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fragileoracle · 2 years

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She Is Anew, She is Reclaimed; Conceptualizing The Verdant Frontier

"Recently I had made up my mind to participate in NaNoWriMo."

Of course we (writers I mean) are mostly knowledgeable of what the event means-- hours upon hours of staring at a laptop screen, willing a full novel into existence by hammering our eager fingertips across a keyboard, unless, of course, you're one of those (that I admire deeply) that prefer the pen to the sword. This time spent not including what should be hours of editing and re-editing and weeping openly into a cold cup of coffee as you realize what a ridiculous idea it was to begin with.

All in the span of a single month. Yes. The hopeful author's inktober.

Fast-forward exactly two weeks. It is 6 am on a Monday, (I actually had to look at the date to make sure) I am sitting at my desk at work patiently waiting for 7 am to turn around so I can return home to my cat (he's going to be pissed that he hasn't gotten fed yet). Having just created this Tumblr after being away for the better part of a decade, and my mind is reeling with the at-times overwhelming buzz of characters and story-lines I am itching to actually write.

It hits me.

I will not be finishing anything in time for the conclusion of NaNoWriMo, to ask that of myself when I haven't been consistenly writing is beyond my abilites both innate and honed. Yet in the same vein of thinking? I am entirely grateful to the sudden spur of the moment decision to write something. It is not the project I would have originally picked to work on, but here I am. Planning. Outlining. Staring at the blinking cursor on my screen. I am for once in a thousand moons actually writing again. This is a project that is all mine, and I rely on no co-authors or partners to aid me in the task of world-building or even small details like naming places or people.

A daunting task? Obviously.

Who in their right mind after creating four entire universes would choose to start from scratch a fifth time? Who would voluntarily leave whole worlds on the back-burner for a possibly over-glorified fan fiction with exactly one character from the franchise and paint an entirely new backdrop for him?

Me.

*cue unhinged laughter*

After a month of playing Red Dead Redemption 2 I have been deeply invested in all things cowboys and outlaws, but completely disinterested in the actual history of any real timeline. Boring. I want the wild west to be much more wild, and I want androids and aliens and space travel. I want to drop a reincarnation of Arthur Morgan into the thick of it and spin a different ending (after having my heart ripped out and stomped on). I want to give the characters that haven't had an opportunity to shine in previous projects of mine a complete over-haul.

I want a new frontier, one that has grown over the bones of empires fallen.

The Verdant Frontier

Catchy right?

When conceptualizing the universe I wanted to write in, I knew I wanted to stay true to exactly two themes; overgrown & wild.

Of course there were other elements that I was concerned with but RDR2 had awakened such a thirst for the "Untamed" that I decided to go for the extreme, a method I tend to use in a lot of my world-building.

We all have secret wishes, don't look at me like that.

There's this beautifully bittersweet theme of losing a world that once felt vast and magical i.e the final frontier of America toward the turn of the 20th century. RDR2 is drenched with longing for a piece of the world that remains untouched, a corner of the world to hide in after a lifetime of surviving; a subject that I became very enmeshed with. I felt deeply sympathetic toward those that wanted to simply fade to black when resistance of the suffocating grip of c i v i l i z a t i o n inevitably became futile. Decades of theft from the ones that had lived on this land for lifetimes leading up to Industry on the cusp of taking over completely as capitalism slowly sinks its teeth into the new world. Not to mention the world now is a much more extreme version of this sentiment, I too yearn for the quiet corners of the world where light pollution doesn't exist and the smog of cities is little more than a bad memory.

Its a piercing kind of yearning.

*cracks knuckles*

So of course as many creators before and after me... that means its time to force a cure for such yearning into existence.

Eventually this planet will find its ruin in the same hands that promised accessibility and wealth for all, as climate disaster becomes more and more irreversible. In a way I believe the growth of this idea is a love letter to an Earth that even in its ruin still found a way to progress forward in a quiet, heartbreaking, beautiful way. I suppose there are two deaths that I am not and could never be prepared for.

Arthur Morgan and planet Earth.

A fictional character and the literal planet I live on... ahh, the duality of man.

The very basis of the setting for the Verdant Frontier is a planet that was raped and abandoned by the self-proclaimed "upper-crust" of society. Those dripping in wealth both new and old began their escape from the dying Earth in the year 2100 after space-travel had become readily-possible for more than just organizations like NASA (looking at you b*zos). The event would be called "The Grand Flight" and would mark a time in history. However those without the ability to leave would be left alone to the planet sapped of resources, where weather patterns had turned fatal, and nature itself becoming hostile where once it provided.

I still wonder where exactly I should take said hostile nature. Man-eating plants anyone? Much larger animals perhaps?

Fast-forward exactly one-thousand years to 3100, to be exact year 3115 as our "time of telling". Translation; the time the beginning of the story is told, however this may be debatable depending on who I begin telling the story with. There are six major cities, many townships and villages scattered over the unrecognizable land masses of Earth. Much of what was possible and practicalities in the 1890s of our real history is possible and used during this time, the humans that remained somehow managing to survive after all this time. The buildings, homes, and community centers are quite rustic, a scenery (of course) that would remind one of the facades of the usual fictional frontier imagery.

Population is finally climbing once more among the "Rooted" as they are called, even if life expectancy has been reduced among the denizens of Earth.

However, those that once left often return for a visit. They are called the Unbound and have long since become something beyond human. With life expectancy proving to be beyond 200 years of age, the Unbound have made remarkable advances in health and space-related technology. They have seen the very edges of the cosmos and have traveled further than most species in the far reaches of the macrocosm. Yet still they return to Earth, going so far as to create the first metropolis on Mars known as Marsaven. A neighbor to Earth in all respects.

I imagine for the Unbound its very much like going to Disney World for vacation with family. Similar to Westworld even. Amusement. Only the darker than black quality here is the fact that those on Earth are very real beings. With hopes, dreams, and squishy meat sacks for bodies. Enter moral quandaries here. Earth has become somewhat of a dumping ground for the Unbound, both for criminals ("unrecoverables") and resource-related waste. The more industry that comes to Earth via connections to the Unbound and even alien species beyond them, the more danger follows.

Spacecraft theft, murder, kidnapping, execution, politics, royalty, and COPS. Oh the things I have planned for my Verdant Frontier. So you see, where this may have stemmed from an inkling for a fan fiction and a month of cramming a novel into something readable...

Its become so much more.

Signed,

k.c

#journal entry #straight from the horse's mouth #fragile oracle #musings while musing #i really didnt mean to carry on like this #feels good to keep track of my thoughts #heres to new worlds #verdant frontier #this ones for you arthur

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blackjack-15 · 3 years

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Dead Weight — Thoughts on: Tomb of the Lost Queen (TMB)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT, SAW, CAP, ASH

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. For this meta and the next (DED), there will be a section entitled The Theme between The Mystery and The Suspects.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with my list of previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: TMB, DED, massive spoilers for SPY; quick spoilers for the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Supermystery Secrets of the Nile.

The Intro:

Here we are already (finally?) at TMB! This one’s gonna be a bit different, lads.

The next two metas in this series — this one for TMB and the next for DED are gonna be a little bit of a two-part sort of endeavor, mostly because the two games are thematically juxtaposed against each other. They should be uploaded within a week of each other (fingers crossed!) to make the comparison a little easier between the two games (and two metas), so if you haven’t played one or the other, you might want to do that before jumping in.

Obligatory heads-up out of the way, let’s get our mummy on.

TMB is a game that, if you were a kid like me obsessed with ancient Egypt (and an adult like me obsessed with ancient Egypt), was one of the most hotly anticipated Nancy Drew titles to hit store shelves. Fortunately, unlike a lot of the “anticipated” games in the series, this one actually delivers – and delivers in spades.

Heh. Spades. Archaeology. You get it. Moving on!

TMB is an interesting game that plays double duty with its literary significance; in other words, it’s one of the few games to have both a definite theme and a definite mission statement, and to have the two be entirely separate from each other. We’ll discuss the theme below, so this introduction is mostly going to be talking about the game’s mission statement — in other words, the main topic of the game, versus the theme it revolves around.

If it sounds like I’m splitting analytic hairs there, it’s because I am. But hey, ‘splitting analytic hairs’ could be the mission statement of this meta series.

Both this game and the title of the meta are about the dead — and more specifically, the weight that the dead have on the events of the game and people in the game themselves. Abdullah (archaeologist and artifact smuggler), Nancy (death of her mother; interest in ancient civilizations), and Jamila (mother; her lineage) are the big, obvious ones who are living under the weight of the dead, but they’re not the only ones.

Lily’s future is “dead” in a number of ways: her academic dishonesty, her position as an archaeology student, and her interest in dinosaurs. Jon’s position as the head of the dig isn’t his only tie to the dead — he also spends most of the game in a hospital after a brush with death itself. Dylan even gets in on it with his false IDs; not only could those be referred to as “dead” identities — they were never alive to begin with — but someone with that many identities could easily have their original said to be dead, buried under the weight of compounding lies.

The weight of the dead extends beyond even our characters and their backstory and motivations, however. The game takes place in what can easily be called a “dead zone”. Nancy’s odd ability to have perfect cell service aside, the camp for the vast majority of the game is in a secret place where neither people nor supplies can get to them, and they even run out of water, which will kill you quicker than anything in the desert.

The most concrete representation of the weight of the dead in TMB is the curse. Thought to be lethal for a lifetime after entering an ancient tomb, curses are little more than superstitions backed up by ‘mysterious’ deaths (usually due to ingesting bacteria within the tomb), but the curse in the first chamber that Nancy opens does press down on the game, with accidents and unfortunate or suspicious things happening one after another after the seal is broken.

Of course, it’s not the unquiet spirit of a dead queen causing the mischief and mayhem, but she is the reason that our cast is gathered in Egypt, and Nefertari’s presence — or lack thereof, due to the erasure of her by history and by those who followed after her — is, in effect, the curse itself. If it wasn’t for her presence, the mystery surrounding her, and the disappeared team of archaeologists decades prior, no one would be at the tomb in the modern day.

But she is there, like a magnet for those with ulterior motives, and she’s there to pull our cast tighter and tighter into her own personal land of the dead. “She’ll never let you leave”, indeed.

The last thing I want to touch on is the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Supermystery that very, very loosely forms the basis of this game: Secrets of the Nile. A well-known Supermystery for the fake marriage plot (the Hardy Boys and Nancy and Bess) and for the Frank/Nancy kiss on the balcony before they are like “oh yeah we’re dating different people huh”. The game doesn’t take much from the book other than the location and a financial motive for crime, but it’s interesting that they chose this book when very little was kept at all.

Now, let’s take a closer look at the pieces that make up this game, shall we?

The Title:

Tomb of the Lost Queen is a classic-feeling title for a Nancy Drew mystery, and accomplishes a few obvious things right off the bat. It first establishes that this is a game about the dead — as said above — and the presence that the dead have in the world of the living. Second, it gives us our location — “Tomb of the Lost Queen” immediately brings Egypt and its many royal tombs to mind — and the focus of the mystery that we’ll be solving.

And if that were all the title could mean, I’d say it’s a solid title – better than Secrets of the Nile, by any metric — but the title’s work isn’t quite done with that.

The last question that the title asks is who is the Lost Queen? We learn about Nefertari fairly quickly in the game and her history definitely qualifies her as a lost queen, but, in my opinion, there’s another candidate that the game title references: Jamila’s mother.

She was a woman of a royal bloodline, disappearing under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind only a trace that her presence ever existed in a tomb buried in the sand — if ever there was a story that would qualify you as a lost queen, it would be hers.

The Mystery:

Job shadowing archaeologist Jon Boyle (and once again showing off her interest in archaeology and ancient civilizations), Nancy is just settling in to the Kingston University dig site when a massive sandstorm hits camp — and someone attacks Jon, sending him to the hospital, whipping up talk of a curse that ended this expedition 60 years earlier, and scaring off much of the excavation crew.

Left behind when the dust finally settles are archaeologist Abdullah Bakhoum, PhD student Lily Crewe, and Nancy herself — and none of our three characters are interested in leaving, despite the shadow of a curse hanging over their work, and the ever-present feeling that the desert does not want them there.

They aren’t alone for too long, however; after Nancy discovers a secret room and hidden sarcophagus, the friendly yet secretive tour guide Dylan Carter and the alien aficionado Jamila El-Dine both show up (despite the dig being a closed and secret location), and it becomes clear that, whatever their own personal agendas might be, no one is at this location for scientific discovery.

The hunt is on to find out why everyone has congregated at this site, who hurt Jon and is causing incidents all over camp, and — most importantly — what exactly the tomb of the lost queen is truly hiding…

As a mystery, TMB holds plenty of turns and side plots worthy of a much longer game than it is, and as a result feels quite packed with story. Not only do you have the story of Ramses II and his Queen, but you have the story of Jamila and the Daughters of Nefertari, the black market scheme, Dylan’s past, and the storyline revolving around who hurt Jon.

Add to all of that Hotchkiss and Bess’ asides that give new meaning and perspective to the events in the mystery, and you have a solid, character-driven mystery that drives its suspense not from being a whodunnit — that’s not really a question through the whole game, as we know from the beginning that Abdullah is up to some shady crap — but from putting characters in a stressful situation and seeing what they’ll do.

The Theme:

TMB is interesting for many, many reasons — most of which will be detailed in this meta — but I think the most interesting thing about it is its theme. At its core, TMB is a game about fear — fear of death, fear of failure, fear of obscurity, fear of abandonment, fear of ignorance — and how this fear preys on people, but also how fear is a pathway to knowledge. As is nearly always the case with Nancy Drew games, it’s our villain who gives us the theme:

“For thousands of years, the lion spoke and no one understood. But understand the fear and you understand the man.”

This sentiment is added to a little further on in the game:

“When people feel like they can get away with anything, they change.”

In other words, it’s fear that defines who people are and what they do. Understand that fear, and you’ll understand the person. Remove that fear, and a person necessarily changes, because they’re not defined by that fear anymore.

This theme plays out through our main characters. Dylan’s fear is a fear of discovery — of being discovered by Nancy that he’s there to try to join the black market. When that fear is removed — or rather, superseded — by the fear of death after being a human paddle in a boulder pinball game, he’s able to be understood for who he really is — a bit of a con man, but not there to hurt or kill anyone.

Lily’s fear at first seems to be of the curse, but the curse really is just a stand-in for her true fear: the fear of repercussions for her actions. Once the fear is understood, it’s easy to see that she’s helping Abdullah in his black-market scheme by trying to injure — sometimes fatally — those who would stand in their way.

Jamila is a character tightly wrapped up — in every way — which illustrates her fear of exposure. When that fear is understood, it’s obvious that she’s hiding things about herself, which leads us to the Daughters of Nefertari plotline, and the discovery of just how bloody the tomb’s — and the queen’s — history is.

Last of the suspects is Abdullah, who fears a lack of notoriety — obscurity, basically — which parallels him to Nefertari nicely, who became obscure due to the actions of others and the passage of time. Once that fear is understood, it’s easy to understand who Abdullah is and why he does what he does — fakes finding artifacts, sells things on the black market, and constantly puffs himself up in conversation.

Because this game is centered around fear, let’s look quickly at how that fear affects Nancy. Sure, the fear of others causes them to try to damage her in one way or another, but Nancy tends to be somewhat fearless in her mystery solving. Her talk with Bess — more on that below — does expose one fear: ignorance.

When you’re in a situation where knowledge keeps you alive, which Nancy often is, it’s easy to say that fear of ignorance is simply the fear of bad things happening to you. But Nancy’s is a bit deeper than that; she defines herself as a curious person, and gets frustrated when things are purposely hidden from her. Nancy fears not knowing things, pure and simple, and it’s due to that fear that she puts herself in danger again and again to ferret out the truth.

The Suspects:

Our first suspect is the venerable and totally guilty Abdullah Bakhoum himself, preeminent archaeologist, egotist, and black market crook. A sort of dark shadow of Alejandro in SSH, Abdullah doesn’t think much about the taking of Egypt’s treasures to different countries’ museums, and is determined that if anyone is going to make money off of history, it’s going to be him.

As our preeminent Bad Guy, Abdullah is the rather obvious choice — which would be a problem if this mystery was concerned with hiding his presence in it, rather than building off of it. As it is, however, his presence strengthens the mystery, allowing for not only a focus for Nancy’s suspicions, but also a source of tension in the tomb, making it feel dangerous even when Nancy is simply exploring.

Of note is Abdullah’s decision when arrested at the end of the game to take the blame for everything that happened, eschewing Lily’s involvement completely. I’m of the opinion that it had to be Lily that attacked Jon — she was already above ground, he wouldn’t have been on his guard being around her, there were plenty of heavy things in the tent to hit him with — but Abdullah doesn’t try to reduce his sentence by offering information or implicating her in anything.

It’s a wonderful character moment that shows us what these later games really are capable of — villains with complex and consistent characterization. Abdullah is an egotist, a narcissist, and a smuggler, yes, but he has his own personal code of conduct, and ends the game not on the note of having tried to kill everyone, but on a singular note of mercy to a fellow student of history.

Next on the docket is Lily Crewe. Originally a paleontology student, she switched majors and ended up on the site by Abdullah’s request — a strange happenstance, considering the strong allegations of cheating on her record. Of course, that record is exactly the reason that Abdullah asked for her to be on the dig, as he needed help smuggling artifacts off-site.

As one half (possibly one third, depending on how culpable you think she truly is) of our Bad Guy Team, Lily is at once more sympathetic and less laudable than Abdullah. Having cheated — and been caught — she obviously was Abdullah’s best bet for a partner that wouldn’t betray him, as he was her chance at shoring up her rocky academic record.

However, a person of stronger moral fiber — or who appreciated her second chance — would have exposed Abdullah as soon as she had evidence in order to show her commitment going forward to honesty, so one can’t be too sympathetic. It’s worth noting that after Abdullah’s arrest (and sacrifice on her behalf), Lily goes back into paleontology. One can only hope dinosaurs have fewer opportunities for graft, and that she’s learned something from the tomb.

The next to show up is Dylan Carter, a man of many names (though only one handsome face) who moonlights as a tour guide. He also would really, really like to be part of Abdullah’s smuggling operation, but other than that, he’s really here for a good time.

