#the mystery ghost woman sadly does not have a name yet at time of posting

[hyperkitten224]

I wanted to draw Ragatha being a lesbian and also wanted to draw the new ghost woman, sooo

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Epilogue

<< Previous chapter “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known”

-Charles Dickens, “A Tale of Two Cities”

As we are coming to the end of the story, Leroux ties up a few more loose ends in the epilogue.

As for Raoul and Christine, their possible happy ending is only implied by what Erik told the Persian - that they had “taken a northbound train” and were planning to get married in secret. They have disappeared from the world, and Christine never appeared again on stage anywhere. According to Leroux, they might have finally settled in Norway together with Mama Valerius. At first, I thought Leroux might have been confusing Sweden and Norway, but when I did a little research on the name „Daae“, it turns out that the name is actually most prevalent in Norway, with almost no occurrences in Sweden. It is also implied that even if they took that “northbound” train before, Christine took a train back to Paris a few weeks later to return to Erik, because she had the wedding ring on her when she left, and it was finally found on Erik‘s finger.

As Philippe‘s death was deemed to be the consequence of the fight between the two brothers over Raoul’s supposed engagement to Christine, Raoul was a murder suspect - but as his previous testimony had already made him appear a lunatic in the eyes of the Commissary, Philippe‘s death was ultimately pronounced accidental. However, as Parisian society had taken less than kindly to the news of the engagement, I think that the couple would have had a very difficult standing if they had officially married and assumed the now vacant titles of the Count and Countess de Chagny. It is therefore likely that Raoul, having officially disappeared, never claimed his titles and inheritance, and chose the more simple lifestyle that Christine was accustomed to. Leroux concludes the story of Raoul and Christine with the statement that one day, he too might „hear the solitary echoes of the Northland repeat the singing of the woman who knew the Angel of Music''. In the epilogue, the boundaries between the „false“ and the „real“ Angel of Music become blurred, as Leroux repeatedly speaks of Erik as the “Angel of Music” - indicating that maybe, just maybe, Erik truly was the Angel of Music.

After following up on Raoul and Christine, Leroux relates how he obtained proof of Erik‘s existence from the Persian, mostly through the letters written by Christine that Erik had sent to him, but also through the testimonies of Meg Giry and La Sorelli. He supposedly placed all the proof he had gathered in the archives of the Paris Opera.

He also obtained the testimony of M. Poligny, the previous manager of the Opera. The „Opera Ghost“ affair was the final straw that made him resign his post, which again indicates that Erik‘s reign as „O.G.“ was rather short and caused by Erik falling in love (since he had been living in the Opera House presumably since the early 1870s). He also quotes from the fictional „Memoirs of a Manager“ by Armand Moncharmin, where Moncharmin relates that a few days after Christine‘s abduction, Erik returned all of the forty thousand francs he had extracted to the managers, no longer having any need for the money as he had given up his plan to marry Christine. The mystery of the safety-pin is also finally resolved, as Leroux was supposedly able to locate a small trapdoor in the floor of the managers’ office, through which a dexterous magician like Erik could easily have reached up and retrieved the envelope from Richard‘s coattail pocket as it was hanging down from his chair.

Leroux also notes that the marble pillar next to Box 5 sounds hollow and would offer ample space for Erik to hide inside it. According to Gérard Fontaine’s research, the pillars being hollow applies to all the pillars in the auditorium of the Palais Garnier. Whether that proves or disproves anything is up to you... Leroux’s plan of having the lake drained in order to obtain the ultimate proof of Erik‘s existence - finding the entrance to the house by the lake - did not go through, but Leroux still sustains his hope of one day finding the score of „Don Juan Triumphant“ there (that is, if Christine had not taken it with her when she came to bury him).

Leroux then gives a summary of Erik’s life according to the Persian. Erik was born near Rouen in France and ran away from his parents as a young boy, as they were afraid and horrified by how he looked. After being exhibited as a “living corpse” at fairs, he became a singing sensation and garnered a reputation that reached as far as Persia. The daroga of Mazenderan was sent to bring Erik to Persia as entertainment for the “little sultana”. Erik, who also worked there as an assassin, is described here as amoral, “not knowing the difference between right and wrong”. Even though he does not have an evil heart, his life up until this point has left him completely without a moral compass of any kind.

After building an ingenious palace for the shah, Erik’s execution was ordered so that he could not divulge its secrets to anyone. The daroga was supposed to carry it out, but as he owed Erik favours (and was the one who brough Erik to Persia in the first place), he helped him escape instead. He was punished for this and went into exile to Paris. Erik took a detour to Asia Minor and Constantinople before he ended up in Paris as well. It is also mentioned that Erik could make lifelike automata, which is reflected in the musical in the form of the monkey music box and also the “mirror bride”, a physical representation of Erik’s dream of a loving wife.

Once in Paris, Erik decided that he finally wanted to live a normal life, and placed a successful bid to work as a contractor on the Opera House. Wishing to hide his face from the world forever, he built his comfortable home into the foundations of the Opera. Erik’s plan to live out the rest of his life in peaceful tranquillity went well - until he crossed paths with Christine Daae and lost his heart to her completely. And the rest is history…

Leroux here gives his own view of Erik: “He had a heart great enough to hold the empire of the world, and in the end he had to be content with a cellar.” With a normal face, Erik, with his brilliant mind and extraordinary talents, could have had the world at his feet. And even though no one had ever loved him, he still had a heart capable of feeling deep, pure love, which is pretty remarkable. His beautiful voice is a reflection of the beauty he carries inside his soul - which was sadly eclipsed by his ugliness, which did not allow him to live “like everyone else”. The great tragedy of his life was his face, which kept others from treating him as a human being and recognizing his full potential. He is therefore clearly worthy of pity, instead of being cursed and condemned as evil.

Leroux had already mentioned in the Prologue that he believed the skeleton found in the cellars of the Opera was Erik’s. Now he finally reveals why he was so certain of that: because Erik’s skeleton wore the gold wedding ring on his finger, which Leroux believes Christine had placed there. Even though Erik had set her free and given her the ring, she later came back to him, and this time it was certainly not out of terror. With Erik dead, none of his threats would hold any more sway over her - and yet, she still returned to him to keep her promise. She not only buried him with the wedding ring, but she slipped it onto his finger, ultimately fulfilling her promise to accept him as her husband. In a sense, she buried him with her love, and that is truly a bittersweet and beautiful ending. After everything he had to endure, Erik’s life ends with a kiss and a ring on his finger, put there by the woman he loved more than his own life, and with Leroux praying for his salvation. That may not be a traditional happy ending, but it‘s very powerful. And it’s definitely not a villain’s ending.

As „Faust“ is the most strongly referenced work in „Phantom“, it is also worth comparing how the endings are different. In the final act of Gounod‘s opera, Faust and Marguerite first swear their love to each other, but when Marguerite sees Mephistopheles and realizes who Faust really is, she turns away from him and chooses death instead, while Faust is dragged into the fires of hell. Her famous last words to him are „You horrify me!“ In „Phantom“, the progression is almost the other way round - Christine is horrified at first, but then accepts Erik and chooses life instead of death.

It should also be noted that the ending in the novel is so vague that it also allows a lot of room for the reader’s imagination. Was Erik really dead when Christine returned? He himself was announcing his death, so it would not even be so very unlikely. But as this is Leroux’s story, the official reading would of course be how he himself imagined the ending: Erik dying and Christine coming back to bury him. This might be my favourite line from the novel:

“The skeleton lay near the little fountain, where the Angel of Music first held the unconscious Christine Daae in his trembling arms after taking her into the cellars of the Opera.”

As if the return of the ring was not enough poetic closure, he also asked to be buried in the very spot where he held the love of his life for the first time...

Symbolism and Metaphors

Now that we have concluded the epilogue, I would like to add a few more notes on the general themes which are present throughout the novel and still influence how we feel about it today.

To understand the extent of symbolism employed in  „The Phantom of the Opera“, it is necessary to understand the cultural mindset and environment in which it was written. At the turn of the century, the arts (and sciences, as evidenced by the slowly emerging works of Sigmund Freud) were rather obsessed with the fateful connection between Eros and Thanatos - love as the life-bringing force, and death as the destructive force. Both were often seen as intertwined and mirrored in the other.

Erik is the personification of Eros and Thanatos. He unites both forces in him to a degree unparalleled by any other character in the story. The death symbolism that is also clearly reflected in how he is described, would be both perceived as horrifying - and yet not without a strangely seductive fascination inherent in it. Death is intricately tied to darker feelings of passion and desire.The “Eros” and the “Thanatos” part of his character are intertwined, but his character also oscillates between the two sides in the course of the story.

