#wardens exist and guide people places i think

[annwrites]

— cregan stark quotes ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚⋆ | read

❝Whatever man marries you should be aware of just how blessed he is to have you to take to wife. By all the Gods—Old and New. And for you to, much more, one day be the mother of his children? I cannot imagine a finer fate. For if he does not realize it, he is wholly unworthy of having you.❞

❝I have questioned it: destiny. If it does exist, or if our lives are simply a series of choices we are forced to make day-by-day. But then I think of the Gods. The beauty of our world. The mysteries. The stories and legends.❞

❝Perhaps our destiny is something that chooses us, then, and not the other way around. At least for some. Others... We are forced to carve our own path. But, for those that remain, unable to see a way forward—mayhaps they have a helping hand guiding them closer. Until they finally find whatever it is that has been waiting for them. And that hand leaves—them able to then forge ahead on their own, the path before them lain plainly.❞

❝I would never betray your trust. I consider it a gift—a privilege, even—you sharing such hard truths with me.❞

❝What sort of man would I be if I let you sit there and shiver against the cold while I stay warm? It grieves me to think of you catching a chill while under my protection. Even if it would, mayhaps, keep you in my company longer.❞

❝She was ill-equipped for northern weather. I misliked seeing her cold and shivering. It pleases me to see her, instead, warm, and looked after by mine own hand.❞

❝I know my duty. As Lord of Winterfell, but much more, Warden of the North. Hard times call for hard sacrifices. For difficult acts. I will do what must be done. Not just because it is what is expected of me, but to honor my forebears, my name, my people, and kingdom. Any duty, great or small, is to be looked upon as a privilege. Not a burden. As a Stark, we do what we do in the name of honor—of what is true—instead of doing it out of personal benefit, or for some form of political gain.❞

❝It would grieve me to have you injured when I am so near to prevent it.❞

❝Then I am yours to confide in whenever your mind feels troubled and your worries too much to bear.❞

❝Are you warm enough, Princess? Should I fetch further comforts for you?❞

❝So, let us prevent it: our mutual agony of losing what can so easily be ours. Agree. Take my hand. And remain in the North where you belong. By my side, where you belong. You said once that the North felt like home to you. Princess—Y/N—you feel like home to me. So do not take yourself from me in the name of a fleet of ships or a small army. I beg of you.❞

❝I will give you the might of the North—and you, the title of Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. I can think of no one more deserving.❞

❝I mean to have you with child sooner than late.❞ (...) ❝And many times thereafter.❞

❝I will not be liable to control myself once your body begins to change as my child grows inside of it.❞ (...) ❝I would not deprive you of my seed, or myself of you.❞

❝I would place his head at your feet in retribution.❞

❝Gods, if only you knew what it is like to make love to you.❞

❝The two of us shall be in death as we were in life—ever-together. Place us by one another’s sides, for I shall not rest, if we are parted, as she was my peace.❞

❝I hardly intend for there to be a moment where you are not heavy with my offspring, as you well know.❞

❝I should’ve known the first time I set eyes upon you I’d be reluctant to ever tell you no in anything.❞

Heavy boots thump against wooden stairs, a fur cloak shifts, and eyes the color of a darkening winter sky scan the cramped confines of the Winterfell library, searching.

⚔

But he knows how sweet a serpent's venom can taste when being fed by a comely young face with a honeyed tongue.

⚔

Hearing his name uttered from your lips like this—and here—moves something within him. Sends his blood racing in his veins.

⚔

You wish for passion? He shall then give it to you.

He has offered you genteelness thus far, and he fears that perhaps you have mistaken it as no more than congeniality or boyish fancy.

But it is not a boy whom stands before you, but a man with want. A wolf with hunger.

He shall shed his sheep's skin, then, and show you what lies beneath.

⚔

And so, the hand leaves him, and he goes forth on his own, the path ahead clear, you standing at the end of it, waiting for him.

⚔

To have you lain bare beside him as he runs his rough hands along your soft body, telling you how beautiful and dear you are to him—that he will spend the rest of his days caring for and protecting you—he can imagine no finer fate.

⚔

The future which he had envisioned, between waking fantasies and sleeping dreams now rests upon a precipice.

[raynavan]

has this been done yet?

[neon-moon-beam]

I’ve already made a post about how including Ingo in PLA overshadowed the other Wardens, and in some ways the main plot for many people.

I’m wondering now if the Daybreak Mission from the Pokemon Day content update was a response to that. These are my thoughts regarding that, and what we might see in the future.

Spoilers follow.

Please don’t reblog and add, or message me with theories or headcanons. I don’t like to discuss these things with people I don’t know.

Bl*nkshippers dni--I will block you.

While we did have some moments with the Wardens during the main storyline, Ingo is the one we spent the most time with. The player travels with him and is told more about his background (ironically despite him not remembering it) than the other Wardens.

The content update didn’t answer anything or give any sort of conclusion to PLA, and in fact, posed even more questions; we’re never told why the Massive Mass Outbreaks occur at all and why in precipitation, did a Zoroark and Zorua impersonate Mai and her Munchlax for some cakes? and why did we never get to see and/or fight them? What is going on between Palina and Irida, did Palina really spite Irida by making her go to a place that’s too hot for her, and will they make amends? How does Munchlax know where and what the outbreaks are by eating Aguav Berries, which are not found in Hisui other than by being dropped by Pokemon during outbreaks, and how/why are the Aguav Berries getting to Hisui? However, it did fix the issue of Ingo not acknowledging the player at the Training Grounds unless spoken to or a Pokemon was sent out to interact with him.

During the Daybreak Mission, every Warden gets a callback, even if it’s a short appearance...except Ingo. All of them appear to be doing duties related to being a Warden, except Arezu, who has kept her status and may still tend to Liligant from time to time but primarily runs the salon, and Ingo, who has in-game never said or done anything regarding Sneasler since introducing the player to her.

We certainly spend a lot of time with Mai, and Lian and Melli have their moments, and while we get some new interactions with other Wardens, we still don’t see too much, such as Palina and Iscan, despite their relationship being allowed. I’m wondering if they decided to show the most popular Wardens aside from Ingo, though I’m not sure which Wardens are the most popular. I know Arezu is up there, but she still only had a short scene at the salon. The developers also probably kept the content short, because if they added too much content, it would require a price tag and be a DLC.

Ingo finally appears after the mission is complete, saying that Kamado asked him to create more battle styles. He’s not acting as a Warden, he never aided us while investigating the Massive Mass Outbreaks, he’s just...back running a Battle Facility. And while there are more options for battling him and others, we don’t get any new, personal dialogue from him, just dialogue pertaining to the battles. I was hoping to see him in the Coronet Highlands or somewhere else (as several of the Wardens appear in different areas from their Nobles), or new dialogue hinting he’d return home at some point, but he was sort of an afterthought.

I think Ingo’s inclusion in PLA was both because they could make a pun in Japanese and as a hint/hype for revisiting Gen 5, but it backfired in more ways than one. The first way is that new and existing Submas fans were upset over the separation and how distressed Ingo seems to be in PLA and the lack of confirmation that he will go home. The second is that people tended to focus on Ingo, Submas fans or not. Everyone who knows or finds out who he is wants to know why he’s in Hisui, how he got there, and if he’ll go home. GameFreak has been silent on this, and the official PLA guide book’s art pages only posed more questions, including whether or not the concept art made the final cut and is canon, as well as exacerbated the panic. Rather than enjoy time with other Wardens and experience Hisui, many people just want answers regarding Ingo, as well as more time with him. For some people, his inclusion and lack of a favorable resolution for what seems to be more of a subplot than a cameo soured their experience with PLA.

There’s actually a really easy solution here; send Ingo home. We don’t have to see it, we just have to know it will happen, and then see him being OK however they revisit 5th Gen. As of the time I’m typing this, PLA as a whole has yet to truly conclude. The main plot and player character are left hanging, as is Ingo, and a few other plot points from the main gameplay as well as the Daybreak Mission. This game doesn’t seem to know when to end or how, and for players, that’s very frustrating. I’m hopeful for a DLC, but it seems GameFreak is mostly moving on to Scarlet and Violet. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll use an ad or something for the Battle Subway, with Ingo intact, to hint that we can expect to revisit Unova in the games after Scarlet and Violet.

I’m also hopeful because they seemed to notice everyone saying Ingo didn’t acknowledge the player at the Training Grounds and were wondering if that was intentional, and responded by fixing it. They also have to be seeing the constant subtweets asking if he will be OK any time they tweet about PLA. He’s also gone back to running a Battle Facility, almost seemingly in favor of being a Warden, suggesting he’s moving towards going home. His memories seeming to slowly return and dissatisfaction not knowing his past is also promising, as Anabel (who many people compare Ingo to), never gets her memories back and seems to happily settle into her new life. They’ve always been aware that Submas are fan favorites, and to permanently separate them would be a move worse than just trying to tease revisiting Unova and overshadowing all the other characters and for some people, the main goal of the game. They also had an event recently in PokeMas, which may be hinting that he’ll be OK.

I doubt we’ll see Emmet added to Scarlet and Violet for whatever reason, as a lot of people have been hoping. Pokemon so far, with rare exceptions, hasn’t spanned major characters/organizations across regions or generations, and has never done this with plot points. And they’ve likely realized from the reactions to PLA that adding Ingo and/or Emmet to any game other than running the Battle Subway or unless they’re intended to be major characters, can and will overshadow the other characters and plot. Scarlet and Violet’s stories were probably finished before PLA was released, and new games tend to focus on their own plots, the new Pokemon, and new characters. Adding Emmet searching for Ingo, or as a villain (this goes against his entire canon characterization btw), or having a plot point that reunites Ingo and Emmet would definitely eclipse the main, new story the developers want to tell with Scarlet and Violet. And maybe that’s part of the point of the Daybreak Mission; they put Ingo in PLA and unfortunately he became a major focus, so they added some extra content to attempt to bring the focus back to the story they wanted to tell about Hisui and the Wardens.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hey!! I love your writing. Can you do a Yandere! Ranboo, Tommy , and tubbo. where they are all in love with the reader and they kidnapped her to ‘keep her safe’ and the reader doesn’t know at first, then she slow realized they are obsessed with her. she like them back but she also want to live her life, so she tries to make agreement? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.

The Ranboo gif is just beautiful and I love it. Lemme see what I can do for ya! I wrote a bullet point Platonic fic if that's fine? I'm still worried about writing the minors in romantic relationships, even if it's the characters.

Sorry, it took so long... My burnout got really bad and I refused to even write basic stuff. But I'm back now! Well. Mostly.

Safe Behind Glass (Yandere!Plat!C!Bench Trio x GN!Reader)

You were a little groggier than normal when you awoke, but it was nothing to alarm you immediately.

Just simply brushing it off as you weren't feeling the best that day, you rolled over to fall back to sleep, but quickly noticed something wrong.

It didn't feel... Right?

The blankets... The mattress... The pillow... They weren't yours...

You peeled your eyes open and your expression went blank with fear.

The room was beautiful mind you.

But it wasn't yours either.

You were laying on a fluffy (f/c) canopy bed, surrounded by quartz walls that were dimly lit soul lanterns that prevented you from being completely swallowed by darkness.

Slowly dragging yourself off the bed, you heard a metal 'clunk' that hit the cold quartz flooring below you.

Turning your head to face downwards, you saw that a decently thick metal chain was cuffed to your ankle.

Somehow, your panic became worse as you immediately grabbed onto it and started to yank on the solid metal, but it refused to budge.

You had no idea how many minutes or hours you spent in that room. Reaching at the iron door desperately, yanking at the chain around your ankle that kept you from reaching the exit, searching the blue lanterns for anything...

But then, the white metallic door slowly swung open, revealing Ranboo, Tubbo and Tommy.

You weren't that close to them, save for a couple interactions here and there, but hey, they came to save you! That didn't matter in the slightest!

You almost cried upon seeing them and moved to walk over, but the chain stopped you from reaching them, and you noticed that they weren't moving to help you.

"You're awake!" Tubbo chirped softly, his tan goat ears wiggling with joy, "I'm glad the potion didn't stick for too long... You could've wound up starving if you stayed asleep."

Horror slowly began to set into your heart as Ranboo nodded and walked over to the dark oak table in the corner of the room and set down a basket of food.

"Ran...Boo...?" You whispered, watching as the monochrome male turned and curiously tilted his head in your direction, "Why... Am I here?"

Instead, Tommy stepped in front of you with a bright cheesy smile, the same one that resembled when he would find a new disc or start a new adventure, "For your safety, (N/n)!"

"Safety?" You choked out softly, Ranboo quickly guiding you to sit in the oak chair, "But... I'm one of the richest people on the server... I have god armour... Nothing could kill m-"

"Techno and Dream can." Tubbo interrupted sharply, halting you mid-sentence.

Right... That masked man... Or whatever he was... He was extremely dangerous, as well as Techno. They could likely pierce your netherite chest plate without even flinching at the number of thorns you had enchanted.

"We don't want anyone to bring you any harm... There's no problem with that, right, (Y/n)?" Ranboo smiled, flashing his sharpened teeth unthreateningly.

No... You wanted to say, but you wanted freedom! You wanted to expand your house to the size of a mansion! You wanted to bicker with Quackity about the stupidest of things! You wanted to get building advice from Phil!

Not be locked away because your safety was a tiny bit compromised!

"Tommy... Tubbo... Ranboo... Please, I'm not going to just stay locked away because I-"

"You'll see things our way soon... Eat up, get your rest." Tubbo smiled and gave you a hug, ignoring how you froze suddenly, before turning and skipping out of the room with the taller two following behind him.

Despite... How screwed up the three were with their methods of making you be their friend, it was working...

They were actually incredibly friendly and funny. It made life in capture bearable! Even though you were incredibly snappy and cruel to them in the beginning, they never held it against you.

Although... Despite their kindness and your quickly blooming friendship, you still had a craving to go outside. Even if what the three told you about everyone forgetting you existed was true.

"You look sad, (N/n)..." Tubbo murmured softly, watching you stare off into the blank quartz wall, "Are you okay?"

Tommy straightened up from his handmade scribble of a map, turning his head towards you in confusion. Ranboo stopped writing mid-word likely and looked in your direction as well.

They never liked it when you were upset.

You pursed your lips silently for a moment, clearly unsettling the males around you, "I just... Haven't been feeling too great... Both mentally and physically I mean... I need sunlight..."

"Yeah... I was reading about that earlier..." Ranboo hummed softly, adjusting his crown as he looked up at the ceiling, "But the issue is..."

"My safety... Yes, I know. What if, I wear my full netherite armour and keep a totem AND a Rapple on me? And also not leave your sides?" You bargained nervously.

That hadn't worked before. But then again, You weren't as close to them before...

The silence that fell upon the room was unsettling and caused your heart to race quickly. If they didn't like what you said, you would be alone for a few straight days... You didn't like it...

"Okay."

What.

That worked?

You just had to ask?!

You watched as Tubbo stood up and pulled the small ender chest from his pocket and set it on the ground, causing it to grow to normal size.

Standing aside, he made a gesture for you to open it and get your stuff.

Hesitantly, You walked over and kneeled down in front of the ender chest. Looking to Tubbo and the others for confirmation, you slowly opened it once they nodded.

Carefully, you began pulling out your armour but paused seeing the lack of golden apples and totems.

Right... Before you had gotten kidnapped by the group, you had used a totem when you fell into the L'Manhole where L'Manberg once was.

That what caused them to kidnap you...

"I-I used... My totem... And Fundy stole my Rapple..." You murmured hesitantly, feeling ready to cry.

Your only chance to escape and you couldn't grab it...

"Hey! Hey! Don't cry! Here!" Ranboo eagerly held the two golden items out towards you at the first sight of tears gathering under your eyes.

"What...?"

"(Y/n)! We want you to be happy! If being outside, even with god armour, rapples and totems, makes you happy, then damn well we're bringing you outside!" Tommy grinned.

After a few tears and lots of hugs, Tubbo helped you hop into your armour while Ranboo unlocked the chain cuff from around your ankle. Tommy had left, leaving the door open for once, going to scout the area for any dangerous mobs.

"Ready?" Ranboo smiled, linking one of his arms with yours, the one that you held the totem in to be more specific. Tubbo happily linked his arm with the other one.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as they began to walk you out the door, Ranboo had to duck down a lot, before leading you to the quartz stairway.

Once up the stairs, Tubbo pressed in a code to the iron door and it slid open quickly, causing you to flinch and pinch your eyes shut at the bright painful light of the sun.

It took about twenty minutes of trying to adjust to the sunlight with the two males encouraging you before you were able to look around.

It was everything you had missed...

The sunlight...

The trees...

God, it was perfect...

Tommy eventually came out of the tree line and sat down beside you as you took it all in...

Months, you were down there. And sure, they gave you plenty of decorations to prevent you from experiencing sensory deprivation, nothing could ever compare to the beauty of the outside world.

A voice cut through the air -calling for someone or something named Fran?- and you almost didn't recognize it. But then the owner came out of the trees, almost a similar direction that Tommy came from earlier.

Sam? He looked so... Different now...

The creeper hybrid slowly lowered his gas mask to show his mouth dropped in shock, "(Y/n)...? You're alive...?"

Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo were freaking out, trying to bring you back into the bunker, as they called it, but you weren't budging. You hadn't seen another being in ages... And while you did platonically love the three boys, you enjoyed hearing a new voice.

"You... Remember me? But... Tubbo you said-" You frowned at the goat hybrid as they stopped suddenly, realizing that you weren't moving.

"You three... Kept them locked away... For almost an entire year?" Sam's voice was getting a little bit scary now, but it wasn't directed at you, instead, at your best friends...

"Sam! It was to protect them! Please!" Ranboo tried, but he wasn't making it better.

"You made Quackity believe they ran away... Made Philza wake up every morning and walk through the SMP for any signs of them... Gave Puffy false information on where you have last seen them... lied to everyone... Only to be the reason that they were gone." Sam growled out, gripping his trident, "Then you proceeded to make them think we all forgot about them..."

"S-Sam... You've got this all wrong big man..." Tubbo tried next...

The warden wasn't listening as he pointed his trident at them, his communicator in his other hand next to his mouth, then he started speaking, causing his voice to come out of Ranboo's, Tubbo's and Tommy's pockets. He was speaking on the public channel.

"Tommy Innit, Tubbo Underscore, Ranboo Beloved... You are being placed in the prison, Pandora's Vault, for keeping (Y/n) (L/n) imprisoned in a bunker and lying about their whereabouts."

It felt like someone splashed you with cold water...

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter One ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: G

Word count: 2100

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you like!**

A/n Thanks for the love on the prologue <3 also, this is the first time I’ve scheduled a post, so please let me know if something looks weird!

Translations: Av-‘osto = Don’t be afraid // Odúlen le natho = I’m here to help you // Pedil edhellen = do you speak Elvish

I was right — the peace deserts me instantly.

