering she lives 30 minutes away and I can go long enough without nicotine for 48 hours without becoming a raging, anxiety-ridden bitch. When we started dating last July, she expressed her disgust in a polite way, but I knew she hated that I smoked. She was the biggest reason, well, the reason I decided to try quitting again.

I pass the same Powerball billboard everyday on my way home from work. I began taking this way shortly into my stint at my current job; a 40 hour a week excuse to lose myself in music and audiobooks. The work was pretty easy, although it proved to be monotonous more than anything. Several times a day, I daydream. My mind flies along a journey of my band reaching stardom, my girlfriend someday telling me she wanted to get married even though in real life she abhors the idea the marriage, and winning the lottery. I pass by this same billboard at least five days a week and never bring myself to some shithole gas station to try my luck.

This seemed to be the pattern of everything else in my life for the last few years. Ideas of grandeur swirl in my head. When they hit, I’m ready to put in work. Ask me again in a few hours, though. Basically, I’m clueless and wonder why I ever thought I could bring success into my life somehow.

It’s like I’m stuck in this perpetual idea circle of death. I could be anything: a famous musician, a writer, a producer, an actor...the list goes on and on. Most days I wish I was really good at one thing so I knew what the fuck my life’s purpose was. This shitstorm has been a recurring issue since I can remember.

Ninth grade me was so certain of what she wanted: A doctorate from a cool liberal arts college with a small private practice counseling people who suffered from ailments she never knew she’d suffer from as she got older. Hm. That’s another thing. I need to see a psychologist. Another thing to put on the list that will never get done.

How did I even get here? What the hell is “here”, anyway? Here I am at 26 and I’m...normal. I’m fucking normal. I live a 9-5 life, tell everyone I’m in a band (a really good band that seems to lack any organization or motivation as of late), and someone who just flies under the radar pretending to know how to adult. Ninth grade me would fucking laugh so hard. Ninth grade me would be so pissed. Fuck that: I’m pissed now.

I take another secret drag off a cigarette from a fresh pack I bought today that I told myself I wouldn’t buy for the sixth time this year. Yes, I’ve counted. I’m going through these things like crazy for someone who claims to have stopped smoking. I’m just a fuck up these days, it seems.

God. If someone read this right now, they’d think I was writing some sort of suicide note. I digress.

Anxiety’s been high today. The often described “impending sense of doom” when speaking of anxiety sufferers is fucking real, y’all. So real. The pit in my stomach was huge last night. Not sure if it was my typical anxiety surrounding the very strange (to me, at least) relationship I have with my girlfriend that often gives me “she loves me, she loves me not” vibes on the daily, or if it was the text that one of my bandmates sent last night saying he “wasn’t prepared to practice”. That was strange of him. He’s the one always lecturing the bassist and me about not being prepared. For once, it was him and for once, it was weird. I resorted to meditation last night to calm the swarm of hornets in head. That seemed to help.

I’m always in my fucking head. It’s all I can remember. I’m never able to enjoy anything because I’m thinking about the future and the consequences of everything I do. I’m thinking of what other people are thinking.

How do I look? Did I just say something really stupid? Are they gonna talk about me as soon as I walk away to go to the bathroom?

I could go on, but this is just a preview of what’s going on in my head. I acknowledge this isn’t uncommon at all, but I feel like it is for me because I was so happy growing up. An empath for sure, but I was truly happy.

That fuck almost hit me. Watch the road, asshole.

At this point, I’m about five minutes away from home. I’ve done so much thinking that I feel like I haven’t even looked at the Interstate since I was deep in thought.

Maybe I should stop and get that Powerball ticket. I’m tired, though.