Music in „Phantom“ also serves as a metaphor for romantic love, not only in the spiritual but also in the physical sense, as it is connotated with “passion”, “fire”, “ecstasy” and “rapture” throughout the story. Erik’s teaching awakens “an ardent, voracious and sublime life” in Christine, symbolizing the burgeoning romantic feelings in the young woman. She is terrified with the changes going on in her, which is also in line with how „Eros“ was originally viewed: as a frightening loss of control. Erik says in “Apollo’s Lyre” that “some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it”, and Christine states that “Music has the power to abolish everything in the outside world except its sounds, which go straight to the heart”. In both sentences, the word “music” can easily be replaced with “love” - especially in Christine’s example, it would be the musical equivalent of “love is blind”.

Like in other (gothic) romances - “Wuthering Heights” being perhaps the prime example - the two rivals in the principal love triangle represent two very different types of love: one is intense and passionate, but also consuming, terrifying and potentially destructive, and the other is safer, but also somewhat chaste and lifeless. Erik and Raoul each represent one of the two extremes. This contrast is exemplified in the scene at the Masked Ball: Raoul wears white, the colour of innocence, while Erik wears red, the colour of passion, but also of danger and blood.

It is suggested in the novel that Erik and Christine were chained together by fate (“La destinée m’enchaîne à toi sans retour”), and I believe they were destined to save each other. Erik saved Christine from her grief in the wake of her father’s death and brought her back to life, and Christine saved his soul by being the first person in his life to accept him and grant him true happiness. „Phantom“ may be a tragic love story, but it is also a hopeful one, as love proves stronger than death. Christine’s choice, Erik‘s sacrifice and the skeleton’s wedding ring are all symbols of love triumphing over death.

[trickstermelon]

Post your ideas! I'd love to hear them!

Here’s a snippet I wrote a while back as part of my HC where Durbe met all the other Barian’s in his past life. Here’s Alit’s backstory and their brush together (From Alit’s perspective)

Okay so Alit doesn’t even come out of a good relationship. His mother was a slave as well, a Jewish woman stolen from Libya. From a young age he pretty much serves his father and his ‘actual’ family. He’s not treated too poorly for a slave (hah), but still it’s far from a fun childhood. He takes interest in sports, one of the few things he’s allowed to do freely when not working, and when he can get his hands on some, he reads epic poems and dreams of adventure. 

But by the time he’s 13 he starts to get in trouble; wanting to go to school and be around others, blatantly disregarding his status. His mother tries to keep him out of harm, but she has become sickly and it only fuels his desperation to be free of the stupid hierarchy. He never gets his freedom, but as his mothers last request, his father does allow him to go to school. It’s not pretty. He’s obviously not pure Roman, the only black knight in a sea of white chess pieces. He gets bullied near constantly, but he doesn’t let it get to him because he’s there to better himself fuck what everyone else says. He can beat them any day. And sometimes he literally does, if their words strike him too deeply. Sadly it’s his downfall– the teachers are looking for any excuse to throw him out no matter how rich his father is. After the 3rd fight, Alit can no longer return to public schooling.

Now with a son that’s too defiant to be a slave, too rowdy to be a scholar, and no mother around to convince him otherwise, Alit’s father no longer wants the boy. But he can’t let him go to waste. By 16, Alit is sold for a hearty sum to the gladiator rings. The only kindness his father shows him is allowing him to keep his novels. They’re almost ruined by his tears, sobbing as chains wrap tight around his wrists, a noose around his neck. Never has his position in life ever been so real to him as he watches his own parent sell his freedom for a bag of drachma.

As always, he has to adapt to his reality quickly. He finds that he actually enjoys the burn of the training regimen all new gladiators are put through– after all, their masters don’t want to waste such a large investment. For once he feels like his body can match the strength of his heart. That’s about the only silver lining. After that, it’s literally life or death. 

Alit takes his first life when he’s 18. Before that he fought to stay sharp, to debilitate or wear his opponent till they gave up. He fought animals– something he was always torn about because it wasn’t their fault they were starving and abused, but to defeat a lion meant meat on the table for a week so he tried to push the morals of the deed aside. But when he snaps a grown mans neck, no matter how much he tries to rationalize it, Alit can’t stop shaking for the rest of the night, can’t sleep, can’t move without dry heaving. 

By the 10th, he’s terrified of how desensitized he is to death. How can people enjoy this, how can the crowd cheer his name? But still he wears a smile. He’s alive (don’t think about the others who are not) and he is favored. The more he wins, the more privileges he gets, and he doesn’t always have to kill for it.

He makes it to the Coliseum, and that’s where he first sees his Prince, something that nearly gets him sent flying across the ring because he’s so distracted trying to squint through his better left eye. Leon glows like the sun. Match after match, that’s basically all Alit can think about for the rest of the month as he claims his prizes, meets his fans and goes about his normal after-match routine. Except today something breaks it, and his thoughts are now filled with the moon.

Alit knows he falls in love easily, always has since he was a kid, and this times no different. He probably shows off a little more than is necessary when a mysterious stranger visits the bathhouse and says he’d like to speak with him– especially ‘cause this guy seems really uncomfortable. Alit thinks it’s adorable and more than a little funny that this Knight cant handle a little nudity when making introductions. When Durbe tells him that the Emperor himself has requested Alit’s presence it’s like a solar eclipse. He’s blown away by his luck. 

So he may or may not be flirting the entire ride to the capital– between ogling all the new sites, all the free people who take their privilege for granted, knowing that today, technically he is one of them. Durbe may or may not flirt back now that he’s more comfortable and Alit simply can’t believe his fortune.

They talk of serious matters too. Particularly of how someone like Durbe came to such a high standing— he may have light hair and eyes, but the slant of them isn’t Roman, nor the slope of his nose nor the curve of his mouth and maybe Alit is getting a little too close as they pull through the gates. Durbe promises to tell him another time– Alit has someone much more important awaiting his arrival. Alit’s disappointed when Durbe leaves him to the guards to be escorted, but it gives him time to take in the wonders of architecture as he’s brought to the great hall. There, across the great foyer, he can make out the Emperor, glittering on his throne. As the guards leave him at the steps, Alit suddenly feels small, burning under Leon’s gaze with ghost pangs of iron around his wrists.

Then Leon grins and suddenly it’s like he’s back to the summers when his childhood was peaking, close to freedom and equality to his siblings as the sun danced on their backs. Leon takes him back to more private rooms and tells him why he was requested– how he admires Alit’s abilities (Alit tries not to take it as an insult, Leon probably doesn’t know what it really takes to be a gladiator, shielded as he is by gold leaf and marble walls) and more importantly, his enthusiasm with his fans.

Alit feels comfortable and restricted all at once as their conversations go into the night. Leon sees him as an equal (and isn’t that amazing, leader of and empire equal to a simple slave) but Alit still feels like he has motives unseen, paranoid due to all the promises broken in his past. They meet much more often after that and Alit feels less of their distance, stops doubting Leon and sees that he is honest. They share tests of strength, as well as mind, Leon learning of his love of reading and opening the libraries to him whenever he feels, allowing him to debate logic and opinions casually. Sometimes Durbe is there, helping him read when it becomes difficult, cheering Leon and Alit on as they spar, and Alit is content until his next match. 

Eventually he must return to reality, Durbe’s farewell kiss to the back of his hand as he drops him off at the housing the last moment of magic for a while. The others see it and are jealous. It was hard to make friends there in the first place, now there’s not much hope of keeping them. This cycle goes on for months, time when he’s off spent in the arms of the Emperor, blissful to ignore just how much it hurts when he must go back. Alit is many times tempted to ask Leon why he doesn’t make their relationship permanent and free him, or at least make him a personal slave at the palace– what even is their relationship? So secret yet so bold all at once. He never asks though, always covering his pain with a smile. Durbe helps in the times when he must be a gladiator, you already know of their affair. He loves them both and they both love him but in such different ways, Leon is so passionate and exciting, whereas being with Durbe is almost an odd sort of domestic that he never had.

When Durbe leaves, Alit is heartbroken. He likes to think he understands why– Durbe never told him the full truth of his past. Alit could see the wholes in the plots Durbe spun, he knows Durbe was running from something. At least he left a note.

Leon can tell somethings up with Alit, probably suspects the truth. Durbe’s disappearance and Alit’s sudden depression can’t be coincidence. But he never asks. He keeps smiling, and Alit is grateful because he doesn’t know how Leon would take the truth.

The pain subsides eventually, and life goes on, (he may or may not find himself soon falling for the green haired, golden eyed healer assigned to take care of him). Alit’s pretty sure Leon knows of her this time, but again, he never asks. 

In the end, Alit wonders if his love is the reason for the axe.