And to be crushed by rocks.

As a culprit, Dylan would have been a little bit of a cheat, seeing as he wasn’t there from the beginning — though a reveal of him being the culprit would have necessitated showing that Dylan had been there the whole time, hiding in plain sight as part of the dig crew or something. While that would have been a cool reveal, it ultimately wouldn’t have accomplished the thematic goals of the game, and so is better left undone.

Last on our list of suspects is Jamila El-Dine, visiting the tomb under the guise of being a bat-crap-crazy Follower of the Annunaki — the alien race that supposedly built the pyramids, among other things — but who is actually a member of a secret society called the Daughters of Nefertari, dedicated to finding Nefertari (as they are her direct descendants); each daughter must search for her until she is found.

I will point out, reservedly, that Jamila definitely should not have been searching until she had a daughter of her own, in case she died the way her mother did, but I digress. It does point to Jamila being more of a firebrand (and more doggedly determined to end the search) than those before her, so kudos for that.

Like Dylan, Jamila as the culprit would have been a cheat, given her entrance into the game a good portion of the way through the mystery, but it also would have defeated the purpose of having Jamila in the story, which is to be a foil to Nancy.

Jamila is bound by the fate of her mother (and her mother’s mother, and on and on), who died under mysterious circumstances thought to be a car accident, but later revealed to be due to her performing dangerous work. Jamila thus journeys out to the world to find out exactly what happened and is tasked with doing what her mother had been doing at the time of her death, feeling the responsibility to prevent further deaths by completing her mother’s work. In order to do this, she pretends to be someone she’s not, uses those around her, and ultimately has to trust in a shady man with facial hair and a girl who frequently goes undercover for her job, fighting against a skinny man involved in a larger scheme with a heightened sense of his own importance.

Oops, should I have warned for SPY spoilers there?

Yeah, Jamila is basically playing out a future of Nancy’s (and one that happens, albeit with important differences, in SPY), and foils her in her sense of responsibility and curiosity about what happened to her mother, and in finishing the job she set out to do. While Nancy doesn’t immediately understand this, Bess does, and calls her out on it:

“That’s sort of like you…after your mom…I mean, I always thought it was your mom — the way she died — that made you so interested in mysteries.”

Nancy responds with “I guess I never thought of it that way,” and it’s clear the idea has knocked her off balance, because, importantly, Jamila exposes a characteristic of that becomes important in this and the next game: she’s not what we’d call self-aware.

And that leads into us talking about Nancy Drew as a character in this game. Pursuing one of her interests by job shadowing a professional, Nancy is thrown into a world that she’s far more comfortable in — that of solving mysteries without direct supervision — when Jon is attacked and sent to the hospital. From there, she goes on a rapid pace to figure out who the other people at the dig really are, and in so doing discovers a bit about herself.

Like a Lifetime movie, except without the Big Misunderstanding and the secret lost will of a dead parent.

Like I stated above, what this game really does to show us who Nancy is (besides showing us her reaction to someone exactly like her) is to show us her lack of self-awareness. Nancy spends so much time trying to figure out the motives and secrets of others that she doesn’t really spend any time soul-searching or figuring out how she, in particular, reacts to the world around her

Well, prior to the beginning of the Nancy games, she doesn’t. But she’s in for a whole lot more of that in the next few games as we unwrap (heh) more of her foils. As it is, Nancy herself tells us who she thinks she is in this game:

“I’m a curious person. I find that tact often gets in the way of truly getting to know someone.”

Joining us on the “Nancy Side” of characters are one new character and two familiar faces.

Jon Boyle is the leader of Kingston University’s dig site, and definitely the person that you want to get out of the way if you’re up to shenanigans. He’s basically in the game to give some dirt on Lily and Abdullah, and to save the day at the very end by (as is his job) taking care of those he’s in charge of.

Just, you know, more physically than academically.

While she was a playable, seen character in the last game, it’s here in TMB that Bess Marvin gets a little more characterization and becomes more fully fleshed out. As Nancy’s lifeline to River Heights and normalcy, Bess is here to watch pulpy Egyptian horror movies and to drop some stone-cold truths onto Nancy.

Bess is wonderful in this game, full stop. Not only does she expose a few of Nancy’s character traits to the clueless girl detective – the whole mom thing, Nancy’s tendency to keep everyone in the dark but to get frustrated when she’s kept in the dark herself — but she also helps to show the difference between what the River Heights crew finds fulfilling — relaxing, internships, etc. — and what Nancy finds fulfilling — dangerous tombs hiding mysteries in the desert.

Last of all is Professor Beatrice Hotchkiss, academic extraordinaire and expert on lost and maligned queens — and heaven knows, Nefertari fits both qualifications. Hotchkiss is here for more reason than just to light up my life, however; she’s here to help Nancy understand the traps within the tomb and figure out exactly what — and who — she’s dealing with in the ancient past.

Hotchkiss is a proper choice here, and I probably would have been disappointed had she not shown up. She’s the perfect mix of spacey academic and, well, brilliant academic, and though Nancy isn’t too fond of her, she’s probably my favorite reoccurring phone friend outside of the Hardy Boys.

The Favorite:

There’s a lot to love with TMB, so let’s jump right in.

First off, my favorite puzzle(s) have got to be the word puzzles for unscrambling the special hieroglyphics. Longtime followers of this meta series (or those who read my ASH meta) know that my favorite thing in a Nancy Drew game is always the word puzzle, and these are so much fun that it’d be impossible for them not to be my favorite puzzle.

My favorite moment in the game is probably the finding of Jamila’s mom’s journal pages, culminating in the line “she’ll never let you leave”. Like I’ve said above, so much of this game is about the weight of the dead and the effect they have on the living, and Jamila’s mom weighs heaviest of all as our intensely personal, recent stake in finding Nefertari.

I’ve said before (in a previous meta about my favorite surprising moments in the ND games) that there’s shades of Kate’s last correspondences in Jamila’s mother’s journal, and those shades are never so present as they are here.

There’s not really another place to put it, so I’m gonna put a shout-out to the cover of the DVD case here. It’s really well-designed and captures the feeling of the game without being overly spoilery, so massive kudos to the developers and designers for it.

The last thing I note here (though I could go on and on about the small details in this game that make it great) is the feeling of continued exploration. In a lot — I’d say most, honestly — of Nancy Drew games, once you explore everywhere, there’s really nowhere left to go other than sometimes a new location at the end of the game while chasing down the villain. Here, the game is continually expanding through the new tunnels and passages in the tomb. It makes it really feel like this a real location you could explore, and not just a few screens limited for time, space, and design restrictions, and it’s wonderful.

On the less wonderful side, however…

The Un-Favorite:

The biggest problem I have with TMB is that the first fourth of it — pretty much until Nancy finds the first sarcophagus — is fairly unintuitive. Even replaying it multiple times doesn’t make it any easier to remember what I have to do and when I can do it, and playing it through the first time results in not a few times where you stare at the screen, wondering what it is you’re supposed to be doing. This is a rare problem in Nancy Drew games, but it’s fairly present through the first part of the game here, and that is a problem.

My least favorite puzzle is probably the lifting-the-rocks-off-Dylan puzzle, if only because it always takes me five or six tries to do it. It always feels like a sort of trial-and-error sort of thing, which (excepting its place in logic puzzles) isn’t really my personal favorite. It’s not that I think it’s a bad puzzle, it’s just my least favorite in the game.

My least favorite moment in the game is more of a meta moment, but it’s when Nancy asks for “a few tips” for translating hieroglyphics, and Abdullah mocks her a bit, saying that oh, yes, at first he was also confused, but then he learned a few tips. It would be a great moment in the game — and in the story itself, it is — if it wasn’t, well, immediately contradicted by the nature of the hieroglyphics puzzles. Like I said above, the unscrambling of the hieroglyphics puzzles are my favorite in the whole game, and I love them to death, but in a meta sense, this moment does stick out in a “you can’t say it’s stupid and then include it as if just saying it’s stupid makes it okay for you to do” sort of way.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Tomb of the Lost Queen?

The big thing that needs help in TMB is to make the beginning more intuitive. Whether this should be done by Jon giving Nancy a set of tasks to complete, having a checklist of what needs to be done that day (even if it’s vague), or some other method, there definitely needs to be a little more direction in the first part of the game.

I’m not saying that the game should hold the player’s hand — especially considering that the average age of the fanbase is well above the age 10+ marker — but a Nancy Drew game should always have something to do at the start, rather than wandering around to explore a place that Nancy has ostensibly already been for a bit.

With that change in mind, there’s really honestly nothing else that I would fix. TMB is a game devoted to the idea that the dead are ever present in life, especially for those who have lost people, and it really accomplishes delivering that idea through a myriad of characters, scenes, and clues that Nancy finds along the way. It also goes a long way in developing Nancy more as a character, and — perhaps most importantly — begins the task of setting the groundwork for a truly Nancy-centric story in SPY.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #tomb of the lost queen #nancy drew meta #video games #my meta #TMB

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

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And My Heart Burned In That Lodge

Michael (Mike) Munroe x Reader (female)

Warnings: Death, Grief, Dealing with loss, Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: ANGST

Summary: None of them will ever be the same, who knows if they’ll even heal. However, the case is different for Mike. He’s left to be dealing with the guilt, grief and the haunting memory of his friend’s death. He’s angry with himself for all the wrong things he did and all the right things he was too much of a coward to do. Now, his only closure is talking to a gravestone, hoping the wind in the graveyard will pass the message onto the person who the words are meant for.

Requested by Anon. Wish I could tag them, they have such amazing ideas ❤

PS - Sorry this is hella long, I got carried away LOL

I stand aside, watching as my friends place their flowers on her grave. I can hear their cries. For some odd reason I can’t find it in me to feel sympathy or the need to go over there and be with them. I can’t see how that would do anything but make me feel more miserable. Standing here, seeing this scene unfold in front of me, I can’t help but be reminded of how it all started.

Fuck Mondays, man. Fuck them from the bottom of my heart. Even worse, this is the first week of school after winter break so no one wants to be here. Even even worse, this is the first time I’ll be seeing Emily after out breakup. We broke up over text and while I’m aware that’s the worst way to break up with someone, I must admit it was the only way for a lot of arguing and awkwardness to be avoided.

It’s the first time I’m coming to school alone in a while. Without Emily, the car was pleasantly quiet aside from the songs on the radio. Not gonna lie, it felt a bit lonely. Being single for the first time in what feels like forever is both liberating and oddly melancholic. I try to push the self-loathing and the depressing thoughts away as my eyes scan the hallway, looking for the group of familiar faces. My gang. We used to be ten people but we lost two girls during our winter getaway at the Washington lodge. Josh’s sisters, Hannah and Beth, went missing and are presumably dead, all cause of a stupid prank Jess, Emily and I concocted, convincing Matt and Ash to go along with it. In retrospect, I don’t know what we were thinking.

‘Seriously, Mike? From one depressing thought to another? Is your brain lacking serotonin today more than usual or what?‘ I mentally scold myself just as I spot two familiar faces - Sam and Ashley.

It doesn’t take long for me to notice the rest of the gang - Matt, Jess and Chris - all standing near by, surrounding a girl I have never seen before. She sticks out immediately with her long H/C hair and shiny E/C eyes. Jess has her arm linked with the girl, a gesture really out of place for Jess. I mean, her and Emily are pretty close and I’ve never even seen them hug.

“Hey, man. How are you?“ Matt notices me first, lifting his head and smiling at me. His greeting leads the others to look in my direction as well, including the girl. I catch Jess lean down in and whisper something to her. I can’t hear what she’s saying but it clearly aggravates her. I have never received a dirtier look from a girl in my entire life. I usually have the opposite effect on women but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“Mike...” Jess steps away from the girl and towards me, “this is my best friend, Y/N. She just got transferred here.” She turns her attention back to the girl, “Y/N, this is Mike.”

Y/N looks unamused as she outstretches her arm in my direction. “Nice to meet you” is what she says, but her expression clearly tells me she would like to see as little of me as possible. At least she’s polite, right?

“Likewise.” The handshake is brief and, despite her obvious distaste for me, she still gives me a firm handshake.

“Wait, you were transferred? I thought Jess said you came here cause you moved.” Sam furrows her brows in confusion.

“Well, it’s really a chicken and the egg type of situation.” Y/N laughs, rubbing the back of her neck almost nervously, “We moved because I had to transfer.” Yikes.“ Ashley comments, “Not to pry or anything, but why did you have to be transferred?“

Y/N looks me dead in the eyes, as if she’s sending me a message that I better not overlook, or so help me God I’ll be dead. ”Noses randomly broke when I was around.”

It hurts so much to look back on those times and not pick up on what I was feeling. I foolishly decided that if I can’t give the feelings a name or find them a purpose I should turn a blind eye. I wasn’t that ignorant, I could tell she was the cause, but I could never admit it.

And then there’s the situation with Jess...

“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.“

I found Y/N by the bleachers and let me tell you, she’s quite the paradox. She’s a straight A, no nonsense, intelligent beyond her years girl. With all these characteristics, you’d think she’d know better than to smoke cigarettes. Wrong! She’s a smoker. Jess can never not complain about the smell of cigarette smoke, it’s a miracle these two get along.

To my ‘hi’ she responded with what looked to be an eyeroll and an annoyed release of smoke through her nostrils. Even though I know I’m not welcome to be in her proximity, I still decide to sit down a little ways away from her, for personal space and all that. Definitely not cause I’m slightly afraid of her. No way.

We just sit in silence until she hits me with the aforementioned threat. I am caught off guard. All I can do is stare straight ahead of me like a deer in headlights. After maybe thirty seconds of absolute confusion I manage to turn my head to look at her. “What are you talking about?” The question is supposed to sound harsh but compared to the way she spit out that death threat it sounded more like a whimper.

“You are such an ignorant asshole.“ She shakes her head, throwing her cigarette on the bench below her. She stomps on it and walks away. I can’t help but stare at her until she’s out of sight. I feel like I’m watching something non-human. A phenomenon you can experience once in a lifetime - if you’re lucky.

She’s the complete opposite of Jess: grounded, smart, rational. The only time I’ve seen her be so unpleasant is around me. I catch her interactions with the rest of the gang. From afar, she seems like the nicest, friendliest girl. And then she catches a glimpse of me and her mood changes. I don’t know what’s her problem with me but I know it most certainly isn’t something I’ve done to her. She’s been like that since the first moment we were introduced, so either Jess has talked a lot of shit about me or she just hates people named Michael. I may never know.

I had no idea what she meant at the time and only found out three weeks ago. Speaking of three weeks ago, the group once again headed for the Blackwood Pines, trying to hide their uneasiness with make excitement. I was pretty hyped when I heard we were going because that also meant our friend Josh was finally starting to get better. He hadn’t been in a good mindset since his sisters went missing and we were all really worried for him but weren’t allowed to show it because he always insisted he was fine.

He wasn’t. He was as messed up as ever and served as only the prologue to the nightmare of a night we had to live through.

But before all that could happen, the night started off well. Better than expected. The eeriness of the mountain combined with the bad memories we had of the place we still there, we could all feel the tension, but we did a good job masking it with jokes and whatnot. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to go and not only because of what happened the year prior.

“Wait, wait, wait. Y/N’s coming too?“ I ask, looking at Josh with wide eyes.

The guy is clearly confused by my overdramatic reaction to him counting down the names of the ones who had already RSVPd ‘Yes’. “Is that a problem or something?”

I sigh, hiding my face in my hands. It’s embarrassing to admit, really. “She doesn’t like me, and that puts it mildly. She hates me.”

He looks even more baffled than before, “Why? What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing, for fuck’s sake. Not a single thing. I haven’t even had a proper interaction with her.“ Talking about this matter exhausts me, mostly cause I can’t even express half the things I’m feeling.

There’s been a time or two I’ve caught her looking at me but her eyes weren’t filled with that distrust I’m used to. She looks away quickly when we make eye contact, as if she can’t put the mean mask on in time and she has to look away to do a system reset. I sometimes catch myself looking at her without realizing. I try to tell myself I do it for the purpose of solving her.

‘Who are you kidding, Munroe?‘

* * *

And here I am, climbing up the mountain to the Washington lodge. I’ve made it a goal to use this getaway to mend things with Y/N. It’s the only way for me to get back to normal. To get my mind back since she’s recently been living in my head rent-free. I’m bullshitting, not just recently. She’s taken over my brain since day one. I can’t place what’s going on with me, I can’t find a term to label it with and I most definitely can’t find a way to stop it. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I can’t stop it on my own, she’ll have to do it for me.

Another thing - I’ve never felt nervous or self-conscious around a girl all my life. Never. My friends joke that I’m a ladies’ man and I’d say that’s pretty true. So I have a tough time understanding how I turn into an awkward turtle that’s missing confidence when she’s around.

Once we all get settled in and there’s a fire going, giving the lodge a cozy atmosphere, it’s every man for themselves. Everyone picks a activity they want to occupy themselves with and the living room of the lodge empties out, leaving me there alone.

I scroll stare at the screen of my now useless phone. The thing has no reception and no way of keeping me busy, leaving my attention to wander to the voices that are getting more and more distant as my friends walk out of the room.

I can’t help but overhear Jess say to Y/N, “You haven’t even set your bag down yet and you’re going for a smoke? Jeez, Y/N.”

“You say as though you don’t know me.“ Y/N laughs, the sound of a door opening following after her voice.

It’s such a nice sound, her laugh. I’ve never heard it before. I’ve seen her smile and seen her chuckle at someone’s joke, but it was never actually a laugh. Seems she keeps those for special occasions.

If she’s in the type of mood to laugh, she’s in the type of mood to be civil with me. Before I can talk myself out of the on-spot decision, I mentally slap myself and get off the couch, walking to the door to the side deck.

“You’ve got this, she’s just a person”

“Who’s just a person?“ her voice cuts through the silence of the outdoors.

‘SHIT I SAID THAT OUT LOUD‘

I decide to carry this all the way, no shortcuts. No backing out. Somehow, now that she’s standing in front of me - a cigarette between her fingers, her shoulders tense from of the cold - I find it easier to get the words out. She’s just as human as everyone else. The cold causes her to shrivel up. She’s addicted to tobacco. She’s not some riddle I need to solve, just a person I need to talk to in order to understand.