A sharp pain pierces my chest, my lungs ache, and my brain throbs inside my skull. A man leans over me. His long, dark hair tickles my neck. He is beautiful and smiling, but I do not know him. Fear quickens my breath. I try to jerk away from him, but he keeps a firm pressure on my shoulders, holding me in place. He meets my wide, panicked eyes with calm, reassuring ones of forest brown.

“Av-‘osto. Odúlen le natho.”

What? I shake my head at him, fear temporarily making room for confusion. The words he speaks, which had proven so irresistible when I was under the weight of the water, now sound only strange and indecipherable.

I stare at him, uncomprehending and very much on my guard.

His brow furrows, and, when he speaks again, it is with a note of hesitation. “Pedil edhellen?”

“I don’t think she does.” Another voice—confident, commanding—comes from my right. I turn my head just in time to see a tall man in peculiar armor slide off his horse. He takes quick strides towards me, then crouches near my side. “What is your name?”

I find myself momentarily silenced by his proximity, as well as his eyes. They are a clear ice blue—beautiful, depthless—but cold and calculating. They hold none of the warmth the other man’s eyes do, only suspicion. As much as I don’t like behind held to the ground by him, I turn my head, searching for the deep, honest brown I met upon awaking.

He meets my gaze with a soft smile. “Do not feel fear, we are not here to harm you. We found you unconscious and alone near the river, and stopped to help.” His voice is light, unsure, and strangely accented, placing emphasis on the wrong part of the words, but I am pleased that I can understand him now. As if to illustrate his point, that I am not in danger from them, he releases his hold on my shoulders and allows me space to sit up.

“Slowly,” he cautions. “I worry you have hit your head.”

That would explain the pounding. I grimace, supporting myself on my forearms, and turn my head to observe my surroundings. It’s all very green and brown, I suppose, though vibrant, not at all like the waters I found myself trapped under. Tall grass, puddles of mud, a river behind me. I see no roads or signs to indicate where I am.

The man to my right answers my unspoken question. “You are near the Gladden Fields on the bank of the River Anduin.” I recoil. None of those words mean anything to me. I search my mind, trying to conjure up an image, a memory, anything that would give me context as to where I am.

But I come up blank.

“I will ask you again,” the man continues. His voice is hard, completely devoid of patience, and though I don’t exactly want to, I find myself turning my head to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”

Well, that answer, I know. “Cosima. What’s yours?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to stop myself from challenging him a little. I don’t like his attitude, how he acts like he doesn’t have the time to deal with me. He is the one who stopped, after all.

“So she does speak,” an amused voice remarks from over the shoulder of the brown-eyed man. I jump, not previously noticing the two others—blond like the man to my right—who sit high atop large horses.

Okay, that doesn’t seem right.

Fragments of memory come to me, brief flashes of tall buildings, busy sidewalks, and honking yellow cars.

America.

The name comes to me just as my own did—suddenly and detached from other clues. I piece together what I can, and am left with only the feeling that this is wrong. There should not be deserted, untouched land, nor men in armor who travel on horseback.

I should not be here, I realize. Wherever ‘here’ is….

The blond to my right stands, and I shrink back, intimidated by his height. The sword at his hip and the bow on his back make me even more wary.

“I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. The ellon to your left is Baranor, a healer respected by the Lady herself. The ellyn on horseback are Rumil and Orophin—my brothers, and wardens of our realm. Where do you come from? Were you traveling somewhere?”

I don’t recognize half the words he says. Their language and phrasing is unfamiliar to me, which gives me reason to believe that I am not in America. My limited worldview expands slightly, and I become aware of the existence of other countries, vast seas and expansive continents. A theory begins to take form. I must be in another country. Perhaps I was traveling, and hit my head, and now I’ve gotten separated from my group. Though, I don’t have any memory of a group…perhaps I will remember them in time. I did hit my head.

Haldir clears his throat impatiently.

“I…think I’m from America. Do you know if I’m close? Or at least which country I’m in?

For the first time, I see the irritation in his eyes break, giving way to something akin to concern. “You are in Arda.”  

I wrack my brain, searching for anything that even remotely sounds like Arda. Africa? Armenia? Nothing helpful comes to mind.

Baranor, still crouched at my side, brings a gentle hand to my temple, brushing his fingers lightly over the tender skin. He notices my wince, and turns back to Haldir. “She definitely hit her head. Her mind is not fully with us…I think that, as she heals, she will speak with more sense.”

“Excuse me,” I huff, annoyed at his assessment of me and them talking as if I weren’t here. “You’re not exactly making much sense, either.”

Haldir purses his lips but gives no other indication that he’s heard me. He turns to his brothers and the three of them engage in quick conversation in that language I do not know.

I keep the three of them in the corner of my eye—just because they haven’t hurt me yet doesn’t mean I should let my guard down—and catch Baranor’s attention. “I can’t remember much—anything, really.”

He nods, looking at me with clinical concern. “I guessed as much. You remember your name and seem to have some idea where you are from, even if I do not recognize the realm. It’s better than nothing—encouraging, even. I believe your memories will return to you with time.”

That’s something, at least.

The one called Rumil hops off his horse and swaggers up to me, crouching low like his brother did. “Are you human?”

I recoil. What kind of question is that? “Of course I’m human.”

He shakes his head, a coy smile on his face. “Do not say, ‘of course’. There are many races in this realm, some much more interesting than the race of men.”

I swallow, pieces of information that I’ve gathered since waking clicking into place.

I don’t want to ask.

Asking might mean confronting, and I’ve only just woken up. I’m not ready for that.

But I have to. Because I’ve woken up in an unfamiliar place with people who don’t speak my language, don’t seem to know anything about the existence of my country, travel on horses, wear armor and, Rumil has just tilted his head to the side, revealing an ear that comes to a point. I bring my hand up to my own ear, checking. Yep. Not pointed.

A sinking feeling settles in my gut. I gather what courage I can. Just ask. There’s probably a perfectly normal explanation. Maybe they’re playing a trick on me. “Are you…not human, then?”

His teasing smile never falters and he gives a sort of mocking bow. “No, my dear lady. You have the pleasure of encountering four of the eldar. We are elves from the realm of the Lady Galadriel. We have been here long before the time of man, and we will be here long after.”

This is ridiculous.

I push myself to stand, Baranor rushing to help. The world sways before me, and I wilt against the cool surface of his chest place. He holds me awkwardly—trying to keep as much distance between us as possible while still supporting my weight.

“I’ve hit my head,” I mutter, trying to fight through the fierce onset of dizziness and nausea. “I-I’ve been in some sort of accident, or had a strange reaction to medicine. Or maybe this is a bizarre dream, and I will wake up and laugh at myself and all this will have been in my imagination, or…or…” My breathing quickens, and I bring a hand to my forehead. My hand is so cold. Is it meant to be that cold?

I pitch forward, and Rumil darts a hand to grip my shoulder and keep me in place. His teasing smile disappears, and he turns to Haldir, looking alarmed. He calls out in that unknown language, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, though the motion makes me feel worse.

“Come on, you’re in my dream, so you can at least speak a language I understand!”

Baranor twists to study my face, his frown deepening. He joins the indecipherable conversation.

“Not you, too,” I whine, glaring accusingly at him. Stupidly, I had already come to see him as a sort of ally. All four of them ignore me which is quite rude, considering they’re obviously talking about me. Their discussion grows heated—they’re arguing.

Dark spots dance in my line of vision and I groan, wanting to lie down. Baranor tightens his grip around me, and his voice rises in volume. Does he have to be so loud?

Haldir barks out something that sounds very much like an order, and I focus long enough to see him mount his horse. Rumil releases my shoulder, sparing me the quickest of looks before returning to his own steed. Before I can process what’s happening, Baranor uses his grip on me to guide me towards the tall chestnut stallion.

I guess his intent.

“No!” I begin to fight against his hold. “I don’t want—”

“Hush now, it will be alright,” he soothes, his hands tightening on me as I try to get away. “We do not know of the realm you speak, but we are on a journey to a trusted friend—a wise friend—who may be able to help you. We will take you with us.”

I go stiff in his arms, weighing my options.

I have no reason to trust his word. But they haven’t hurt me yet, and the fact remains that I have no idea where I am. I probably wouldn’t fare any better on the riverbank. I don’t have food, or supplies, or a map. And traveling with them would allow me to see more of the landscape. Maybe we’ll pass a city, and I can sneak away. And from there…

Well, that’s a problem for later.

So, resigned to my situation for the time being, I nod. Baranor gives me a look of relief—I imagine he has no desire to lift a kicking woman onto a horse—and releases my shoulders to kneel and lock his hands together. I don’t particularly like heights, and this animal is much too tall for my liking, but everything about this day has been absolutely insane. I may as well get on the unpredictable beast. Baranor pushes on my foot as I pull on the horses’s mane. A second later, I’m sat firmly on the animal, Baranor in front of me. I look down to see how high up I am—a clear mistake, especially given the dizziness that hasn’t quite receded—and immediately wrap my arms around Baranor’s stomach. It’s difficult, given the armor he wears, but I manage, seeing as it gives me extra insurance that I won’t go tumbling to the ground.

“Get my attention if you feel faint,” he murmurs, taking the reins in his hands. “There is a canteen of water near your right foot if you get thirsty.”

And, before I can contemplate if I have the core strength to reach for the water and stay on the horse, we’re off, racing along the riverbank and leaving behind any chance I have of turning back.

A/n Thanks for reading! As always, comments, likes, and reblogs are so appreciated. Let me know if you would like a tag! See you on Thursday with Chapter Two :)

|next part - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you -- check your settings! 

[nortromthesilencer]

There was something to be said for sound. There was even more to be said for silence. Right now, all that was being said was muffled by screaming down the hall.  “Are they always that beligerant?” Nortrom ran a hand down his face and side eyed the robed man beside him. He had agreed to at least entertain the idea of employment under the Quorum, even if he was given little idea of what they wanted. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected them to suggest presiding over imprisoned mages... Ok, no, that actually did sound rather plausible given who he was.  Shaking his head, the other merely chuckled. “Wouldn’t you be if sentenced to hell? But no, some are quite well behaved.” He was smaller than Nortrom by quite a bit, face contoured with a grey beard that accented just how pale his features where. This was the one currently presiding over this prison, the so called “Tyler Estate”, as it faced a transitionary period.  “Right.” Not sure what to think about all of this, Nortrom kept to himself mostly as the tour continued. They had offered him leadership over the place, complete operations control so long as retaining loyalty and oath to the Quorum. In return, the Order of Aeol Drias was offered protection, resources, and as many test subjects as they could ever want for arcane study. Of course with an offer like that his Order was rushing the Silencer to accept.  “I’m surprised, honestly. Why would you be so keen in passing over the role of Warden?” People loved power. There had to be a catch. And yet, the question didn’t even phase his guide, who shrugged, “Because I never wanted it in the first place. I’m not a leader, I’m not able to command any sort of authority over others. Come now, do you think any would fear or respect me? Hah. No no--” He rubbed his hands together, clasping them afterwards, “--I know this isn’t something I can or want to do. I’m sure you’ve suspected, but your role isn’t the safest in the world here as Warden. You will be hated by man, feared by many more, and face the disdain of the prisoner’s themselves. Such a target I couldn’t bear.” Ah, there it was. Not that Nortrom hadn’t already considered those possibilities. The Tyler Estate was a place for mages to go that had defied the rules of Weepingrose and the Quorum. Those condemned seldom left, and even then there was little left of their sanity to return to the world. Why wouldn’t the casters of Weepingrose fear the one that could so easily hold their entire existence in his hands?  The Silencer was jostled from his thoughts as the man continued once more, “We all feel your skills will be most valuable in... how should I put this... keeping the peace?” Another raspy chuckle, “Though I’m sure the Quorum knows more of your abilities than I. What I can say though, is that it was almost as if you were made for this sort of role...” The comment hit Nortrom harder than expected, even if he showed no external reaction. It was rather strange just how well of a fit he was for this, in way much more extensive than just his powers. “Just because I agreed to look around and hear them out, doesn’t mean I’ve accepted anything.”  “No. Of course not. Please, let us continue the tour...”

[helioark]

A Guide to the Amber Woods 

This blog, its writings, and its characters are all copyright to the author of this blog. All opinions and ideas expressed within are not guaranteed to be factual and are the product of the blog owner’s research and creativity. Trust not the Fae. 

… 

Where Am I?

Welcome to the Amber Woods. Currently located in the midst of the verdant depths of the Willamette Valley, the Amber Woods are the haunting grounds of an ancient, secretive Archfaerie, fallen from grace and on the run from his past.  He answers to The Warden (or Cecil, if you’re on good terms) and he lives in a strange-looking cabin by the river, selling trinkets made of amber and glass for unusual forms of payment. The sun is red in the sky, and the shadows of the trees are long against the ferns. It’s hard to concentrate with the sound of the river so loud in your ears, which is odd, because you’re nowhere near it. You keep walking, because you came here for a reason.

What was it again?

Who’s Who?

The Author

Hi! My name is James, I’m the (very human) author of this blog. I hail from the misty locales of Oregon, where the rain is our sunshine and you end up in the town center of TIllamook no matter how many times you think you’ve left it. I’m a self-diagnosed mythology nerd and a semi-consistent creative writer with a love for horror and fantasy. I run this blog to practice my writing, interact with people who enjoy the topics I write about, and to give myself an outlet to express my love for the weird shit I find on the internet. Most posts that are not focused on faerie mythology, eldritch/occult stuff, or similar are the things that I post. Almost all of that content can be found under the hashtag [# not the warden], or if I’m lazy, no hashtag at all. If you want to ask me about my research, creative story lines, or just tell me about your day, my inbox is always open! 

The Warden 

The Warden is the character I run this blog as. He is my original creation, though he is heavily inspired by several Celtic, Irish, and British folkloric legends. In the Amber Woods canon, the Warden and I are separate people that exist at the same time. Almost all of the content that The Warden deals with is tagged [# the warden speaks]. 

The Warden will answer asks about the Fae, his past, or the occult, and does business through the inbox. It is not necessary to do business in order to ask a question, and asking a question does not require payment. If you wish to buy amber from the Warden, he will expect you to give him something valuable in return. The Warden will make a post with the hashtag [ # restocking] to announce that the inbox is open for amber selling, and a post with the hashtag [ # out of stock] to indicate that it is closed. As with all transactions with the Fae, mind your manners and your words. The Warden is kind but will not hesitate to rob you. General offerings are also appreciated, and will be used to make lunch. As with all faeries, follow the rules. Additionally, never mention crows.

If you would like to hear it, below is part of The Warden’s story. Also found below is the tag directory and some necessary disclaimers. I hope you enjoy your visit to the Amber Woods! If you don’t, well, that’s hardly our fault, is it? 

. . . 

The Warden is an ex-Archfaerie of the High Court of Summer, where he ruled at the right hand of the Midsummer Queen herself and was responsible for defending the Courts of Summer against defamation and attack. He hails from one of the first generations of the Aos Sí, born on the edges of the last great war between the Fomorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann, rescued from near certain death by Ghillie Dhu and given to his sister for safekeeping. He is the eighth child of the Last Great King, younger sibling to the seventh daughter, the powerful sídhe who would eventually come to rule the Summer Courts.

 He ruled as commander of the armies of midsummer and guardian of the great emerald woods of the hills for nigh on six thousand years, becoming known to many humans as The Green Knight. The story of his downfall is not mine to tell, but after committing a great act of treason against the Queen, he fled the Summer Court and wandered the edges of the feywilds for another three thousand years, acquiring enemies and friends alike, hiding his face, never speaking his own name. Some say that the legend of Crom Dubh stems from this period, but the Warden denies this. 

After some time, The Warden wandered a little too close to the edges of the world and discovered the truth of his past, hidden from him by his sister. He chased these threads of history into the twilight hell of the Gloaming Courts, and he currently refuses to tell anyone anything else about what happened then besides the fact that he stole an artifact of great power and barely escaped with his life. Using this artifact, the Amber Woods were created, and the Warden finds himself now haunting the forests of the Pacific Northwest, exchanging the bereft dreams and wishes of humans for amber. He hides from the Queen of Midsummer yet, but he swears that someday, he will reclaim his inheritance. How, I do not know.

… 

How to Navigate the Woods

Taglist: 

[ # the warden speaks]: Denotes a post that the warden has reblogged or added onto. 

[ # not the warden / # the author speaks]: Denotes a post that I have reblogged or added onto out of character.

[ # machinations of the fae]: Denotes a post that describes an action, creation, or person belonging to faerie lore that isn’t about the warden.  

[ # abominations of the fae]: Denotes a post about non-faerie cryptids, beasts, or other affronts to sensibility. 

[ # teaching the mortals how to speak with faeries]: Denotes a post where someone breaks a rule of faerie etiquette in the ask box. 

[ # under hill / # under hill and stone]: Denotes a post about the feywilds or faerie geography, usually. 

[ # four courts under hill]: Denotes a post about the seasonal faerie courts. 

[ # tales of the tuath de]: Denotes a post about or concerning Celtic, Irish, or Gaelic mythology.

[ # the unspoken rules of the amber woods / the unspoken rules]: Denotes a post that is part of the Unspoken Rules series, either about the Amber Woods or a mundane place 

[ # amber sales]: Denotes a post about the selling of amber through the ask box.

[ # restocking]: Denotes a post about opening the inbox for amber sales.

[ # out of stock]: Denotes a post about closing the inbox for amber sales.

[ # fear not! / # be not afraid]: Denotes a post about angels.

[ # nicene lore]: Denotes a post about specifically Christian or Catholic lore.

[ # eldritch thread]: Denotes a post that interacts with several other eldritch or occult blogs. 

[ # sigilcraft]: Denotes a post about the Author’s sigilwork.

[ # ____ cw]: Any content warnings will follow this format: (thing i’m content warning) cw. If you would like me to content warn a specific thing, message me.

[ # blogname]: Denotes a post specifically interacting with a blog. 

[ # f scott fitzgerald’s reanimated corpse]: Denotes a post about F. Scott Fitzgerald’s reanimated corpse.

[ # hillkeeping]: Tagged onto any post that details changes made to the blog, its workings, and/or its lore. 

I will add more as necessary. 

… 

Hillkeeping

This blog sometimes interacts with @thetatteredveil and @normal-horoscopes. It was inspired by both of these blogs and does not claim any canonicity within said blogs. Both blogs exist within the Amber Woods canon; none of their content is considered my intellectual property.  

If you would like to create a blog or character within the Amber Woods canon, message me! I would love to work with other creators and writers. 

As stated above, all information and creative licence posted within this blog cannot be considered consistently factual. I have done surface-level research on the common Gaelic, Irish, and Scottish folklore and mythology that forms the basis of my characters and stories. Check your facts and consult with experts, of which I do not consider myself one. 