[weirwoodsea]

Throbb Secret Santa Gift for @thespiritofeon

AO3 LINK 

I am so so SO very sorry it took me so long to post this! I hope you like it! @averythrobbxmas @robb-greyjoy

In silent screams and wildest dreams, I never dreamed of this

Prologue

Reek’s broken body was pulled and stretched in the tide as if he were a doll made of cloth. This is what it is. He thought. This is what it means to die. Torrents of water covered him, burning through his nostrils and into his lungs as the relentless drowning machine of the tide thrashed him in it’s cycle of watery destruction. The salt water was unforgiving and it stung his human skin with numbing coldness. There was no longer seal fur to cover and warm him, not since the master had taken his skin. Reek remembered that fire burns as well as ice but so does salt. So does salt. He used all of strength to try to move his limbs but they were as crippled by the waves as they had been by the master’s tortures. The sea pulled him back, pounding and punishing him for escaping his master, for having the audacity to return to the ocean without his skin. The massive curl breaking him with a heaving crash until the waves, like great water wings, spread wide and then enclosed him in their merciless grip. He whispered “Robb…” with his last breath before plunging down beneath the waves.

Robb

“Nor chains of love...” Robb muttered to himself as he sat vigil by the half drowned man who had washed up on their shores earlier that afternoon.

“What are you saying Da?”

Robb met his young daughter’s eyes, like blue piercing mirrors of his own. But her hair was dark, as her mother’s had been before her death.

“Don’t worry yourself, Theona,” Robb said. “I was just thinking about something old mother Nan had told me about selkies. Old Nan. She was still alive, weaving her tales and warnings, ancient as the sea and sand itself. So many lives lost- his parents, his brothers, and yet Old Nan remained.

After another brief silence, young Theona asked expectantly, “Well then? What did she say?” Robb smiled sadly at his daughter. “She told me… that once a selkie finds it’s skin again, neither chains of steel nor chains of love can keep them from the sea.”

“The man is a selkie!?” Theona gasped, standing up and coming closer to get a better look at the unfortunate soul. “But he is so ugly!?” She exclaimed, so engrossed in looking at Theon that she didn’t notice her father wince violently at her words. “In old Nan’s stories, the selkie men were always handsome. And no woman can resist their charms…” she looked around, “If he is a selkie, where is his skin?”

“Bedtime.” Robb barked at his daughter, perhaps more sharply than he should have. She was only a wee lassie after all, living alone with a sad, distant father, surrounded by ghosts.

When Robb had seen his daughter to bed, he came back to where Theon was lying by the fire. Ugly…. Theon? True, his old friend had obviously been badly hurt. That was an understatement in fact. The horrific scars that covered his body were painful to think about much less look at. Robb had had to send Theona out of the room while he and Old Nan dressed his wounds. Some teeth had also been knocked out and his hair was now white as bone. But ugly? From the moment Robb had first met the captured selkie boy to now, Theon had never been anything but beautiful to him.

Robb reached out a timid hand and touched Theon’s scarred cheek. The same cheek he had kissed, the night he had watched Theon leave. Robb had found Theon’s sealskin… tucked back in a secret truck hidden amongst the cobwebs and ghosts. He had run to his friend immediately after finding it and handed it over. He’d always been like that, he thought bitterly. Doing things he thought would make Theon happy with little thought to the consequences. Little thought to how it would affect him or his family. Loyal to a fault. Loyal and stupid and so so in love with the wild selkie boy. Robb’s eyes eyes filled with traitorous tears. “You promised you would come back,” he whispered, broken. “You promised…”

Reek

Reek kept his eyes shut, as consciousness gradually broke upon him... he was aware of the warmth surrounding him and the softness- the impossible softness of blankets and furs, and the crackling of a fire. The familiar sounds of a home that was never quite his… He was afraid to open his eyes and find himself where he thought he might be but he was more afraid to open his eyes and find that he was not there.

Finally, drawing bravery from the memory of a selkie who used to be called Theon, he peeled his eyes open and Robb’s concerned, freckled face loomed before him. Reek felt his chest filling with something like the memory of joy as he beheld him. The emotion was as foreign as it was alarming, but he wanted to go on feeling it. And for the only time in his brief life, Reek smiled. The smile was completely inappropriate. Robb would want to kill him of course- for all Theon had done. Theon had betrayed him, his only friend. Theon had betrayed Robb’s family when he deserted them and left them to sail the treacherous seas without the protection that owning a selkie afforded them.

Reek knew he would be punished for smiling, punished for remembering Theon, but he could not stop, even as his broken teeth distorted his face and his eyes filled with tears that flowed down into his mouth. He had never dared to dream that he would see Robb again. Robb… he had forgotten everything while the master had his skin, but not Robb. Robb was a name he could never forget or forsake. He always knew Robb’s name even if he could’t remember his own. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling. He knew he should be bowing his head, begging forgiveness, offering his miserable life in payment for his wrongs- what was left of it anyway. But all he could do was lie there smile at Robb. Smiling in pure relief. Smiling at his death.

Theona

The strange man made Da happy and that was all that mattered. He was very timid and agitated around her. He never spoke to her unless she asked him something. The first thing she asked him was his name.

“My name is Theona, what is yours?”

“… R-Reek, miss.”

“Reek?” She wrinkled her nose. I’ve never heard anyone with that name before… nobody has my name either.  It is like Fiona but with a “th” she put her tongue between her teeth to make the sound for him. Da says he named me after his favorite brother who was lost at sea. Da said he was a selkie. Selkie’s can never die though because they are already dead. They are the souls of the drowned men. Most of our family drowned in a shipwreck… Old mother Nan says that Da is surrounded by ghosts of our family…” Theona said with a solemness more appropriate for a child much older than her seven years. At the man’s stricken look, she reached out and touched his gnarled hand. “It’s alright. I like your name. It rhymes with speak.”

After that day, she followed “Mister Reek" around everywhere, insisting that he lean on her if he needed help walking and prattling on to him in the magical language of childhood. If he was disturbed by her constant presence, he never dared to say anything, but accepted it without complaint as if he were afraid to reject it.

Mister Reek had horrible nightmares, they woke Theona on many a night and she would creep into her Da’s room to see him coaxing the trembling man back from whatever demons had their hold on him as he murmured his constant apologies. He often asked for her father to kill him during these times, but Da just held him close, kissing and smoothing back his white hair.

But there were happy times as well. Da laughed much more and no longer paced on the beach at night searching longingly for the ghosts Old Nan said plagued him. He was more successful at his work, bringing home teams of fresh fish from the sea that she and Mother Nan would clean and cook. Theona’s favorite times were when the three of them would walk on the beach together and Theona would run forward, laughing and collecting more sea shells than she could carry to bring home to old mother Nan who was cooking them dinner. Sometimes she would run into the water with Da and they would dance and play in the salty spray. Reek never came close to the water, he always hung back. But he would look at them with a mournful longing, a quiet, mysterious smile tugging at his lips.

“Will Mister Reek stay forever?” She asked Da as he tucked her in at night. Da would just smile sadly and tell her to get some sleep. But his eyes would turn sad, as if she had just awoken him from a beautiful dream.

Robb

In spite of the cold, Theon was outside, wrapped in fur and staring out into the vast expanse of the dark winter sea. Robb approached cautiously, bending to build a fire for them. If Theon insisted on staying outside, he didn’t have to freeze to death.

Theon didn’t turn to look at Robb, but kept his eyes trained on a small form in the waves. “Asha,” he murmured to Robb. “It’s Midwinter night… a time that my people are believed to be able to transform into their seal like form and come back home to the sea. She is waiting for Theon. She is the only one who waits for Theon,” he said regret thick in his voice.”

Robb let the silence penetrate, groping madly for the right words to say. When they came out finally, they were clumsy and stumbling. “Are you going to leave. Will you return again to the sea? Theon…”

“Not Theon! Reek,” Theon Reek looked straight at Robb now, his eyes desperate.

“Alright… Reek,” Robb said, but it felt like acid on his tongue. “Theona is so fond of you. You fit here with us. We could make a life here. Like we always talked about before… and there is no one left to tell us it’s wrong.” Robb realized that was the wrong thing to say as Theon Reek cringed and curled back into himself. “Theon- sorry, Reek. It was not your fault that my parents were ship wrecked. We had no right to keep you with us. Your protection was not owed to us. I do not blame you anymore. I never should have.” it felt odd to admit that his parents had been in the wrong. He’d always thought of them as so honorable But how honorable is it to capture a young boy and force him to serve them and keep them safe from the perils of the sea? They had used a young boy for their own safety. Where was the honor in that? “Please,” he found himself begging. “Theona will be heartbroken if you go…”

“I shouldn’t be around her Robb,” Theon said suddenly, venom and bitter sorrow in his voice. “I shouldn’t be around any children. I- I killed mine.”