“You.“ I reply, “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?“

She shakes her head, her shoulders trembling a bit, “It builds the immune system.”

“No, it makes you suffer.“ I shrug my jacket off, cautiously approaching her and wrapping it around her.

Surprisingly, she accepts it with a nod and a murmured ‘thanks’, holding onto it with the hand that’s not holding her cigarette. “Why were you reminding yourself that I’m just a person? Do I not look like one?” She scoffs, facing away from me to look at the snowy hills ahead.

“No, no, not that. You just make me nervous that’s all.“

She whirls around, giving me this look as though she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Really? Why’s that?“ she puts out her cigarette on the wooden railing, focusing all her attention on me.

My hand instinctively goes up to the back of my neck, feeling my face start to heat up. “Well, you’re not really fond of me. And I don’t know why, and....” I trail off, sighing in self-disappointment, “And I wanna know why.”

Her expression turns the complete opposite, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s not about something you have done. It’s about what you might’ve done.”

Despite feeling slightly relieved, I am no less confused than I was a minute ago. “And what is that?”

“Break my best friend’s heart.“ She looks a lot more serious now, “You really had no idea she was head over heels for you just a month ago. You were so oblivious and she was so whipped...“ frustration radiates off of her, “I just didn’t want her to get hurt.“ She closes her eyes, stabilizing herself before finishing her statement, “I didn’t want to hurt her.“

“Wait, what?“

The hurt that paints itself on her face is contagious. I feel it too and I don’t even know what’s causing it. “She always told me about you. Mike this and Mike that. She made you sound like the best guy in the world. And...I really wanted to be let down when I met you, but you were nothing but nice to me and to the other people in the group. But you were also such a jerk from time to time. You are just too...Fucking forget it.”

In a blink of an eye she puts my jacket over the railing and runs inside the lodge.

“Y/N, wait!“

Needless to say, running after her was the best decision I’ve made. I didn’t get her to admit to anything, but at least we lied down the armor and agreed to give each other some time to get to know one another. Drop aside the assumptions and give a this acquaintanceship the chance to become a friendship.

Sadly, all good things come to an end way sooner than we want. The rest of that dreadful night I witnessed her transform. When everyone was freaking out, she held them and comforted them. I saw the fear in her eyes but she never let it shine through in her actions. She was the one still holding it together even after she saw that disgusting creature. Her and I were the ones to turn that sanatorium upside down. We were with Josh in the mines. We were the ones to see the Wendigo first. We were by each other’s side the entire time. We had each other’s backs.

I’ve never felt such a connection with someone. I was experiencing the most intimate understanding with a person in the worst moment of my life. It was bittersweet. The poison mixed with the cure.

Even when she knew her death was approaching, her only reaction was a single tear. A single crystal drop running down her cheek.

We can make a break. We can run right out of this hell hole and turn it to ash, all we need is for this fucking to focus its attention elsewhere. Thankfully Chris, Ash and Emily have made it out already and they’re safe. However, Sam, Y/N and I are trapped. The silent looks we exchange are laced with fear and panic. We have to calculate our next moves down to a millisecond and we don’t even know what those next moves should be.

Suddenly, a sharp pain starts spreading from my hand shoulder. My adrenaline is no longer doing a good job blocking out the pain of the fingers I had to sever. I slip up, letting out a hiss. The pain is just that unbearable.

That thing turn at the speed of light, letting out a screech and heading in my direction. My whole body is tense I couldn’t move if I wanted to but my arm is in such a horribly painful position, I think I’ll faint if I don’t readjust it.

“HEY!“ The voice comes from opposite me and my heart drops.

Sam’s next to me. It’s not her. It’s Y/N.

The Wendigo loses interest in me as soon as it hears her yell turning and heading straight for her. It all starts sinking in. Now that it’s facing away, Sam and I can make it out. But she can’t. It’s over for her. There’s no way she’s leaving this lodge.

I catch her eyes from across the room. Her posture says a fighter, but her eyes scream ‘petrified’. She knows it too. She knows it’s game over. A single tear rolls down her cheek, shattering my heart.

That’s the last vulnerable moment, however. She turns her head, deciding to go out without showing a glint of fear to that piece of shit. I don’t have to look at Sam or tell her what to do. We’re both aware that we’re about to make it out, losing Y/N in the process.

It happens in a split second. Y/N spits at the Wendigo and then next thing I see is her laying on the ground in a pool of blood.

The dash out of the lodge is a blur. The last thing I remember is sitting outside of the burning building, staring at the flames. The lodge wasn’t the only thing burning. Years of memories; history; wendigos; and my heart burnt in that lodge.

I see the group leave the graveyard. I struggle to move forward, my limbs heavy. I feel gravity is a lot stronger all of a sudden.

I didn’t go to the final goodbye. I knew it wasn’t her. There was nothing left of her to bury. Sam told me they buried things that reminded people of her and objects she cherished.

Well it’s time I give my goodbye.

I shrug my jacket off - the same jacket from that night - and put it around the gravestone like I put it over her shoulders. There’s a box of the cigarettes she smoked in the inner pocket.

“I hope you felt what I felt, Y/N. I hope I didn’t have to say it for you to notice it. I wish I knew...cause now it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” I can’t stop the tears, I’m too weak and I’ve been holding them back for far too long. “I’ve never believed in an afterlife. But I really hope there is one, just so we can meet again.” I scoff, shaking my head, “Who am I kidding, I’m probably going to hell.”

I believe that’s where I deserve to go, anyway. I’m the reason she died. And I will never let myself live that down. I will never forgive myself. A flame like no other burnt out so mine could keep burning. I will make sure it haunts me till the day I leave this world behind.

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

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exile (weeping monk x oc) {part I/?} [netflix’s cursed]

Title: exile Rating: PG-13 Length: 2,800 Warnings: The rating is for mentions of injuries otherwise this is PG. Notes: This is the first part of who knows how many chapters, it honestly depends on if there’s any interest in this little idea. I was also inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘exile’ so listen to that. The story picks up right at the finale of Cursed.

Summary: The Weeping Monk seeks out an old friend.

Deep in the densest point of the forest, far beyond Hawksbridge and the surrounding villages — beyond where the common traveler ventured — there was a copse of trees that stood like fortress walls surrounding the modest hovel of a reclusive healer.

Isolde had called the hovel home for nearly fifteen years. A fever had stolen her parents from her and the aged healer who had once lived in the hovel had taken her in when her cures had failed to heal them. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps it was divine sight.

The hovel protected her — shielded her from a tumultuous world that had turned against her people. Those who needed her could find her, but those that meant to do her harm could not seek her out among the woods.

Since the siege of Red Paladins had overtaken the surrounding villages, Isolde had prepared herself for their arrival. But as each day passed, no wounded traveler or wayward horseman had come upon her home.

Until today.

The distinct sound of hooves on the moss-covered soil drew her out into the woods. She could feel an energy — a familiar pull — stirring in her veins. The woods had permitted their presence, but the hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end told her to be cautious nevertheless.

It was a boy and a man who had clearly seen better days.

Isolde’s hand lingered at the dagger sheathed at her hip as she stared at the mounted pair, “You’re trespassing.”

“Are you a healer?” The young boy questioned, his voice slightly strained as he struggled to keep the grown man behind him upright on the stead. The hooded man slumped forward against the boy’s back, despite his best attempts to stay alert.

She hesitated.

With the way that Paladins had wiped out entire villages of Fey folk, she had every reason to reconsider admitting to them that she was a Fey — and yet, that invisible pull she felt assured her that they were not dissimilar to her.

“Yes,” Isolde conceded, moving towards the pair, her brows drawn together as she studied the barely conscious man. “What’s happened to him?”

“We were attacked by Paladins.” He gritted out, “They tried to kill him, but we escaped by the skin of our teeth! But he’s hurt. Badly.” He explained with a shocking amount of enthusiasm.

“Yes, I can see that.” Isolde retorted, taking hold of the horse’s reins as she led it closer towards her home. She looped the reins around a post, hands on her hips as she turned back to regard the pair. “I’ll get a gurney, but I’ll need your help, lad.”

Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling that still had her on edge. There was no outward reason to doubt a wounded man and a beleaguered child with a black eye.

Though she needed time to take account of the man’s injuries, it was safe to assume that neither of them would be leaving any time soon.

Isolde vanished back into her home to gather up the materials she needed to transport the man, before returning with the gurney as promised.

“I’m impressed he’s made it this far,” Isolde remarked as she helped to heft him off the horse and onto the gurney. It took an incredible amount of strength to navigate the man off the horse without further injuring him or hurting herself and the boy in the process.

She had no idea how the boy had managed to get them to her hovel, given the man’s condition.

“You’re both Feyfolk.” Isolde stated as they hauled the injured man into her home and got him settled onto her work table. She tilted her head as she looked down at the man’s wounded face. His jaw was badly swollen, his face bruised, and there was strange bruising around his eyes.

The man grunted quietly, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he fought the pull of unconsciousness, but he didn’t stir any further than that. “Do you have a name, boy?” Isolde questioned, glancing back at the boy.

This time, he was the one who hesitated. “I’m Percy and this is… Lance.”

“Lance.” Isolde repeated as she glanced back down at the injured man, who seemed no older than she was. Beneath the blood, bruising, and swollen flesh she figured he might’ve been handsome.

“Percy, will you fetch me water from the creek you passed to enter here?” She questioned, grabbing a wooden bucket from beneath the table and passing it to him.

“Will you treat him?”

“I’ll do what I can to stave off infection.” Isolde told him, a hand at her hip as she regarded the boy. “But I’ll need clean water to do that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Percy said, before snatching the bucket from her and darting back out the door.

Isolde hummed to herself as she looked down at Lance, her brows furrowed as she brushed her fingers gingerly over his swollen jaw. “Can you hear me?” She questioned, as she worked to remove his cloak, letting it drape beneath him on the table. “I’m going to have to remove this garment. You’re lucky I’m a decent seamstress too.”

She retrieved a pair of shears from a drawer, returning to cut off the dark tunic he wore. His chest was covered in dark, angry bruises. Blood clinging to his pale skin where his attacker’s weapon had pierced his skin.

“I’m impressed you managed to escape from the Paladins with these injuries. They’ve brutalized you.” Isolde walked around the table to find her healing balms, but she stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of an injury at the crown of his head. Mostly hidden by his chestnut color hair was the grisly imprint of the cross.

He was a Red Paladin.

Had the boy been a clever ruse? Unassuming and charming — meant to catch her off guard. Playing to her good nature; presenting her with an injured man in need of care. And she’d fallen for it.

Isolde’s fingers twitched as they reached for the blade she had strapped to her hip, she drew it from its sheath, creeping back towards the prone figure on her table.

She could kill him now — rid the realm of one more Red Paladin, before he had the chance to kill more innocent people.

Isolde jumped as the door swung open, knocking into the shelves behind it as the boy returned with the water, “What are you doing? I thought you were a healer!”

“Are you aware of what he is?” Isolde questioned, brandishing the weapon in his direction. “That you’ve delivered a fox into the house of a hen.”

“He’s not like that!” Percy pleaded, sitting the bucket of water down and holding up his hands. “Maybe he’s done some really heinous things, but he saved me!”

Isolde’s gaze flickered back towards the table, “And you trust a Red Paladin not to spare you, only to save you for another day? Have you not seen what horrors they’ve brought against our kind?”

“Don’t—“ Lance muttered, stirring on the table as he fought against the obvious pain of his injuries, groaning as he sat up. “Don’t hurt him.” His hand fumbled at his waist, like meant to reach for a blade that wasn’t there. “He’s just a boy.”

“I only hurt Red Paladins.” Isolde spat, aiming the blade in his direction then. It would be so easy to end it all. One sweep of the blade across his throat. It would end it all.

One less Red Paladin to kill her kind.

“I’m not—“ Lance started, his voice strained as he clutched at his ribs. Whatever had been done to him, had certainly done a number to him.

Would the Red Paladins turn against one of their own?

Lance opened his eyes slowly, pain marring his expression as his unfocused gaze settled on her then, “Isolde?”

She held up the dagger once more, brows drawn together, “How do you know my name?”

He grimaced, lips clenched closed as a wave of apparent nausea passed through him. “Your father was the falconmaster.”

Isolde’s grip loosened on the blade and it slipped from her hold and landed onto the straw covered floor beneath her. “Lancelot?” The realization washed over her and suddenly it made sense. That strange familiarity she had felt.

It had been a lifetime since she had last seen him.

They had both been children — innocent and unaware that their inherent natures would eventually lead to their persecution.

“How—“ Isolde started, stepping towards the table. “Your father, Ban… How did the Red Paladins—?” Isolde couldn’t understand how it had come to this. “How did this happen to you?”

Lancelot wavered, blinking slowly as he tried to keep his eyes focused on her face. “Squirrel, tend to the horse.” The boy started to protest. “Now, please.” The door shut behind him as he left.

“What happened to you, my sweet Lancelot?” Isolde questioned, lifting her hand to carefully cup his injured cheek.

“It’s a long unpleasant story.” Lancelot whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Do you have feverfew?”

“Yes, of course.” Isolde murmured, reluctantly stepping away from him as she sorted through her stash of herbs.

Ginger, willow bark, and feverfew — mashed together with a sprinkle of purified water would ease the pain and swelling.

“What was the damage done by?” She questioned, glancing back at him warily.

All the fears of what he might be capable of doing to her faded away now. Perhaps she should’ve been cautious, but it was Lancelot.

The boy who braided Pentas into her hair, the boy who had giggled when he kissed her beneath a night sky filled with stars. She hadn’t forgotten him or the way she’d once felt. It was like muscle memory. Her heart remembered. They had only been children — no older than the boy he called Squirrel.

“A morning star… or eight.”

Isolde frowned, “Lancelot, it’s a miracle your face isn’t sunken in.”

“Feels like it should be,” He grunted out as he reached up to touch his face.

“Your jaw is likely fractured. I won’t know for certain until the swelling has gone down,” Isolde explained to him as she dusted turmeric into the paste and presented it to him. “Once you’re settled, I’ll start cleaning these open wounds.” She gestured to his face, brows furrowed as she carefully examined the bruising and injuries he’d sustained.

Lancelot took the wooden bowl from her, using two fingers to scoop up the mixture before sticking them into his mouth. He gagged a little, but managed to swallow it down. “I’d forgotten how bloody bitter that shit is.”

Isolde laughed softly, “And we haven’t even gotten to the fun part.” She carefully peeled the cloak off his back, before helping him out of his cut shirt.

Her heart sank as her gaze fell upon his ruined back. Angry welts and oozing wounds from a fresh lashing, criss-crossed over faded scars as well the raised and gnarled scars that protruded from the pale skin of his back. “Lancelot, what has been done to you?”

Isolde stepped back around him, lips drawn into a thin line as she met his gaze.

His eyes seemed heavy again, like he was using every bit of his strength to stay upright. She wanted to urge him to lay down, but she desperately wanted answers.

“Isolde…” He whispered her name with a short shake of his head. “I am not the child I once was. Forget whatever you think you know of me.” He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “I am not a Red Paladin, but perhaps I am worse than one.”

She took the empty bowl from him, her fingers brushing over his. It warmed her straight to her very soul. But the creeping fear that slid up her spine quickly put out the fire.

“Worse than a Red Paladin?”

He grabbed at the edges of the table as he wavered, his head falling forward as a pitiful sound escaped him. “Isolde…”

“Tell me.”

“Have you…” He started, lifting his head just enough to look at her through his dark lashes. “Have you heard of the sword of the Red Paladins? The Weeping Monk who can sniff out the Fey?”

Isolde didn’t mean to, but she took a step backwards, a hand resting at her heart as she stared at him.

It wasn’t bruising that stained the skin beneath his eyes, she realized.

She had heard the tales.

Isolde had ventured to nearby villages, she had heard the bards with their songs of the horrors that came to Feyfolk. The burnings on crosses, the throats slit, the mutilation of women and children.

The whispers of a man, cloaked in black who wept tears of blood as he sought vengeance for his people’s god.

Only he wasn’t one of them.

He was a Fey.

He was Lancelot.

Isolde’s fingers trembled and she quickly busied herself with cleaning out the wooden bowl, wiping away the turmeric stain.

“Is that how you found me?”

Lancelot was quiet for a long moment, so long that Isolde was forced to glance back at him, in fear that he’d slumped over dead, but he sat there — staring at her.

“I have passed this way before,” He confessed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as a whine of pain escaped him. “Sweet Izzy, will you spare me?”

“I haven’t any foxglove to spare you with,” She retorted with a shake of her head. “I’m a healer, Lancelot, of course I’ll spare you.” Isolde’s heart softened as she stepped back towards him. “How many of our kind have you killed?”

Lancelot opened his eyes slowly, his bottom lip trembling as he looked up at her. “I cannot place a number on the lives I’ve brought to untimely ends, Isolde. Saving Squirrel cannot atone me for the children who have been massacred.”

“How did it come to this?”

“I was spared by Father Carden.” Lancelot confessed, flinching away from Isolde as she reached out for him again. “And turned into a weapon for them to slay my own kind.”

Isolde let her hand fall to her side, “What do you mean when you say that you’ve… passed this way before?”

He worked his jaw slowly, lowering his gaze. “We have been searching for The Wolf-Blood Witch, scouring every corner of the realm and…” Lancelot laughed humorlessly. “It’s been twenty years, Isolde, but I still sense you. I caught a glimpse of you as the path opened to me… your hair like flames as you fetched water from the creek.”

She exhaled slowly as she stared at him, “But the Red Paladins never came…”

“There was no Wolf-Blood Witch here.” Lancelot sank back against the table, the pain growing to be too much for him. “I knew Squirrel would be safe here, Izzy.”

“You’re safe here too,” Isolde sighed, moving to stand beside him. “I’m not going to let you die, Lancelot. No matter what you’ve done. I made a promise to the goddess that I would use my gifts to heal, not kill.”

She reached out and gingerly swept her fingers over his forehead, brushing aside a loose curl of hair that was sticking to the blood on his skin. “Just rest. I’m going to clean your wounds and then work on the poultices.”