Finally, friends, be kind to each other and the world you live in. You have no idea what listens to you when you think you are alone.

[howtohero]

#300.1: Saving the World Part 1

Prologue

The Haberdashery

“Hi, my name is Murk. I am a mud monster and a product of mad science, but I am also an accountant and a lover of classical music. For most of my existence I have tried to simply live a regular life in an increasingly strange world.”

The conference room in Hatman’s Haberdashery was filled with all manner of colorfully clad, or just plain colorful, superheroes, super-trainees, monsters, vampires, werewolves, sewer-mutants, Da Vincis and even a smattering of regular civilians who looked tired, angry, but overall fearless. According to Leonardo Da Vinci II, an android duplicate of the original from the far future, there had never been such an eclectic gathering of people in all of history. They had gathered — or been gathered — because the world, and life as they all knew it, hung in the balance. The world’s supervillains, led by a formerly low rate smuggler named Smuggles, had managed to do the unthinkable, they’d taken over the world, and in doing so they’d imprisoned most of the world’s heroes, world leaders, and superhero bloggers, in a secret prison. The oddball assembly was the Resistance, and at the moment each of them had their eyes on Murk. Some looked at him with confusion, he was by far the most eloquent mud monster they’d ever heard. Some looked at him in awe, over the past several weeks, Murk had rescued many of them from danger and had inspired them to join him in his fight. A few looked at him with pride, they knew him from before you see, and as far as they were concerned, that made his heroics their heroics.

(“I know that guy from before,”) Parenthetical Guy whispered to the warthog-mask wearing man sitting to his left. (“And as far as I’m concerned, that makes his heroics my heroics.)

{“I work with that guy, he does my taxes,”} Curly whispered, nudging Hatman who was looking forlornly toward the room’s exit. There were far too many people between him and it, and it was causing him no shortage of distress.

“When the heroes fell,” Murk continued. “It immediately became apparent that I, and many others like me, could no longer afford the luxury of standing to the side. For a long time I, and many of my ‘monstrous’ ilk have been more than happy to allow superheroes to handle the world’s problems for us. Whenever our homes, our lives, our world came under threat we all said to one another, ‘well, that looks like a job for superheroes,’ and we declined to act. When the heroes fell I saw how selfish I had been. And so I would like to be the first to extend my heartfelt thanks, and my sincerest apologies to the brave heroes who have gathered here today. I, along with my partner and friend, Lawyer Guy have gathered as many civilians as we could. Regular monsters and people who have cowered from or turned a blind eye to the acts of the villains who have dared to subjugate us, and we have come here to offer our assistance. If you’ll have us, we would like to help in any way we can.”

His speech concluded, Murk quickly sat down next to Lawyer Guy who smiled warmly at him. A few people sitting near him muttered polite words of affirmation toward the hulking mud man but everyone quickly became silent once more as somebody else strode to the head of the table.

Everybody in the room, everybody in the world, recognized the gold and white costume, the chiseled, stony features, and the piercing blue eyes of Ultiman. He was the superhero par excellence and when he clapped Murk on the shoulder and smiled widely, Murk’s ragtag civilian crew let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank you Murk,” Ultiman said. “Thank you everyone. As I’m sure you can see, our numbers are small but our members are dedicated and we are thrilled to be able to count each of you among us. I’m confident that, working together, we can depose Smuggles and his entire Consortium of Crime.”

                                                          ***

Smuggles’s Secret Prison

My name is Zachary Schechter and I’d been locked up for a while by the time anybody had made any noise about breaking out. You may know me as the creator, author, and only functioning brain behind How To Hero. Actually you definitely know me as that. It’s a very popular blog. Just take my word on this ok? I was in a secret prison because I allowed my subordinates to talk me into hiring a known supervillain to, let’s see, live in our basement and interject unwanted comments into my blog. As it would happen, this supervillain, Smuggles, took the job as part of some kind of protracted and complicated plan to take over the world. I should have seen that coming of course. That’s basically the only reason any supervillain does anything. For a few weeks I was alone there. Just sitting in a cell twiddling my thumbs. Trying to make conversation with the drones they had guarding the place. The only thing they’d given me to eat is fish. I imagine Chuck the Fish Whisperer had something to do with that. Frikkin supervillains and their sycophantic dedication to their own themes. But then a ton of superheroes ended up there with me, and I knew things on the outside had taken a decisive turn for the worse. The heroes were all stripped of their costumes and gear, and were given supervillain costumes instead. It’s all spikes, horns, and red contact lenses now. It’s a bit silly, but I think the idea is that if the heroes are dressed like villains and forced to do things like play evil charades and watch movies about heroes turning bad, then some of them might actually turn evil. Actually, I know that’s the idea, but I’ll get to that later. Eventually Cowboy Rockstar, the coolest hero of all time, decided to stage some kind of jailbreak. Which was great. And he wanted me to help him plan it, probably because of my proven expertise in all manner of superhero related topics. I bet it was my treatise on the many superheroic uses of drills that got his attention. There was just one teeny tiny problem though...

“So what do you think?” Cowboy Rockstar whispered.

“I think… I think that I designed this prison,” I whispered dejectedly.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was recreation time once again, and Giorgio the Evil Mime had selected an assortment of clips of superheroes becoming evil from various films and TV shows. It’s really shocking how many times Hollywood has returned to the well of “a superhero clad in red, white, and blue murders a person.” We must’ve watched like thirty different clips already. 

“Look, Mr. Rockstar, I appreciate you coming to me and all. It’s an honor to meet you and plot in hushed voices with you and everything. But I’m like 90% certain that I designed this prison. And I don’t know about you but Iitalics certainly wouldn’t have designed a prison that people could break outitalics of.”

Cowboy Rockstar furrowed his brow, “Ah, you’re saying this prison is… from your blog?”

I held up my hands defensively. “Hey, I know how it sounds but look around you. The costumes, the robots, the charades. It’s literally ripped straight from my post about running your own unsanctioned prison.”

“You wrote a guide to running an off the books blacksite for housing criminals?” Cowboy Rockstar arched an immaculate eyebrow. “That’s not really a very superheroic activity.”

“Huh. When you put it like that it’s really no wonder that the only person who seems to have implemented any of it is a supervillain who seems to have taken over the world.”

“He had help,” I heard somebody grumble from Cowboy Rockstar’s other side.

Helm Lady was one of the only Hatman proteges to both survive to adulthood and continue her career as a superhero, so it was hardly surprising that she’d been able to sneak up on us. 

“Helm Lady, good of you to join us!” Cowboy Rockstar said. “Zach over here was just telling me about how he designed this prison to be unescapable! Isn’t that exciting.”

“Hardly,” Helm Lady said glumly.

“I gotta agree with her on this one,” I said. 

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been given a rare opportunity to outdo yourself in a grandiose and practical way! You’ve been here longer than anybody. It seems like Smuggles has some kind of vendetta against you specifically, and so he’s used your own tactics against you! Now, with our help of course, you can show everybody that you’re smarter than you!” Cowboy Rockstar was gesticulating wildly at this point drawing a sharp and reproachful glare from warden Giorgio. 

“Hm,” I said, I had already written a guide to escapology. Maybe I’d already unwittingly outwitted myself. Besides, Smuggles’s prison wasn’t actually an exact copy of the one I’d designed on the blog. He’d had to make some changes to prevent it from having any real rehabilitative value. Dressing the prisoners like villains instead of heroes for instance. And villain costumes are very different from hero costumes. They’re like eighty percent sharp edges. I looked Cowboy Rockstar up and down. The costume they had him in had spikes up and down his arms. Maybe we could use them to pick the locks on our cell? We’d still have to deal with the robot guards and who knows what else. But maybe that was a place to start.

“Ok,” I said after a moment. “I’m sure we can come up with something, after all, as I say

on my blog, when you’re in a locked room, anything can be a key.” 

Cowboy Rockstar grinned and gestured around the room at the assorted superheroes that were locked in with us, “And we’ve certainly got an eclectic bunch of keys here haven’t we.”

I smiled and looked around the room, maybe this could actually work.

                                                         ***

“If I had an iPod and a busted time machine we could do this in a snappy montage and be out in no time,” I grumbled to Cowboy Rockstar.

It was the next day, and our recreation activity was something called “evil baseball.” There’s no batters, no outfield, and the only umpire was a deranged mime. The only real resemblance it had to regular “non-evil” baseball, was the fact that there were four bases, and players could steal bases. In fact, the game was pretty much just stealing bases. Because stealing is a crime get it? Ugh, the sooner we got out of there and stopped Smuggles the better. Cowboy Rockstar was manning first base for his team, and I’d just stolen first. I suspected it was because Helm Lady, the “pitcher” for Cowboy Rockstar’s team, had allowed me to get to first so we could chat. It might have been because I’m really athletic though. It’s hard to say. 

“I don’t think that’s how anything works,” Cowboy Rockstar said.

“Oh what do you know?”

“A lot, I’ve unknotted several time paradoxes you know. Some experts even say that I ‘invented’ the current iteration of this timeline.”

“Ah, so this is all your fault.”

“Nice try, I didn’t give Smuggles access to an interdimensional warp gate so he could free his fish whispering friend from his prison.”

“Touche.”

“What have you got?”

“I was thinking, we know that Smuggles has everybody’s powers neutralized inside this prison right?”

“Yes.”

“Well not every hero has powers to begin with,” I started. “And there are few people here with relevant talents that Smuggles can’t turn off.”

“Talents such as?”

Giorgio blew his whistle. Apparently I’d spent too long dawdling at first base without even trying to steal second.

“I guess whistling doesn’t go against the mime code of silence,” I grumbled as I started to edge off of first base. 

“Talents such as?” Cowboy Rockstar repeated before I took off.

I nodded towards his team’s second baseman.

“Being a giant rock monster with seven hands,” I said before racing off toward Rockblock.

                                                         ***

The next night I laid awake, staring up at the ceiling of my cell, going over what was slowly starting to look like a plan again and again. If Cowboy Rockstar could use the many razor sharp spikes on his villain costume to pick the locks on his cell, — and he’d assured me that he could, upside down, in his sleep — and then get to the others, Rockblock could probably serve as our muscle until we got out and the other heroes got their powers back. He’d need to fight off dozens of battle drones though. No, that wasn’t much of a plan. Muscle was great, but we’d need some other way to guarantee the drones would stay off of us until we got outside. I consulted the scrap of paper I had hidden in the palm of my hand, directed away from any prying eyes or cameras. The scrap had been discretely slipped into the pocket of my hoodie by Helm Lady. She’d managed to steal a pencil during Evil Mad Libs, and had taken the liberty of jotting down everybody who we knew was imprisoned here. “Our list of keys,” as Cowboy Rockstar had called it. We needed to keep the circle of people who knew that we were planning a breakout small for now. That way there’d be less of a chance of any villains or drones getting wind of it. So Cowboy Rockstar wanted me to identify anybody who might be especially useful in the actual breakout, whereupon we’d obviously free the rest of the prisoners. I consulted the list again, mentally sorting the manifest into those who had powers, and thus were less likely to be especially useful without the use of them, and those who didn’t have powers, and therefore were pretty much operating at 100% effectiveness. There’s another thing I didn’t account for in my own designs, sucks to be you Smuggles. That’s what happens when you build your top secret superhero prison based on the musings of a comedy blog instead of doing your own work you frikkin goon. I circled a couple of names on my illicit scrap of paper and was just about ready to smugly smile myself to sleep when I noticed a faint buzzing. My first thought was wall bees. You wouldn’t believe how often strange buzzing sounds in the How To Hero office ended up being bees in the wall. But this buzzing was more mechanical and well, I guess it must have been there since I was first thrown into this dump. I had managed to sublimate it into the background noise of my time here but now in the dead of the night I was able to really listen to it finally. I tentatively got off of my threadbare cot and walked the length of my small cell. The buzzing was, as I’d feared, strongest by the door. Which could only mean one thing. Door bees! No, I’m kidding, it meant that the old fashioned deadbolt lock was either just for show, or just one part of the cell doors’ security systems. There was some kind of electronic component as well. One that probably wouldn’t be able to be thwarted with some evil-looking spikes. I looked at my scrap once more, I’d have to have a conversation with one of the other prisoners tomorrow. 

                                                         ***

“Professor Flay,” I whispered as I took a seat next to a glasses-wearing black man decked out in a purple jumpsuit with a skull belt buckle. 

“Yes?” the man said, clearly startled, “I’m sorry I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“My name’s Zach, and I’m a fan of your Big Book of Fake Science.”

“Um, are you referring to my Complete Compendium of Improbable Science,” Professor Lucius Flay replied.

“Shoot, is that what it’s called? I knew it was something like that, only my buddy lost the cover and title page in a bet with a supervillain we knew who needed them to power his cover and title page powered doomsday device,” I explained quickly.

Professor Flay flared his nostrils, “And you have the nerve to insinuate that my science is fake. Is there a point to this, I don’t want to miss this performance.”

Our villainous rehabilitation activity for the day was “evil karaoke” only songs with the word “bad” in the title were allowed to be performed. Cowboy Rockstar was currently belting out an honestly breathtaking rendition of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”. It was an especially loud and especially drawn out version of the song, so that Professor Flay and I could converse in relative peace.

“What kind of scientist would you say you are Professor?”

“If you must know, I consider myself to be more or less omnidisciplinary,” Professor Flay said.

“That means you dabble in a little bit of everything right?”

“Everything scientific.”

“And that’s not a superpower thing right? You came by all that knowledge on your own?”

Professor Flay waved a dismissive hand at me, “Of course I did. I studied for years to get to where I am today. Sure I may have had to break a few time travel regulations to do it, but otherwise, I come by my intellect fair and square.”

“Excellent!” I shouted a little too loudly. “This is the best version of ‘Bad Romance’ I’ve ever heard!” I quickly added, to cover myself.

“Yeah it’s so good that they should call it ‘Good Romance!’” Rockblock shouted, no doubt trying to help me out.

Unfortunately though, that was the wrong thing to say. Giorgio the Mime certainly couldn’t allow anything gooditalics to happen in this evil facility, so he quickly put the kibosh on Cowboy Rockstar’s performance, much to the chagrin of everyone else in the room. I thought I even saw a drone flash a frowny face. The drones then started ferrying us out of the room and back to our individual cells.

“How much do you know about electronic locks?” I quickly asked as I pressed my scrap of paper in between Professor Flay’s belt and jumpsuit. 

Realization flashed across Professor Flay’s face. 

“Ah,” he said. “Enough.”

I hoped he was right.

                                                         ***

The next day our recreational activity was evil baking. There were several different stations set up in the auditorium, each with ingredients set up to make different evil foods. I ambled past “exploding pies”, “sentient food that will actively beg for its life as you eat it”, and “kale cookies” before taking a seat next to Cowboy Rockstar at the “general poisons” table. Helm Lady and Rockblock were already there, and I noticed Helm Lady was taking special care not to touch any of the ingredients on the table. Rockblock, being made entirely out of stone and cando spirit, began handling the various herbs and toxins and following the recipe. I guess they’d decided that somebody at our table had to be doing something to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. 

“Where’s Professor Flay?” I asked.

“He just walked in,” Cowboy Rockstar said, nodding toward the door, where a contingent of drones were herding in another batch of prisoners. 

“Over here!” Rockblock bellowed, waving three of his giant hands while the other four mixed and mashed various ingredients.

“Quiet,” Helm Lady snarled. I was beginning to regret bringing Rockblock in on our plans so early. 

Still, Professor Flay managed to get the message and made his way over to our table.

“Hello everybody,” he said as he sat down next to Helm Lady. He wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of what Rockblock was mixing in his bowl. “What are we making?”

“Sulfide sausages,” Rockblock replied.

“Lovely.”

“So?” I asked, raising my eyebrow inquisitively at the professor.

Professor Flay glanced around and, confident that there were no drones within listening distance, leaned in conspiratorially.

“I can build the device you described but-”

“Hey guys, sorry I didn’t come right away. I wanted to do a lap to see if there were any other cooler tables,” a pale skinned man clad in black chainmail and sporting thick rimmed glasses said as he sat down at our table.

“Er… what?” I asked.

“I know Rockblock called me over, but I’m not just going to sit down at the first table that offers me a spot, am I?” the other man replied as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say.

“Uh, I was actually talking to Professor Flay,” Rockblock said.

The bespectacled man laughed, “Oh Rockblock, I’d heard your sense of humor was legendary.”

Rockblock looked confused but Helm Lady put a hand on one of his arms.

“What do you want Glassesman?” 

“Helm Lady! Great to see you. How’s the old man?”

“We don’t talk.”

“Oh, is that right? Poor Hats never could keep a protege.” 

“Glassesman.” I said, interjecting before things escalated. “You weren’t on the list. When did you get here?”

“Oh, just recently. I wasn’t captured with the rest of you in the first wave.”

Cowboy Rockstar ignored the jab and leaned forward. “Are you saying that Smuggles has found whatever resistance there is? Where’s Ultiman?”

“Keep your ten-gallon hat on buckaroo, the resistance is fine such as it is. I was deep undercover in Smuggles’ operation, but I got found out.”

“No surprise there. You probably started handing out promotional sunglasses to all the villains as soon as you got in there,” Helm Lady muttered.

“Hey, supervillains are a market I have yet to break into. This was a rare networking opportunity for me!”

What a tool.

“Enough,” Cowboy Rockstar said, making sure to keep his voice even.

“What’s with all the hushed tones,” Glassesman said, looking us all up and down.

“Ah,” he said when he’d completed his appraisal. “You’re planning a break out.”

“No we’re n-” Helm Lady started but Glassesman held up his hand.

“Oh please, you’ve got a scientist, a jack-of-all-trades, a bruiser, a non-powered combatant and a…” he faltered when he got to me.

“Blogger,” I said curtly.

Glassesman raised an eyebrow but kept going, “So don’t try to keep me out of this, I’m non-powered too, and I can fight better than a Hatb- sorry exitalics-Hatboy any day of the week.”

Cowboy Rockstar looked as though he was going to say something to get rid of Glassesman but he just sighed and gestured to Professor Flay.

“Fine, sure. Professor you were saying?”

“Um, well, yes. I can build the… device, you asked for but I can’t do it from thin air. I need something to work from.”

We all sat in silence for a moment. I guess it was too much to ask for an omni-disciplinaryitalics super-scientist to be able to whip up an EMP device out of whatever he could find in his prison cell. I’d be sure to inform whatever board certifies omni-disciplinary scientists to amend an asterisk to Professor Flay’s credentials when we got out of here.

“Could you build it out of whatever those things are made of?” Glassesman said, jerking a thumb towards one of the drones.

Professor Flay appraised it, “It appears to run on a lithioplasmic core with a carbon-electrum chassis. Assuming there’s a terrakon multispacial chip rattling around in or near its processor… Yes, I wouldn’t even need too much of it. Just a chunk from the chest if I had to guess.”