The silence was deafening as Robb let Theon’s revelation wash over him. “What do you mean?” He finally asked in a small voice.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he spat out, but his face was twisted with remorse and he couldn’t meet Robb’s eyes. “There was a fisherman’s widow who came to the shore… she cried seven tears into the water and I came forth to comfort her- as I did for your mother those many years ago when she cried for your father to return home. But I was a man grown when I met the fisherman’s widow and she needed a man to warm her bed, not protection for her husband. I shed my skin a few times to lie with her, to keep her from loneliness- myself as well. But one time I wasn’t careful and she stole my skin. She wanted me to stay and be a father to her son, Jack. I didn’t mind staying. She had a lively sense of humor and Jack… I grew to love him very much,” he said very quietly “And I didn’t really have a reason to return to my family… they never truly saw me as a seal again once I returned to them. They could understand me being a selkie but, most selkies aren’t taken as children. They don’t live with humans for such a prolonged time, especially the men. When I returned home, there was too much I did not understand about their ways. I tried to prove myself to them. Tried to prove I no longer cared about my human life or my human… human family,” the last word sounded strangled. I promised you I would return to visit you and I didn’t. I… I could have protected your family’s voyages but I took my charms away… I thought you were on that ship, I thought you’d died with them. After that, I knew I’d chosen wrong. I started coming back on land more. I knew you were dead but… I suppose I still thought I would see you again.” he inhaled sharply the memories like a knife.

Robb nodded and clasped Theon’s hand. Jeyne has been laboring with Theona at the time. He hadn’t wanted to leave her to travel with his family. Theon took a breath and went on. "Eventually my the fisherman's widow bore another boy. Billy. We were happy for years… I thought I was a good father to them. I tried to be good. But one day… the boys brought me my skin.” He paused again. Swallowing down his tears. Robb remembered the look  on Theon’s face when he hd give his skin back to him those many years ago. The look was one of complete longing mixed with utter sadness. “You can’t understand what it is like, to belong to both worlds. When selkie are in the ocean, we long to walk on land. But we were not meant to live here, to be human for prolonged periods of times. When we touch our seal skin again… it’s like taking a breath after living in a cell with no air.  You can’t stay with those you’ve grown to love, even if you want to. Even if you wish you could. There is a tide inside you, calling you that will not let you be. I explained to the children that I had to go back to the sea but that I would visit them and make sure they were alright. I really intended to do that,” Theon’s eyes bore into Robb.

Robb nodded, “I believe you,” he said.

“I slipped my skin back on and began my swim,” Theon continued. “It felt so good to be back in my skin, back in the salt sea… I could already hear Asha calling to me, but then I saw my boys swimming after me.” Theon had to stop again and choke back a sob. “If I had been a woman I could have taken them with me. When a female selkie carries a human baby, the baby is formed differently. They can survive in the ocean as long as they are with their mothers. But the boys. I had not carried them in my body. They were fully human… I didn’t turn around… I ignored them. I thought that they were going to have enough sense to give up and turn around if I gave them no encouragement. But… the tide was viscious that day…”

Robb tentatively put his arms around Theon and after a moment, Theon let himself relax into his embrace.

“After that, I didn’t feel right returning to the sea… I would come out too often trying to fuck the pain away with fishwives and sailors. Anyone who would have me… I was reckless with my skin… and then I met… the master…” Theon lips began moving wordlessly and his eyes looked blankly out into the sea. Robb held him still in his arms. He could see Theon’s seal sister clearly now. He tightened his hold around Theon as if to exert his dominance and keep protected from her, even though he knew he couldn’t.

“He burned my skin. So I could never return to the sea. He made me watch him burn it. I almost died, the pain was so great.” Robb could only stare at Theon, mouth agape. So that explained the scars covering Theon’s emaciated body- scars that looked as if his skin had been brutally ripped off of him. Robb swallowed to keep himself from retching. “I wasn’t a selkie anymore. I will never be one again. I am not Theon anymore. Theon died that day. Theon deserved everything that happened to him. He betrayed people he loved to save his own skin. He deserved to lose it. He deserved to be Reek. Reek never betrayed a friend. Reek never let his sons die…”

Theon buried his head into Robb and sobbed against him. “You shouldn’t worry about me leaving,” Theon said. “I can’t swim anymore. “It’s not my choice to leave or stay. It’s yours. Though I don’t know why you would want me now after you know everything, I’ve done. I wouldn’t.”

“Shhhh…” Robb said as he brushed back Theon’s brittle hair and kissed his forehead. “I want you. I want you now and always.”

Theon

Robb must have carried him to bed after his confession. Reek woke up when it was still dark with memories of the night before that belonged to Theon. Robb’s mouth capturing his again and again, his tongue exploring and prodding him, sweet and insistent. Filling him up with his warmth and his seed that tasted like salt on Theon’s tongue. Robb hadn’t minded how he had looked. He’d kissed every scar… Reek curled into himself, filled with equal parts of shame and pleasure at the memories.

He heard old Nan singing off key as she made breakfast in her lilting, slightly annoying voice. “Either death or yourself you will find in the sea… Either death or yourself you will find in the sea…” So many dead and forgotten, yet that old bat continues to live, bleating her inane songs into eternity he thought. He froze when he realized that was something that Theon would think.

He rose from Robb’s warm bed. Something was wrong. Apart from Old Nan’s song, the cabin felt entirely to quiet. Empty... Asha had been near the shore last night…

Before he had the terrifying thought he was already pulling his clothes on and before he got his clothes on, he was already stumbling out the door as Old Nan’s shrill voice followed him, “You’ll find me in the sea in the sea… in the deep dark sea.”

He could see the struggling forms of Robb and Theona in the waves as he ran down the beach. He realized Theona must have gone in, perhaps intrigued by the form of his seal sister dancing in the waves, and Robb was trying to pull her back and getting sucked out himself. “Curse you Asha,” he shouted as he ran… another child’s death and it’s your fault he thought as the salt spray leapt up around him burning his skin and his eyes. What are you doing? You are worthless. They are more likely to die with you trying to help. He tripped and fell as he ran into the break, but caught himself by beginning to swim. Swim… he was swimming…

He pushed ahead, emptying his mind of anything until he reached out and grabbed Robb by the arm. The waves pushed and pulled them mercilessly but he managed to hang on. “I’ve got you!” He shouted at Robb. “I’ve got you, grab her!” It felt like an age where the three of them struggled to hold on to each other. Finally Robb managed to grasp Theona’s fingers.

Theon pulled with all his might, pulling them to land, to breath to safety. The waves pounded and thrashed them as they were washed to the shore. Theona collapsed when her feet touched the shore. And she threw up water and coughed and cried. Robb began yelling at her enraged in his fear. “What were you thinking? You could have drowned! You could have drowned!”

Theona tried to stand but her legs were like the sand beneath her and she collapsed again crying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” her eyes wide and fearful, staring at nothing. Theon crawled over to her and touched her cheek. “It’s alright,” he told her kindly, “It’s not your fault, don’t fret. You know me. I’m Theon, you remember.” He hadn’t realized he had referred to himself as Theon until he looked up and saw the tears of relief and love shining in Robb’s eyes. A moment later, Theona’s little wet arms were around his neck and Robb was embracing him as well. Feeling a little child’s body so close to him made him weep for Jack and little Billy. The sons he had failed to save. Billy had been so very small the first night he had held him in his arms. The night he swore he’d protect him now and always. The memory made him want to run and hide himself from the smiling faces of Robb and Theona. But instead, he swallowed a wretched sob and put his unworthy arms around them both. The dawn broke gently on the little family, huddled on the shore where the land meets the sea.

[kurogabae]

Hanahaki Unending

disease:  a fictional disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

@mythicalheartbeat‘s post just planted a seed inside of me you could say

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

The first petal is hacked up in Yama, a tiny little white speck against the dark grit of war. It’s forgotten as quickly as it appears and Kurogane can almost believe he imagined it.

He doesn’t see another for months, not until their time in Piffle is nearly at an end. This time it’s three petals and they burst from him in a single, deep chested cough. The feeling of the cough doesn’t linger, but Kurogane catches one of the petals in his hand and as it sits in his palm he thinks it’s far too heavy for something so frail. 

The petals come in quicker succession in Tokyo, though their numbers remain low. The itch of the cough never remains, but the petals do. They’re no illusion and Kurogane thinks back to the fairytales of his home. He can’t remember the name or many of the details, but he does remember a story about a fool who coughed up flowers until he drowned in them. It doesn’t matter, though.

He has more important things to worry about than flowers.