Literally lol’ing at me saying I’m tired. I do nothing all day. I sit in a chair, put myself through mental agony with my own insecurities, and get my job done. How could that possibly take anything out of me? Lately I’ve begun to see the toll of my stress and anxiety on my body. I don’t want to do anything except retreat to my computer or bed, whether that is to FaceTime my girlfriend and watch Buffy (what an amazing series) or just listen to music and lose myself in Wikipedia articles. The older I get, the more I hate being around most people. If you took a peek at my very public and busy Facebook page, you’d think differently. I’ve got 1100 “friends” and try to stay engaged, although my new-ish job has luckily taken me away from posting so much since I actually enjoy being so busy that I can’t rely on social media for entertainment most of my day. Seriously though, I’m so over people. Maybe with the election of an Oompa Loompa, I’ve started to see how ugly people can be. People I once called “friends”. Either way, I enjoy my retreats. My retreats have affected my desire to create. Most of the time, save for times like these where I need to write just about everything out to make sense of it, I just have no motivation. I could practice that new drum lick I saw on Instagram, but I’d rather watch Netflix. Like...what the fuck is that? That is so not me. I hardly recognize myself anymore. It’s like that stupid meme, “Why are you like this”?

Seriously, though...Why ARE you like this?

I roll into my neighborhood and am welcomed back into reality again noticing a nicely dressed guy with hair like my brother’s walking.

Clearly that guys isn’t a Jehovah’s witness. He ain’t got no Watchtowers or nothin’. Shit, I need to do something physical. I’m really tired, though and I need to write. I’m really in my thoughts today. Maybe I should work on writing a song. Maybe look at buying new gear. I need drum heads anyway.

The rocks crunch against my tires as I enthusiastically pull into the driveway, get out of the car, and walk in. I grab a pack of Gushers and almost immediately head to my computer to sit here and write this.

Today, I realized that I literally have no idea what the fuck I’m doing but I get up everyday and do what needs to be done to survive. That is living. Well, that’s what living is for me right now, on this day, at this time. However, life is cyclical. We are all evidence of that. Life isn’t always supposed to be about having the best day everyday. It’s about just doing the shit you need to do to get by sometimes. Sometimes we just don’t have the daily dose of high energy to make everyday awesome. That’s what makes our memories, though. Those days were things just happened to turn out. While I’m not happy that it seems like I’ve been living this black and white lifestyle forever, I remember a time where it wasn’t like that.

I don’t know who the hell this writing is going to reach, but to the few people who may find it: I hope you find some solace in this. Life is fucking mundane as shit sometimes. You may pass that billboard for a whole year, but your life could change the one day your brain finally convinces you to buy the Powerball ticket. You life could change that one day you decide to write. Or hell, it may not. That was cheesy as fuck. What I’m trying to say is we’re all due to run through these cycles where the world feels like it’s black and white all year round. You can’t force your way through it.

I am allowing myself to feel what I need to feel. It’s hard, but I’m learning so much about myself by welcoming these feelings of sadness. That acknowledgement of those feelings has helped me to realize what things hold importance in my life.

It is okay for your priorities to change.

I’ll write that again.

It is okay for your priorities to change.

As I’ve written all of this, that thought dawned on me and I think I may have finally understood the root of a lot of my problems.

I should do this more often.

[thecrystalauthor]

Defective Infected [Part 4]

BANG

CRACK

boom.

Log:

I hear something happening. My head is too heavy to lift, my eyes too tired to open. I hear yelling over the ringing in my antannae. What's happening? Does it matter? I reach out slightly for the cool floor as I feel my body being lifted up. I open my eyes, but still see blackness. I try to pick out words, but I can't remember how to focus.

Click,

and the timer reset.

Pip’s log: Stardate |...|

What time is it? How long have I been out?

Wait.

Where am I?

I look down at myself to see I'm

somewhere..

I've never seen this place in my life, or anything like it. I sit up with surprising ease for someone who just almost died, and look around. The room I'm in is a pale green, and I'm laying in. In. Oh man what's the word? Bed! I am in a bed. Irkens don't really sleep unless they're repairing, so chances are I'm not on Irk anymore. I look straight up at the second bed right on top of mine, and to my left at the second set of beds. Too many. Far too many for this to be Irk. I stand and stumble over to a small mirror on the other side of the room- hoLY MY UNIFORM. I find myself frantically tearing apart the room. Instead of my usual uniform, I'm currently dawning a gray jumpsuit with a utility belt and my usual gloves and boots. It's not ugly or anything, even if it was, I've never been one for fashion, no my current dilemma is a skin tight suit does absolutely nothing to cover my hideous deformed face! I peek in the mirror again, as if hoping I mis-saw myself. I didn't. I gently rubbed the speckles on my face, before pulling up a small strip of fabric from the bottom of the bed. It's a dark red color, and I quickly tie it around my head to cover my, problem area. Just as I finish the door to the room opens, and I launch back in a defence stance that's probably about as intimidating as a terrified, sick little bug can. The Vortian! My hands suddenly lowered as my antannae perked up in confusion. Another hooded figure bedside the leader turned to him and spoke.