“Excellent,” Glassesman said before he stood up and flipped over our table. “And you can tell that cap clad crank that I’m twice the hero he ever was!”

Helm Lady smirked and wordlessly lunged at him, wrapping her long fingers around his neck. Professor Flay and I quickly took cover behind the table. Flay because he was a nerd and wasn’t about to get involved in a fist fight between two highly trained combatants. And me to protect Flay naturally. We needed him fit enough to build us the EMP, I couldn’t exactly leave him. Cowboy Rockstar jumped on Glassesman’s back and tried to pull him away while Rockblock scrambled to gather up the ingredients from his poison. A stray pellet of congealed arsenic bounced over to me and I scooped it up into my hoodie. You never know, right? 

In a minute several drones were trundling over to our little group trying to break up the fight. They’d just about managed to pry Cowboy Rockstar, Glassesman and Helm Lady apart when Rockblock let out a deafening roar and joined the fray, sending a handful of drones flying as he growled something incoherent about how hard he’d been working on perfecting his recipe. By this time the other assembled heroes were all looking toward us, but before anybody else could get any ideas about joining the riot, more drones than I’d even realized were in the prison poured into the auditorium and surrounded my friends. Finally managing to pull them apart.

The rest of the heroes, myself and Professor Flay included, were now being rounded up by some of the drones while most of them were being engaged by six of Rockblock’s giant fists. As we walked by though, I noticed his seventh appendage experly flick a chunk of metal in our direction. I stumbled slightly, bending over quickly to grab the robot chunk. And then discretely passed it to Professor Flay before we were split off to return to our own cells.

“I’ll have it done before tonight,” he said to me as he palmed the misshapen blob of metal and wiring. 

I nodded and smiled, by that time tomorrow we’d be out of that forsaken prison and saving the world.

                                                         ***

Night fell, and I paced anxiously around the length of my cell. Assuming Professor Flay was able to work as quickly as he claimed he was able to. And assuming Rockblock had gotten him exactly what he needed. And assuming Cowboy Rockstar and Glassesman and Helm Lady were able to pick the locks on their cells when the time came. And assuming Rockblock could keep any guards off of us. And assuming- Well, there were a lot of assumptions before I’d be tasting fresh air. Our plan was hardly fool proof, and we had at least two or three fools on our team, depending on who you asked. We were making a few too many assumptions for my liking. But it was the best we had, so I guess that was that. There was nothing I could do except wait for something to happen. 

And when something happened, everything happened.

First there was a deafening boom, followed by a shockwave that traveled quickly throughout the cell block. If I hadn’t been deafened by the explosion, I would have noticed that the electronic buzzing I’d heard had gone silent. Professor Flay’s homebrewed EMP had worked. I ran to the door and saw several guard drones collapsed on the ground. Their cybernetic features were blank. 

Seconds later three cell doors swung open and Cowboy Rockstar, Helm Lady, and Glassesman strode out. Glassesman looked especially smug, even though he was the last one out. The other two were such pros, they decided to let it slide. They quickly started working on picking the locks on the other cells. Helm Lady sprung Rockblock first, just in case there were any drones outside the EMP’s radius that might’ve been trundling our way. Professor Flay’s EMP was a one-shot kind of deal so we’d have to fight or evade any other drones we encountered. 

“So far so good eh?” Cowboy Rockstar grinned as he unlocked the door to my cell.

“So far, yeah,” I said anxiously. “We’re pretty much flying blind from here on out th- Woah!”

I took a step back into my cell as Cowboy Rockstar became enveloped in a brilliant white light. I stood agape as he began hovering a few inches off the ground and the light faded into his body. 

“What was that?” I asked.

Cowboy Rockstar landed adroitly on the ground and checked his pulse with two of his fingers.

“It’s… I think the EMP must have shorted out whatever device was neutralizing our powers in here,” Cowboy Rockstar said. His fists began crackling with energy.

I looked up and down the hall of cells. Powerful glows or crumpled cell doors told me that many of the other heroes were starting to regain access to their powers. 

“Well that certainly changes the game,” I said as I began taking stock of all of the new keys we’d just acquired.

                                                         ***

We quickly divided into a few teams: 

Team One: Nightron, Foresight P. Jones, and Intangi-Bill. None of us had been outside since we’d arrived in the prison and so none of us actually knew where the exit was. Team one would use their respective speed, supervision and intangibility in concert to find a way out.

Team Two: Cowboy Rockstar, Rockblock, and Cannonballer: Baller of Cannons. Our heavy hitters. If anybody could break straight through the walls that surrounded us to the outside it was them.

Team Three: Professor Flay, Electrobug, Digitalized, Psionica. They set about trying to cobble together weapons and gear from the broken husks of the drones that we had at our disposal.

Team Four: Captain Patriot, Brad the Radioactive Man, Amphin, Glassesman, Helm Lady and the Human Wall. The best offense is a strong defense, and if any of our other teams were going to have any hope of doing what they needed to do, they’d need somebody keeping Giorgio and whatever drones he could scrounge together off of their backs. 

Team Five: Dr. Hemer, Knife Knurse, and Super Surgeon. A lot of heroes were suffering painful side-effects either from the sudden reemergence of their superpowers or the power-deprivation they’d been suffering since they’d gotten here. Anybody who had any sort of medical knowledge would tend to them until we get help on the outside.

Team Six: Just me. My job was to come up with the team names and I’m not ashamed to admit that I totally phoned it in.

I was sitting back and taking stock of the other teams’ progress when a gust of wind informed me of Nightron’s return. 

“We’re not the only prisoners here,” he said panting, parts of his supervillain costume were singed, he must have encountered other guards elsewhere in the facility.

“You’re sure?” I asked frantically. I’m not sure why it had never occurred to me that there might be other prisoners somewhere in this facility. But I had only ever seen the heroes that were in that corridor at communal recreational events.

“Positive, there are maybe five or six other cell blocks just like this one. They’ve got dozens of other superheroes here. But that’s not all. World leaders, para-folk, some civilians. I think I even saw some sort of zoo,” Nightron said.

“Probably for animal sidekicks and the like,” I mused aloud. “Were you followed back here?”

“No, but they saw who I was. I’m sure they know where I’m supposed to be. It won’t be long before we have company here.”

“You’re right. Professor, how are those weapons coming!” I shouted towards where Team Three was working.

“My EMP seems to have worked a little too well, there’s no resteoring powers to these machines, but Psionica has managed to use her telekinetic abilities to reform some chunks of metal into clubs.”

“That’ll have to do,” I said. “Nightron, grab a few of those clubs, if anybody comes you’ll join Team Four. Hit them hard and hit them fast.”

“But what about the other prisoners?” Nightron protested.

“We need to break ourselves out before we can worry about anybody else,” Glassesman said.

“I hate to admit it but he’s right,” Helm Lady agreed.

“Yeah but-” and then, in a whoosh he was gone, because it was at that moment that a platoon of drones filed into our hallway. Two of them hit the ground, their CPUs bashed in by Nightron, before the rest of us even registered what was happening but once we did, the rest of Team Four, sprung into action. 

“Zach, over here,” Professor Flay called.

I ran over to him, he passed me a makeshift club and we formed a defensive ring around our medics and the wounded along with the rest of Team Three.

“We are through!” Cannonballer: Baller of Cannons cried.

We helped Team Five get to the large gap in the wall that Team Two had formed as Rockblock and Cowboy Rockstar went to join the fray in the corridor. 

“We may have problem,” Cannonballer: Baller of Cannons muttered to us as we joined her outside.

Problem was an understatement. For one thing, the sky was a murky blend of purples, oranges, and reds, and I know I haven’t been doing a ton of “world-building” in this dramatic account of my escape from a supervillain run supermax, but the sky we were all used to seeing was definitely blue. The ground we were standing on was somehow both dusty and crumbly. Every step we took sent a cloud of dust and ground flakes into the air. And we couldn’t see any other signs of life or civilization anywhere at all. I had always assumed that we would be somewhere inconspicuous but local, so that Smuggles could keep an eye on us, but it appeared as though we were in the middle of nowhere with no way of getting to the middle of anywhere. 

“What… What is this place?” Professor Flay said.

“Beats me,” I said with a shrug. When I designed this prison for How To Hero I recommended finding a large unused building with reinforced walls that was situated in a place that no cops would ever be caught dead anywhere near. There are literally four or five places like that within a twenty block radius of How To Hero headquarters so where the hell were we. Unless… crap.

“Atomspace,” I said. “We’ve been shrunken down and sent to a prison in Atomspace.”

“Well,” Professor Flay said, taking in our otherworldly surroundings. “That creates a wrinkle in our plans doesn’t it.”

“It certainly does,” I agreed.

And that’s when everything went black.

                                                         ***

I awoke, chained to a chair, in what may very well have been the most garishly decorated room I had ever seen. And Parenthetical Guy once painted our office neon green and creamsicle orange so that was saying something. The walls were all a deep blood red and there were various supervillainous accoutrements mounted all over the walls. Scary looking masks, futuristic blasters, esoteric looking staffs. A giant serpent’s head wearing oversized sunglasses was mounted on the wall directly opposite me. Below the serpent head sat an ornate, obsidian desk with a high backed leather chair behind it. The carpet was the color of rotting bones, which made a lot of sense when I realized that it wasn’t really a carpet at all, but rather a mat made entirely of very thin bone fragments. Bone fragments that were incredibly sharp at the ends. 

“Ouch!” I yelped as I lifted my feet slightly off of the ground.

“Well look who’s finally awake,” a snide voice to my left said.

I turned my head and my heart dropped. Joining me in this chilling chamber were the rest of my friends: Cowboy Rockstar, Helm Lady, Professor Flay and Glassesman were chained to chairs like mine while Rockblock’s hulking form was chained to the wall on the far side of the room. The humans in the chairs also had their feet up in various positions. Rockblock was stuck standing on the bone floor, but at least he didn’t seem to mind.

“What happened?” I asked groggily.

“We were all knocked unconscious after we broke through the prison walls,” Professor Flay explained. “Cerebral implants I’d guess.”

“You’re saying we were all chipped?” I said, bewildered. “That’s crazy. Why weren’t we all knocked out as soon as we broke out of our cells?”

“Because I wanted to see the look on your face when you realized you were in Atomspace.”

All of our heads snapped towards the door where a man wearing a dark gray catsuit, a bright orange domino mask, and heavy metal boots strode into the room. “Do you like how I’ve decorated? Greg the Skeleton King referred me to his interior design guy.”

“That explains the bones,” Helm Lady muttered.

“And the hellfire!” Cowboy Rockstar proclaimed. “From right before we were captured, I’d been wondering about that.”

“Smuggles,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Zachary,” he said curtly. “Mr. How To Hero himself, how does it feel to be so utterly defeated by someone you’ve spent years ridiculing on your infantile blog?”

“I’ll let you know when it happens,” I said.

“Always with the clever little jokes,” Smuggles said as he took a seat in the leather chair and steepled his fingers. “You have been utterly defeated though. I’ve been following your little escape attempt from the very beginning. My people are not idiots you know. We’ve been listening to every conversation, watching your every move. The riot in the cafeteria was especially amusing.” He nodded at Rockblock who just grunted in response. “Quite frankly, you got further than I expected you to. But I’m glad you did, because now you have to admit that I’ve completely bested you. You’ve been thoroughly trounced Zachary. Who’s the laughingstock now?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to think of a way out of this for myself and my friends, when Glassesman burst out laughing. Smuggles’s eye flashed with rage and he slammed a hand down on his desk.

“I’m sorry, is something amusing here?”

“No no… Well yeah, sorry, it’s just… You got every supervillain to band together, captured most of the superheroes, and basically took over the entire world just to get back at some low rate blogger?”

“Hey, uncalled for!” I shouted.

“I’m sorry it’s just a bit ridiculous don’t you think?” 

“Honestly, I kind of agree with him,” Helm Lady said sheepishly.

“I legitimately thought this whole thing was about me,” Cowboy Rockstar admitted. “I’m kind of a big deal you know, being a semigod and all that.”

“Don’t you mean demigod?” Professor Flay asked, doing a little wiggle shake to get his chair facing Cowboy Rockstar.

“Oh, I’m that too. But I’m talking about the cult I inadvertently inspired that has deified me,” Cowboy Rockstar explained.

Smuggles banged his fist down on his desk again.

“Enough!” he shouted, before cradling his fist in his other hand. “Now that your merry band has been epically thwarted and humiliated, I must decide on your punishment. I’m not about to risk you lot plotting another breakout.”

My mind started racing for a way out. This was the first time I had come face to face with Smuggles since he’d unleashed Chuck the Fish Whisperer in the How To Hero basement. Until now I hadn’t realized just how much of what was happening revolved around me. I didn’t even realize Smuggles had been familiar with my blog before we hired him. Maybe I could work with that. 

“Do your worst Smuggles. I guarantee you it won’t be anything worse than what actual villains have done to me,” I said, affixing my most smug expression on my features.

“What are you talking about?” Smuggles said, clearly thrown.

“I mean come on. I lived with a real supervillain before. Remember Dr. Brainwave?” 

“Wait, what?” Helm Lady said. “You lived with Dr. Brainwave? We’ve been looking for him for years!” 

“Yeah well I don’t know what to tell you,” I said.

“Brainwave was a sentimental hack. Killing him was child’s play.” Smuggles said through mounting anger.

I faltered for a moment. So Smuggles had been the one who had mailed that bomb to our office? He was the reason Dr. Brainwave was dead? Sure the guy was a supervillain, but at the end of the day he had been my… my friend. And he’d sacrificed his life to save mine and my friends’. The fact that I was sitting less than three feet away from his murderer was almost too much to bear. Still, there’d be plenty of time to deal with him later. Assuming my plan worked.

“Still before you killed him he made my life miserable. You’ve read my blog, I’m sure you know all about it. So I honestly doubt that anything you plan to do can compare.”

Smuggles literally shook with rage, “I can… I can killitalics you! You ever think about that?” 

Cowboy Rockstar grinned, “Good luck with that.”

Ok, honestly I’m not sure what thatitalics was about. Is Cowboy Rockstar immortal? Has anybody ever checked that? Regardless, I decided to just roll with it.

“Do your worst.” I said.

“Guys!” Glassesman shouted exasperated. “I love taunting a bad guy as much as the next guy, but maybe we should all ease up a bit!”

“Oh relax,” I said. “Smuggles is a Z-lister trying to kick it with the big kids. He can’t just shoot us or something. If he wants to be a world-dominating evil monster he’s going to have to come up with a suitably ostentatious way to kill us and honestly, he doesn’t have the imagination. Just look at his face, this is clearly eating at him.”

It was as though a lightbulb went off over Smuggles’s head. His face warped from grimace to grin and he strode around to the other side of his desk.

“I’ve already succeeded in taking over the world and routing your beloved superheroes. I hardly need to prove myself to the likes of you. You can expect to be executed in a ‘suitable ostentatious manner’ shortly.”

I was all read to shoot back a witty retort when everything went black again.

                                                         ***

I awoke to the sound of cheering, which made me feel pretty good. I don’t often get cheered for waking up. I’m sure Cowboy Rockstar was feeling pretty regular though, people cheer for everything that guy does. I was in the center of a gladiatorial arena, the stands were packed with guard drones and more than a few supervillains. The presence of so many of them here sent a shiver down my spine. Had Smuggles really been able to recruit and control so many supervillains? Next to me, my friends laid in a rumpled heap, all of them still unconscious with the exception of…

“Now look what you’ve done,” Professor Flay said sternly. 

I turned to look at him and saw the abject fear sketched across his features.

“Relax Prof, everything’s going to be ok.”

“How can you say that! Look at us! We’re in an arena surrounded by bloodthirsty supervillains for god’s sake!”

“It’s not the supervillains you should be worrying about, it’s whatever’s going to come out of that gate,” I said, pointing to a massive (well, massive relative to our shrunken selves) gate directly opposite us.

Professor Flay shuddered, “I imagine the others are still unconscious to prevent them from being able to do anything against whatever that might be.”

I nodded, “It makes sense, Smuggles doesn’t want to risk anything going wrong.”

“But I still want the satisfaction of watching at least some of you soil yourselves in fear,” Smuggles said as his smug visage appeared on a floating jumbotron that was hovering over the arena.

“You’ll never get away with this you knave!” Professor Flay shouted.

“Oh Professor, I already have. I think I’ll make today an international holiday going forward,” Smuggles said as he leaned back from the camera so we could see his entire upper body on the screen. He was sitting on a golden throne and his fingers were hovering above a big red button. I assumed whatever was waiting behind the gate would be released at the press of that button. And why prolong the inevitable.

“Why don’t you come down here so I can wipe that smug expression off of your face, you absolute goober!” I called up to Smuggles.

Smuggles frowned, “Goodbye Zach, you will not be missed.” 

His finger pressed the button. The gate started to ascend. Professor Flay sighed and rolled up his sleeves. I had to admire him, he wasn’t planning on going down without some sort of fight. As the gate rose the cheers of the crowd grew even more fevered. I think I even saw a sign that said “Cowboy Suckstar.” Rude. After what seemed like an eternity the gate was finally fully open and a ferocious roar shook the stadium as a massive beast lumbered into the arena. The ginormous monster truly had it all. Dozens of eyes, face tentacles, spikes, a flaming tail. I had to admit this would certainly be a suitably ostentatious way to die. Of course, I wasn’t about to let Smuggles get his way was I?

“Good god what is that thing?” Professor Flay said as he backed away from the giant monster. 

“It’s our way out,” I said calmly as I climbed on top of Rockblock’s comatose body, put two fingers in my mouth and whistled sharply.

“What are you doing?” Professor Flay shouted at me as the monster began galloping towards us on all fours.

I looked down at Professor Flay and smiled, “See you on the other side Prof.”

And then the monster ate me.

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: An Unlikely Ally

Notes:  Benjen Stark is a bit of a fun project for me. There's not much on him given his disappearances in the books, which means he'll be a fun canon to have join along the saga who really didn't have the chance to shine through. I know this might draw questions about Coldhands and so forth, but it's never actually confirmed that that IS Benjen.

Rating: M + Mature content, language, and violence

Masterlist | First | Next

The last thing he saw was a shadow swooping down from the sky and knocking the Other away from him. Afterward, everything was disjunct, muddled, and out of order. The woman, Tabitha was it?-she'd grabbed him and put him on some sort of mount. They had fled. How, he could not say, but he could remember the fierce burning of fiery eyes, hidden beneath the midnight cowl of the female as she'd glared at him earlier. There seemed to be quite a few things that Benjen had not seen before that night, to include wights, an Other, and a woman with eyes of fire. A blazing beacon amongst the frozen boughs of the haunted forest.