Later, it seems as though every time Fai uses his name the number of flower petals grows. Once, Kurogane was sure he had coughed up a whole flower, only to have to crumble apart in his mouth. He has no trouble breathing, so he does nothing about it. 

He tries to recall the story. It takes him weeks.

It was one he learned during his service to Tomoyo, she had made him read it to her and he had hated the story, thought the man a fool with every word. The man had fallen in love with a woman well above his station. He did all he could to woo her, but to no avail. She had finer silks than he could hope to buy, more gold than he, and servants already waiting at her beck and call. He had nothing that she wanted. As he despaired he began to cough, and with each cough flower petals flew up from within him.

Day in and day out the man continued to court the woman in vain, and day by day the petals grew in number until he was choking on them. The man sought out a medicine woman and begged for an answer to his mysterious illness. He learned that his illness was due to the unrequited love in his heart. He had fallen in such deep and consuming love with the woman that her lack of affection for him was killing him. He asked for a cure, terrified of the idea of dying. 

There were only two cures. The first was for the woman to return the man’s affections, but he knew by now that his love was doomed to remain one sided. The second was for the flower blooming inside the man to be removed, however, this would also remove the love he felt for the woman, and perhaps even his ability to love all together.

In the end the man died, unwilling to give up the love in his heart. Kurogane had damned the fool and rolled his eyes at Tomoyo’s sighs of romantic idealization.

All of the adults in his life hadn’t be joking when they said love made fools of all people.

Now the trouble was deciding what to do next. 

If the story is to be believed there are two cures. Kurogane doubts Fai will fall in love with him in return, certainly not in time to stop the flower from flooding Kurogane’s lungs and growing roots in his heart. The only other option is to remove the flower, and as a result the love he feels for Fai as well. 

Not a full year ago he would have been disgusted with his own hesitance, but Kurogane, literally for the life of him, cannot bring himself to cast off his love for Fai. He’s not even concerned with knowing love again after that, because what would the point of loving be if he can’t love Fai? So, he does the only thing he can think to do.

He calls the witch.

“Hanahaki disease,” she says and the pity in her eyes is worse than what is happening to him. “I was hoping you would be able to avoid this.”

Kurogane glowers up at her. “What do you mean?”

He can tell the answer is going to be useless pandering about fate or whatever, but he’s gotten solid information out of her before, so he figures that he may as well test his luck. “You and Fai,” she says sadly. “The pair of you were destined to either love one another or hate each other, both to the ends of each and every world.”

Ice falls into Kurogane’s veins as he registers what she is telling him. It can’t be true. “I was hoping that, if you both didn’t fall in love, that at least your hate would be mutual.”

Mokona whines softly in his lap and squeezes his finger tighter, but he can hardly feel it as his body slowly numbs from the shock. He and Fai could be lovers, could have a love that transcended worlds, but something had gone wrong.

“I can remove the flower,” Yuuko continues, “but it will remove the love you have for Fai, and I cannot promise it won’t remove all the love in your heart.”

“Kurogane no!” Mokona cries, but he hushes her with a gentle pat. His mind, he realizes, was made up before he had even spoken to the witch.

He doesn’t even ask the price.

--

Infinity is cold and Kurogane feels hollowed out. He fights for the princess and forces Fai to live. He keeps the new Syaoran looking forward and keeps Mokona close. 

He ignores the scraping of every cough and pockets the petals. 

All of them notice now, but none of them seem to know what is going on, at least not at first. Sakura’s face becomes unimaginably sadder one day and he suspects she’s had a conversation with the witch. Syaoran knows it’s dangerous and tries endlessly to convince Kurogane to seek help, but Kurogane’s mind is made up.

Fai is sitting on Kurogane’s bed one night holding a single, snowy petal between two long fingers when he excuses himself for the night. Kurogane closes the door behind him with an echoing click, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Fai. Fai doesn’t approach him anymore, Fai avoids him. Fai hates him.

As the thought crosses his mind Kurogane coughs violently, flowers and loose petals pouring from his mouth and falling at his feet. If Fai didn’t know what was going on before he certainly did now. Kurogane doesn’t bother to pick them up.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands. “There’s no curse, no spell.”

He doesn’t know why, but Fai’s concern only pisses him off. “What does it matter to you?” he snaps, straightening himself up and moving across the unlit room. He goes about his usual nightly routine in the dark. He doesn’t need the lamplight to see what he’s doing, and he doesn’t need to look at Fai to know his eye is golden and boring a hole in the back of Kurogane’s skull. He folds his shirt with exaggerated and purposeful movements.

“Considering the fact that my life is directly tied to yours, quite a hell of a lot,” Fai answers coldly, standing from the bed and stalking closer to Kurogane. 

“Odd, last I checked, the quicker you died the better, in your opinion,” Kurogane says. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but his chest hurts and he’s not sure if it’s the Hanahaki or genuine heartache but he’s angry and helpless and this is all he has left to fight with, even if he doesn’t know what he’s fighting. 

“But not yours, Kurogane,” Fai hisses, and he’s so close Kurogane can feel his breath ghost across his bare back. “Something’s happened and I’m not appreciating your hypocrisy.”

Fai reaches out and forces Kurogane to turn and face him, uses his anger and power -- so much power, power that Kurogane has yet to see but aches to -- to loom even as he lacks the height to do so. “Only room for one of those in this family?”

The movement is lightning quick and Kurogane doesn’t bother to fight it, puts more thought into controlling and quashing the impulse to fight back than protecting himself, and lets Fai drag him to the floor by the hair. “If it weren’t for the fact that I can taste you on the air I would think you weren’t even the right Kurogane,” Fai spits and every word is venom. His eye has returned to icy blue, and it’s somehow worse than the vampire’s gold for its familiarity. “Now tell me what is wrong before Sakura does something about your condition herself.”

Ah, he thinks to himself, so that’s why Fai is bothering to confront me about this.

At least Fai has a vested interest in Sakura’s well being, but it isn’t something any of them can fix. Still, he has always asked the truth of Fai, and even the thought of lying to his face has bile rising in the back of his throat. “It’s a disease called Hanahaki, and I can’t cure it.”

Only you can.

Telling Fai that would be the single greatest act of cruelty in Kurogane’s life, though, and he will not bring that guilt down to bare on either of their souls. If Fai loves him, then so be it, if he does not then Kurogane is prepared to face the natural end to this course. He only hopes he can hold out long enough to see the end of this journey, if not for his sake than for the sake of his children and his mother’s spirit. 

He watches Fai mouth the word before he’s released. Kurogane does not move to stand, stays where he is, prone on the floor where Fai put him, and watches Fai watch him. He can tell Fai wants more, but that is edging too close to how they once were, and while Kurogane yearns for those days of squandered closeness Fai is doing his best to claw them away from every corner of his memory. 

“Is it going to kill you?” he finally asks.

There is a heavy pause between them. Fai knows the answer, but he cannot report back to Sakura unless he has the confirmation and by all the gods and stars in all the heavens Kurogane does not want to give it to him, knowing where the knowledge will end up. But he does.

“Sooner or later.”

Blue flashes gold and back so quickly Kurogane thinks he might have imagined it before Fai is wrenching open the door and slamming it closed again. Not a second later Kurogane coughs wetly, producing yet more white flowers, their long petals drooping to the floor sadly. He feels like the answer to Fai’s questions might be sooner rather than later.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

[sammgreer]

Torment Tides of Numenera

What a treat this is. Are you bored of Dungeons and Dragons? Goblins and elves? All that usual fantasy guff? Well look no further than Tides of Numenera for a flawed but thoroughly refreshing RPG.

The game can't be mentioned without noting that it is a spiritual successor to the lauded cult classic Planescape Torment. An isometric RPG whose penchant for philosophy and bizarre world building rightfully earned it a place as one of the greatest RPGs ever made, though one that was not all that influential.

Enter Tides of Numenera. The question at the heart of Planescape was “What can change the nature of a man?”, exploring fears about immortality. Tides' central question is a little more conventional, “What does one life matter?” but it's one that's made poignant by a rather nuanced exploration.

Set in the Ninth World, a version of Earth in the far, far future after hundreds of civilizations have risen and fallen, where strange entities have visited from other dimensions and the soil itself is strewn with the remains of advanced, now ancient technology. It tells the tale of the Changed God, an immortal being who lives on by hopping to a new body whenever he grows bored with the old one. But when he does, the old body develops a consciousness of its own and becomes a castoff. 

You play as the most recent of these “children”, The Last Castoff and enter this story in the middle of a centuries old conflict. Not all the Castoffs are friendly towards their “father” and many have taken arms up against him. All of it has something to do with a terrifying foe named The Sorrow which hunts down and removes these castoffs from existence in pursuit of the Changed God himself. It's a delightfully odd premise you find yourself in but one with clear stakes that anchor the strangeness.