“See, I told you she'd wake up soon,” the unknown creature turned to me, her glowing cyan eyes staring right through me in a motion that dissolved any last fight instinct that might've been in me. The Vortian looked around the room quickly before looking back at me.

“You destroyed this room, what's the matter with you?” Were the first words out of his mouth, “and get that blanket off your face we already know you're infected.”

I felt my face heat up as I anxiously removed my cover.

tossing it back to the bed, I  vaguely smoothed the blankets on the bed beside me. He looked me up and down and took a step forward, his pointed feet ringing out with a sharp clack. I stepped back on impulse.

“Welcome to the Resisty ship,” I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he beat me to it, “yes it's a stupid name, I know.”

“Uh, Well that's all well and good,” I rocked on my heels, “but, why save me?”

“Oh,” he paused as if he himself hadn't quite thought of that, “well, you did save us first.”

“Right,” I stepped over to the bed, making a large circle around the rebellion’s leader. I figured making the bed would help me keep stress levels low. Show I wasn't as violent as most my kin. I started with the bed I hadn't been laying in, I hadn't gotten to either top bunk, but the Vortian stopped me.

“Don't bother, Spleenk will only remake it five times anyway,” he laid a clawed hand on my shoulder and I flinched. Physical contact was almost always bad. He pulled back, confused.

“Oh. I'm uh, my bad.” I wasn't used to apologizing. It was generally bad manners for Irkens, even when it would be common sense for other species. Irkens weren't fond of ever admitting their faults. It kind of sucked actually. As it dawned on me I could actually think about this without having to worry about being murdered, the Vortian interrupted my thoughts.

“Um,” I guess he wasn't expecting my apology either as he stepped back, eyeing me almost suspiciously, “No I'm sure you were very confused as to where you were,” he cleared his throat and shifted to stand slightly taller, “now, our ship happens to be passing a planet, if you'd like us to drop you off.”

“You're just going to let me go?” I couldn't help but ask. It seemed way too good to be true.

“Well admittedly, we'd prefer if you stay. You have knowledge of several Irken planets and ships, as well as containing a pathogen that could help us eliminate the Irkens once and for all.” He immediately regretted his choice of words as shock must've shown on my face at the mention of destroying my entire race.

“Uh, I mean,” he recoiled.

“No, I get it,” I rubbed at my cheeks. I couldn't tell if he knew it was a tick, or if he thought I was thinking about my illness, “Irkens kinda suck.”

The leader looked at me as if I'd just told him the secret of life.

“I am defective,” I tried to lighten the mood, but I didn't seem to do it well.

“Right,” he regained his composure. Again, “So would you join us then?”

“It's better than death I suppose, but I'm afraid you'll be severely disappointed with my illness. It's not contagious.”

“Well,” he held his hand out to me, “my first point still stands,” he stared into my eyes, almost causing me to stumble back, “welcome to the Resisty.” I nervously nodded and shook his hand.

“My name is Lard Nar.”

I gave a nod. As his guard I knew that, but I suppose he didn't know me.

“Pip.”

He snorted and I flinched, confusion washing over my face.

“Sorry,” he snickered, “It’s just, that's a cute name for an Irken. It's not fitting at all.”

As both a defective and an Irken, my face struggled to contort into an expression of both flattery and anger. I couldn't manage the task, and seemed only to confuse us both.

“Are you hungry?” Lard Nar changed the subject.

“How long have I been out?” I did feel hungry, more than I had in all my life actually. I suppose my panic had overridden my guts for a moment.

“About a week,” the second figure finally interjected.

My antannae fell to one side. Oh, and, “Oh,” was all I managed.

She smiled, or at least I thought she did. It was hard to tell with the hood.

“I'll admit we don't have as many rations as you're probably used to, and they're probably not the kind of food you're used to-”

The hooded female interrupted her leader.

“Why don't we just start by introducing our new recruit to the rest of the resistance,” she had a calming aura to her.