“Thank you.” He murmured, lifting his hand to catch hers as she brushed her knuckles against his cheek.

Isolde smiled softly, “You’re welcome, Lancelot.”

Once upon a time, they had been just children. Isolde’s father had been employed by Lancelot’s father — heir apparent to a throne that had crumbled. Lancelot was a special child, touched by the Fey just as Isolde had been.

They bonded as children; laughing and playing in the stables, using their gifts to make flowers blossom and flutter through the air, terrorising their parents by vanishing for hours on end.

Isolde had been old enough to understand that her gift was the reason her parents abruptly left Ban’s service.

Not a summer passed that she didn’t wonder what had become of Lancelot. Every time the Pentas bloomed and the summer nights glowed with a sky full of stars — she wondered if he’d survived the wrath of the Red Paladins.

But that boy was gone and in his place was a man who had been corrupted by the darkness of false prophets and vengeful religious mercenaries. A man who had turned against his own kind. Who wept tears let from the blood of his victims.

Isolde wiped a dampened cloth over his skin to wipe away the blood, but she knew it wouldn’t be easily cleansed from his hands.

#cursed #cursed ff #weeping monk #weeping monk x oc #weeping monk fanfic #daniel sharman

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x0401x · 4 years

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So I just finished the tsurune LN and wrote damn long thing about it but forgot there is a word-limit so I'll sum this up to the two points I had. I really believe the Masamina relationship goes way beyond Teacher-Student relationship. I really believe it has place to grow into romantic relationship, however not now. Maybe once Minato graduates, because right now Masaki obviously doesn't harbor any romantic feeling towards Minato. However, it can't be downed to S/T. It is much more complex 1/?

Phew! Finally had the time to write a proper reply to all this. If you’re reading it, thank you for waiting so patiently for my response! It’s huge, so I had to leave it under a cut.

First things first, I’m very happy that you decided to come tell me about your experience reading the novel. I love knowing people’s opinions of source material. It’s cool that everyone has different yet similar experiences with them. I know this is mostly not your opinions on it but actual facts from the books, though. And OP, let me tell you this… you get it.

All that stuff about Masaki and Minato being very close, their relationship highkey feeling like maybe it could develop into a romantic one in the future (because Masaki is very obviously not interested in Minato but Minato has acted like he’s got the biggest crush from day one), the complexity of literally everything surrounding them… yeah, that’s the whole deal with MasaMina. It looks very evidently one-sided (as it should be since one is a child and the other an adult), but it doesn’t seem at all impossible later on. I think that’s because Minato clearly has more affection for Masaki than anyone else. Realistically speaking, Masaki wouldn’t find any other person in this lifetime who loves and admires him that much, or who understands him that deeply due to having life experiences eerily similar to his own. This isn’t really something that can be easily overlooked, and it could totally kick in after Minato turns into an adult and actually becomes boyfriend material.

First of all, throught the Novel there way too much emphasis on their relationship, almost every character addresses it.I'd say the most significant is Ren and his representation of the "supernatural" theme in the Novel and in their relationship making it seem like they are tied by the red thread of fate. both marked, connected by their scars. Comparing Minato to Marebito accusing him for bursting their life and destroying Masaki's resolution and eventually asking him to take care of Masaki. 2/?

Yeah, lol. One of the things I love about the novel is that everybody and their mother can tell how close Minato and Masaki are just by looking. In particular, everyone can tell how influenced Minato is by Masaki and that both are very alike.

To be honest, the whole novel seems dead-set on the Red String of Fate thing. I mean, the prologue is literally about their first meeting, and also about Akihiro’s tsurune being Minato’s reason to start archery. Speaking of Akihiro’s tsurune, the author goes great lengths to use him as a deciding element in Minato and Masaki’s reencounter. He’s the reason for Masaki’s 10,000 shots, which is what enabled him and Minato to meet again. But more importantly, Minato goes after Masaki that night because he recognizes Masaki’s tsurune as sounding “exactly the same” as Akihiro’s. That’s a major stretch! A tsurune isn’t something that can be reproduced twice even by the same archer, let alone someone else. I’m sure Ayano Kotoko knows this, but she still chose to insert this little absurdity in the story just so she could form a link between the two of them beyond the time borders.

And then there’s all those extremely convenient coincidences, like Masaki being able to secure a position as Kazemai’s coach because his master happens to be the archery club’s advisor. Like Minato being “pulled” by some sort of tangible energy towards Masaki despite not even knowing that Masaki was in the same space as him at all. Like Minato having a literal fate-powered radar that allows him to always meet eyes with Masaki when he looks at a crowd, no matter how many people are there. Destiny is a Thing for them.

And let's admit it, the events from the Light Novel, at least the ones related to the both seem straight out of shoujo manga. Masaki saves Minato's life TWICE, the car scene, the fight, Minato's cold, even their encounter and Minato thinking Masaki will disappear.

Lol, yeah. Sometimes it’s even ridiculously absurd, like the author is fumbling for an excuse to write a shippy scene, like the one with the freaking boar. Literally all of their “moments” are too much.

Why so fucking dramatic. WHY SO EXTRA. Like the Masamina is being pushed down our throats. It feels like there are actually meant to be romantic undertones. I can't remember my counting anymore. 3/

This part of the ask was a mess and I love it. Also, you know why, Anon. You know very well why.

Whta finally broke me was the Novel ending with Minato falling asleep on Masaki's shoulder. Like it is the most natural and obvious thing in the world!!!!

That had me a bit emotional too, lol. I mean, you kinda get the gist that Ayano wants the final chapters to end on a MasaMina note from volume 1, so it’s only expected that something like this would happen, but still… did she really have to come for our wigs like that? The answer is yes. And indeed, it’s the most natural and obvious thing in the world. This is just how comfortable Minato is with Masaki, enough that he doesn’t even care if all his clubmates and advisor are looking.

I didn't even had the space to insert all the quotes supporting what I've said from the novel. considering making a big ass post on it.

Oh, it’s okay. I know by heart the scenes you mentioned. And I’m totally behind you. Make the post, if you haven’t yet!

Sorry for it still being 4 asks long and so oh messy. Ugh, after finishing the novel I can't even consider the anime an adaption.Well anyway Thank you I got into the novel thanks to you ! 4/4

Again, it’s okay. I like big asks. And I feel your pain, lmao. Also, I’m happy to have been of service! Glad that you had a good time reading it.

#tsurune #tsurune kazemai koukou kyuudoubu #takigawa masaki #narumiya minato #bless you

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 164

“He usually picks up on the first ring!”

The alien was struggling with its communicator. You were running thin on patience. But for one reason or another your shock and fear had died. Mostly because… well he wasn’t very threatening. And you sensed he was very scared of you. Scared you really would blow a hole through him. Tony had eased up a little too, but was still waving his hand around. “Ten seconds ended a minute ago, you know.”

Really. Honestly… truly… it was amazing how annoyed the two of you were. And not just. Blown away. Blown away that you were standing in front of another lifeform. One that could shapeshift. One that had taken Nick Fury’s place. No telling how long for.

How did that not shake you to your very core?

Had you really become that jaded? Were you that tired?

“You know…” You sighed a breath out but kept your hand up. Just for good measure. “Even if he does pick up, how am I supposed to believe it’s not another one of you? You’re already a liar.”

Tony tipped his head your way. “You know, that’s a very good point.”

“Look- he put me up to to this- I’m just doing him a favor-!” This alien was so very frantic. It really did back his story. That he was just standing in.

The communicator on the other line picked up and you heard Fury’s voice. “If you blew your cover I want nothing to do with you.”

You and Tony shared another very exasperated look and at the same time read each other’s minds. “Yeah. That’s Fury.”

The alien shoved his communicator your way. “Here. I told you so. Please put the weaponry away now. We can be nice with each other.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you get a grip, Shrek.”

Fury spoke again. “And you blew your cover with those two? I told you to get in and out, Talos-”

Said Talos whipped the communicator back his way. “I tried. What, you think I invited her for tea? I tried to get him alone. She showed up unannounced!”

“She does that.”

“She is right here.” You were beyond done. Stepping forward you yanked the communicator out of his hand and he backed up immediately once it was handed over. Turning it your way, you gave Fury a very angry glance. “And if you’ve been fooling around with aliens this entire time-”

“You’ll what?” He scoffed at you.

“I’ll tell everyone about this. LUNA’s been recording the whole time. Clearly you’re trying to keep this a secret.” Nick Fury had an alien running around doing work for him. Yeah. That was pretty big news. “And- just for the record- I don’t want to keep any more secrets for you- so please give me a reason not to.”

Fury scoffed. “Yeah. You two are playing the same games that got you in trouble when we first started coming around. You’ve got enough secrets without me.”

Tony interrupted the two of you barking at each other as he waved his arm again with a sharp little reprimand, “Hey hey- away from the door. Back up. Now.”

Talos had been trying to slip out. He put both his hands up again. “Alright, alright-”

He pointed to that bale of hay. “Sit down.”

“I’m going- I’m going…” As Talos backed down to sit again, you watched him. Waiting until he was fully seated with Tony’s looming presence keeping him sequestered to put your attention back on the communicator. “Why is this thing doing your busywork?”

“That thing is Talos. A skrull. He works for me. He owes me.”

Talos made a very frustrated noise. “Favors are running pretty thin at this point, to be honest.”

Everyone in the room ignored him. You just ended up shaking your head. “Stop. You know what? I don’t care. Don’t explain this to me. The less I know the better.”

“At least we agree on that.”

You didn’t want to carry this around for Fury. It’d just be another thing on a pile of other things. And maybe Fury was right. Maybe you had too many secrets of your own to worry about what the hell he was doing. Or why. Clearly this alien wasn’t a threat. “I just need one thing from you and then you’re free to go.”

“Oh. Am I being held on your orders?”

“Yeah. You are. So listen up.” Taking just a moment to gather your courage again. To ask again. “Did you authorize SHIELD experiments on me sometime in 1990?”

Fury didn’t have an immediate response back. That was… probably bad. Fury without snark? Trouble. But he at least wasn’t as meek as the pretend Fury had been. And he didn’t seem like he’d just back down and run. Instead he barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s what this is about? You throw the world into chaos and the only person you’re concerned with is yourself?”

“Not actively. But while I have you-”

“You don’t have anything. Believe it or not, I wasn’t the director of SHIELD the moment I joined. Certainly not in 1990.” Alright. ...that tracked. And made sense.

But- it also wasn’t what you were asking. He was dodging. “I don’t care what you’re the director of. Or when you started. I asked if SHIELD-”

“I heard you. Stark’s been digging around where he shouldn’t have been- to no one’s surprise- and finally got around to telling you, is that it? What do you think he found?”

You began shaking your head, lifting the communicator closer. “No. We’re not playing that game.” His next avenue of attack to avoid answering you was to try and play you and Tony against each other. That was never going to happen. “There was a girl on that file- 1990- she was some labrat for Tesseract experiments-”

Fury was probably hundreds of miles away, but he set a cold stare on you that did its job. You were suddenly chilled to the bone as he cut you off. “That woman is Carol Danvers. And if you knew anything about her, you’d know you’re not even half the woman she is.”

There was some sort of flicker of weird recognition from Talos, and you even caught his head whipping up in your peripheral, but you ignored him. “SHIELD experimented on her?” You needed to get to the bottom of this. Okay. So. It wasn’t you. Was that good? Is that what you wanted? Right now you weren’t sure. But it was somebody and if she was out there-

“You’re not even close. You never will be. Just let it go. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“The researcher on that case led you to me. So cut the bullshit for once and just be honest with me.” It was a struggle to remain calm. To not raise your tone and yell at him. But what would it accomplish? He’d just get what he wanted. A rise out of you. You were determined not to give it to him.

There was a small window of silence. The two of you stared at each other. And finally he gave something up. “The scientist on that case went nuts when he picked up a similar signature. You’re lucky you’re not dead. I’ll give you the address where you can send my thank-you card.”

...this really wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to owe Nick Fury anything- and now he was saying he put someone in the ground- someone on his own team- to save your life? No. This really wasn’t what you wanted at all. “The signatures-”

“Look. I’m very busy. And you’re a day late and ten bucks short at this point. The Tesseract has nothing to do with you. Carol has nothing to do with you. You didn’t crawl out of one of our labs. I can promise you that.” This wasn’t satisfying at all. You were walking out of this conversation with nothing. “Talos will reassume his position. His cover is not to be blown.”

This reminded you of a lifetime ago. Natasha had shadowed you, too. And when she’d been revealed, Nick had asked- or told- this same thing to you.

“How long has this been going on?” As you asked you looked up at Talos, and he tipped his head back up to look at you in kind.

But Fury chuckled, and it drew your attention back. “I thought you said you didn’t wanna know anything.”

Despite your better instincts, it seemed you really couldn’t help yourself. “What is he? Why is he here?”

Talos groaned out a noise as he stood, like he was tired and his muscles ached. “He is right here. You can just ask nicely.” Funny, you’d taken similar offense not five minutes ago.

Fury cut between the two of you. “I’ll leave everyone to it.” That was it. That was the end of the call. The screen went black. He was just trusting you wouldn’t go blabbing to the entire team. Or the world. He hadn’t even asked how Talos had blown his cover. Only figuring it had something to do with you and Tony-

Maybe he’d expected that- maybe he wanted-

“So.” Tony stopped your thoughts circling the drain. The ones that plagued you, when you’d been a little tighter under Fury’s control under SHIELD. The ones that wondered why he did things or didn’t do things. What the ulterior motives were. All the angles. You didn’t want to go down that path again. You didn’t have to anymore. “What are you, exactly?”

One blink of your eyes and then another and he’d changed. Back into that facade of Fury. Funny. Now that you knew it was a disguise you couldn’t unsee it. The cracks in the seams. The fakeness of it all. Talos crossed his arms. Fury’s voice came out of his mouth. “My people are called Skrulls.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but ask, “And what do you owe him?”

He grinned. “Why not ask him that?”

Tony rolled his eyes in that overly dramatic yet entirely sincere way of his. “You try asking that guy anything.”

Talos laughed. “That’s exactly my point.”

The two of you stared at him a little bit longer as he put his hands in his pockets, and then Tony turned suddenly, coming over to you, “Team meeting.” Said only a couple of seconds before he came closer and started murmuring. “We trust this guy?”

“Absolutely not.” As if he had to even ask that.

“Yeah. That’s my thinking too. So. What’s the plan?”

It might have been childish and entirely terrible to put your shoulders up in the huge shrug that you did. But you were tired. And you didn’t have any answers. “My vote is ignore this and maybe he’ll just go away.”

Tony seemed to be considering this. A lot. He cast a glance over his shoulder and then quickly turned back to huddle slightly with you. “Fury’s employing aliens and you just wanna look the other way on it? Who knows how many others are out there?”

This was probably bad news. Tony already had enough on his plate. And his mental state regarding… otherworldly affairs was not the best. There was no doubt he would not be able to rest with this new information on hand. That was a problem. A deep sigh welled out of you and you straightened your back, half turning to Talos. “Does Fury have any other Skrulls working in his employ?” And while he opened his mouth to speak you pointed at him. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.” Looking him square in the eyes.

Talos considered this for a long moment. Then finally, “None currently.”

Tony looked between the two of you but in the end deferred to you, watching you closely to wait for your judgment. About the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. You looked. You looked deep. But you weren’t getting deception off him. “Are there plans to?”

To this Talos gave a brazen shrug. It was weird now. He was definitely not trying to pretend to be Fury at all, even while wearing his face. “How should I know? You know what he’s like. Everything’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Tony’s nose twitched in a bit of a scrunch, forehead wrinkling as he made quite the face. “And you- some guy masquerading around in his place- don’t need-to-know things?”

“Not currently.”

Anger flared up within Tony and you tried to put a soothing light over it, raising your hand to give him a small touch over his heart. Talos was being … well. He was being an asshole. But what more could you expect of someone in his position? Considering who he worked for, especially. And in what capacity.

While you wanted to curb him to heel, someone fast approaching had you putting a hand up in warning to stop current discussion. Both men looked at you, and then the three of you looked as Steve opened the barn door and poked his head in. He also realized he’d interrupted something. “...everything okay in here?” It took a few seconds to register that Nick Fury was there. “Oh.”

Talos put on quite the act pretty immediately, lifting his head in a bare acknowledgment. His tone dried up. “Nice to see you too, Rogers.”

Steve stepped in a little more and crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Talos-Nick sighed. “You know, when I left, the world was a bit of a mess. But not quite like the one you’re all in now. Thought I’d check in.”

“You won’t find me disagreeing.” Steve’s haughtiness not only bugged you but also ticked Tony off to a terrible degree.

They must have been having a heated discussion out in the yard while you’d been speaking with Laura. He had been pretty angry about Ultron, and you imagined that hadn’t changed after what had gone on in Johannesburg. To think Tony had been taking the brunt of all that… as usual…

You turned Steve’s way. “We’re fine. We’ll be out in a minute.”

The two of you shared a long look. It even looked like he might be attempting to stare you down. Too bad for him you weren’t in the mood. Eventually he broke with a shake of his head. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

There was complete, stale silence in the barn until Steve actually removed himself and closed the door. When he did, Talos dropped the act again. But only to ask, “How did you know he was coming?”

For all his stresses, this seemed funny to Tony for some reason, a little laugh escaping him. “You really don’t know anything, do you?” Maybe this was relieving. In some way.

Then again. Talos was asking how you knew someone was coming, but not how you’d forced his hand? He had some strange priorities. ...Fury trusted this guy? Really? Seemed like a poor decision. ...although he’d apparently been instructed to stay away from you. For this exact reason.

Talos knew nothing. And as always, Fury knew more than he was letting on.

You felt a headache coming on. “Are you staying?”

Talos gave a shrug. “For a little while. Then I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

This felt unsatisfactory for many reasons. But the biggest one Tony voiced for you, “Fury just asked you to drop in- why? What’s the point?”

“How should I know?”

The dual groans that escaped you and Tony came from somewhere deep within the both of you. Talos knew little, he was also playing stupid. A terribly tiring mix. You looked at Tony. He looked at you. And you just knew the both of you understood how worn out the both of you were. “Food should be ready by now.”