Tides of Numenera borrows the core pillars of Planescape. Like the Nameless One, protagonist of that game, the Castoffs are relatively invincible and can recover from most fatal wounds. This means death does not always lead to a game over screen but instead can become the starting point for a divergent path or reveal whole new quests all together. Failure seldom means simply loading your last save and this makes for not only a less frustrating game but one that is frequently surprising.

Notably combat is now turn-based, ridding us of the fiddly frantic clicking of the original where the combat was rather tiresome and the weakest aspect of the game. Whilst the new system is much easier to manage and navigate it ultimately still winds up being the weakest part of the game. The effort system, in which player's can choose how much of a finite resource to expend on actions, multiplying their effectiveness, is novel yet feels a little underdeveloped. At the outset of the game it's an awkward barrier to success since you're simply limited by the tiny amount available to you, necessitating rests between every encounter. By the game's end however you have such a vast pool of effort to draw on that later encounters can often feel trivial. Perfectly functional but the combat's never engrossing in its own right.

Thankfully though, Tides is much like Planescape and you can almost always avoid combat all together, utilising deception or persuasion in conversations to achieve your goals. This feels more rewarding anyway, outwitting an opponent instead of merely manipulating stats and a welcome alternative to the combat heavy titles that dominate the genre.

It is almost entirely text with a few voiceovers for key scenes so if you're used to the modern productions of Bioware or CDProjekt, this might seem a little arcane. Sadly it also means some key moments of drama are relegated to what's read rather than shown on screen. Not too much of a problem when the writing is as frequently engaging as this but old fashioned in a way some might not be up for.

Unlike all too many CRPG successors and revivals of the past few years, Tides is restrained and tries to keep itself to a paragraph or few sentences instead of endless walls of text. Furthermore, it puts personality and character up front, keen to keep you engaged with people instead of exposition dumps. And it must be said, almost every character in this game is bursting with personality. There are psychics, ghosts, creatures that converse with smells and one of your potential companions is a woman connected with every version of herself in every parallel reality. So many characters could be the basis for their own tale and yet here they are, brushing shoulders with a world as bizarre as they are.

Where Planescape was a drab world, obsessed with the morbid and dripping with black humour, Tides of Numenera is far more colourful and varied. Some of those familiar elements are there but the Ninth World is a more diverse place, encapsulating various genre tropes but also many ideas of its own. A coastal reef seemingly composed of fallen starships and ancient ruins. A city constructed out of the living flesh of a gargantuan creature. Like the characters that inhabit them, each of these locations would be worthy of a whole game but here they are, a single step in a tremendously varied adventure.

There are engrossing side quests in each one of these places that are never ever simple fetch quests and always with substantial plot. Murder mysteries involving a cannibal cult, hunts across time and space and sometimes just a polite conversation with an immortal man-made killing machine. All of which emphasise player agency, offering several possible solutions and never making obvious perfect solutions nor judging your for whichever resolution you seek. There are consequences for you choices of course but the game itself never passes judgement though some of your companions might. Assuming you even keep them around, seeing as you're free to travel alone should you desire. It brims with imagination but crucially there are thoughtful ideas propping up this entire mad world. There are depths and questions worth asking in all of its experiences, most notably in the main quest itself.

Your adventure starts with the simple goal of escaping and perhaps defeating the Sorrow, the inter-dimensional entity that chases you and your brethren. This conflict extends throughout the whole game, as you are introduced to each side in the debate over the rights and wrongs of immortality and your existence. It's never quite as mysterious or alien as Planescape (no floating skulls for company here alas) but with much clearer stakes from the outset, I was hooked from beginning to end. 

No matter what strange landscape I was exploring and however lost amidst the customs and rules of that particular space I was, I at least knew what my ultimate goal was. It's a clarity that allows them to be more daring in the oddness of the locales and characters you meet along the way. That breadth of imagination was wonderful, a rich alternative to a gaming genre that is frequently bogged down in the same Tolkein-esque tropes.

And it's a story that's told rather well, pacing each reveal just carefully. You'll likely see most of the important twists well in advance as I did but the execution is still top notch. I cared about my companions, I cared about the plot and I believed in what was at stake. The ending's well sign-posted but still feels like it comes a little soon. I wanted to see more of this world before it was, meet more new faces. I suppose that's a testament to what they've done here, leaving me wanting more. It does end perfectly however, with a final choice that I expected from the start but which had quite a different meaning by the time I got to making it.

“What does one life matter?”. I had an answer at the start that truthfully, didn't change too much over the course of the game. I still hesitated for many minutes over each choice mind. But Tides of Numenera did help me better understand why I thought this way and how many games can claim to tackle such things?

Already I'm planning a subsequent playthrough, keen to see what quests I missed and which characters I never met, of which I'm aware there's a few. Whilst it doesn't bother me, others may find the weak combat a little discouraging as there's little room to experiment with varied character builds or classes. You are The Last Castoff and aside from a choice of gender, there's little room for variance save for the choices you make in the story.

For me, Torment Tides of Numenera is a very cool game, a bizarre tale told well and with clarity. It has charm but also depth, concepts of morality and philosophy that are told with care and imagination.

Whether you've been waiting for a follow-up since Planescape or you've just grown a bit tired of conventional fantasy, I'd give Tides of Numenera a go. I hesitated, having bounced off so many CRPG revivals but this one is the real deal. Despite a flawed combat system, it's an old-school story driven RPG built with a modern audience in mind. And what a story it has to tell.

[chasingthecosmos]

By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 13/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? The 50th Anniversary will be included in this story.

After everything that had happened, Rose desperately wanted to retreat to the galley for a nice hot cuppa, but the Doctor insisted that they visit the infirmary first, and he led her there despite her protests with her hand in his.

"Really, my hand's fine, now, Doctor," Rose reminded him with a gentle roll of her eyes. "I don't need a check-up."

"'Course not," he agreed blithely. "Everything's back to rights, not a thing to worry about. Just ... have a few things I want to check."

Rose shook her head as she squeezed his hand and obediently followed his lead. She should have guessed, really - she had explained the truth to the Doctor, but now it was his turn to analyze the situation and break the whole thing down to its molecular level. She knew that he couldn't resist dissecting a mystery, so she silently resigned herself to becoming his newest puzzle to solve.

He prattled off some nonsense excuse about checking for anomalies as she perched herself on the edge of the examination table and patiently allowed him to scan her, but they both knew that the Doctor was going deeper - searching for a way to explain her strange new body and sudden reappearance.

"So," he went on conversationally, "how long have you been back, then?"

"Hard to say," Rose murmured, humming as she stared thoughtfully at the infirmary ceiling. "You know, I'd forgotten how hard it is to gauge time, bouncing around in this box. But my first day back was the day that I called you. I was trying to look you up online, but the Wi-Fi wasn't working. What's that about, by the way?" she asked, narrowing her eyes on him. "Do people just ... call you, now?"

"It does tend to happen, yeah," the Doctor replied distractedly. "It's meant to be a private number, though. How'd you get it, anyway?"

"Don't know," Rose replied honestly. "It was just there - written on a post-it on my desk when I woke up. There was a girl in that house, a teenager - she said that some woman in a shop gave it to me. Probably one of those implanted memories that the Bad Wolf was talking about."

The Doctor hummed thoughtfully as he continued to fiddle with the scanners and their readouts, but he didn't offer any further insight as he worked.

"Just one more mystery to solve, eh?" Rose teased lightly.

"They're starting to pile up, aren't they?" the Doctor replied sardonically.

"Oh, come on. You love it," Rose insisted with a playful smile.

The Doctor flashed her a matching, flirtatious grin out of the corner of his eye, but the smile quickly dissipated as he turned to face her fully with a dark, serious expression. "Rose, I need to know that you're ... safe," he insisted quietly. "I need to know that there won't be any adverse reactions to everything that's happened to you."

Rose offered him a reassuring smile as she nodded in agreement. "Go on, then," she encouraged him gently. "Tell us what you've found."

The Doctor frowned as he skimmed over the readouts on the various screens surrounding the infirmary, but Rose knew that he was satisfied to be in his element once more - solving mysteries, decoding anomalies - even though the circumstances weren't necessarily ideal.

"Everything seems to be in order," he mused out loud. "All systems working normally. Everything functioning as it should. Still definitely human, though the DNA has changed slightly and your cells are degenerating at a significantly slower rate ..."

"My DNA's changed?" Rose interrupted him curiously. "What, seriously?"

The Doctor turned to cock an eyebrow at her in a sarcastic expression as he muttered, "Well, you can't exactly go and get a brand new face without a couple of changes on the genetic level, now, can you?"