Then everything went dark and the pain ebbed away. He was floating in an abyss, nothing and everything at once. It took him a while to realize that he was dead and that there was no afterlife as the Seven preached, just an emptiness in which he conscious could float within and wonder if the woman had survived.

There would be no answers here, just eternal gripes and curiosities.

Until the darkness was juxtaposed by a flame, burning and twisting like serpentine tongues. Erring close, Benjen could see within the writhing fire, three dragons sailing overhead, toward Westeros. Death, war, famine, misery. But the dragons were not the worst of it, just a part of the machinations as the undead stole one, wielding it against their master and destroying the wall to unleash the unholy army upon the unsuspecting. No one knew that they were real. They were wetnurses' tales.

When he reached out to grab the vision, he gasped, the fire consuming his flesh and burning him. No, not burning as it should. He could feel each nerve, muscle, and fiber of his being twinging back into existence. Death had come for him, but a flaming hand had gripped and pulled him from perdition.

The ambivalence of the void faded and as he turned over where he laid, he heard voices in the distance.

"Were you told to bring him here?" he did not know this voice, but it chilled him to the bone, so youthful and yet scarred by the wisdom of centuries.

"I did what I felt was right," it was the fire-eyed woman, Tabitha. "It does not matter. He has died regardless of my help. Just as-"

"Just as intended?" the other filled in.

"I don't know! It was never confirmed, there were only theories," she hissed.

"Do you hear that?"

Only the crackling of the hearth in front of Benjen filled his ears with noise.

"No, Fang-"

But the companion had departed, leaving the woman huffing in frustration. Her footsteps drew nearer and she passed in front of the hearth, lean shoulders framed by the light as she had put away her cloak within the warmth of the room.

"What do you think, Balerion?" she spoke to another, a great shadow unfurling and tensing his heart. The creature that had knocked the Other back came into hazy focus, a thick lion's mane of feathers and fur encircling an enormous eagle's face, intelligent eyes glistening with the same bright flames as the woman who commanded him. After a moment of silence, she shook her head. "We probably won't be able to stay here much longer. Not with the Others marching. Who knows how far behind the Night King is."

"How do you know so much about them?" Benjen spoke hoarsely, his voice sounding as if he hadn't used it in days.

The both of them jumped, Tabitha whirling with her hand on her sword as she gazed down intently where he was laying. "How the fuck- " she started, interrupted only by the slapping of barefeet against stone. Turning a corner, the other voice's visage came into view, and Benjen was shocked into silence once again, staring at a boy of legend. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so startled, but clutched in his tawny arms was a miniature version of the griffin that had fluffed up indignantly. Only the feathers of the fledgling was grey dappled with black.

"Another Warden has been born," he declared, feline eyes turning toward Benjen.

"Fang, that doesn't even make sense. How could he have been..." but she didn't finish her question, dark brows snaring together. "You're still Benjen Stark, aren't you?"

He didn't understand the question, but decided to humor her. "Yes."

"I am not here to explain how things work," Fang scowled. "He has been reborn as a Warden. That means he's been given insight."

"I should get back to the Wall. If what I saw was true, I need to warn everyone," Benjen decided, sitting up and pulling back the cloak that had been strewn over him.

"Your watch ended, Warden. You died and were reborn," the creature, Fang, asserted.

"I still have a duty to Westeros, to my people-"

"Tell me, Stark, what is it you're going to tell everyone that will make them believe you?" Tabitha inquired, leaning against the forge, so that he was able to really observe the woman's face. She did not look or sound Westerosi. If anything, he thought she appeared more Dornish, despite lacking their accent. Her skin was a faded olive from missing the warmth of the sun this far north, her bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and her lips curved in a mocking manner. Dark brown hair had been shorn to fall thick and straight to her collar, parted in the middle and slightly wavy from being pressed beneath a hood. There was a roguish charm to her, nothing quite soft and dainty or willowy as most men preferred in a lady, but this woman was no flower. She had wielded a sword well enough and was tall and lean. Perhaps comely could be used to describe her, the symmetry of her face, but her eyes were also haunting.

"The Others are real and that-" he was going to express his knowledge of the dragons, that they would be coming to Westeros and that there would be war and strife, juxtaposed by the fact that the long night was looming on the horizon. Yet, as he tried to put this knowledge to word, he found himself choking on air, his voice failing him.

"That's what I thought," she remarked smugly, lifting the hand she'd injured during the fight, which was now bound. "Whatever you know, you won't be able to verbalize it. One of the Wardens' most redeeming features. For everything we know, our words shall not serve us, our actions must."

"I can warn them of the Others at the very least," he groused.

"Can you? If you return to Castle Black, they will not understand your rebirth or your need to leave on a moment's notice. We are slaves to the will of the one who saved us, the Lord of Light, R'hllor. Would it not be better for you to be thought to be dead than to have to abandon your post when the Lord of Light commands it?" Tabitha challenged.

"I don't serve this Lord of Light," Benjen rejected, shaking his head.

"Then you'd be dead. It was He who revived you. Are the words not ' Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death '? Your watch has ended and a new one has begun," Tabitha stood up, pacing the length of the room to retrieve supplies from an alcove in the stone.

"Not as if I was given the choice to make an oath in this circumstance," Benjen grimaced, wondering what else would be expected of him as a 'Warden'.

"Don't sound so thrilled. I wasn't given a choice either. Burned to death and woke up here with Balerion," she jerked her thumb over toward the magnificent beast. "Trust me, it doesn't make much sense, but I've just learned to stop questioning it. Here, you must be starving-" she returned with a waterskin, jerky, and black bread. Sitting nearby, she placed her elbows on her knees and hunched forward.

"Burned to death?" Benjen considered, glancing over her once again. "This Lord of Light really knows how to pick his champions, hm?"

The woman snickered. "I didn't feel it. Was unconscious from the smoke beforehand," her eyes flickered over toward Fang. "But this little welp is yours, just as Balerion is my partner. A Warden is a guide, a keeper of knowledge, and wargs-" The griffin was set on the floor as she continued to explain their plight, waiting on the Lord of Light to task them with their duty before sending them on the holy mission to aid in altering the future. While she spoke, the young creature, no larger than a house cat, stumbled on weak feet and tumbled unceremoniously before him, head too heavy for the rest of its tiny body.

He could not deny that there seemed to be a connection between them, the excitement palpable and rolling of the griffin in waves. The features of the little one were unlike the large obsidian one across the room, lacking the immense mane. Rather, his fur was thicker, the plumage of his feathers not as defined or prominent. In a way, the griffin had more canine features, a thick tail, and broader ear tufts.

The Wardens themselves were a rather ambiguous group, something he'd never heard of and yet here he sat with one and their griffin. Had it not been for his own revival from death and the mythical beast pawing at his leg, he might've scoffed at the information being passed over to him. One oath down and a new job set before him, Benjen resigned himself to the fact that his life was eternally destined to be interlaced with servitude. Only now, the complexities of magic and the fantastic had their own roles to play. Everything he'd thought was little more than old wive's tales, turning out to hold substance. Even the legend of the Children of the Forest was worth its salt, Fang erring near the entrance of the warm hearth room as Tabitha explained that their days were numbered.

Finally, the short being departed, leaving just the Wardens and their partners in the room. By now, the griffin had found its way into his lap and had curled up, wrapping its tail around its talons. "They won't do us much good against dragons, but so far I don't regret having Balerion by my side. We wouldn't have made it out of the haunted forest without him."

Dragons. His interest piqued, wondering how much she knew about the topic. "Dragons are dead, aren't they?"

"For now, give it a few more months' time-" Tabitha snorted, brows snaring together as the comment fell from her lips. Confusion was blatant on her face, her spine stiffening as she sat up and stared at him, almost in an accusing manner. "Dragons are going to be reborn once Khal Drogo is burned on a pyre. In which Daenerys Targaryen shall acquire 3 dragons."

He knew that name. The daughter of King Aerys, who had somehow survived the sacking of Dragonstone. Her family wasn't as fortunate. "You know then... That they're going to come here and one will fall into the clutches of the Others-" His tongue was no longer tied, the future spilling from his lips unhindered.

"I... know a lot of things," Tabitha admitted darkly. "Wardens can share information with Wardens..." she muttered, rubbing her face thoughtfully before glancing back toward him. "Makes sense, I guess... I suppose we'll also be able to tell when there's an eavesdropper or intruder."

"So Daenerys Targaryen is going to come to Westeros with 3 dragons," Benjen pieced together, the images he'd seen not possessing a narrative to go along with it.

"Yes, with intentions of taking the Iron Throne for herself. She will realize she needs to help destroy the army of the undead, but there's still a lot of unknown... how dominoes might fall now that you've survived," Tabitha sighed.

"I wasn't supposed to survive?"

"You were supposed to disappear and be presumed dead," Tabitha told him. "As far as I know, you never returned... but then again, all I know is script, not images."

"Then... if we're to be successful, I need to understand everything."

"If I tell you everything, you must understand that we have to adhere to what we're assigned to alter, because a lot of it has to deal with your family," Tabitha warned.

"I've taken oaths before and sworn myself to other causes. I think I can handle what you have to tell me."

That is what Benjen thought before Tabitha sighed and started from the beginning, recounting things that she was not around to witness, speaking in poetry like a prophet that had written the lines of their lives on parchment. She was right, he was not prepared for the intricacies of the world that he would have been better off being daft to. His derision and distrust of the Lannisters deepened, his breath quickening as he learned that it was they that hurt Bran and wished his death. But that was only the most minor of the plights to face House Stark. From the death of his brother at the hand of the Lannisters, to the rise of his nephew as a king, the betrayal and hurt was too much to bear.

Yet, Benjen sat, as it was his duty as a Warden. The web was not only woven with the Starks, but many other faces and names, some of which he was familiar with and others he was not. For as snarky as the woman seemed, Tabitha had an impeccable memory and a talent to retell this all like a story.

When she stopped, he lifted his head to gaze intently at her, his chest aching, but wondering why she'd ended so abruptly. "What happens after? With Jon, with Arya-"

"I can only speculate, that is where my true knowledge of the events of the future ends. You tell me that Daenerys will come to Westeros and lose a dragon to the Night King. Jon will likely be revived by the Lord of Light... Arya will continue her trials to become a Faceless Man, but the others--if we change the future, none of this is certain," Tabitha pointed out tenderly, remarkably softer than she had been previously.

He shouldn't have expected for all of the answers, especially given how much she knew and the years between now and when she'd ended, but... he really wished he knew what became of them. Already, he knew that many of them would die, including Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. In his gut, he wanted to go to them, to free them of their fate, but as he'd had his duty to the Watch, he had to trust in the Lord of Light to give him the opportunity to save them.

"I'll... give you some time alone. I know it's a lot to process," Tabitha stood up, stretching her back like a feline that had lounged out in the sun for too long, before striding away, glancing toward her griffin companion before departing from the chamber.

Benjen sat in silence, wondering if he would have been better off dead than with the vast knowledge and pressure he now felt.

*

"You're leaving yourself wide open," Benjen chastised, smacking Tabitha hard on the side of her arm with the flat of his blade.

"Right, well, my sincerest apologies for not wielding a sword since I could walk," she combatted haughtily, frustrated by her inability to best him.

It wasn't that she was a bad swordsman. In fact, she was quick as a whip and relentless when she was on the offense. However, she seemed to forget that her advantage in speed was outweighed by a man's strength. She often put herself in positions in which she could be placed out of balance and then open for attack. The form was there, as was the finesse, but he had learned by now that Tabitha had a bit of a temper that he could play like a harp. Against most men, she'd win, but against true savants or those that had spent years honing their craft, they'd pick up on the same chinks in her skill as he did.

The Roost was not a bad place, nor his newest companions too disagreeable. It had taken him a little while to grow accustomed to Tabitha's frank attitude and lack of decorum, but he likened it to comrades speaking to one another, not a woman to a man. Putting aside the facets of gender, Benjen found that Tabitha was responsible, reliable, and someone he would have liked to work alongside in the Night's Watch had she been a man. Now, as two Wardens with the task of saving the future that they knew, he was glad that he was with someone as capable as Tabitha, who seemed to have an uncanny memory and been given a scholarly education.

"React less emotionally," Benjen challenged, unable to stop himself from grinning as he thought of the times he'd told Jon the same thing when he was just a young boy. Or perhaps even Arya, who would have loved to be given the chance to be a warrior as a woman. He did not know how Tabitha's talents would transition in Westeros, given the fact a woman wielding a sword was nearly always unacceptable. Trying to think of her in a dress was amusing, as he'd only ever known her in trousers and armor, seemingly somewhat of a permanent fixture for the woman in place of what he'd grown up knowing females should wear.

Her nostrils flared and she came at him again, twisting Fate around in a counterclockwise motion before he parried the blow. The weight was light, barely a kiss of steel against steel, warning him that he'd fallen for the feint. Still, the man was quick enough to see as she redirected herself. Twisting his wrist to counter the next, he was astonished when she dropped beneath his blade and swept her leg beneath him, hooking a boot behind his leg and jerking him right off his feet.

Benjen slammed down hard on his back, collapsing into the remnants of an old nest, muscles groaning in protest from the hard, stone floor than embraced him. Tabitha loomed over him, pointing the triangular tip of her longsword down at him.

"How long?" he muttered, sitting up and accepting the glove she'd offered him to pull him back to his feet.

"How long what?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"How long were you pretending to cross?"

Tabitha scoffed, as if offended that she'd play that game, but sheathed her sword. "I figured it out a couple of days ago. You always pointed out my anger, so I decided to set a trap."

"It took you a couple of days to set the trap?" Benjen poked.

"Well, there'd be no fun in closing it right away. Especially when you were being wary of me calming down enough to give you a run for your coin," Tabitha shrugged. "Still don't think a trick like that will be enough to defeat an Other, but it's progress."

"Probably not," Benjen agreed.

Tabitha's head whipped toward the grin in the mountainside where the griffins could come and go as they pleased. She had a better sense of when Balerion was arriving, her warging abilities more finely tuned over the years than his own. While he might be a better swordsman, Tabitha had him in the category of magic. "Look who's brought back quite a catch," she whistled, placing her hands on her hips as Balerion flung an elk corpse in through the opening. "Let's carve it up before it decides that we're supper."

The powerful griffin landed soon after, followed closely by Torrhen, who was a little uncertain on his wings, but managed to keep up as he grew into a gawky state where his talons were becoming too large for him to know what to do with. Dropping his own prize of a fat rabbit, he glanced expectantly toward Benjen, waiting for praise.

“Better than last time,” he remarked, bending down to brush the thick ears of the griffin down affectionately. “You’d better eat it quickly.”

Torrhen glanced from his rabbit and then to the elk, poising the silent question as to if they needed to share his catch too.

“No, you’re growing. Eat that yourself. Balerion brought plenty enough back to share.” No sooner had he said that did the massive beast dig its talons into the back of the carcass. Twisting, it snapped the spine and helped divide the elk in half, leaving the left side of the body for them to dress. Dragging the rest away, Balerion threw an expectant look at Torrhen, the tiny counterpart hobbling after his much larger brother.

“Ruined the pelt,” Tabitha chastised Balerion, who let out a huff in disdain at her dismay. She drew her knife and began working, Benjen crouching beside her to assist. It was dirty work, but the griffins were keen on the organs and head, so there’d be no reason to dispose of the waste, instead leaving the mess clustered in the roosting area of the mountain as they divided the remaining elk and dragged it toward the Hearth.

Sitting by the warmth of the eternally burning forge, they worked in relative silence. There wasn’t always a need for conversation and Benjen was unbothered by the woman’s company. Salting and hanging large haunches in the back of the room, the work took a few hours, but would result in a couple weeks worth of food for the both of them. The griffins had been retrieving food as of late, Fang citing that it was too dangerous for them all to go out and hunt after hearing the harrowing tale of their encounter with the Other.

Tabitha sat up on one of the benches, rubbing the arm that he’d taken the flat of his blade to absentmindedly. Her eyes were fixated on the twisting wreath of flames within the forge. A forge that neither of them knew how to use, nor why it was in this mountain. It gave them warmth and protection from the darkness of the frozen north, but otherwise its existence was a mystery. Her brows pressed together and she stood, taking a few paces toward the fire.

Benjen tilted his head, gazing toward the hearth in an effort to notice what she was transfixed upon. Tongues leapt out at him, images burning a path across the fire, a dragon’s shadow lifting to reveal a beautiful city and a crowd of impressive, queerly dressed people as they gave gifts to a young girl. A rotund, greasy man opened a chest and presented three calcified eggs.

“It’s been decided,” Tabitha muttered.

Did she see what he saw?

“We are flying to Pentos.”

[dankar-camoran]

A Conversation in Paradise (Or, “I was thinking of some Eldamil and Mankar headcanons and it led into a Thing”)

(CW: Descriptions of blood and gore, violence, drowning, torture)

“Master, do you have a moment to talk?”

“Call me Mankar, Eldamil. You have shed your mortality and have earned a place beyond that of a mere subordinate, and we’ve known each other so long besides.”

Eldamil couldn’t help but smile at this, albeit not for long considering what he had come to discuss. “I appreciate that, Mankar, and am grateful to you for lighting my way on my path to Paradise. That is why I have come to see you, so that you may provide further illumination.”

Mankar rose from his throne and walked past Eldamil, bidding his lieutenant to come with him “We’ll walk and talk. No need to confine ourselves to one corner of Paradise when all of its beauty is ours to share.”

The two mer emerged from the palace, into Gaiar Alata. Flora that had not been seen in Tamriel for millennia bloomed, and the endless sea shone with the radiant light of eternal sunrise before them. The older Altmer’s face, though usually measured and reserved, did betray no small amount of pride at the sight before them. The culmination of a lifetime of work, created through dedication, perseverance, long hours of study, and no small amount of sacrifice.

Eldamil was similarly mesmerized by the beauty despite the reservations he was readying himself to put forth towards Mankar. It still seemed unreal, that the Master had somehow, with the aid of Lord Dagon, echoed the actions of the Daedra during the dawn, and created his own demesne, to his own specifications and under his complete control. Not only that, but he then bound each and every one of his followers such that, when they died in Mundus, their souls would not be claimed by the Eight Traitors, or Talos the Pretender, or even by any of the Princes of Oblivion, for through the tutelage of Mehrunes Dagon, Mankar had inextricably linked the souls of everyone in the Mythic Dawn to his own. And Gaiar Alata was linked to his soul as well, creating the path that would guide his followers to their home beyond mortality, unspoiled by the Aedra.

The bestial roars and agonized cries surrounding them did not perturb Mankar’s serene expression, but Eldamil visibly cringed as he heard them, and avoided looking in the directions that they were coming from. Down a hill to the left, a stone pathway was stained red with blood as two clannfears tore into a fresh kill. Then, the blood began to fade, and the remains began to crumble, even the pieces that were being swallowed whole by the clannfears. Whoever this was, they would find themselves alive and intact in another part of the Savage Garden within moments, if they hadn’t already.