“Food sounds good.” Agreeing with a slow nod. He hooked a thumb Talos’ way. “He invited?”

It only just occurred that Clint had told Laura something, and then Laura had sent you away. Laura, by Steve’s admission, had also told Tony to go to the barn. To meet Fury. The three of them were in on this. At the very least they knew Fury had been lurking about.

God you really needed a good night’s sleep. Finally deactivating your suit, you took hold of Tony’s arm to lead him towards the door. “Not by me. But I have a feeling he’ll invite himself regardless.”

“Well, hey.” Tony’s voice lowered into a murmur. “He may as well actually be Fury then.”

Talos shouted behind the both of you just as you exited, “You know, I can hear you!”

One more thing. It was always one more thing. You didn’t want to worry about this. You didn’t have enough in you to do so right now anyway. But how many more things were just going to keep happening? Keep showing up?

Screw a night’s sleep. You needed to sleep for an entire year at this point.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Sixty Four

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

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Hey there! Well, one thing that really makes me so irritated and curious is the fact that in the prophecy Sam was the one who would kill Rowena permanently. But like why tf? Who even write the death books? Chuck? Billie herself? Fate? But why Sam? Why did he have to kill her? Like uhhhhh she was immortal, they were getting closer, being friends, i even see her as part of tfw and them BOOM, she finds out Sam is gonna kill her? Like what's the sense? Do you have a theory about it? 👀

Hi hi!

And oh, golly do I have theories. Too many theories, probably. Mostly because we just don’t know who “writes” Billie’s books. Actually the one thing I’m relatively certain of-- it’s not Billie doing the writing.

Of everything we know about how death and Death and fate work, and how those books themselves work, it’s been a fair assumption up to a point that the books are simply generated by a culmination of an individual’s choices throughout their lifetime. But I still have so many questions about those books.

For example, why is it implied that most people only have one book that rewrites itself if a person’s circumstances drastically change, and yet Dean has an entire shelf of books? Is it because of how much Chuck has directly interfered with his life? Or the fact he’s died and been resurrected so many times? If that’s the case, then why didn’t his “previous life” books disappear to be replaced by a new one? He may have died many times, but he’s still just one person. Why so many books?

That’s not what you asked, but I still think it’s important to understand the full picture of information we do know in order to attempt the best guess possible here. So in that spirit, I’m gonna take another slight detour on my way to attempting to answer.

I’ll start by point to this very, very long post I made about Rowena’s entire character arc on the show, posted December 1, 2019, so before we saw her back in 15.08. It’s on AO3, because it’s far too long for tumblr:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641770

I go into a lot of detail on her overall character arc, as well as this very specific storyline. But before I delve into Rowena’s side of this conundrum, I also need to delve into Sam’s...

In a really creepy way, the result of 13.19 was Sam getting to experience a version of “you either have to save him or kill him” that was John’s final declaration to Dean about Sam. Because at the end of 13.19, Rowena took a strange comfort from the entire experience. Knowing that no version of her own death would be at Lucifer’s hand actually helped her deal with her biggest personal fear and horror. It had haunted her, and ruled every choice she’d made up to that point. But here was Sam... kind, understanding Sam who’d given her that page of the spell book to free her power to protect herself... offering her a hand of friendship and help to potentially change her fate? And not just an automatic death sentence? Well, that was something.

Like she told Michael in 14.14:

Rowena: Fate says Sam Winchester's going to off me, which makes dinners a bit awkward, but does give one a certain sense of security.

In a weird way, she trusts Sam. She knows he’s not lurking in the shadows just waiting to kill her, you know? She knows he wouldn’t kill her without a very good reason. And she knows that she’s been doing everything in her power not to deserve killing. To have Sam and Dean Winchester welcome you into the family, and believe you can change your fate is their universe’s equivalent of being blessed. And Rowena has treated it as such.

So... that said, what does it take to actually change one’s fate? What does it take to redeem oneself?

We’ve already seen those books of fate shift over time. I mean, the most blatantly obvious example is from Dean’s books (all of them! well... except for that one Billie gave him) that changed after 14.10. And then we have to assume they all changed AGAIN after 14.14... because Michael was dead and couldn’t use Dean’s vessel to destroy the world anymore.

We also know from another agent associated with death that it’s our human choices that can change our fate, thanks to Lily Sunder in 14.08:

SAM: Fine. Then change it. Let her into Heaven.ANUBIS: I'm an accountant. I don't have that kind of power.SAM: Yeah, right. Like you or-- or God has never made an exception?ANUBIS: That's right. Because God doesn't decide. I don't decide. You do, each of you, your individual choices all tallied up at the precise moment of your death. Keep me here. Try and kill me. It is not going to change Lily Sunder's fate. But it might change yours.

Except... knowing this, knowing her choices had the power to change her fate, gave Lily the power to choose a different fate for herself. Of course she couldn’t know for sure if it would be enough, if her last Good Deed would be enough to tip the scales, but she hoped. And it had changed everything.

LILY: I don't understand. Why am I here?ANUBIS: Hm. Care to try your luck again? [Anubis brings out his abacus again, and measures Lily’s soul. Most of the beads are now white, and rise to the top]ANUBIS: I'm curious. Did you know what doing the spell would cost you? Say hello to your daughter for me.

Doing the spell cost her life, but she had already begun to let go of her very long life. She’d had time to get her revenge and make her peace, and her last act, as her own free choice, had been enough to save her soul. It’s more than she ever could’ve hoped for when she’d set the course of her life more than a hundred years earlier.

And yet, for Rowena, performing the spell that had saved the world from the hell rift caused by Chuck’s temper tantrum hadn’t been enough to redeem her. She’d been just as hopelessly trapped in hell as if she’d never consciously chosen to become better in the first place. Her redemption failed. And I gotta wonder... why?

Rowena’s goal was pure-- save the world with the one spell she knew would work, but that would cost her everything. She didn’t even hesitate. She didn’t stop to wonder if performing this spell and making this sacrifice could redeem her soul. She only cared that Sam would be saved (well... and the world...).

And yet, in working the spell, she literally needed Sam to do the deed, because it wouldn’t have worked without him. She didn’t believe in love enough to sacrifice herself, her love for anything or even the world itself. The only thing she truly believed in enough was the power of the prophecy of her own fate in Billie’s book, which is just nine levels of pain to understand.

This is why her taking the throne of Hell is just... literally the Worst Possible Outcome if it was indeed her final fate on the show. And for the details on why, because I’ve already typed 13k words on the subject and typing them again here feels kinda frustratingly pointless, I’m gonna point back to the very long post on AO3 again. :’D

Does Chuck have any power over what those books say? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena rewritten her own fate before performing that spell, and despite her belief in her actions in 15.03, had her own fate already been rewritten? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena actually earned her redemption, and like so many others who didn’t deserve it, did Chuck banish her soul to Hell as a punishment for flouting his plans? Did he just need her out of the way because like Billie, she meddles? Or gives the Winchesters too big an advantage in solving their problems? Again, we just don’t know.

But I’m still convinced that we haven’t seen the end of her story yet, and so I’m not really gonna speculate beyond this...

#spn 15.03 #spn 13.19 #spn 14.08 #spn 14.14 #spn 15.08 #rowena #billie the reaper #lily sunder #that's what free will is #Anonymous

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atrayo · 3 years

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Jewels of Truth Statements and Favorite Quotes of the Month of November

Hello All,

I hope those of you in the States had a safe and pleasant Thanksgiving Holiday. I haven't posted so much due to some holiday blues. This is the 1st holiday season I'm spending alone. Otherwise, my mother which I'm a caregiver from a distance for the past 9 months. She will be shortly transferred to a long-term skilled nursing facility (SNF) versus her current memory care assisted living facility. (ALF). Due to her deteriorating health conditions overall, thus the holiday blues in part.

Aside from this human drama, I'm still channeling the angels just not as frequently as before. It's always been in cycles of periods of heavy-duty inspirational automatic writing and then periods I enter the doldrums over these 25+ years. Perhaps it's their way to keep me frosty without burning me out throughout the year.

Today's trio of angelic channeled "Jewels of Truth" statements are on the topics of Worship, Humanity Creates God Fulfills, and Divination & Magicks. I've always have channeled as a universal all-inclusive compassionate faith perspective. As if God has no favorite form of spiritual tradition or religion since it is all him in various flavors. Thus I can easily touch briefly on a statement that has Christianity, Hinduism, and Paganism all in one like a melting pot of the glorified heavens eternal.

May you find today's statements intriguing even though they may challenge you spiritually. Which is a good thing for it expands your inventory of possibilities of the Great Mystery of God in earnest. Amen.

Worship:

2989) To the heart that believes and dares to know in impossible realities through God(dess). You shall never be truly alone in the starry heavens of your galaxy and beyond into your cosmos. You are an intrepid knower on the soul level of what is miraculous is very much real to the divine essence of the Creator.

Theology or not, dogma and rhetoric can not withstand the pure heart of an earnest worshipper of the Constant Soul of God(dess). To draw conclusions that sit beyond the safe parameters of the known. No matter if clergy can quantify it or not by cultural faiths and norms. Yours is the conviction of things hoped for but rarely acknowledged as seen and much less heard as common or otherwise as to the wider scope of the metaphysical endless realities.

Here stands the giant of audacity and the trivial fool not willing to take a positive stand with realized merit in action and internal poise of character. Only the driven with an Imagined knowing can seize the powerful and the sacrosanct to behold the Mysticism of an Almighty Living God. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

Humanity Creates, God Fulfills:

2985) To the seeker who realizes many absurd things of his/her own native humanistic reality as skewed. Must acknowledge the differences that exist as a spectrum of potentialities some of which come into unbalanced fruition.

The Divine spiritual and religious traditions globally has been an attempt by humanity to transcend its mundane limitations. Now the Science experiment has replaced the ideations of the gods as angels and/or a Creator spiritually as God in part. It is merely one philosophical doctrine replacing another by evolutionary tendencies that are wholly natural by the arc of the eons of mortal existence.

The Universe is both seeped in the Divine regardless of Xyz of a particular faith tradition. It is also godless without spirituality as each entity as a childlike creation of a cryptic Maker has the liberty to choose within this Great Mystery. To this effect, the point of origin of existence is a paradox of godly/angelic design. It is subjective and objective simultaneously of your very mundane human finite lifetimes.

Each of you are vehicles as projections of the Infinite nature of the Universe extraordinarily so. This Universe is God-centric and it is not. The Universe of immense populated souls times infinite comprehension is just another stratum of higher echelon interpretation of the one Supreme Soul of God(dess). This Universe physical or otherwise metaphysical is just another incarnation of a spirit entity as a child of God. Much like your planet of the earth is Mother Earth as a spiritual sister to the singular Soul of God(dess). Which all life shares as its own rightful incarnation at a greater scale of life is Mother Earth and Father Sky than one mortal lifetime as people are predisposed as lifeforms to date. The Universe is only a subset of the Created children of a Majestic Deity which includes the astral multi-verse of the afterlife. (ie the heavens, limbos, and despicable hells)

Every philosophy dependent on like-kind is an expression trying to grapple with the meaning and function of existence at large. Humanity upon antiquity and before recorded history has always aimed its divinity to the stars of the cosmos. This is aside from the animism of the spiritual glory of the gods as angels found upon the myriad creatures of this earth. With limitless abandon of the afterlife has humanity with Imagination projected its Will of Mankind outwards.

In so far of this projection of the human condition wrapped around the enigma of the divine auspices of the soul of Life itself. Humanity created in its own flawed Image and Likeness to this very era. Be it philosophies as religions, spiritual traditions, the branches of the sciences, and so forth. It is natural and a noble enterprise for any semi-sentient species to attempt in order to embark on realizing its very limitless nature of God in them collectively.

Humanity upon antiquity created Pantheons of lesser deities not unlike the traditions of the human saints as patrons. Where every patron under the proverbial sky is a governor of a certain aspect of your reality in earnest. Be it of the human condition and/or of meteorological wonders and other meta forms of existence as its very misunderstood conundrums. Some succeed in piercing the veils of the astral metaverse of the spiritual continuum of what you term as the supernatural afterlife.

Meaning the afterlife is the angelic playground of the gods and goddesses as the lesser deities of all combined macro-mythologies across all realities simultaneously extraordinaire. Some worshippers of the angels (ie lesser deities) of now mostly dead religions as schools of thought that later became philosophical doctrines of various orders of a similar kind. Whereas the instance of the School of Diana (Artemis) as the ancient Greco-roman goddess. Is an angelic presence of the heavenly Olympus as the astral Kingdom of God in a metaverse all of its own divine nature.

You see where the children of God worship anything whatsoever as real or unreal all that raw spiritual power dynamo of the Soul of God for centuries has to go somewhere. Thus it becomes enchanted by magical or otherwise divine means under the Will of God mysterious as it stands. All myths and Legends are treated as reality upon the spiritual afterlife regardless if it was real or not on Earth and beyond. Anything that a semi-sentient species like humanity upon the cosmos worship through the Meta-Supreme Almighty Soul of God(dess). Becomes christened as a divine keepsake eternal entity given a spirit body as a zeitgeist of its era or society of its subsequent civilization(s) that birthed it philosophically.

Moreover, anything with sufficient reverence as adorations by humanity en masse. Becomes deified by the Will of God(dess) as the Great Mystery Loves to Create Wonders through its Children Forever as Divine Immaculate Law. A perpetual grandiose cause and effect conundrum on a scale that dwarfs comprehension. Of our combined spiritual understandings as mortals having a finite existence as people much less realized as eternal souls.

This is truly a thing of beauty as an unintended consequence of spirituality with timeless repercussions. God enchants through all of its/his/her Infinite Children as spiritual bodies in motion in any reality whatsoever that it is pleased. Humanity is no exception to this rule of cosmic divinity. So the angelic goddess entity of "Artemis/Diana" is man-made fictitious lore of a now-dead religious theological Hellenistic period of humanity. Albeit paradoxically she was born with her twin brother Helios/Apollo god of an angel by the metaphysics explained above. She isn't immortal stalking the earth as the huntress. She is a christened angel a lesser deity as a spirit body created by humanity's ancient greek soulful devotions worshipped spiritually speaking. Over two thousand years plus of worship and a spirit is born upon the astral realms of humanity.

It doesn't end there...Every Spirit Body given life as an angel as holy and unholy that was/is/will be worshipped by humanity across the centuries well into the eons. Is adopted by a like-kind Oversoul real angelic deity of a higher divine reality or echelon of spiritual significance with equal or near-equal similar attributes. So an Oversoul angelic meta-presence wears the humanity created spirit entity like a mask or costume akin to cosplay on a cosmic scale of the afterlife. So the spirit created by humanity as Artemis worshipped for two eons at least is worn like a mask or costume by a legitimate angel of the Lord God as an intercessor with similar like-kind inferences of divine forms. Living out sincerely its own mythology created by humanity as theological at its own discretion as it is required for eternity.

So when certain humans worship deeply in the astral afterlife an angelic vessel spirit body deity is created. Some religions as priestly classes bend the fabric of metaphysical reality to even create philosophies of High Magicks. To interact with said lesser deities (ie Artemis and Apollo) including systems of divination as Oracle spiritual traditions. Much like Michael Angelos's depiction as a ceiling mural of the Sistine Chapel of Man attempting to touch God finger to finger.

Humanity is a carnal rebirth or echo of the vast litany of angelic spiritual species of various stages of soulful eternal evolution. It is the Constant Will of a Living Creator God(dess) to create, recreate as sustaining, to destroy, and so forth in its Supreme Perfect Angelic Image and Likeness Forever. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

Divination & Magicks:

2984) Every form of simplistic to complicated ritualized and technical form of Divination system on Earth. Has its own corresponding High Magicks associated with it. With numerous expressions of energetic spiritual clearings/purifications of space with evocations and Invocations at large. Besides any other accompanying blessings and healings at least in the framework of the heavenly beneficent realms of grace.

This is to showcase to you "Ivan the Atrayo" what you deemed as an entry-level Intuitive holy gift of God. Is far wider and farther than meets the typical eyes, hearts, and minds of a genuine seeker of the divine. To name any form of divination from Viking Runes or your choice of a type of Astrology (ie Western, Indigenous American (ie Mayan, etc...), Vedic, Chinese, and even Babylonian). All these mentioned and countless more in the dozens from the Tarot to Lenormands to regular playing deck of cards and so forth. These can have a generic or a very specific corresponding School of Magicks associated with it as extensions to forms of Oracle Mysticism.

You see that Caribbean Hoo Doo as the folk magicks of VooDoo as a pagan spiritual tradition. Having its onset from the Haitian African Diaspora due to the Colonial Era slave trade of Europe and of the Americans. Had richly held Nigerian Yoruba influences very strongly set when encountered by the Caucasians religion of Christianity where it syncretized itself. So the Catholic Saints such as Mother Mary Queen of Angels and/or Saint Barbara for instance. Were blended together to make a cross-pollinated thing of beauty to such common folk of the Caribbean.

It is no different how the Ancient Greco religion influenced the Ancient Romans and yet again the Cult of Christianity upon Antiquity became the State Religion of the Romans. There are countless instances historically of other forms of spiritually fueled diviners creating and adopting magical interpretations of the divine given their epoch in time. Everything upon Creation is a constant melting pot of creativity for all perceived endless spiritual realities.

For all mortal kind and the heavenly afterlife with the angels as the lesser deities as corresponding anchors to the magicks in question. The global ancestors borrowed from other cultures they encountered as foreigners across routes of mass commerce and by subjugation through warfare. As the world evolved societies have come and gone as territories have become certain empires influenced the ages spiritually.

It is with this plethora of souls that opportunities present themselves time and again. For systems of divinations and subsequent magickal orders are latched onto the angels and lesser deities. To perform and safeguard our better lives as the practitioner sees fit by either faith or secular whims. The Will of God is all-inclusive for it is only the selfish petty whims of humanity that seek to control and centralize what is otherwise abundant not only on Earth but in the Cosmos.