The conversation was so ridiculous and their situation was so impossible that Rose couldn't help but laugh out loud as she mused over the many changes that had occurred between the last time that she had actually been with the Doctor and now. Would they ever be able to fully understand the complex intricacies of time that had led them both to this point?

The Doctor smiled seemingly despite himself as he watched Rose's mirthful expression. She was still seated on the examination table, so for once, she was of a similar height to him and it was easy to meet his eye. "I think you're enjoying this a little bit too much," he muttered as Rose kicked her legs playfully through the empty space that stood between them.

"Maybe so," she replied, leaning forward and tilting her head teasingly in his direction. "But I think you probably are, too."

The two of them grinned at each other like fools for a few moments and Rose was amazed yet again at how easily they were able to slip back into their flirtatious back-and-forth as though they had never been parted in the first place.

Rose also didn't miss the way that the Doctor's eyes fell and settled on her lips, not even trying to hide the quiet longing in his deep green eyes as his smile softened and grew wistful.

Rose longed very much to grab for his waistcoat and draw his own tantalizing lips closer to hers, but she had seen far too many other women take advantage of the Doctor in that way before (including the one with the wild curls that she had seen in the hallway earlier, Rose still hadn't forgotten about that), and she stubbornly refused to stoop to that level. So instead, she simply continued to smile at him in a flirtatious, encouraging way - silently urging him to be the one to bridge the gap between them and settle all of her lingering doubts once and for all.

The Doctor's gaze rose slowly to meet hers, nervous apprehension settling into steady purpose as he gently raised one hand to her face and ran his thumb delicately against her left cheekbone. After a moment's pause, he took a hesitant step forward and rested his forehead against hers, simply breathing her in and gathering his courage as he reveled in her nearness.

"Never thought I'd see you again," he admitted quietly, his eyes slipping closed as though he were afraid to believe the proof of his own traitorous senses.

"Me, neither," Rose whispered back in agreement, watching his face carefully as he leaned against her. She raised her own hand to his cheek then, tracing his new features with careful, reverent fingers. "Any other faces I missed?" she asked lightly.

The Doctor chuckled through his nose and finally leaned back slightly and opened his eyes once more to look at her. "Nope. Just this one. Had it for a while, now."

"What happened?" Rose asked gently.

"Blimey, there's a question ..." the Doctor sighed wearily, giving her a small, sad smile. "I suppose it all came down to what it usually does - someone was in trouble, so I helped them."

"By sacrificing yourself," Rose finished for him, knowing that she didn't need to phrase the sentence as a question. It was simply what the Doctor did - he always put himself last.

"It all worked out in the end," he replied with an easy shrug, his fingers ghosting along Rose's skin once more as he began to not-so-subtly change the subject. "What about ... the Doctor?" he asked hesitantly. "Your Doctor? You said his heart gave out ..." His gaze dropped to the imitation wedding ring that Rose had taken to wearing on a borrowed chain around her neck ever since she had gotten it back from the Doctor after Akhaten. It simply felt wrong to wear a ring that wasn't her husbands on her finger.

Rose nodded sadly in response, gently tracing her fingers along the edge of the Doctor's lips as she suddenly felt the thin chain like a weight against her shoulders.

"He had a good life, Rose," the Doctor reminded her simply, running his hand up through her hair and along her scalp.

"How do you know that?" she asked quietly, staring hard at his features and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Because I know him," the Doctor stated matter-of-factly. "Quite well, actually. You might say that I know him better than anyone else in the universe. And if he had a lifetime with you, then it was more than enough."

Rose could feel tears pricking the backs of her eyes and she went against her better judgement and finally took the initiative to bridge the space between them as she wrapped her hand around the Doctor's neck and pulled his lips into her own. She still made sure not to cage him in, though - she had seen what had happened when Clara and the strange blonde woman had kissed him, and she didn't want to risk sending the Doctor flailing awkwardly about while she forced her affection on him.

The Doctor tensed immediately, but Rose was pleased to note that he didn't try to resist her, and even nervously attempted to reciprocate her warm, willing lips after a few moments. Rose hummed encouragingly against his mouth and he hesitantly brought both hands up to frame her face, drawing her in deeper as though he were afraid that she might disappear before his very eyes if he didn't keep both hands on her at all times.

When Rose's tongue briefly grazed against his bottom lip, the Doctor's mind immediately reached for hers on instinct, his overwhelming, aching need crashing over her in waves. Missed you, missed you, don't go, please stay, his thoughts hummed loudly as he fought to gain control of his emotions.

Rose welcomed his thoughts warmly, her own mind opening up to him like a wilted flower receiving its first rain after a long draught. she felt the Doctor's surprise at her ability and willingness to so easily meet his thoughts, but she didn't get a chance to test their connection any further.

As soon as Rose mentally reached for him, there was an electric shock that ran through her entire body and the old mental bond that she had shared with her husband flared gold inside her mind. She gasped as her entire body reeled with the sensation - everything in her feeling as though it were shorting out as she fought to regain her senses.

The Doctor had gone tense before her, his entire body one long line of tension as Rose blinked dazedly at his wide, shocked eyes. "I'm ... I wasn't ... That wasn't ... Oh, no, Doctor, I didn't mean ..." she stuttered helplessly.

"No, no, it's ... fine," the Doctor muttered haltingly, his own voice going high and uneven with his shocked surprise. "I didn't even think ..."

"I really wasn't trying to do anything, I swear ..." Rose insisted desperately. She knew from long conversations with her husband just how sacred these telepathic bonds were, and she knew that the way that her mind had suddenly attempted to force a connection with his was about as rude and forward as a touch telepath could get.

"No, it wasn't your fault, Rose," the Doctor explained with an air of forced calm. "It's probably not something that you can control. It's just ... your bond is trying to reconnect. It's instinctual - a subconscious force. Like ... like two oppositely charged magnets coming together."

At the Doctor's dejected, downward-cast glance, Rose's heart broke all over again for this confusing, difficult situation that they had suddenly found themselves in. She wanted to tell herself that this was all just a mistake and that it was never meant to happen this way, but she had a hunch from all that she had seen from the Bad Wolf that that wasn't necessarily true. From the rare glimpses that she had caught of all of time and space, Rose thought that maybe this - her being reunited with the Doctor again - was always meant to happen in exactly this way, for better or for worse.

"I'm so sorry," Rose muttered quietly. She was sorry for so many things - sorry that her husband had died, sorry that she had been left all alone, sorry that the Doctor had been abandoned while she was off living her happily ever after in a parallel world. Rose shook her head as she hunched her shoulders up around her ears, completely overcome by embarrassment and frustration.

"Rose." Her name on his lips was becoming an increasingly distracting issue - it drew her entire focus to him and made everything else around her instantly fade away.

"Don't be sorry," he whispered simply, reaching for one of her hands and bringing it to his lips so that he could brush another gentle kiss across her knuckles. The Doctor then covered her hand with both of his, as though attempting to seal the gift of his kiss into her skin forever.

He cautiously let his thoughts trail against hers one last time before he let her go. He showed her glimpses of memories of all of the time that they had been separated - the hardships that he had gone through, the loneliness, the pain and suffering - but over all of it he layered his current sense of wistful satisfaction. The Doctor silently and wordlessly reminded her that they were together again - at last - as they should be.

Never apologize for this, he insisted silently, making it quite clear that he had all that he could ever want and more sitting right here in front of him.

Rose sighed as he let go of her hand and his presence slowly retreated from her mind. She hoped that her teary-eyed smile was answer enough to let him know that she felt the exact same way.

[writingguide003-blog]

Follow these 23 comedians and writers to survive the Trump era

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/follow-these-23-comedians-and-writers-to-survive-the-trump-era/

Follow these 23 comedians and writers to survive the Trump era

Lindy West (left), Van Jones (center), Paul Krugman (right)

Image: Evan agostini/rainmaker photo/paul vallejos/ap

We’re sorry America, but for many of you, your deepest, darkest nightmare has finally come true: the questionably coherent reality television star of white nationalist dreams has officially become leader of the free world. Donald Trump is president.

It’s been less than a month since Trump won the election, and Americans everywhere are looking for signs of hope and reassurance. Sure, there’s no data to support a theory of hope (just spend a nanosecond on Trump’s Twitter, before closing your eyes very tight). But there are writers and comedians on Twitter who can provide something close to it, and remind you that there are other caring, reasonable people out there sort of like you.

SEE ALSO: Everyday household objects more qualified for public office than Trump’s cabinet

Below is a list of people to follow on various social platforms who can help you survive the next four years.