It was Mankar who broke the silence between the two of them, “You take issue with their pain, Eldamil. You wonder why, in Paradise, those who have Ascended beyond mortality are at the whims of daedra, rather than standing with them on equal footing.”

Eldamil turned, doing his best to not look surprised. The Master was excellent at seeing beyond one’s surface disposition and guessing their true feelings, and he didn’t want to seem as though he had come to doubt their cause. “It’s not that I take issue, Mast-Mankar, I just haven’t yet divined for myself why it is necessary. They served you faithfully in life, bringing about the breaking of the Covenant, and were promised to be set above all mortals.” A scream followed by the sound of bones being snapped between daedroth jaws interrupted him, and he hoped his unease wasn’t overly present in his voice, “Forgive me for questioning you, but, is this really what you meant by that? Pain and suffering, without respite?”

Nodding sagely, Mankar, still smiling, put a hand on Eldamil’s shoulder, “There is no need to sound so nervous, Eldamil. You lack knowledge that would ease your troubled mind, and so you seek it from me. That is not a transgression, it is what I would expect from any of my followers, and particularly one of my Chosen. As for the knowledge you seek, surely you see the similarity between the natures of the Ascended and the daedra.”

“Their immortality, yes. You’ve helped us transcend the boundaries placed on us by the Aedra, as you promised. We share immortality with the daedra, death becoming a mere setback. Why then, do the daedra attack and ravage the denizens of the Garden? Why do the Dremora and Xivilai enact such horrific torments on those who seek to become equal in standing with them, and to stand with them with the common goal of remaking the Mundus into what it always should have been?”

“When you ask me ‘why,’ Eldamil, do you mean why the daedra do what they do? Or are you asking why I allow it to happen?” Mankar’s smile had not faded, but Eldamil could see something had shifted in his eyes; something that suggested that this was no longer an edifying discussion between master and acolyte, but instead a conversation that would have to be navigated carefully, for his own sake.

He inhaled slowly, attempting to calm his nerves, agonizing over how to answer, before resigning himself to the truth. Surely Mankar already knew how he felt. “Both,” he admitted, looking at the ground, “I suppose I must mean both, I’m sorry to say.”

Mankar withdrew his hand from his lieutenant’s shoulder and chuckled. “I told you, you haven’t transgressed by asking me questions Eldamil; there’s no need to look so contrite.” He gestured towards a wandering daedroth, teeth and claws caked with fading gore.

“The daedra act the way they do because they know, despite sharing immortality with the Ascended, there are still a myriad of differences between the two. Consider how the daedra have been in existence for eons, observing all of existence in between countless deaths and rebirths. We only uncovered the secrets of conquering death comparatively recently, so there are still fundamentals of daedric thinking and being that the Ascended still do not understand. They still have minds resigned to mortal ways of thinking, and it will take considerable time for them to even begin to comprehend the basics of a Padomaic way of thinking. Of course they aren’t considered by the daedra to be equals. Even after the Dawn breaks, who knows how long it will take and how much death must be endured before that happens?”

“And as for why I allow it,” Mankar paused to allow Eldamil’s gaze to come back towards him, rather than towards the water, where one of the Xivilai wardens of the Garden was holding a a thrashing dunmer’s head underwater. “When I request something of you, Eldamil, what do you do?”

“I…fulfill your request, to the best of my ability.” Despite himself, Eldamil stole one last glance at the water. The dunmer had gone limp, and the Xivilai released them to wade back to dry land, clearly looking for a new toy made of something hardier.

“Constructing Gaiar Alata was no simple task. I required the aid of Mehrunes Dagon in order to conceptualize it, and several Daedra aided me in shaping it into what it is now. In exchange for their assistance, some of them requested to be allowed access to those who would inhabit the Savage Garden, and I saw no reason not to allow it.”

There was another lengthy pause as Eldamil grasped the implications behind Mankar’s answer. “But, Mankar, these people have done so much for you– for Lord Dagon. This is their reward? To be the playthings of Daedra, and not their equals, until we bring about the Dawn?”

“We’re very close to that point, Eldamil, it won’t be much longer. And besides, with eternity ahead of us, a short season of unpleasantness here in Paradise will fade from memory.” 

Eldamil stopped walking and stared pointedly, “But you could have warned them that this would happen, Mankar, you could have at least told them about the depravities they would undergo to pay your debt to the Daedra.” Eldamil’s tone was harsher than he had intended it to be, and he quickly regretted his outburst when Mankar stopped as well, an expression of mild surprise on his face. Again there was silence, broken only by the sounds of some unseen torture in the distance.

“I’m sorry, Master,” He spoke to Mankar’s feet, quiet and once again contrite, “you’ve guided us without fail this far, and all we have yet to achieve will be realized through your vision. I have no right or reason to-”

“You’re right, Eldamil.” Mankar interrupted, holding up a hand, “I could have told them. But i didn’t, and I bear the weight of the repercussions of my inaction.” His smile had faded, and he gestured for them to begin walking back towards Carac Agaialor.

Emotions clashed within Eldamil. The shock and relief at Mankar accepting his criticisms, along with guilt at the sudden change in his disposition. This Paradise was the culmination of so many long years of toil for Mankar, and now, instead of enjoying the results of his efforts, he was being harshly criticized by someone he considered a friend.

The walk back to the Palace was mostly quiet, with most of the Daedra they had heard and seen before having moved farther away, following new prey. As they approached the entrance, Mankar spoke up suddenly, “Did you have anything else you wished to discuss, Eldamil?”

“No, Mankar. Thank you for speaking with me, it was illuminating, as it always is.”

“Are you sure? Because I sense you have one more question to ask.” Mankar stopped in front of the palace door and looked expectantly at the younger mer.

“I’m not sure what you mean. Did you have something else you think I should know?” Eldamil was confused; he couldn’t think of anything else that had been concerning him.

“You wanted to know why the Daedra do what they do to the Ascended Immortals, and you wanted to know why I allow it,” Mankar explained, as Eldamil realized his smile had returned, “I thought you might also like to know why they spare you. Or why I allow that.”

There was yet another scream in the distance, and Eldamil swallowed, suddenly feeling very cold. He thought about what to say in response to this, but came up with nothing.

Mankar, with a chuckle and shrug, moved to the door and opened it, “In any case, after you, old friend.”

[winchester-dyke]

fic: bless this morning year

castiel/dean winchester, s15e20 coda/fix-it, 5K.

stop me if you’ve heard this one before: dean winchester is saved.

“I wasn’t made for this. I was created to be a, a soldier, not a soul warden.”

“Warden, huh? Tell me again how this isn’t jail.”

The ravine was like nothing Dean had ever seen before. It ran for longer than he could see, a deep crack in the mountainside that exposed the gray rock inside, contrasted it against the deep green of the surrounding forest. The broad, lazy river that had carved it flowed past far, far down below their feet, the stillness of its surface belying the force of its current. Every so often, a stray ray of sunlight would catch in a ripple and produce a stunning flash of silver or blue.

This wasn’t a real place, Cas had explained. It was an amalgamation, generated from the memories, thoughts, and fantasies of the residents of this particular corner of Heaven. Theoretically, this forest, the ravine, the river—they would all continue on forever, as long as there were people to explore them.

As a rule, angels didn’t have very active imaginations, which had been one of the reasons for the carefully cordoned-off cubby holes of the past. But Jack had brought forward the idea of sourcing environments from the souls themselves, and from there, it had pretty much been smooth sailing. After all, it hadn’t been too different from building personal little Heavens out of specific memories, and the new generation of angels, guided by the older ones, had been eager to get to work. And there was been plenty for them to do.

Cas had come the minute Dean said his name.

“Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you,” Cas explained again with a long-suffering, angelic patience; just the slightest, wry twist to his mouth betrayed him. “I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it, though. Souls aren’t supposed to leave the afterlife.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean replied. “Still just… trying to wrap my head around everything.”

Cas’s voice only sounded like Jimmy Novak’s when Dean wasn’t paying attention. When he was, it wasn’t that it sounded strange—it was that it didn’t. It was undeniably just Cas. So much so that Dean couldn’t pinpoint what it was that was different about it, exactly, except that something was. It was going to drive him nuts if he kept thinking about it, but he couldn’t stop.

It was Cas’s real voice. The one he’d tried to talk to Dean with that very first time, the one that had blown up the lights and shattered the windows and nearly Dean’s eardrums, too. The one that had warned Pamela to turn back, before a glimpse of its owner seared her eyes clean out of her skull.

Size of the Chrysler building, Dean vaguely remembered something about. Zachariah’s haughty bristling about six wings and four faces. But whatever it was that let Cas and the other angels recognize each other no matter who they were wearing, it seemed degloved souls tapped into that, too, because Cas just looked like Cas. It was only the sheer weight his presence carried that let on that there was a lot more going on there than Dean could perceive, even now. It would come in time, Cas said.

For the first time, he was seeing Cas, like, really seeing him. Not filtered through dull human senses, through the containment measure of a vessel, through the inherent limitations of existing in physical space on Earth. Just straight Cas, no hazmat suits necessary. Dean didn’t have eyeballs for Cas to burn out, no eardrums for him to burst. He was still kind of a lot.

But he was Cas. The same Cas. And that was all that mattered.

“I think you’ll do great,” Dean said, sitting up a little straighter. The movement dislodged a rush of pebbles, clattering against the cliffside on their way down. Far, far below his feet, too far down to hear the splash when the rocks hit, the river kept murmuring past, moving hundreds of tons of water every second, despite appearing almost perfectly still. If he fell, Cas would catch him. “With this whole soul warden thing.”

“Well, if I’ve learned anything this very hectic decade of my life,” Cas said dryly, “it’s how to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances.”

“You were due a career change, man. What, fourteen billion years and change as a soldier?”

[CONTINUE ON AO3]

[black-emporium-exchange]

2020 Pinch Hit #7, dawnstone - CLAIMED

This pinch hit will be due at 12 PM EDT on Friday, September  4th. Please leave a comment on this Dreamwidth post (comments are screened), send a message to one of the mods, or send an email to blackemporiumexchange@gmail.com to claim.

Requested relationships:

Lucanis Dellamorte/Zevran Arainai - Fanfiction

Caterina Dellamorte/Zevran Arainai - Fanfiction

Viago De Riva/Andarateia Cantori - Fanfiction

Sky Watcher/Female Trevelyan - Fanfiction

Frederic of Serault & Rylen - Fanfiction

Brother Ferdinand Genitivi/Philliam Trevelyan/Laudine - Fanfiction

Female Amell/Sten - Fanfiction

Female Cousland/Sten - Fanfiction

Female Aeducan/Sten - Fanfiction

Felassan/Solas - Fanfiction

Desire Demon(s)/Solas - Fanfiction

Solas/Wisdom - Fanfiction

Audric & Myrna - Fanfiction

Cole & Justice - Fanfiction

Jowan/Lily/Female Surana - Fanfiction

Hollix/Original Female Human Lord of Fortune - Fanfiction

Hollix/Original Male Human Lord of Fortune - Fanfiction

Hollix/Original Nonbinary Human Lord of Fortune - Fanfiction

Loghain Mac Tir/Female Surana - Fanfiction

Female Hawke/Loghain Mac Tir - Fanfiction

Loghain Mac Tir/Female Trevelyan - Fanfiction

PH 7 - dawnstone

Request #1:

Lucanis Dellamorte/Zevran Arainai

Caterina Dellamorte/Zevran Arainai

Viago De Riva/Andarateia Cantori

Fanfiction

The Antivan Crows have a big spotlight in the recent story collection Tevinter Nights, and I'd love to see what would happen if either Lucanis or Caterina interacted with Zevran, or if they have any history together.

-Lucanis is willing to go outside the bounds of his orders to help people, which is a big no-no in the Crows. I'd love to see what would happen if he and Zevran either had to work together, or became rivals somehow sexy rivals ;D.

-Caterina Dellamorte is the elderly matriarch of her house, First Talon of the Crows, and also a woman known for beating people to death with her cane. How does Zevran regard her (considering his appreciation for older women), and does she have any weakness to his wiles?

-I wonder if Zevran is actively trying to kill either of them or vice versa.

-As for Viago and Teia, how are they faring after the tumultuous events of Eight Little Talons, and have they come in contact with a certain former Crow?

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #2:

Sky Watcher/Female Trevelyan

Frederic of Serault & Rylen

Brother Ferdinand Genitivi/Philliam Trevelyan/Laudine

Fanfiction

Genitivi/Philliam/Laudine - they're currently on the lam, running from the Qunari and potentially still sending back intelligence to the Inquisition. How does being in constant close quarters, bar-hopping across Thedas affect these literary luminaries? Philliam and Laudine are previous lovers, how does putting Genitivi (who has a very notoriously saucy pen name) into the mix change things?

Frederic of Serault & Rylen - being stuck out in the Western Approach with few opportunities for entertainment and the constant threat of death by monsters and bandits is an excellent reason to stay in a fortified position like Griffon Wing Keep. Frederic stubbornly continues on with his research even after all of his staff have perished, and Rylen decides to keep an eye on him (Heroes of Dragon Age has Frederic as a mage, but you are free to ignore that since it's not shown in Inquisition).

Sky Watcher/Female Trevelyan - F!Trevelyan is very curious about the Avvar and their traditions; after he's recruited, Sky Watcher (you find out his name is Amund in the Multiplayer) is more than happy to teach her. Feel free to use your own Trevelyan or the default.

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #3:

Female Amell/Sten

Female Cousland/Sten

Female Aeducan/Sten

Fanfiction

(The Wardens are obviously not completely interchangeable, but for the purposes of fic what I want from the pairings is the same. I do think F!Aeducan would probably "get" Sten the best, but the conflict in him falling for a mage is also delightful, and Cousland treading carefully while subverting his expectations would be lovely too)

After a Warden gets his approval high enough, Sten starts to call them kadan, which denotes caring about someone deeply. I'd love to read a story where Sten is head over heels with the Warden, and is extremely confused by it. She is the antithesis of everything he believes about women and bas from what he was raised believing in the Qun. His admiration of her is related most to her control of her abilities and/or battle prowess, but also he loves how practical and dutiful she is. She might find his alien point of view fascinating, enjoy carefully drawing out of him more about himself and his people, and learning to understand him better... she's also just generally into how tall and muscular he is.

Sex in Qunari society is supposed to be divorced from love, and when the topic comes up (with Morrigan) Sten seems disenchanted with the act, as well as certain he would harm a non-Qunari partner. It's not important to me if the relationship is sexual (if you can make it work, of course, I would not complain), I'm more interested in displays of mutual caring and affection with these pairings, whether it be defending each other in battle, or sharing some cookies.

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #4:

Felassan/Solas

Desire Demon(s)/Solas

Solas/Wisdom

Fanfiction

Desire Demon(s)/Solas - Solas might say he's not tempted easily, but we all know he crumpled like wet paper the first time he was shown affection. Lacking a friendly/romanced Inquisitor, perhaps he has friends in the Fade who don't mind keeping him company. Or maybe one of them is perfectly happy to help him work out an unrequited crush on someone in the Inquisition. If this is the case, I'd prefer they weren't named or described so that the person is kept ambiguous, and keep it about how he knows it's the spirit/demon feeding on his emotions but it also happily helps him deal. Also, what would happen if the Desire Demon took on a physical form just to pursue him in the Waking World? Would he get angry or feel like he has to guide them like he did with Cole?

Felassan/Solas - Yeah, so I don't mind if the story takes place before or after the events of Masked Empire, but if it's after, there has to be some mention of how Felassan survived (he'd have to have been Tranquil for at least a little while), and how he manages to forgive Solas. If it's before, something set right after Solas wakes from uthenera would be nice, or if you want to delve into their relationship during the time of Ancient Elvhenan and the Evanuris, and potentially their days as servants to Mythal or during Fen'Harel's rebellion, that would be cool.

Solas/Wisdom - Wisdom cared deeply for Solas, but the greatest thing keeping them apart romantically would have been their natures in that he was a physical man and she a spirit whom he wouldn't want to twist against her nature (likely into a Desire demon instead of Pride). They are both ancient, so it can be assumed that they found their roles satisfying enough, though it's suspected that Solas was once a Wisdom spirit as well, and perhaps wishes he could go back to being one. I'm generally just curious about how they would spend their time together. Just how long did they know each other? After she dies, Solas looks for her in the Void and finds stirrings of her remains - would he try to put her back together from memories?

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #5:

Audric & Myrna

Cole & Justice

Jowan/Lily/Female Surana

Fanfiction

Audric & Myrna - I am still a bit confused about Audric's nature, and just how much of him is still him but I suppose so is Audric - Myrna seems to believe his mortal soul is still remarkably intact. Down Among the Dead Men is Audric & Myrna's origin story, so I guess tell me more about how he adjusts to his "afterlife" working with her and the Mourn Watch, and how she helps give him purpose.

Cole & Justice - Two spirits who had very different experiences once pulled into the Waking World. What would Justice think of Compassion, and vice versa, how would they interact and what would happen if they had to work together. What would Justice pick up on that Cole wouldn't, what would Justice think of Cole creating his own form instead of possessing something? I'm very curious about how they would bounce off of each other.

Jowan/Lily/Female Surana - Perhaps they came together while apprentices, or they were always close friends, but it became something more after the Fifth Blight and Surana tracked them both down again. Maybe she and Jowan have to rescue Lily from Aeonar and things develop from there. If she's not a blood mage, how does Surana come to terms with the dark power Lily and Jowan are willing to use?

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #6:

Hollix/Original Female Human Lord of Fortune

Hollix/Original Male Human Lord of Fortune

Hollix/Original Nonbinary Human Lord of Fortune

Fanfiction

So who are the Lords of Fortune, you might want to know?

Well, without recapping Tevinter Nights too much, they're a faction of mercenary adventurers, treasure hunters thieves and seekers of wealth and fame based out of Rivain, who can be of any race or background. They take odd and dangerous jobs from anyone who can pay the fee and have standards, so no working with slavers or punching down against the common folk. A lot of fans believe that our next protagonist in DA4 will be a member of this faction. And well, Hollix is a Lord of Fortune, though don't be deceived by the "Lord" bit, their gender is fluid and they are confirmed as nonbinary by their writer.

Hollix gained their name from Dorian after Hollix crashed a card party he was holding while attempting to spy on him - read "Luck in the Gardens" from Tevinter Nights if you want their whole story.