No matter religion or spiritual persuasion no one is turned away that seeks greater spiritual union with the divine by whichever means makes the most sense to them. Thus the Oracle Spiritual Arts and the Magical Branches as Meta-Sciences as your Divine Inheritance of God(dess) have appeal globally no matter the epoch one is located therein. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

You have power over your mind-not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength. ---Marcus Aurelius.

When you feel yourself breaking down, may you break open instead. May every experience in life be a door that opens your heart, expands your understanding, and leads you to freedom. ---Elizabeth Lesser.

Ride the winds of change, unafraid. ---Larry Ward.

Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. ---Hebrews 11:1.

My religion is nature. That's what arouses those feelings of wonder and mysticism and gratitude in me. ---Oliver Sacks.

When we are fully alert in spirit, mind, and body, we are more than we imagine and can accomplish more than we suppose. ---Barbara Holmes.

We should appreciate the beauty in the diversity. It would be a boring world, if every flower were the same shape, color, and size. ---Muhammad Ali.

If you want to have a full and happy life, in good times and in bad, you have to get used to the idea that facing misfortune squarely is better than trying to escape from it. ---Norman Fischer.

Ivan "Atrayo" Pozo-Illas, has devoted 25 years of his life to the pursuit of clairvoyant Inspired automatic writing channeling the Angelic host. Ivan is the author of the spiritual wisdom series of "Jewels of Truth" consisting of 3 volumes published to date. He also channels conceptual designs that are multi-faceted for the next society to come that are solutions based as a form of dharmic service. Numerous examples of his work are available at "Atrayo's Oracle" blog site of 15 years plus online. Your welcome to visit his website "Jewelsoftruth.us" for further information or to contact Atrayo directly.

#Jewels of Truth #Atrayo's Oracle #Ivan Pozo-Illas #Angels #automatic writing #inspirational #Psychic #channeler #spirituality #Spirit Guide #spiritual teacher #God #worship #divination #magick #Artemis #apollo #paganism

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midnightartemis · 4 years

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~Chapter Sixteen Up Now~

Read Me Here

“To understand magic, you must first understand what magic is. The better your understanding of it, the better you can master it. Most of you, if not all of you will never understand magic. You can study the spells and the history and the art all you want, but unless you find that understanding in yourself, in your soul, you will never be a great witch or wizard.”

Rey watched as her fellow Hufflepuff classmates shrugged off Professor Skywalker’s harsh words. Part of it, she thought, was the idea that Hufflepuffs were rarely destined for greatness anyway and that to not be a hero was a weight off their shoulders. It was an absurd idea, one that could be contested with more than a dozen witches and wizards from Hufflepuff that had achieved glory or fame in their own right. She had seen only glimpses of that power— woe betides the man who insulted a Hufflepuff’s friend.

The other half of the classroom, made up of Ravenclaw first years, shared confused and terrified looks. From that alone, Rey knew she was in for an afternoon of Rose overanalyzing and complaining about Professor Skywalker’s remarks. She’d most likely start with the fact that, quote, “Anyone can master anything if they study hard enough.” A fact that Rose liked to bring up whenever Rey or Finn got frustrated over homework.

“Magic flows through all things animate and inanimate. It can be stored, transferred, honed, and warped.” As Professor Skywalker spoke, a piece of chalk floated up from its tray and began to write those four points on the small black chalkboard. Quills began to scratch down the notes on parchment quickly, but Rey was too drawn into the lesson to take any of her own. “Indeed, each of you contains a finite amount of power–”

Professor Skywalker tapped ‘ stored’ on the board with his wand. “Transferred from the magic that runs through the universe. And with your wands, you can hone that power. Ask it to perform different tasks. The most powerful wizards can do this without their wands. Magic changes the reality around you, letting you control and manipulate the seen and unseen. Warping the world to protect yourself. To attack. To transfigure objects. Creature potions. Manipulate the mind. Cause chaos and confusion. Or ease and peace.”

He stored his wand away, grey eyes surveying the classroom with a steely gaze. As he spoke, his voice darkened, those eyes flashing back to a time that Rey had only heard of. “These four things define the way we view and use magic within this world. In the right hands, magic can perform great deeds. Can heal and create. In the wrong hands, magic is the most destructive force in the world. It can tear through minds, turn those who love you against you, bring death and chaos to all who meet it. There are those who would use this dark side of magic to bring the world as you know it to its knees. Who would destroy anyone who got in their way of making a so-called utopia. Once the darkness takes control, it can be difficult, if not nearly impossible, to return to the light. Those who master this path of darkness are known as Sith. They are little more than creatures of darkness, corrupted until they are no longer human. I only hope that you never cross one.”

Professor Skywalker paused, letting his warning fall over the room and silencing them all. “That is why, in this classroom, I will focus our efforts on defensive spells and teach you how to control yourselves as young witches and wizards. A good wizard uses magic for knowledge and defense, never for attack."

Beside Rey, Rose’s hand shot up. Professor Skywalker barely had time to acknowledge her before she asked her question. “If our magic is finite, how do we know when it’s gone?”

Professor Solo raised his eyebrows. “You will know when it’s gone because you will be dead, Miss Tico. Most never get that far. As you all know, or will soon learn, there are limits to magic. One cannot bring back someone from the dead, for instance. Trying to do so would exhaust the warlock who attempted to the point where they, too, would die. Magic can be repleted, however. I find a good night's sleep does the trick.”

“And you said it can be stored. How so? If magic is finite but it can be repleted and stored, can’t people just store enough of it to do something impossible, such as bring back the dead?”

Professor Skywalker’s eyes narrowed into a storm at Rose’s questions. Rey had the very distinct feeling that Rose was going down a path she should not. “There are objects which act much as people and magical creatures do. Take the Sorting Hat versus a regular hat, or one that’s had a spell cast on it to speak. All magic is not equal, Miss Tico. All animate and inanimate objects are not made equal. Storing magic requires more magic than most can stand. It is a very dangerous practice which was outlawed several hundred years ago. Punishment for such a practice is a lifetime in Azkaban as those who wish to store magic often fall to the dark side. I ask that you leave it at that.”

There was something in his voice that left no room for questioning. Even Rose and her million-question mind were stymied by Professor Solo’s response. For a moment, Rey swore the Professor’s eyes flickered to her.

The rest of the class was spent on note-taking from the defensive spells section of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Qui-Gon Jinn. Notes and reading did nothing but make her squirm. She wanted nothing more than to be with Ben in the Room of Requirement practicing all of the spells and techniques that Qui-Gon Jinn was outlining. As Rey read further, she realized that they had been working on… Yes, practically all of the rudimentary spell work and techniques. Though Ben took a more aggressive approach, she recognized the footwork and wandwork demonstrated in the frustratingly small diagrams. As she read, the words clicked into place in a way they hadn’t before. Her eyes devoured the words as quickly as she could scribble down her notes.

She hardly noticed when class was dismissed, taken out of her intense studies when Rose poked her. “Come on!”

Rey scrambled to put her things away and ran after Rose into the halls. Rose looped her arm through Rey’s and giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that deep into schoolwork.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “I think you’ve been having a bad influence on me.”

She walked beside Rose as they headed off to the Great Hall and Rose set off on Rey’s predicted tangent of how anyone could become a great wizard if they studied enough. It wasn’t until Rey stepped into the great hall that she stopped and patted the side of her bag. It was definitely lighter than usual.

“Did you forget something?” Rose stopped in her ranting and cocked her head to the side.

Rey dug through her bag. “I think so. I think I had my Astronomy book in here. I must have taken it out and set it down before D.A.D.A. I’ll just run back and grab it. I need it tonight.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Rose asked, but Rey already disappeared down the corridor.

She hurried through the mostly vacant halls, hoping that there wasn’t a class in the DADA classroom during this period. Rey let out a sigh of relief when she found the door standing open and a quiet classroom beyond.

Well, very nearly quiet.

“We are barely into the new semester and, already, not one but two detentions. Talking back to me is one thing. Asking me questions about dark magic is another. But hexing another student? The son of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?” Professor Skywalker’s voice hissed loudly from the slightly ajar door to his office. It was filled with barely uncontrolled anger that Rey was loathe to be on the receiving end of. “Do you forget who your mother is? Do you know the kind of pressure she is under?”

“How can I forget when it’s all I hear about every two seconds?”

Rey froze at the sound of Ben’s voice. She could see her book sitting under her desk where it must have fallen. She should just grab it and go.

“Nevermind the fact that Hux deserved it. Nevermind the fact that he was calling students mudbloods. Perhaps next time I’ll just join in. How do you think the Prime Minister will feel about that? Perhaps I should forget when I’m so easily replaceable that she’d rather spend Christmas with a bloody random nobody she picked up off the streets?”

Rey felt a lance through her heart. Is that what he really thought of her? A nobody? She hadn’t meant to hide the fact that Leia had invited her to Chewie’s hut for Christmas. He’d just been so upset at them already. She hadn’t known.

Whatever Luke said next was too low for Rey to make out, but it was enough for the wooden door to his office to burst open and for Ben to angrily storm out. Rey watched as he swept down the small set of curved stairs, his cloak billowing behind him. He got to the bottom and turned. Dark eyes came to meet hers and he stopped.

Rey’s words caught in her throat. She wasn’t even sure of what to say as she tried to process everything.

He hexed Hux?

Nobody.

Perhaps next time, I’ll join in.

Ben steeled his face into a dark mask void of emotions when she didn’t speak. His hands flexed before he resumed his swift exit out of the classroom. It wasn’t until he brushed past her that Rey fell out of her stupor.

“Ben!” Rey turned, catching his hand in hers. Ben paused only for a moment to look down at his hand caught in hers. The mask over his face stayed as he tore his hand from hers and left. Rey stared at the door long after he had gone.

“Miss Niima.”

Rey jumped at Professor Skywalker’s voice behind her. She turned away from the door quickly to look up at him in his grey robes. “Sorry, professor. I forgot my Astronomy book in here and I was just picking it up.”

She hurried over to her desk and picked up her book. With shaky hands, she struggled to shove it into her book bag.

“You’ve been progressing very quickly in your studies.”

“I… I just really enjoy Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Rey looked back towards the door. She wanted to go after Ben, but he was probably long gone. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing?” Professor Skywalker raised his brows. He was trying to draw more out of her. Rey couldn’t help but feeling he already had his suspicions.

“I should go. I’m missing dinner.”

The professor paused for a moment, holding Rey in his gaze before nodding. “Indeed.”

Rey turned and hurried for the door only to be stopped once more by Professor Skywalker.

“Rey?”

“Yes, Professor?” She didn’t want to look at him, but forced herself to meet his gaze anyway.”

“Remember what I taught you today. And be wary of those who ignore it.”

#reylo #kylo x rey #ben solo x rey #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #reylo fiction #ben solo deserved better #fall of ben solo #rise of kylo ren

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phynali · 4 years

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SPN 15x10 Heroes’ Journey

So I kind of thought people were maybe overreacting with the hate for SPN episode 15x10 but no - it was That Bad.

I really, really, wanted to like this episode. The actors talked about how fun it was in the pre-season press tour. There was excitement about it. I was kind of expecting another The French Mistake or Scooby-Doo type episode - canon but mostly taking the piss, not consequential to the overall plot, incredibly self-aware.

And I think it tried to be a lot of those things, but failed so utterly. And I want to a) unpack a bit of why, and b) write some fix-it interpretation that you can take or leave but that I’m gonna headcanon for my own sanity.

First, here are so many problems with this episode in what it implies about the canon and the characters.

It says that they haven’t ever been normal. Okay, sure, I’m there. God gave them a bit of Plot Armour because they’re his favourites. They’ve come back from the dead like a dozen times, I’ll buy that.

But then -

Then it says that they’ve never got parking tickets, that they don’t get colds, cavities? Okaaaaay, so God gave them some extra luck and fortitude. Alright.

But then they can’t pick locks? Fight monsters? The engine fails when we know Dean has built it from the ground up, loves it obsessively, and obsesses over its maintenance? Sam can’t fucking boil pasta? Things they’ve done their entire lives are suddenly beyond them, as if they never learned nor developed a skill nor have common sense.

What the fuck?

It is absolute bullshit if taken at face-value but okay IF you set aside the canon hand-fed interpretation of what’s going on. Garth tells them that they’re suddenly experiencing ‘normal person problems’ because they are no longer the ‘heroes’.

Suddenly losing a bit of fortitude and luck doesn’t make you lose skills you’ve developed over decades or make you suddenly unable to boil water. So either we have to reject the episode, or reject the false interpretation sent our way. I choose the latter.

Think about it (let me convince you to appease my own frustration) - Chuck is a liar. We know this. Chuck is also our narrator, in canon and meta-textually.

We know we have an unreliable narrator.

Is it not reasonable to suggest that Chuck didn’t “make them normal” or “take away their special Hero Status” and have Dean suddenly lactose-intolerant, ridden with cavities (okay that part is realistic but to suddenly feel them now?), have it so Sam, who got a full ride to Stanford University - cannot boil water and grabs hot pots with his bare hands.

Actually for that last bit - if you’ve worked in kitchen for a long time or done a large amount of cooking, the sensitivity in your hands decreases a lot. Sam might actually be able to grab things straight out of the oven for short periods of time, or grab pots by the handles off the stove without feeling the burn the way someone like me might. My partner can do shit like that, though normally at least uses a tea towel for things straight out of the oven, but i’ve seen him do it. So Sam might do that typically and that just lends itself to my theory that -

Chuck is fucking with them.

Chuck didn’t “make them normal” - he sent a bunch of annoying inconveniences their way to slow them down, and to undermine their confidence in their skills. Just enough that they think it’s them and not Him. That they think it’s their shine worn off, their luck run dry, their skills as never being as good as they thought - just enough hits to keep coming and uncomfortable facts that fit close enough to their lives to make them Doubt.

He is God, what does he do but deal in Faith and Doubt?

(He doesn’t like to be questioned. He knows them inside and out, knows everything about everything - including how to sew discord).

He took away their credit card that Charlie had hacked for them so they can’t move around as quick and easy, switched the flip on some of their biology (lactose intolerance, clumsiness, a head cold) to slow them down, fucked them up a bit in terms of the Impala (parking tickets, spark plugs) to stall them up.

Not bad luck, not a loss of Plot Armour - Chuck is playing with the narrative. He wanted Sam to give up hope in the previous episode, and now he wants to weedle at that weakness. He wants them inconvenienced and down on themselves, knows that they excel when they’re faced with violence and a Big Bad but it’s like Lilith and her ‘death by a thousand cuts’. He knows it will be easier to get under their skin with a series of minor vexations that has them questioning themselves.

They are cursed. Dean is right. Cursed with God’s Wrath - which in this case looks a bit more like God’s No Good, Super Annoying Goddamn Day(s), but y’know. Whatever.

And then there’s the skills - the inability to pick locks, to fight monsters. As if a lifetime of practice and training disappears when Plot Armour does. I cannot suspend my disbelief to accept that being Normal means having no learned skills.

So although the narrative (the narrator, Chuck, God Who Art Unreliable) is telling us that they only have these skills because He wanted them to.

We must reject that interpretation of the canon.

(Just like I wish Sam and Dean had rejected that misinterpretation of their lives.)

God waved his hand and took away skills they’d need in a pinch. He didn’t fuck with their personalities because he likes to watch too much, but he wanted to see what they’d do if he (re)set their skills to zero: if they would learn again, if they would realize how fucked they were, make bad decisions to regain those abilities, drink blood or take on Angels or anything else vile so they might kill each other. He’s trying to get his story back on track, and lying to the audience (which now, oddly, includes the protagonists) is small change next to forcing the plot the way he wants to go.

Literally, Chuck is retconning the canon because he’s written himself into a corner, and he’s jealous of his own protagonists.

(Oddly - I think he’s kind of lying to himself too. Taking all this away and convincing himself that he gave it to them all in the first place, fucking with coincidence because these things do happen and messing with their biology because other people do have these sorts of issues. He takes all the credit for their success and therefore convinces himself it’s okay to change and take away whatever he wants, to manipulate luck and chance because hey - he’s God. They are his Creation, and therefore this is All Him, really.)

Only bad writers force the plot to go where they want irrespective of what it means about the characterization and being hard left-turn OOC. Chuck is a bad writer. We know this. Without Metatron as his editor he kind of writes complete crap? Even Becky and her purple prose had multiple critiques of his writing throughout the seasons.

So tl;dr -

The Heroes’ Journey isn’t about Sam and Dean losing the ‘plot armour’ and bonus to skills that Chuck had given them to make them badasses with no Normal Person Problems.

Instead, it’s an (undoubtedly unintentional from the writers and therefore ironic) exercise in unreliable narration where the audience is told the heroes are only special because someone else made them so. The creator of the in-canon narrative is retconning his own canon and trying to tell the reader it was this way all along, underneath plot armour.

He’s also doing this because as a self-insert OC into his own story, and now the antagonist of the story who fails to realize he’s made himself the bad guy, he’s buying time, aiming to slow them down and trying to cut away at their confidence and hope.

And he succeeds - and backfires. He chips away at them only enough to frustrate, to convince them that they Are and Must Be special in order to do what needs doing. They know that they have ever lacked in heroism, and the narrator fails to convince the audience that normalcy and heroism do not go hand in hand - in part because God’s favourite or not, they aren’t the only heroes in this story.

(Thanks Garth)

PS - Building from here into 15x11, if we accept this explanation but also know they do get their “mojo” (luck) back thanks to a Goddess, we can extrapolate that although she maybe can’t undo the changes that Chuck’s thrown their way, some of what he’s doing is based on coincidence (luck), and they should be ‘lucky’ enough to be able to access their skills despite having Chuck’s bullshit placed on them (or be lucky enough to have it removed entirely?). Luck seems a shorthand term here for so much more, something more like the suppressor/bullshit Chuck’s using on them, so I take it to mean that she basically reset the balance.

#spn #supernatural #supernatural meta #the heroes' journey #spn 15x10 #supernatural critical #i guess #oh god i wrote spn meta i'm in too deep #tooooo deeeeeeep #i was not supposed to end up part of this fandom here at the end of it #fucking whoops #but anyway i try not to wank because this show is ridiculous #unreliable narrator #and i haven't let myself be emotionally invested in it for years but #here i am #ffs #anyway #phyn rambles #phyn writes meta

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planetsam · 5 years

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Ok so I have this angsty prompt where Malex are having a big fight (some time after the finale) and then something happens that involves water and Alex is drowning and Michael saves him and uses his alien extra body heat to warm him up(skin to skin) and it gets intense. Those two idiots love each other so much and sometimes it takes one to be in danger for them to know what really matters. I fudging love your writing!