If just want someone to tell you it’s going to be OK (without lying)

1. Van Jones

Van Jones might be best known as the astute CNN commentator who popularized the term whitelash, but in recent weeks the pundit has unofficially become the nation’s de facto therapist. His most recent three-part video series interviewing Trump supporters made reaching across the aisle seem actually plausible, and he was one of the few liberal pundits to successfully predict Trump’s rise.

If you need to be reminded you that there are still rational, compassionate, not-Steve Bannon conservatives out there

2. Evan McMullin

McMullin, the former House GOP policy director who ran against Trump in the 2016 election, has been loudly denouncing the PEOTUS for embracing his party’s extremist white nationalist fringe.

Remaining silent now is allowing the Party of Abraham Lincoln to drift towards the Party of David Duke. https://t.co/JGEllCQZ3Q

Evan McMullin (@Evan_McMullin) November 23, 2016

3. Ana Navarro

Navarro, a conservative and CNN contributor, has been lashing out at her party for the past year, inspiring some of the best GIFS and tweets of this election, or any election, ever.

This @ananavarro speech could be the best single moment in the campaign pic.twitter.com/6zVBwbquXH

Seth Abramovitch (@SethAbramovitch) October 8, 2016

4. David Frum

Frum, senior editor at The Atlantic, is a moderate neoconservative who is so eminently rational and clever it almost makes neoconservatism seem cool?

If flag-burning merits loss of citizenship, what should be the penalty for a Nazi salute by a Trump supporter?

David Frum (@davidfrum) November 29, 2016

If you need to know that there’s still love in this world

5. DeRay McKesson

DeRay, a leading activist in the Black Lives Matter movement, produces a Twitter feed that is simultaneously full of grief, critique, and meaningful calls to action. He’s best known for tweeting “I love my blackness, and yours,” but there’s so much more like it.

Sleep well, y’all. Remember to dream.

deray mckesson (@deray) December 1, 2016

If you want to know if you’ll still have a job in four years

6. Paul Krugman

The New York Times columnist, economist and on-the-nose curmudgeon carefully and methodically debunks each one of Trump’s obscene assertions about the economy with get ready for it actual facts.

Another metric: Trump would have to do one Carrier-sized deal a week for 30 years to save as many jobs as Obama’s auto bailout

Paul Krugman (@paulkrugman) November 30, 2016

If you want to take down Trump and build a brand-new beautiful world (or something)

7. Rebecca Solnit

The author best known for Men Explain Things to Me (think: mansplaining) doesn’t have a Twitter account but does have an active Facebook following, where she shares calls to action and deeply empathetic essays that remind you why you want to make those calls in the first place.

8. Representative Keith Ellison

The progressive Congressman is gunning to become the next head of the DNC. Anyone who’s anyone (dorks) are watching Ellison to see what kind of vision he has planned for the party.

My plan for the DNC:https://t.co/stLKdNIOIA

Rep. Keith Ellison (@keithellison) December 1, 2016

If you want to spend the next four years laughing in a subtle-yet-depressed way

9. OhNoSheTwitnt

The comedian who delivered some excellent masturbation jokes in the pre-Trump era has now dedicated herself full-time to witnessing the (potential impending) apocalypse around us so we don’t have to.

Hopefully Trump won’t accept the results of the election if he wins.

(((OhNoSheTwitnt))) (@OhNoSheTwitnt) November 9, 2016

10. Maura Quint

Her feed isn’t all Trump (thank God) but when she goes there, she doesn’t let go.

I’d rather see someone burn the flag in an act of protest than wear it to the beach over their crotch thinking that was an act of respect

maura quint (@behindyourback) November 30, 2016

11. Kumail Nanjiani

The actor and comedian from Silicon Valley and Portlandia carefully balances despair with more despair.

This is the first time in our lives that fighting Nazis doesn’t require a time machine.

Kumail Nanjiani (@kumailn) November 22, 2016

12. Dave Itzkoff

Of course, the world is imploding around you but you’re not the only one who sees it. Itzkoff, and this Kermit GIF, does too.

Mr. Trump, acts of hate are being committed in your name around the country! TRUMP: … They might recount an election you won” TRUMP: pic.twitter.com/3yqluEJFqU

Dave Itzkoff (@ditzkoff) November 27, 2016

If you just really need someone to cut through the bullshit. All of it.

13. Joy Reid

Say what you will about MSNBC, but commentator Joy Reid has committed her Twitter feed/full life to exposing each and every one of Trump’s lies, hypocrisies, and wild allegations. Nothing seems to pass by her. (Truly nothing. She’s on Twitter a lot).

Trump claims the world will “respect us again” despite the fact that under Obama respect for the U.S. is high while the world loathes Trump.

Joy Reid (@JoyAnnReid) December 2, 2016

14. Jon Favreau

Favreau was Obama’s chief speechwriter from 2005 to 2013 and is now host of the podcast “Keepin’ it 1600.” Don’t believe that tiny bit of good news about Trump that the rest of the world has on blast? He doesn’t either.

The most bizarre part about “nasty woman” is that it came during an answer about the Social Security Trust Fund.

Jon Favreau (@jonfavs) October 20, 2016

15. Julia Ioffe

Columnist and Politico writer Julia Ioffe will, thankfully, never force you to find the silver lining.

IDEA: What if you could strip someone of their citizenship for their tweets?

Julia Ioffe (@juliaioffe) November 30, 2016

If you’re a teensy weensy bit concerned that our planet is on its way to hell

16. Neil deGrasse Tyson

The celebrity astrophysicist (who ever thought there would be such a thing?) has more than 6 million followers and is the voice of reason in a world of climate change deniers.

#IDreamOfAWorld where Politicians are scientifically literate, empowering them to make informed decisions that affect us all.

Neil deGrasse Tyson (@neiltyson) November 27, 2016

If you lack the words to describe what you’re feeling right now

17. Merriam-Webster

Sure, it’s a dictionary. But language is inherently political, and the mysterious talented ghost who runs Merriam Webster‘s Twitter right now has done some of the best subtweeting of the election season.

‘Fascism’ is still our #1 lookup.

# of lookups = how we choose our Word of the Year.

There’s still time to look something else up.

Merriam-Webster (@MerriamWebster) November 29, 2016

If you want to know if what Trump is doing is legal (it’s probably not)

18. Laurence Tribe

The liberal scholar and constitutional law professor at Harvard who has argued before the Supreme Court dozens of time should be far more popular than Alan Dershowitz, but sadly isn’t.

Sad lesson: Trump knows how to use optics to create counterproductive illusions; Obama assumed reality counts more than image https://t.co/rR1hHsNIYC

Laurence Tribe (@tribelaw) December 1, 2016

If you’re in that “angry caps lock tweetstorm” kind of mood

19. Judd Legum

Legum, an editor at Think Progress and master tweeter, has crafted some fine tweetstorms (and real pieces of journalism, blablabla) that can fulfill all your primitive, rage-tweeting desires.

3. But Trump has skills. His biggest skill is PROJECTING AN IMAGE OF SUCCESS, whatever the reality

Judd Legum (@JuddLegum) December 1, 2016

If you just want to check in and make sure feminism is still alive

20. Lindy West

West, the hilarious Guardian columnist best known for her relationships with trolls, will remind you that, no, feminism isn’t dead, it’s just really sad right now and needs some space, okay?

anyone else having this problem where you can’t watch children’s media about girls being bold & fearless & having hope w/o sobbing like baby

Lindy West (@thelindywest) November 29, 2016

21. Brittney Cooper

Brittney Cooper, founder of the Crunk Feminist Collective, might not be the most active tweeter, but every story she writes and collective post she shares is worth your full attention.

I know most of you don’t have words. I don’t either. But I found a few for this hard day. https://t.co/2nX9Y9lSoj

Brittney Cooper (@ProfessorCrunk) November 9, 2016

22. Roxane Gay

If you don’t know about Roxane Gay, now you do. Gay, author of Bad Feminist and a sometimes columnist for The New York Times, dissects human emotions like no one else.

Anyway here is the segment. https://t.co/LXkvJK8LQY

roxane gay (@rgay) November 23, 2016

If humans are being too horrible right now and the only thing that can give you peace is a barnyard animal

23. Goats of Anarchy

This goat is just like you a sad, frightened creature who only feels happy in a duck costume. Get a goat costume, or better yet, get this Instagram account.

Today, Polly and her duck suit captured the attention of media outlets all over the world. You may have seen her story… it’s been everywhere! In light of that, I thought I would bring back her duck videos that we took while visiting @tractorsupply. Is there no duck emoji?

A video posted by Goats of Anarchy (@goatsofanarchy) on Nov 25, 2016 at 5:15pm PST

RELATED: These are the most shocking quotes to come out of Trump’s 60 Minutes interview

Read more: http://mashable.com/