Writing for one of these pairings is going to require an OC and you can make them however you like, as long as the OC is from Thedas and becomes romantically entangled with Hollix. Hollix is already taking jobs from Dorian and has met Maevaris, so it's not a stretch that the new character would meet via their patrons through another such job - or perhaps they simply met in a tavern much like the one where Hollix tell their story. Go crazy, do worldbuilding, make predictions about the next game, have them do a heist, I'm all ears. :D

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

Request #7:

Loghain Mac Tir/Female Surana

Female Hawke/Loghain Mac Tir

Loghain Mac Tir/Female Trevelyan

Fanfiction

F!Hawke/Loghain - In the very unusual instance that Loghain survives to see Inquisition, he can be Hawke's Warden contact. I'd love something about how they met and Hawke's feelings about this man who did so much damage to the country she grew up in, but also who has worked to make restitution in the Wardens. They're both a bit adrift and away from home, heroes whose stars have diminished or fallen. How do they come together, and who ends up staying in the Fade?

Loghain/F!Surana - What made Warden Surana spare Loghain, and when do they realize they're in love? Does she convince him to do the Dark Ritual, or does one of them die against the Archdemon? Do they fall for each other in Vigil's Keep, after she's Warden Commander, or do they end up travelling to Weisshaupt together after the events at Adamant (and having survived yet again against all odds, Loghain tells Neria he's in love with her)? I'm open to any of these scenarios or anything else you might come up with.

Loghain/F!Trevelyan - The Inquisitor's work is nonstop and Loghain has a small window where he's at Skyhold and then he's either lost to the Fade or on his way to Weisshaupt. When and where do they manage to squeeze in a relationship, and what happens to make them realize their attraction? I'd love to see the reactions of the other followers, and if they are apart maybe them teasing Trevelyan a bit about her DILF paramour.

Likes:

-mission fic/case fic where they solve a problem

-loyalty kink, kneeling

-ust, resolved ust, friends to lovers, enemies/rivals to lovers

-pwp smut, dubcon

-angst and hurt/comfort

-friendship, fondness, matured relationships

-slice-of-life, humor & general shenanigans

-wild escapes, daring rescues

-making camp together, cuddling up for warmth

-exploring or expanding on existing canon and lore; worldbuilding

-anything post-canon

DNWs: Rape/Noncon, Modern AU, Character Death, A/B/O Dynamics, Character Bashing, Unrequested Backround Pairings, Crossovers

[vethyourhalflingmother]

Elaina, Syldor, and their Twins: I Ramble About Character and Relationship Headcanons Like I’m Writing A Fucking Academic Essay

***SPOILERS FOR CAMPAIGN ONE OF CRITICAL ROLE***

**THIS POST IS VERY LONG. NO, I DON’T KNOW WHAT CONCISE MEANS**

PART ONE: WHAT WE KNOW

As viewers, we do not know much about the details of the relationship between Vax and Vex’s parents, Elaina and Syldor, and we actually don’t know that much about the twins’ relationships with each of their parents (although there are some key moments that give us certain hints). Therefore, most of this is based on my own headcanons and impressions, which I will attempt to explain, but this is the disclaimer that ultimately this is my own interpretation and everyone is entitled to see view it all how they want to see it.

Now, that said, I am going to start by going over what we know. 

Vax and Vex’s history summaries, which appeared at the beginning of early Critical Role episodes, give us the most information about their parents. 

Vax’s says,

“Along with twin sister Vex'ahlia, Vax was born by a chance encounter between elven royalty and human peasantry. Raised by their mother in their early years, the twins were eventually sent off to their father in the elven capital of Syngorn. But their cool reception among the elves there never warmed, and their time in the capital didn't last. The siblings stole away one autumn night and set out on the open road.” (source)

and Vex’s tells the same story, 

“Born of a human mother and an elven father—who only later in life took an interest in their existence—, Vex'ahlia and her twin brother Vax'ildan quickly realized the only people they could truly rely on in this world were each other.

It was at the age of ten when the two were taken from their mother, and brought to live in Syngorn, the isolated elven city for which their father was an ambassador. He quietly took them in, but always kept an icy distance, and after too many years of disdainful looks, the pair decided to leave his indifference behind, and set out on their own.” (source)

However, this isn’t the entire story. (Most of my source for the following information comes from Heredity and Hats, and I recommend watching the twins’ entire conversation with their father, their step-mother (Devana), and their sister (Velora), from roughly here until here).

Firstly, we learn the Syldor Vessar, the twins’ father isn’t exactly royalty; he’s an ambassador with substantial rank and privilege, but not as much as an actual royal, which is implied when he tells them that he can only get them one meeting with Syngorn’s leader, the High Warden - he’s probably more like a nobleman, which I’ll go into more about later. This also explains why he was out of such a closed off city in the first place. 

Secondly, it is unclear how involved Syldor and Elaina’s relationship was, probably because the twins themselves don’t know. There’s some implication that it was a brief fling or a one-night stand, from the language “a chance encounter” and how Vex crudely describes her and her brother’s conception as Syldor “fuck[ing] some random woman in a city [he] passed through.”

Thirdly, it is also unclear how Syldor came to take care of the twins. At times (like in Vax’s summary, and in some of Vex’s mentions of her mother), it is suggested that Elaina sent the twins to Syldor, whereas in the twins’ conversation with Syldor in Heredity and Hats, it is suggested that he took the twins from her (Vax’s line about leaving them to be with their mother when she died strongly suggests this). 

Fourthly, we know that Elaina was a peasant seamstress from Byroden who was killed when Thordak the Cinder King destroyed the town (when the twins were roughly 12 years old, probably before they ran away from Syldor - one of the artbooks supposedly puts the twins at 13 or 14 when they left Syngorn, but since I don’t have a copy myself, I’m not sure). This tells us quite a bit; both Vex and Vax’s summaries mention the racial difference between their parents, and in Heredity and Hats, Syldor brings up his people’s bigotry against humans and half-elves and how his life is easier when the twins aren’t part of it. Vax’s also mentions their class differences. And because Elaina is dead, we don’t see her until Vax dies himself - where we get one line of her saying that she’s proud of him. 

PART TWO: BASIC ASSUMPTIONS ON WHICH MORE COMPLEX INTERPRETATIONS ARE BUILT

Now that those facts are on the table, what do they mean for my interpretation and subsequent headcanons? In order to get into that, we have to start with my more basic assumptions based on the above information. 

To start at the beginning, Vex is likely right when she says Syldor was passing through Byroden and had a quick fling with Elaina. He probably didn’t know that he got her pregnant. It’s altogether possible that he stopped in this little town for one night on his way to do some ambassadorial duties and didn’t think twice about it until he passed through again and heard a rumor about some half-elf children, and I headcanon that’s what happen. (That said, they could’ve had a short fling as well, though I doubt there was any love. Syldor clearly looks down on humans, and Elaina’s class likely doubled that bigotry.) 

As for a timeline about when the Syldor first heard he may have bastard children and when he decided to interfere, I don’t have a specific one, but I feel like he probably spent a long time debating about it - and how it would affect his personal and professional life. As mentioned above, Vax’s summary implies that Syldor is royalty, but his status is more complicated than that. It does have special privileges, and I know because in Syngorn is childbaring is very regulated (as described in Matt Mercer’s Tal’Dorei Campaign Guide, children have to be approved by the government before conception, and unapproved children, even full-blooded elves, are sent to live outside the city). As an ambassador Syldor probably gets special passes on certain things, like leaving the city in general, and bringing back illegal wines and children to Syngorn and claiming they’re gifts that just can’t be turned down from the city’s allies. 

Ultimately, he either fell prey to his own arrogance about the importance of his bloodline or he felt guilty. I’m inclined to believe it’s a mixture of both emotions, though probably more guilt, since Syldor expresses that he cares about the twins in some capacity - just not nearly as much as children deserve from their father.  

Now, for Elaina, at this point, I have a considerably less clear picture of her than I do Syldor, just due to lack of information. However, I’ve seen a few interpretations that don’t particularly do it for me, such as her being lovelorn and entirely passive. I don’t tend to like that because 1) her children are both very active in their own destinies, including their romantic lives, and 2) that’s a pretty stereotypical position for her to be in, especially given that Syldor has a lot of a status over her. But when I was developing Elaina, I had to sift through some deeper stuff before I started deciding what she would be, as a character in my head, rather than just what she wasn’t. 

Which brings me to a more complex question that ended up being fundamental to my personal interpretation of Syldor and Elaina, both together and as individuals: did Elaina send the twins with Syldor or did Syldor take the twins from Elaina? 

PART THREE: ADDRESSING THE NUANCE

So. I already said that Liam contradicts himself on this wording. The real world explanation for that is likely that he wasn’t thinking about the difference, or that the twins’ backstory became clearer once they played more, which are both incredibly valid possibilities. But I am an English major, and if you’ve followed my blog for awhile, you know I like to pick on little details for fun. And this little detail has some interesting implications.

The difference between Elaina sending the twins with Syldor and Syldor taking them is a matter of both Elaina’s personal choice and Syldor’s use of force. But’s not so simple as she definitely gave them of her own will or Syldor definitely made her - and this isn’t just due to lack of information, it’s also because I get the impression that the twins themselves view the situation differently. 

I don’t have sources on hand, but I got the feeling that Vex felt more like Elaina gave them over to Syldor too willingly, whereas Vax’s frustration with the situation was only directed at Syldor (perhaps because he holds his mother in high esteem, or maybe because he really does believe she did what she could to try & keep them/was forced to give them up against her will). Perhaps at a later date, I will write something else going into the twins’ perspectives on their parents and general heritage, but since that’s a whole other can of worms, I’m going to leave it there for now. 

The point is, my understanding was that the twins were not unified in their thoughts of moving from mom to dad, and what I took from that was, well it was probably a very nuanced situation. 

Elaina obviously cared for her children. There’s evidence. As mentioned above, Vax would’ve rather died with her than live in Syngorn. They went back to try and find her after they ran away. The Raven Queen used her to ease Vax’s passing. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t give them up to Syldor. She was a peasant. The twins imply that they were poor growing up - this, combined with their time on their own after Syngorn, seem to be why Vex is as concerned with money as she is. If Syldor said, “I could give them a life where money wasn’t a worry,” I would think she’d take it under consideration.

I don’t think she would be eager to send her children into the unknown with a man she barely knows, especially not one that also looks down his nose at her, though. Perhaps if she were desperate, but there’s no indication that the twins were starving, and they did have a house and clothes (as Vax dramatically recalls at one point when he thinks he’s dying), and Elaina did have a job as a seamstress. Obviously, I can’t say for certain that she wasn’t completely desperate, but my impression is that she wasn’t. 

The other factor is how willing she is to just let things happen to her. If she was quite passive, then perhaps she would hand them over simply due to her lack of ability to stand up for herself. But very early into this, I started formulating an Elaina that was very headstrong and fierce and took control of her own destiny. This, to me, felt true to the part of her we know most about: her children. And ultimately, it’s the kind of thing that turns a flat character into one with more substance - it’s not an easy decision for her.

So that is the Elaina who sees the merit of Syldor’s suggestion, but also the Elaina who wants to refuse it. Why doesn’t she? Because Syldor is a man (elf? you know what I mean) with power, something I’m sure she’d known from the moment she met him. It isn’t as if men like Syldor hide that shit. Do I think he outright threatened to beat her down if she didn’t hand over the twins? No, not at all. But an implication of how... traumatic it would be for the twins if he stopped asking nicely could work well enough coupled with promises of good futures for them. Or it might not even be that overt; maybe he could’ve  just demand a decision from her without giving her time to think, or time to talk to the twins about what they want. And so now not only is it not easy, but maybe it’s not even entirely her own. There’s another layer to her and the situation. 

Therefore, in my mind, when Elaina watches the twins leave, she roiling with all sorts of emotions - anger, loss, apprehension, anxiety, maybe even a small bud of hope - but most immediately, regret. My version of Elaina, more than anything, curses herself over her decision to let the twins go, until the moment her house catches fire. 

PART FOUR: SYLDOR, A CHARACTER SUMMARY

Syldor Vessar is an asshole. He was probably an asshole to Elaina, though I doubt they talked much. He’s a bad father. He brought the twins into an environment he knew would be hostile to them and then neglected them. Then he tried to hide behind the excuse of “well, I did all I could.” However, I see a lot of asshole fathers portrayed in fiction that remind me of cartoon villains with black and white perspectives and iron fists. But Syldor’s a different brand.  Because Syldor says that he cares and that he’s proud of the twins. He gives them access to the High Warden. He admits to some of his wrong doings. And on some level, that stuff is probably true and genuine. I think he believes he did all he could. He knows he wasn’t the best father, but clearly he didn’t see himself as bad enough to not have another child. He probably assumes he can do better by Velora. And maybe he can, with a full-blooded elf, with a daughter he actually considers his own. But maybe not. To me, it looks like Syldor’s love is extremely conditional. From what Vax and Vex imply, the conditions are how pointy your ears are, how much money you have in your pocket, and how well you can conform. 

PART FIVE: ELAINA, A CHARACTER SUMMARY

I’ve said most of this already, but Elaina is my tragedy that really tried to resist being a tragedy. As far as her life prior to Syldor, I like to think she was doing her best to enjoy life in order to balance all the damn work she had to do. I like to think she was popular in Byroden, and that she had lots of acquaintances but few really close friends. I like to think she had one night a week where she went to the tavern and got piss drunk. I like to think that she spat at the men who told her to smile. I like to think that he needlework was some of the best in the region, which is a small prize, but one of her to be proud of. I like to think that she slept with more than just Syldor. 

And I like to think that she kept all that fervor when she had the twins, but that she repurposed it a little to better suit them. I like to think she made up wild stories and told them to the twins every night. I like to think she wasn’t a great cook, but that her meals still had that something special that only mothers can add. I like to think she instilled the sense of goodness in the twins that follows what is right, not what is the law. And I like to think that she sparked something in them that led them to be champions of literal gods. That she was more than just a footnote to encourage their vengeance against a dragon they were going to kill anyway and more than just a random woman Syldor fucking Vessar fucked.  

Because to me, it feels like she did mean much more than can be said, at least to her children.

[fandomn00blr]

Kieran

I’m writing this Alistair and Morrigan co-parenting situation in reverse order. Like most things I write.

Here’s a thing I just wrote today because I guess I needed a good cry...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300158

During Awakening, when King Alistair comes to visit Vigil’s Keep to give his “approval” of the Warden operations...he actually has another reason for visiting.

...

“You have a son,” Solona whispered, motioning for Alistair to come and see for himself as Anders pushed his way out of the little room, looking a bit miffed.

“Don’t get his hopes up...” Morrigan muttered, ignoring Alistair so she could glare suspiciously at Anders on his way out.

Alistair, on the other hand, was beaming. “We have a son?!”

Morrigan nodded slowly, trying hard to hide the relief that still flooded through her now that the effort of labor was past. She looked up at him with a hesitant fondness, and Solona smiled to herself before ducking back out of the room to give them a few moments alone and to speak with Anders.

He was waiting impatiently outside and he shook his head as soon as the door was shut behind her. "She says she doesn't need my 'Chantry magic'...I tried to explain to her that I am also an apostate, not some extension of the church, but --"

"But everything is well…?" Solona asked, unsurprised that Morrigan would refuse his attention or care. He was a stranger to her, after all. And the fewer people who knew about her and her child, the better, in her mind.

"As far as I can tell, mother and baby seem quite healthy. But the child has an odd...aura to him? He barely cried at all."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about!" Solona said cheerfully.

Far too cheerfully. It wasn't like her at all, and Anders raised his eyebrows in question. He knew she was hiding something.

The whole situation had been bizarre. The way she’d been hidden away below the Keep under cover of night. The way he’d been sworn to secrecy, “no matter what you see…” as though she’d been expecting something horrific to burst out of this woman’s womb. And now the newly-annointed King of Ferelden showing up for a visit, claiming to be the father. He knew Solona and her companions had been through some shit during the Blight, but he couldn’t imagine what all of the fuss could’ve been about if two of them had simply produced a child. Kings had bastards all the time. It was now public knowledge that this King was one himself.

"Morrigan is a rather old soul herself…" she added quickly as some kind of explanation, before shooing him along the tunnel that led back up to the Keep. “And a witch, so I’m sure she’s got everything from here…thank you! And remember...no blabbing about this to anyone.”

“You must think so little of me, Sol. Patient confidentiality is something I hold to be sacred.”

“I know you love to gossip.”

...

“Would you like to hold the child?” Morrigan asked as Alistair stood staring in awe at them like he’d just walked in on something he shouldn’t have. He’d been invited, he had to keep reminding himself. She’d wanted him to come.

“Can I…?” He already looked completely smitten with the son he was not to have any part in raising.

“If you can resist growing too attached to him.”

Too late, he thought, but didn’t dare to say it aloud, for fear she’d rescind the offer.

“As soon as I have recovered, I will be leaving this place. Solona has been generous in offering us this temporary sanctuary, but we cannot linger. Her healer already senses that there is something unique about him.”

"I have a Templar in my company who would happily deal with the mage for us,” Alistair laughed, only half-joking, as Morrigan passed the little bundle carefully into his arms. “Just to keep you both safe…" he cooed as the baby squirmed, sensing his apprehensions through the sarcasm.

But he fit so naturally into the crook of his elbow that Alistair’s fears and anxieties about the well-being of this child quickly gave way to something far more powerful. As he dared to look down at him, he was certain he was the most miraculous, perfect, wonderful, precious thing he’d ever seen.

“What shall we call you, little one?” he asked the baby. “Alistair, Jr.?”

Morrigan groaned. “He shall not be named after a Fereldan dog lord.”

“Of course not," Alistair chuckled. "There will be bigger and better things for you…”

“His name is Kieran.”

“Oh?”

“Do you not approve?”

“No. I mean, yes. I -- it’s a good name...I like it.” He peered at the infant and smiled. And his heart nearly broke at the thought of ever letting go of him. Stroking the knuckle of his pinky gently down his cheek, he whispered, “Kieran…”

The baby turned toward his finger, his tiny mouth searching hungrily for a nipple.

“He wishes to feed.”

Alistair sighed heavily. He knew this very well could be the last time he would ever get to see his son. Morrigan had said she would write, but visits were an unlikely possibility. Still, at least she’d allowed him to see him this once. He should be grateful for this moment. He didn’t dare to allow himself to hope...

He handed the baby reluctantly back to his mother and decided to give them some privacy as Morrigan pulled her shawl down off her shoulder and allowed the baby to find her breast. As soon as he was out the door, he felt ridiculous about it, and had half a mind to march right back into the room and crawl into bed with them, refusing to leave. But Solona was waiting for him outside, her own brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I think so."

She tilted her head. She knew him better than this.

"No, of course not! But I suppose I will have to be."

“Are you happy you came?”

“Yes. He’s...perfect. I just...”

“He is pretty fucking cute,” she laughed. “Almost makes me want to have one someday…but Sweens will have to do for now.”

Alistair shook his head sadly, refusing to look up into her eyes. “I don’t know how I can go back and just pretend he doesn’t exist. I can't even hate her for this. Because she's right. Please don't ever tell her I said that...but --”

“I’m sorry, Alistair…”

“She promised she would write.”