“Alex?”

Michael peers around the corner, listening for the thump of the music Alex prefers to listen to when he’s working out. Michael psychics himself up. He made some very valid points and the sight of Alex’s back muscles when he’s doing pull ups is not going to derail him.

“Come on, man, you can’t avoid me forever.” He frowns at the sound of the shower going, “Alex?” He calls into the bathroom. No answer. That’s not unusual. He figures he can wait. He glances around at the gym equipment, trying to judge how pissed off Alex is.

Something is wrong.

He can’t say why he feels that way, but a knot is in his stomach. Mostly because Alex is, god, he’s trying to meet him halfway in all this stuff but he hates it when Michael challenges him like this. Invading his personal space. Michael tries to respect that but sometimes they both fail completely. Alex staying in the shower and hiding is weird. Alex is not a fan of the vulnerability being in the shower exposes him to, he’s not a long showers kind of guy and this one is dragging. He also doesn’t lock the door. Michael jiggles the handle and finds it not budging. The knot is a boulder all of a sudden. To hell with caution, Michael puts his hand on the door and breaks the lock. It can be another thing they fight about. He crosses to the shower and opens the curtain. It’s empty.

He knows Alex is in the tub before he turns.

“Alex!”

He scrambles over. Alex is underwater and any passing glance would say there was one thing going on. But when he grabs Alex’s wrist, he feels the bones shift. Michael hauls him up, trying to support his neck. Alex is limp and naked against him, bleeding and broken and not breathing. The water is fucking freezing. How long has he been in here? Michael doesn’t care as he gets out of the tub, pulling Alex with him. He lays him on the floor and fumbles to get his fingers under his neck. There is a beat, it’s barely detectable though. And most importantly he’s not breathing. Michael pushes on his chest, then he tilts Alex’s head, pinches his nose and breathes for him.

“Alex, come on!” He says, pushing again before breathing for him, “Alex!”

Alex coughs.

Michael hauls him up, folding him over as Alex coughs up the bath water. He almost collapses against him as Alex sucks in a deep breath of air, then another. He coughs and spits up more water until he’s just coughing and then finally can take a deep breath on his own. Michael keeps an arm around him the whole time, his other hand rubbing circles on his back. Finally Alex turns towards him.

“Michael?”

“Yeah I’m here,” he says.

“How—“

“I was coming to continue our fight,” Michael says, “dick move but—“

Alex lets out a harsh laugh and rocks his head back against his shoulder, eyes shut. Michael frowns at how pale he is and the blue around his lips. He can’t decide if it’s from the drowning or the cold or both.

“I’ve never been so happy you can’t let anything go,” Alex chokes out, “I didn’t even see them.”

“Who?” Michael demands.

“Project Shepherd,” Alex says, “they broke in,” He cradles his wrist as he starts to shiver, blood trickling down his forearm, “they wanted to make it look like—“

“No,” Michael cuts him off, pressing his forehead to Alex’s cold shoulder, “come on.”

“I can’t move,” Alex says.

“Come on, ‘course you can,” He flings his power out and grabs Alex’s towel, wrapping it around him and putting his arm over his shoulder, “easy I got you.”

Alex leans into him. Michael grabs another towel, Alex’s prosthetic and gets Alex out of there and into the car. Everything else they can figure out when Alex is safe. He throws another towel over him and takes off. He dismisses the airstream because they might go there next and just focuses on driving them as far away as he can without putting them too far away so when he inevitably has to call Kyle or Liz they can get there. When they’ve reached that distance, he pulls over. He gets a towel wrapped Alex into the back and under the tarp. Moving supplies to Max’s pod means the thing is strung up now constantly. Thankfully his sleeping bag is in there too. Last thing to do is shuck off his wet clothes and climb in after.

“I almost went commando,” he says and pulls Alex firmly against him. Alex stiffens and then sags into his warmth with a soft sound, tucking his head against his collarbone, “lucky I decided to have an extra layer in case you were working out.”

“I was working out,” Alex says against his skin, “for two hours waiting for you.”

The rush of triumph collides painfully with the knowledge that Alex is cold and shivering against him. That he almost lost him. Michael finds himself trying to get as much of Alex into his arms as he possibly can. As if the warm rush of affection will help get his temperature up to normal. The shivering is a good sign, he reminds himself, though it can’t be comfortable for Alex and his broken wrist. Michael shoves aside his own desperation to have both his arms around Alex and instead he grabs one of the towels and rolls it up, cushioning Alex’s wrist. He uses his shirt to stabilize it around Alex’s neck. When Alex lifts his neck, Michael is relieved to see his lips aren’t nearly as blue before he wraps his arms back around Alex, using as much of his body heat as he can.

“No more seducing me into makeup sex with pull ups,” he says, “okay?”

Alex laughs around his teeth chattering, pressing his forehead firmly into Michael’s skin. Michael presses his lips fiercely to the top of his head.

“Is that what d-does it for you?” Alex asks and Michael feels him smirk against his skin, “I’ll remember that for next time w-when this heels.”

Michael feels his teeth knocking together and clutches him tighter, pressing his face into his wet hair. It feels like a lifetime ago he told Isobel he had nothing here but some old scrap metal. And okay that was a generous way to describe the airstream, but he’s painfully aware of just how much he has as it shivers against him. Alex takes a deep breath and blows it out steadily the hand that isn’t bound by Michael’s shirt rubbing along his ribs to stimulate the bloodflow. Michael tightens his arm around his back and carefully brings up Alex’s amputated leg so he can rub there. He wraps his feet around Alex’s remaining foot too, just to make sure nothing is forgotten. He remembers Liz proudly telling him Maria was her own hero and Michael realizes that maybe he has a type. Beyond people who like to show that inch of skin above their waistbands.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Alex jerks back enough to stare at him, still fighting the shivering. Michael wants to wrap him up again but he knows he’s not getting off easy.

“That’s what I didn’t want to say,” he says, “I didn’t know how—“ but he realizes he just did, “I love you,” he repeats. How was he nervous to say this, now he doesn’t think he can stop, “god I love you so much—“

Alex crushes their mouths together. Michael can feel him fighting shivering. Kissing like this though, eventually Alex opens his lips and the chattering means their teeth knock together in something decidedly not sexy. Michael was dead set on making something perfect in their relationship, one thing done right. But after a near death experience orchestrated by Alex’s father and somehow winding up in his old truck on a sleeping bag he’s had since high school, he realizes that in their own weird way it kind of is. At the very least it’s very them and a far better conclusion to their last couple of moments like this.

“I love you too,” Alex reminds him, easily like it’s the most natural thing to say. Michael wondered how that was until he realizes it is. Easy to say, easy to feel—all of it, “sorry,” Alex says breaking eye contact and curling towards him.

“Oh, shit, yeah come back here,” Michael says, grabbing for him. Alex exhales and snuggles closer to him, “I got you.”

He feels Alex smile against his chest and tightens his arms around him, reveling in the best moment he’s ever had in the back of the truck.

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex fic #michael x alex #roswell new mexico #malex #roswell nm fanfic #malex fanfic #prompts #it’s emotionally intense ok #that counts right?

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elementric · 4 years

Text

WAKE UP CALL

So I had a sit down with myself and was wondering and daydreaming as I always do. Either I’m with my phone talking to my best friends, as I just have a few. I can literally count down all my friends on one hand, as I always think it is very unnecessary having lots of people or friends around. However, as I’m not right now on my phone, I most probably making or listening to music. My strange affection to music and the never-ending desire to listen to it - insanity. Yes, I don’t watch movies nor I watch series if you ask yourself right now. Neither, or less apart of proceeding with my normal daily routine due to the fucked up lockdown. I had an insight within me, I was wondering on this particular day;

Us as humans why are we constantly so sad and why don’t we refuse the sadness in order to be happy. As the clear opposite of sadness is happiness and so vice versa.

So I dived deeper into the thought, I came to the conclusion that most of the time, it is a matter of being stuck in the past and considering that the future will be exactly the same without even realising the present. To be honest, in the time when I thought about it, I been again catching myself in the spam of going back into my depressive and suicidal behavior. Feeling worthless and ugly, feeling I would just deserve shit as I’m shit.

So I lied down in bed, it felt as someone sat on my chest and someone else just squeezed my stomach, I was screaming internally at myself to shut up and moved around in bed. “Worthless, so worthless you are, never someone will love you, as you can’t even love yourself” my Ego shouted at me, as my ego is getting very satisfied when I’m down and depressed because then mostly I do very reckless things when this happens or better what my ego is used to be doing, for example begging for attention, begging for approval. I couldn’t feel anymore, numb everything around me was numb like me. I could just feel how everything turns darker around me in my head in my heart. Only my Soul, just my soul shacked me and tried to shut up my ego, like a mother protecting her child.

Very important to understand, my soul is me, my soul is the being I am and I did so much hard work to clear Karma to clear old patterns and to clear pain within me and fall in love with the host my soul has decided for this lifetime.

It sounds so strange when I say oh I’m not a body, I’m a soul. Which is totally a fact, how would you otherwise function, the body the material body has just what 02 chromosomes more as a potato so the physical body is nothing else as an upgraded potato if you ask me. So I would never want to consider me being some sort of a body, I consider me more as a soul which has a body.

I’m a soul, hosted in a human body.

Anyway, so what happened to me, of course, I was in pain with myself, suffering in my own safe place which is my bed with all the demons around me laughing at me and my ego like the King of the world the king of my world laughing the hardest and loudest, of course. I decided to stand up from bed it was 4 a.m in the morning and walked around in the apartment. I had to throw up as I felt so horrible, in one second I thought I die or something like that. I brushed my teeth and made myself a coffee.

I sat down, took a deep breath and realized;

All that I feel, all that is going on within me, is not me, it is not the present me. It is not the woman who fought herself to a self-confident, aware, beautiful creation of mother earth. I realised very quickly that what is bothering me is the past, the past is bothering me, understanding in this situation as well; I have met an incredible man, he is gold, gold is next to him worthless, that great he is. To add on back in 2017 - 2018 I was in an extremely abusive relationship where I got shattered in pieces, mid of 2018 I had the courage to leave this guy I left different as I entered. I was disturbed, scared and full of anxiety; Can someone just imagine how much strength it took to pull my shit together, while my parents separating, my sister in war with me and no real friends? But there I was again refusing to give up and fought myself and fixed myself to the point where I’m right now. Pretty obviously, I would never allow anything or anyone to break me down, because just I know what took to stand on both feet strong my ground.

Ok, let me come to the point, I realised at this point while having my morning coffee that the past is what makes me feel like how I feel right now. Used to the idea that anyway - man ain't shit, man will hurt and all man are the same. But this time, I took myself together refusing my toxic experiences to take over me and stood up for myself and said; Try me this time motherfucking Ego, try me this time motherfucking past. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely thankful for my past as the past made me be me and I would not change one single bit of it. So I left to my car and drove up to the mountains, I live in the land of the desert so it is piss hot! But I wanted to be around the mountains, I wanted nature because I know there I find my peace. So I reached the hidden place my best friend and I always go to, to chill and get drunk (FUCKING LOL). I walked up the about million stairs to reach the bridge which connects two mountains and to overlook this beautiful scenery of crystal blue water and sandy warm looking rocks. I set down and started to meditate, I knew I was not alone as the spirits which live there tried to connect to me, in some weird point, they wanted to calm me too, my soul was crying and begging me to pull myself together, so no wonder why those spirits tried to help. After an hour of meditating, I left-back and then turned to see my best friend, because that mofucker is my best fucking friend he understands me. On the way to my best friend, I felt something tickeling my face and it was a spider. I freaked out for a second, but I realised this little thing is a sign from the universe, maybe from the mountain spirits? The spider is a sign to keep moving forward. Anyway, I reached my best friends place had a chittychat and left back home.

What I want to say overall, it is ok to feel sad and it is totally ok to be a bit depressed and even more, it is ok to feel scared that might the entire world want to harm you.

But you know what is not ok? Feeding your ego that this is the "only" truth, numbing your soul that this is the only way. Depressions are hard to battle and just I know how long it took me to realise what is the best way out for me, first I always refused medications and I thank my Mom big time for it. So what helped me is to allow the feelings and just forcing myself to do tasks, getting a routine (It isn’t necessary working for everyone)

Next thing panic attacks, good Lord somewhere above or beyond what all it took me to find the perfect way out of it. (Try to counting down all you are blessings or what you are thankful for even it is "I'm thankful for my shoe or sock", it helps, it helped me also the same method can be used for anxiety attacks).

Overall the hardest of all ego demons are the suicide thoughts, the one which makes you think if I’m dead everything would be just better, but I kinda have really bad news overall your 02 more chromosome potato body dies but your soul is immortal and bad karma will be transferred into the next life, even if you don’t believe so but apparently that's a side fact. So basically to understand the soul is who you are, brain - ego - I am - is not who you are. (Let this sink in and take your time for it)

We all got hurt so badly, we all experienced losses some of us might get bullied in school at work and some of us might live with different forms of harassment, assault, or even abusive.

If you are in school and you know that those stupid fucks could not accept you because the way you are, trust me YOU ARE SPECIAL THOSE FUCKERS ARE JUST a copy past of the society expected from them. But once you are home dress up like you want, makeup yourself how you want don’t hesitate. I created a Tumblr block to live my true self and I prove you that not even one single follower knows me personally. I took the decision because, sister/brother same, I feel like you, not understood by the world who is close to me.

When you are in a work environment who is toxic then think of looking for a new job, no regrets, trust in the process - STRAIGHT TALK - If you want to find a new job you will find one. When you are suffering a toxic relationship and you can’t leave then breathe deep in and allow yourself to gather all the strength it needs to leave, I know how it feels and trust me your friends and/or family is there no matter what. When you are sick then remember that you will be healthy again, when you are suffering a mental disorder understand that it is your ego ruling you and it is ok. I guess the worst thing nowadays what is happening in our society is that there is no more acknowledgement and just comperazim without realising the beauty within us. No one tells anybody anymore - WELL DONE - I'M PROUD OF YOU - even if just a small baby steps forward. And trust me it makes me sick! Because I just can't understand what is so hard in order to acknowledge the great process, basically every step forward is a step in the right direction. So if no one acknowledge you, start acknowledge yourself. FUCK WHAT PEOPLE SAY.

I just want to say that the way you are made is the way you supposed to be and there is no harm in embracing it. Just keep in front of you always; even if this seems the end but it isn't, trust the process and trust the inner voice inside you. Keep in your mind - this too shall pass.

I kinda just sank into my words and hope that some of you will be really inspired by it and seek out for help, not from me but maybe from friends and family. I just want every single person to understand that there is nothing wrong with you, you are unique the way you are. Numb yourself of the ego, numb yourself away from bad people and open your ears to the kind words of your soul.

I hope that one day the light will shine through your eyes so bright that all that sickos out there will be blinded.

If no one said that today, if I might don’t know you, the only answer in this life is Love. Not love from humans to human it is Love for everything. Being in Love with the world with the life and with your soul and 02 more chromosome potato body.

Elementric - Mind

#mind #think #soul #mentalheal #depression #anxiety #help #suicide #motivation #talktome #love #human #society #bully #post #element

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kelliangrey-ffxivrp · 5 years

Text

Prompt #30 - Darkness

This one is set ~15 years in the future and as such is total fanfiction. Wanted to try and explore something else for Kel and write up something dark and apocalyptic while I was at it. It’s a bit long, just shy of 3000 words, so I’m gonna stick it under a read-more. Thanks to those who check it out!

Today, we change the end.

And if it was up to me,

I’d rewrite history

And change my destiny,

One last time. ---

“Commander! Commander Grey!”

Kellian turned his head enough to catch a single eyeful of the approaching woman. A thick wad of parchment in her grip seemed to indicate the approach of new orders, but the scarred veteran was hardly sure he cared. He stepped down from the lip of the blasted-out trenchworks, stepping past the terrified men and women under his command. Blessed with a look of near-eternal youth, the almost-fifty year old Seeker still resembled a younger man, though the grey streaks through his blue hair gave more credence to his surname. A lifetime of hard lessons had turned the man’s exterior cold, but he still found the time for those that needed him.

Right now, the whole damn world needed him.

It had been four years since it started. People disappearing. It was luckier if a family member or friend just disappeared, actually. Worse to find them horribly butchered. Worse still to find the body mostly intact, but possessed by something else. Walking and talking as if alive, but with a far more sinister agenda. Kellian had been fortunate, in a way, to have been close to one of the first of these ‘visitors’. Creatures, spirits almost, from a darker reflection of the realm he and his friends call home. Even with such a warning, however, he’d been almost powerless to stop the inevitable darkness that even now grew upon the horizon. Even though it made his skin crawl, Kellian turned his eyes toward it.

Through dark ritual, the possessed carved a wound in the space between worlds. That wound now lay before him, a bilious mass of dark, foetid cloud that poisoned everything it came near. Worse, it birthed nightmare creatures with too many eyes, and far too many limbs. Kellian reached up to trace a worn finger over the scar on his neck.

Too many claws, too.

“Commander!”

The call drew him out of his reverie, and he finally looked at the messenger. “What is it?” He asked, taking the sheaf of papers from the spent youth. He barely even had to glance at them to see what they contained. Orders to withdraw. “No.” He said simply, handing the papers back.

“But sir-”

“Do you see that?!” Kellian barked, rounding on the messenger and pointing back the way they had come. There was a city, there. An old one, that meant a lot to him. Most of the people had left as the darkness slowly encroached upon the once-green earth, but the old, the poor and the infirm hadn’t yet had enough of a chance to pack up and leave. Those that had been brave or strong enough had joined Kellian at the trenches. He’d armed them. Taught them how to fire, how to reload, how to kill at range. He knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the next wave of creatures, but if it was enough to let the rest of the city’s residents escape, then it would be worth it.