“I’ll remind her of that.”

“And if she doesn’t...will you…? I mean, I know she’s not going to stay here with you, but I imagine she’ll keep in touch with you, if nothing else.”

Solona nodded. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you…” she started. “Without this…”

“I don’t even want to think about that. We are all somehow alive. That’s all that matters. He is healthy and he is beautiful. And Solona...”

"Hmmm?"

He finally looked up at her. “I have a son!"

It was then that the tears he'd been trying so hard to keep in check finally began to flow.

She could barely stand to see him like this. It was a brutal reminder of how young he was...how young they all were...and to have been through so much already. So much responsibility foisted upon them. And now this...

She pulled him into her arms and he buried his face in her neck. Like he used to on the really hard nights. But on those nights, at least she’d had Leliana with her to help comfort him. Or to comfort her. She somehow always knew what to say. What to do. To make everything seem less hopeless. And Wynne. And Zevran. And Shale. And even Sten.

She realized how alone all of them were, scattered across Thedas, each of them doing their part to save the world that refused to stay fixed. She actually longed for the days of the Blight, when they could at least all still be together at camp. Sobbing, and laughing, and eating and drinking, and taking turns comforting one another in the darkness.

"I love you…" he sobbed. "But I don't know if I can ever forgive you for this."

"I know. But saving you was worth it," she murmured into the top of his head, squeezing him tight as his fingers dug into her mail and clenched at desperate fistfuls of silverite. “Even if you hate me.”

"I...have to go," he sniffed, pulling away from her.

"Yes. It was good of you to check in on us here in Amaranthine, your Highness…” she winced. Even though she’d meant it as a joke, she knew it was still painful for him to hear the title that had been mostly forced upon him. Especially coming from her.

"I want to stay here.”

"I know."

"But I can't."

"She knows, too, by the way." Solona tried to assure him, though she didn’t really know if this was a comfort to him. “She doesn’t hate you, either.”

"What about Kieran?"

"He'll grow up knowing his father wanted very much to be a part of his life."

"How do you know that?"

"The same way you know…"

He wiped the rest of his tears on the sleeve of his royal furs and turned to go without another word.

Solona slumped back against the cold stone wall, wrestling her own sobs back into her throat.

She had some new recruits who had yet to undergo the Joining waiting for her now that they’d received the King’s approval of their operations here. Anders, obviously, she’d known since she was a child, and Nathaniel Howe, who had initially come seeking vengeance for the death of his despicable father, and somehow been convinced to join their cause instead. But she hadn’t even bothered to learn the others’ names. No point, really, until they’d survived the ritual. A dwarf from the Legion of the Dead, a Dalish witch, a corpse inhabited by a spirit of Justice...at least he was already dead, she supposed, with a shrug as she smoothed out her mail and steeled her expression before heading up to the Keep to prepare the Darkspawn blood she’d sent them out to retrieve with Oghren as their guide. Just as Duncan had done. Her job, she realized with a shaky sigh, now that she'd stopped a Blight, and made Alistair King, and sent Leliana to serve the Divine, and wished the others well on their own personal quests for atonement and absolution, would be to carry on where Duncan had left off.

[aion-rsa]

Watchmen Episode 9 Easter Eggs Explained

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The big finale of HBO's Watchmen comes together in episode 9! Here's all the references to the book we were able to catch.

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This article contains Watchmen spoilers.

Watchmen episode 9 “See How They Fly” wraps it all up. And you’d think that after nine time-hopping episodes they might be ready to wrap up all of their homages and references to the original book. You would be wrong. 

But not everything comes from the book. The episode’s title, “See how they fly” is a lyric from The Beatles’ psychedelic masterpiece “I Am The Walrus” which features the sinister/joyful (and Watchmen-relevant) refrain of “I am the eggman.” Now, with that out of the way, let’s get down to business.

LADY TRIEU

- We’re once again back on Nov. 1, 1985...this time to witness the conception of Lady Trieu. Her mother, Bian (who in the future Lady Trieu will clone and raise as her daughter) was one of Veidt’s Vietnamese employees who kept his fortress of solitude, Karnak, running. The verse she recites is apparently from folklore about a Lady Trieu who lived during the third century. 

Incidentally, this is the most we’ve seen of the inner workings of Karnak, including in the book, where we only saw TWO employees. Does this mean he murdered ALL of these people, too? That is dark as fuck.

read more: Complete Watchmen Timeline Explained

- Lady Trieu is sperm sample 2346. That’s 23 x 2. It could very well be a reference to the “23 enigma,” an almost cult-like belief in the significance of the number 23. It was popularized by counterculture icons like William S. Burroughs and Robert Anton Wilson. 

- The fact that Bian crowns her insemination with “Fuck you, Ozymandias” is interesting. Is Veidt, like Dr. Manhattan, a symbol of American imperialism in Vietnam? Pretty likely, right?

- In 2008, when Lady Trieu confronts Adrian Veidt and refers to him as “the smartest man in the world” she’s using the nickname that had been given to Ozymandias by the press. Trieu is, of course, “the smartest woman in the world.”

ADRIAN VEIDT

- This is the filming of the “confession/congratulations” video that Wade Tillman was shown by Joe Keene back in episode 5. It will be presented to Robert Redford on the day he is inaugurated as President on January 21, 1993. You can see the giant squid in the tank behind Veidt while he is recording the message to President Redford, by the way.

- “Untie knot” is the password prompt on Veidt’s old computer. “Untie knot” refers to the Gordian Knot, which Alexander the Great famously solved with his sword. The password is “Rameses II” just like in the book. 

- That’s a portrait of Alexander the Great in Veidt’s office, but as of yet I’ve been unable to identify it.

- We learn in this episode that Veidt has “never given himself to a woman.” The fact that he specifically mentions women and not men could possibly echo Rorschach’s observation about him in the book, that Veidt is “possibly homosexual.”  

- Based on the five year timeline laid out by Lady Trieu here, it would appear that Veidt spelled out “Save me Daughter” on the surface of Europa with the corpses of his servants in 2013.

read more: Watchmen Finale Explained

- Veidt’s line about achieving “everything” having “started from nothing” is a quote from the book, during the chapter when he is recounting his own origin story.

- Veidt catches the bullet from the Game Warden as he did in the comic when Laurie tried shooting him in Karnak.

- Veidt’s philosophy that “masks make men true” seems to echo Oscar Wilde’s “give a man a mask and he will tell you the truth” aphorism. This is refuted later in the episode by Will Reeves who feels quite the opposite about masks.

- “Palestine has become a widow for Egypt.” Veidt is quoting the Merneptah Stele, an ancient inscription detailing the Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Merneptah’s victories. He ends with “the end is nigh,” which is generally Biblical in nature, but refers in this context specifically to the sign that Rorschach, in his identity of Walter Kovacs, used to carry around in the book.

DOCTOR MANHATTAN

- Joe Keene’s high-waisted undies are a mirror of the ones Dr. Manhattan wore through chunks of his career, before he decided to abandon clothing entirely.

- Lady Trieu refers to Dr. Manhattan as “the big blue cheese.” This is a surprisingly playful reference to Shazam, whose enemy Dr. Sivana routinely calls him a “big red cheese.” Incidentally, Lady Trieu does have a tendency to dress like the Sivana of the comics, who favors all white outfits.

- The 7th Kavalry discovered the existence of Dr. Manhattan on the White Night because Cal teleported “Mike” to Gila Flats, which was the place where Jon Osterman became Dr. Manhattan.

- Laurie refers once again to the thermodynamic miracle, a term taught to her by Jon the day that she discovered that her father was in fact Edward Blake.

- Jon has remained somewhat disoriented since he was “returned” by Angela. Throughout, we see him slipping into the past, specifically into moments from the book. 

- “Janey, are you cold? I can raise the temperature” refers to a Christmas in 1959, the first Jon spent as Dr. Manhattan, when he was still with his first love, Janey Slater. Her “chill” was because she was getting a little scared of Jon and his increasingly distant humanity.

- “There is no situation in Afghanistan requiring my attention,” comes from the final moments of Jon’s talk show appearance in October of 1985, moments before he left Earth for Mars.

LOOKING GLASS

- “Mirror Guy? “It’s Looking Glass” has become the best ongoing joke of this entire series. And as it turns out, Laurie and Wade have more in common than they thought. Wade has a tendency to puke after experiencing Dr. Manhattan’s teleportation, a trait he shares with Laurie.

RORSCHACH

When Angela is interrogating a member of the 7th Kavalry, she starts breaking his fingers, before threatening to move on to other parts of his anatomy. That was a favorite technique of Rorschach to extract information.

HOODED JUSTICE

Will Reeves uses some comic book speak by referring to the Tulsa Race Massacre as “my origin story.” He also says “before my world ended,” both an allusion to the Tulsa/Krypton parallels we have tracked elsewhere in these guides and the way Batman is fond of referring to the night his parents died. Both are appropriate.

NITE OWL

Nite Owl’s old ship, ARCHIE (hence Veidt’s “it’s been a hoot”) is still in Karnak after freezing up shortly after transporting Dan and Rorschach there to confront Veidt on Nov. 1, 1985. Wade would indeed know how to fly it since Dan later licensed his technology to police departments under the umbrella of a company called Merlincorps.

Incidentally, while Dan was only ever alluded to throughout this season, if we do indeed get a Watchmen season 2, then we have to figure he’ll show up to testify at Veidt’s trial.

We wrote more about Nite Owl here.

ANGELA ABAR

Is Angela now a godlike being who can walk on water after consuming that mysterious egg? Well, during their first meeting 10 years ago, Dr. Manhattan did tell her that he could “theoretically” transmit his powers into organic material for someone else to consume. And he DID want her to see him walking on water. But it looks like we may never know for sure.

read more: The Unanswered Questions of the Watchmen Finale

But that ambiguous ending is meant to mirror the final panel of the book, where it was unclear whether the bumbling intern at the offices of the New Frontiersman would reach for Rorschach’s Journal from “the crank pile” for possible publication.

MISCELLANEOUS STUFF

- “As if some cowboy actor could ever become president.” It worked for Ronald Reagan!

- When Lady Trieu tells Adrian Veidt that he “stopped the clock” she’s referring to the Doomsday Clock, which was at one minute to midnight before the squid massacre prevented World War III.

- We once again get Johann Strauss' "The Blue Danube Waltz" on Europa, this time as Lady Trieu's spacecraft lands. The 2001: A Space Odyssey parallels are real, considering that film dealt with a mysterious Monolith appearing on the surface of Europa.

- At the newsstand, there’s a headline that says “Supreme Court Confirmation Hearings Drag On” for John Grisham. This has become something of a running joke on the show since episode 3.

- There’s also a New Frontiersman headline that says “Four Wounded in Saigon Burning” indicating that unrest in Vietnam continues.

- The gentleman in the wheelchair who turns up is Senator Joe Keene, Sr. the man who outlawed masked vigilantes in the first place in the book.

Mike Cecchini is the Editor in Chief of Den of Geek. You can read more of his work here. Follow him on Twitter @wayoutstuff.

Read and download the Den of Geek Lost in Space Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Mike Cecchini

Dec 15, 2019

Watchmen

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[a-wandering-fool]

An update to the case:

We have concluded the first several days of trial motions, with more to go, and are awaiting jury selection starting Wednesday.

You can read my reporting on the trial motions here:

Previewing Gibson’s Bakery v. Oberlin College trial: ‘Social Justice’ free speech or defamation?

Judge finds Gibson’s “reputation is central to this case”

Bakery to prove “the college poured gasoline on the fire”

What’s a reputation worth, and how do you prove it?

In this post I’ll try to make sense of how things got to this point.

In this day and time of constant opinion in social media, and the edges of the extreme are favored over middle-ground common sense, the worst thing to be these days is one who sits on the sideline and doesn’t make accusations rather than the one who is actually being accused of some ideological and/or political impropriety.

Take any issue you want; Gun control, immigration reform, healthcare, freedom of speech, etc. On immigration, if you are part of a group that advocates for the rights of refugees trying to enter the country, your followers expect your group to yell and scream about any opposing group looking to restrict immigrant numbers in general. Likewise, if you want to slam the door on all immigrants, you are judged not by the veracity of your opinions, but how loud you yell them at the one who want more immigrants.

It’s not about right or wrong or intellectual discussion. It is who yells the loudest and the longest.

Oberlin College finds itself in this unnerving spot in the civil trial where it is being accused of libel and defamation by participating with extremists who were claiming a small, local business in Oberlin was racist.

Jury selection will likely begin this Wednesday, and as the trial begins, expect the plaintiff’s attorneys to harp  repeatedly on the fact that Oberlin basically jumped into this foray because not joining in on the racist accusations was actually worse in the eyes of its students than joining in on a protest with little factual basis to it.

It is a problem many of these small, liberal arts institutions are finding themselves in these day.  The school’s Black Student Union called out the Oberlin College administration for being racist with a 14-page letter a year before this protest action happened. This is their accusation against their school: “You include Black and other students of color in the institution and mark them with the words ‘equity, inclusion and diversity, when in fact this institution functions on the premises of imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism, ableism, and a cissexist heteropatriarchy.”

The school did not sit down and negotiate over these “imperialism” and “white supremacy” accusations. But a year later, it found itself in a position to join in with its students in accusing a small business of such similar malfeasance that the students had called them out on. As the plaintiff’s lawyers will likely point out, Oberlin jumped from being the accused to being the accuser. In this day and age, that is a more comfortable place to be.

These are the basic facts of the case. On Nov. 9, 2016, a day after the presidential elections, three Oberlin College students were arrested for shoplifting and scuffling with an employee of Gibson’s Bakery and Market, a convenience store business that had been operating there since 1885. A protest by students ensued after that, with the protesters chanting Gibson’s is “racist” for going after the shoplifters.

Gibson’s is claiming the school libeled and defamed their reputation and money earning in the community by joining the protest actively and handing out flyers saying the business was racist. We covered a lot of this in more detail in a case preview on April 29.

What has happened at Oberlin College is that the positive perception of “diversity” on campus has morphed into the unlikable impression of “tokenism.” That being, that Oberlin College, once known as one of the top small schools in the country and once nicknamed the “Harvard of the Midwest,” is thought of by many minority students now as being part of moving them to the liberal, upper middle-class, dominated by whites, which they consider part of the higher-education, societal con job.

If you are somewhat confused by all this, join the club. Over the weekend in Oberlin, I was told by a group of students at the Slow Train Café coffee shop that as an older white male, I had been “desensitized” in my lifetime, didn’t understand them at all, and had all the bad parts of “cisgenderism.”

Also, none of them wanted their names used as I was one of those lying, fake news, media people that they were experts on as well.

How this fits into the case is that the attorneys for Gibson’s will be arguing that Oberlin College was, and still is, ideologically confused and that this one of the primary reasons for their actions against Gibson’s. If students are accusing the school of “appropriating” their lives, these same students are now wearing the badge of “victimhood.” Payback can come in many formats.

If all this sounds confusing, it is. But it is part of a long transformation since the 1970s of what these small, liberal arts colleges have actually become. These changes did not occur in a tidy two-year window as the media often likes to frame things. This was a change in perception of both collegiate purpose and factual overview that happened over decades.

In short, Oberlin College isn’t what it once was, and it is trying to figure out what it is now. The joke in its early years and most of the 20th century was that it was “somewhere in the middle of nowhere.” It was about spending four years away from mainstream America, then returning with a well-seasoned and newly minted brain. That’s why you drove for hours through the corn fields to get there.

And it was special. In 1965, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke at its commencement (one of many times he did, the first being in 1957), and Oberlin College’s involvement in and commitment to the Civil Rights movement was clear to King. He challenged the graduates to remain committed to justice as Oberlin “has probably done more than any other [college] to support the struggle for racial justice.”

MLK added, “I can never come to this campus without a deep sense of appreciation and gratitude for all that this great institution has done for the cultural, political, and social life of our nation.  By all standards, Oberlin is one of the great colleges, not only of our nation, but of the world.”

That world greatness had faded. It is no longer in the middle of nowhere, either. Highways put it now only about 25 minutes away from the Cleveland airport, and Ohio State University in only 100 miles south – less than a two-hour drive away. But more importantly, the online world brings mainstream America into everyone’s phone. In America, the middle of nowhere no longer exists.

The result of these changes is that the individual student is now more important than the school itself. Artistic expression is not now done, it has to be approved. Controversial books have to have a “trigger” warning. And the new dirty word of accusation and social stratification is “intersectionality.”

In the end, most everything must now be “school-approved,” and run through the “diversity checklist” for that approval. That’s where the designation of white male is not a good square to have checked.

What is driving this civil lawsuit in courtroom planning is all that and a lot more.  Higher education is now fighting through this ultimate meaning and purpose of knowledge-based thinking change; part of which is now based on the acceptable supposition that the college now conforms to the individual rather than the individual conforming to the college. It is no longer about the equality of opportunity that is made available, it is about the equality of post-graduation outcomes that is measured.

Based on trial motions, it is clear that what will be argued to the jury in this case is that the school catered to and dictated a message their radical student base wanted them to do, not perhaps guiding them on what is a reasonable response and what is not. Not the old way of thinking that the college or university was sort of the high court of intellectualism — influenced by trends and eras, but not dominated by them.

What was influencing the thinking in the Lorain County courtroom last week is that the plaintiff attorneys are likely to wade into evidence that Gibson’s became collateral damage in a culture war that Oberlin College found itself involved in over what now defines liberal education. How to present that to a jury, though, is difficult. Because the big question is not whether collateral damage occurred, but how much it is worth.

What used to be the case in the university power structure, however, was that the school administration usually saw itself as the warden in the prison, and quietly made their young students/inmates get in line if the trends of the times pulled those students too far from common-sense land. That seems to exist less and less now, and a more conservative jury – which is likely to be the case in this northern Ohio county – will probably buy into that the school had abdicated their responsibility of leadership.

The married couple, Gary Kornblith and Carol Lasser, both Oberlin College history professors emeriti, wrote a book published last year called “Elusive Utopia: The Struggle for Racial Equality in Oberlin, Ohio.” One subject they brought up was how difficult historically it has been for the school to handle a controversial subject like racial equality. They pointed out that black families in Oberlin have an annual income one-fourth lower than that of white families, a poverty rate three times higher, and a lower percentage for townie college graduates compared to whites.

“While the history of race in Oberlin reminds us that well-meaning actions can have unintended consequences, amid today’s continuing struggle for the conscience and soul of America, we need the courage to envision a future of racial justice, an inclusive and productive multicultural politics, an economy of abundance widely shared, and a society of mutual respect, generosity and dignity,” they wrote.

“Dreams are dangerous, imperfect and powerful. They are also elusive, as are the utopias we imagine.”

=========================

Need to go through this...