“There are still families back there! Families that’ll become lunch, or worse, if we don’t do anything about this now! You cannot tell me that the Grand Companies plan to just sit idly by and let this cloud consume the world!”

“The Grand Companies-”

“Want to consolidate power and forces around the capital. I know.” Kellian finished, turning to spit on the earth. Idiots. It wouldn’t be enough. Another town, another two or three villages, and there would be no stopping this horde from beyond the gap between stars. Those people that went missing - where did the grand companies expect that they ended up? How did they imagine that these creatures ended up with so many familiar-looking limbs? Every death fuelled that dark war machine. Kellian imagined that there might have already been too many.

“Listen up!” Kellian bellowed. He might be resigned to die here, but he couldn’t bring himself to damn the rest of them. If they were cowards, they’d break anyway; and that would be worse. “Soon there’ll be another wave. Another mess of nightmares. I don’t know if we can put them down before they overrun us - but I for one am going to bloody try! There are familes - women and children - behind us that need us to hold these things off long enough for them to get away. I know you’re scared. I know you want to be on the next airship out of here. And I don’t blame you.” He said, drawing the gunblade at his back from its sheath. The ornate weapon caught what little light there was, and seemed to shine as if catching the sun’s rays - though the sun had long since stopped shining on this forsaken corner of the world. Kellian held the weapon aloft. “Any man or woman who wants to flee now, may do so. I’m not joking. You want to leave… leave.” He said solemnly, shoving the fresh orders back into the arms of the messenger as he strode toward trench, a short hop carrying him over the gap and to the killing field on the far side. The clawed toes of his prosthetic foot dug into the soiled earth before the other boot crunched down. “But I’m staying. These *things* - whatever intelligence drives them - it thinks it knows how this ends! It thinks it knows the strength of our people, and it has this chapter written and closed. I’ve heard the doomsayers claim that this is destiny. You know what I say?” Kellian asked, spreading his arms and turning to the many fearful eyes looking up at him, clutching rifles for dear life.

“I say fuck destiny! If the end is written, then let us tear up the page and write it anew! Are you with me?!”

The cheer of approval - and Kellian was glad to see that nearly everyone had decided to stay - was drowned out by a curdling, piercing scream from beyond the veil of darkness before them. It was a howl filled with such deep anguish, such pain, that it tightened the throats and chilled the hearts of all who heard it. It washed over the plains, and Kellian knew that the time for rousing speeches was well and truly over. He sheathed his Gunblade - Inexorable - the shining weapon little use to him at a longer range. He took a quick step backwards and dropped into the trench beside his rag-tag group of defenders. Some expert monster hunters carried two swords upon their backs, different styles of blades providing different effectiveness against certain creatures. Kellian followed a similar philosophy. Pushing the gunblade’s sheath aside enough, he gripped the stock of the long-barreled rifle that lay beneath it, drawing the artfully carved firearm out into the open, the sleek black killing tool was easily long enough to rest on the lip of the trench. Kellian sighed down the magitek scope, the cool green of the lense already starting to pick up movement in the black cloud ahead.

That howl again.

“Steady!” Commander Kellian ‘Leadfang’ Grey bellowed down the line. To his left and right, his militia were preparing the weapons he’d only had two days to train them with. They were doing him proud, so far.

So far.

Distant thunder began, and for a few moments Kellian thought they might have to deal with rain as well; but he swiftly realised that, no, this was no thunder. It was the pounding of innumerable feet. His blue-furred ears lowered at the sound, instinct setting his nerves on edge. He growled back, and didn’t even realise he was doing it until a man to his left gave him a worried glance. He sighted the battlefield again. One didn’t need an advanced scope, now - the movement ahead was clear. Writhing limbs, lashing tentacles and gnashing fangs occasionally caught his eye amid the mass of terror-creatures approaching at a dead sprint.

“Steady!” Grey barked again, clicking the safety off his black rifle. The rifles held by the militia didn’t have safeties. Kellian didn’t want them to have to stress over another complication in the act of killing - point and shoot. That was all they had to do. Just point, and shoot.

The creatures were close now. Almost close enough.

“Take aim!” Kellian roared. Almost. Almost.

“Fire!” He barked, pulling his own trigger to punctuate the command. His shot ripped clean through the misshapen skull of a thing that was once a person, and it fell limp. There was no time to celebrate. Only enough time to fire again. Kellian’s breathing became shallow, each exhalation accompanied by another killshot. It didn’t really matter how well those under his command were faring. All that mattered was that they aimed, and fired. Creatures fell in droves, their black glossy skin stained with an impossibly blacker blood as each round punched through skin and into tainted flesh. For every one that died, two more seemed to take its place, roaring and screaming with as much mindless fury as the one before it. There would only be so many, though. Kellian knew that. It was one thing that the Grand Companies didn’t seem to understand; there was only ever a set number of these creatures. As if the Darkness could only birth so many at a time. They seemed endless. Indeed, there were probably too many to accurately count. That was just a fear tactic.

Kellian’s fear had died years ago.

They were close now, starting to fall dead a few yalms away from the lip of the trench. His rifle spent of ammunition, Kellian knew it would take too long to reload, and so he abandoned it. Digging his clawed foot into the side of the trench, he roared with effort and defiance as he hauled himself free of the dugout and onto the killing field proper. Inexorable left its sheath once again as the silvered gunblade returned to its true home; in his hand. He brushed aside the cloth of his long coat to reveal a heavy-caliber, short-nosed firearm built after the Makai style that had been revolutionary fifteen years ago - though the art of killing from a distance had come a long way since then. He drew the hand-cannon into his left hand and began firing indiscriminately into the crowd of voidborne creatures. The militia kept firing behind him and the risk of friendly fire was not minimal, but Kellian didn’t care. He drove forward. A claw lashed out at him and he ducked it, his gunblade slashing upward to sever the limb, while his hand-cannon turned to fire a round through another fanged skull.

Age had not seen Kellian get any slower. Aetheric ink on his body kept his surging energy at its peak. He would never be as fast as his sister, or possess as much raw strength as his wife, but he had always been precise. Killing had always been as much about talent as it was about skill, and he had both to spare. It helped that he had been fighting these things since they’d first appeared. Their wild savagery was, ironically, predictable.

Another monster lunged forward to sink fangs into his shoulder, but caught a mouth full of cold steel instead as he thrust his gunblade deep into the creature’s maw. Pulling the weapon’s trigger released the energy stored in one of the charged cartridges, and Kellian roared with effort as he sprang upwards, wrenching the weapon out of the top of the monster’s skull and up into the air. He continued the arc, twisting to bring it down hard onto the head of another, spilling more of whatever passed for their brain matter onto the diseased ground. His sidearm wove under his slashing arm, covering his side with a precise shot to the head of a creature with too many eye sockets and not enough eyes to fill them. Whirling, he pulled Inexorable’s trigger again, the surge of energy passing through the blade and his arm as one as he span on the spot, ripping his blade through meat and bone as if both were paper.

Kellian couldn’t see the trench anymore. Whatever monsters weren’t stopping to try and consume him were carrying on toward the village. He’d done what he could to help. Defiance would only get one so far and eventually destiny would have its due. It didn’t matter. Little mattered.

The only thing that could stand against the darkness was the strength to keep fighting.

The scant second he’d spent thinking of other things had already cost him. A limb that ended in a bony spike punched through his coat, grazing the reinforced vest that protected his torso. It didn’t penetrate, but scarred the woven cloth enough that another blow to that spot might prove fatal. Kellian swore they wouldn’t get another chance. He drove Inexorable up through the jaw of the creature that had tried to stab him, flicking the release catch on the gunblade’s chamber. The spent cartridges sprang free, past Kellian’s head and into the maw of a snapping creature behind him; still burning with arcane force, they seared the monster’s black mouth and throat, sending it howling as it tried to shake them free. Ducking beneath a slashing bone-scythe, Kellian pressed Inexorable’s open chamber against the bandolier at his side, magnetic studs drawing two more charged cartridges into the waiting slots. With a snap, the weapon closed. He was about to begin the dance again, when a loud, thrumming whine caught his ear - something that managed to pierce the din of howling, screaming nightmares. He spent three quick cuts to give himself a second to look - and he caught the source of the noise immediately.

The Guardian Edge.

The imposing airship hovered above the battlefield, its engines whining with the strain of keeping it aloft at such a low altitude. Smiles were rare from Kellian these days, but he allowed one.

That smile vanished as he saw that the Guardian’s main gun was pointed straight at him, and charging fast.

Damn that Admiral.

Kellian broke into a sprint. Somehow he’d ended up damn far away from the trenches - not that they would help much. It seemed that those of the militia who hadn’t been overrun had fled as the creature’s reached them.

He was alone, now. Alone in a sea of darkness.

He stopped, turning hard and driving his weapon into the guts of a creature that had pounced at him, wrenching the blade free with a grunt as he spilled hot innards over the cold earth. The insistent whining of the Guardian’s main gun was getting steadily louder. He knew that gun well; he was basically its father. He had seconds, at best. Firing the gunblade’s trigger gave him another surge of energy, and he leapt high over the surging monsters, coming down in a hard landing that scattered a few of the creatures back as he slammed the length of the gunblade down into the earth. With room to breathe, he raised his blade - and pointed it right at the Guardian Edge above. Even an ornate blade such as Inexorable had little weight when compared to the looming airship above.

Kellian wasn’t trying to shoot the thing down, however.

Setting his jaw, the veteran seeker closed his eyes to the howling mass swarming around and past him. He ignored it when a slashing limb almost took his ear off. A bone spike punching through his abdomen hardly registered. He was busy listening, listening for that tell-tale sound.

And there it was.

A sound like tearing paper split the sky as the Edge’s main cannon fired. The beam was bright enough to blind. As it hurtled toward him, Kellian pulled his gunblade’s trigger. Rather than expel energy outwards, however, it surged into him. A barrier shimmered into existence around his form, shearing clear the limbs that had dared invade his personal space. The Guardian Edge’s shot hit the earth, a thunderous impact that chased away the dark mass. Kellian grit his teeth, maintaining the barrier his only focus as the sheer force of the impact threatened to knock him off his feet.

It was over in seconds. Sick earth and nightmare creatures had been replaced with a scene of utter desolation. Were it not for his own barrier, Kellian would have been obliterated.

Letting out a breath, Kellian let the barrier drop and sank to his knees, panting.

He was the only thing left alive on the field.

He sank his blade into the earth and let it rest there. He’d poured all but the barest sliver of energy into that impenetrable barrier, and now he was spent; but he’d survived.

Yet again, he’d survived the Darkness.

#FFxivWrite2019 #Kellian #ic #ffxiv #ffxiv rp

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Game of Thrones - ‘The Last of the Starks’ Review

"We may have defeated them, but there's still us to contend with."

Previously, I'd written reviews for a couple of different episodes centered around epic battles. In this case, I felt fortunate to be reviewing an episode that's all about the aftermath of an epic battle, as well as a prelude for the next one.

Because I really couldn't decide how I felt about the sudden end to the White Walkers, the Long Night and the Great War until I saw how they planned to go forward. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I do know that -- as rushed as The Last of the Starks was -- there is a lot here that I quite enjoyed. At the very least, taking the zombies and ice demons out at the midway point leaves plenty of room to further explore the joys and pains of these awesome characters as they face an uncertain future.

Celebration of Life

The episode's opening is very bittersweet. We start with the somber mass funeral of those who died defending Winterfell from the Army of the Dead, and neatly segue into a joyous victory feast in the castle's great hall. These people just overcame death incarnate, and quickly realize there is much to celebrate. This leads to some beautiful moments.

Dany surprises everyone by singling out Gendry, son of her lifelong nemesis, and legitimizing him as a full-fledged Baratheon. I especially loved that Davos began the cheers for him, it's a nice vindication of his undying loyalty to the family.

Tormund once again attempts to woo Brienne of Tarth, but this time gets soundly cock-blocked by Jaime Lannister. Watching Tormund tearfully relate this tragedy to the uncaring Hound before shacking up with some horny northern girl was hilarious. Which gives us the scene between Sansa and Sandor Clegane, a reunion I had been waiting for.

Although not quite as intimate as it is in the books, theirs is still a significant connection; he helped inspire her strength, and she helped inspire his chivalry. It was nice to see Sansa gain the Hound's respect, and it's always nice to see this hard man's softer, more vulnerable side.

And we finally see Jaime and Brienne become a thing. That love scene was so cleverly adorable in its execution, these two misfits struggling to approach the act of consummating their feelings toward each other. Brienne's awkward stiffness as she finds herself in a mutually romantic situation for the first time in her life, and Jaime's even more awkward attempt at flirting after a lifetime of ignoring all other women in favor of his twin sister. Very well handled.

Of course, there are still a couple of episodes left and they can't be full of nothing but our favorite characters happily prospering. As Littlefinger previously addressed, and as Tyrion reaffirms here, defeating the mythical White Walkers and saving the world means everyone must now deal with that world and each other.

Moments of Truth

Daenerys is quick to recognize this as well. The celebration only reminds her that she is still a stranger in her own homeland, that Jon Snow is the heroic leader people revere, and that his claim to the throne is stronger than hers regardless of whatever her destiny truly is. Emilia Clarke's performance shines here in a way I haven't seen for a couple of seasons now. This is because for the most part we only see her wearing Dany's queenly mask of superiority, mostly cool but occasionally smoldering. Whereas now we are seeing Dany in a state of palpable desperation.

The scene between her and Jon really brings their circumstances down to earth quite dramatically. They are in love and want to be together, but the truth of Jon's origin threatens to tear them apart and the realm along with them. Dany begs Jon not to reveal his secret identity to anyone else, but he feels compelled to tell Sansa and Arya because they are his family.

I'm disappointed that we don't see Sansa and Arya's immediate reactions to the truth, but their choices later on are just as telling.

Sansa chooses to betray Jon's trust by spilling the beans to Tyrion, hoping to erode Dany's power in favor of Jon. This would almost certainly guarantee an Iron Throne controlled by the Starks.

Arya chooses to join the Hound on a suicide mission to King's Landing, which is a bit more ambiguous. Is she questioning her own existence after learning Jon's secret and refusing Gendry's proposal, finally accepting that she wasn't born to be a subservient sister or wife but an instrument of death? Or is she risking her life in order to protect Jon, who she will always love as her brother, no matter where he came from?

Either way, it seems like a lot of carnage could have been avoided if Arya had just offered to go south and single-handedly assassinate Cersei for Jon and Dany.

The R+L=J revelation also leads to a few great scenes between Tyrion and Varys. Tyrion is clearly distressed, but Varys (rather hypocritically) begins suggesting that they should kick Dany to the curb and put Jon on the Iron Throne. It's been so long since we've seen the serious side to this duo. Now it seems Varys is poised to betray the queen he marked as a savior, in the name of the people. Meaning he's probably got dragonfire in his future. Or maybe not. The way their last conversation ends, you get the feeling that Tyrion's plea for Varys not to threaten Dany is more of a warning. Tyrion did start off his relationship with Varys by threatening to kill him for potentially endangering a woman he cared about.

For once, Tyrion is the character who's really hard to read. He seems to know Jon is a more ideal choice, but he can't bring himself to consider betraying Dany. He fears Dany's potential for madness and destruction, but he also genuinely believes in her potential for greatness.

I still think Tyrion's loyalty to Dany goes beyond just finding a ruler worth sticking with. Part of me thinks he's got some repressed romantic feelings toward her, and another part of me thinks he views her as the sister Cersei never was. Which likely makes the fact that they are at war with Cersei all the more complicated, since Tyrion just can't bring himself to give up on her.

Despite the whacky Stark kids, the legendary warriors and the various schemers and pretenders to the throne, the story really does seem to center around our three main outsiders, Jon, Daenerys and Tyrion. And I think Tyrion is drinking so much because he understands that he is caught in the middle and has the burden of deciding all of their fates and doesn't know the right choice. He is finally beginning to see the long shadow he is casting.

And despite Jon's stubborn optimism that everyone can get along, even he seems indecisive and adrift. He claims to not want the throne or the crown or even his "true" identity, but his departure from Winterfell shows us that he's still leaving behind everything that's been a core part of who he is: the North, the Free Folk, his friends and family, he even asks Tormund to bring his direwolf Ghost beyond the Wall. Whether he knows it or not, he is being drawn toward the Iron Throne, his supposed destiny. But his scenes in this episode drive the point home that he will always be Jon Snow at heart, not Aegon Targaryen VI. His connection to the Starks, the North, the First Men (hell, maybe even the Old Gods) is clearly much stronger than the blood of the dragon running through his veins.

Death of Dragons

And to drive this point home, immediately after Jon leaves Ghost behind, his dragon Rhaegal winds up dead.

Yes, "The Last War" quickly goes wrong for Dany as Euron Greyjoy lays an ambush at Dragonstone, destroying the rest of the Targaryen fleet and capturing Missandei in addition to killing one of her dragons with new souped up scorpions.

It's both frustrating and amazing that Cersei has been allowed to turn the tables like this, though forgivable in that it's largely a result of other people. Euron's unpredictable nature and talent for raising hell is key to her strength, Jaime's theft of the Tyrell wealth is the only reason she could afford the Golden Company, and she likely wouldn't have gotten this far if a crazy resourceful bastard like Qyburn hadn't been backing her up. Gold, cruelty and fool's luck have subsequently left her in a position where she is more dominant than a woman who had previously dominated almost half a continent.

Dealing with an enemy as maddeningly chaotic and power hungry as Cersei is doing the opposite of what Tyrion wants by provoking Dany to be just as bad or worse in her quest for victory. That Tyrion continues to delude himself into thinking Cersei is "not a monster" because she "loved her children" still annoys me. You could argue that he's trying to reason with her simply to avoid any more bloodshed, but Tyrion should be smart enough to know by now that appealing to Cersei's humanity and rationality is hopeless. Which Cersei proves by having the Mountain decapitate Missandei, spitting on Dany's last bit of mercy. Our dragon queen has never been closer to giving the order to "burn them all" than she is now.

Missandei's resolute final words -- "Dracarys", which calls back to the moment she went from enslaved translator to royal herald when Dany began her revolution in Slaver's Bay -- might give us some hope for sweet revenge and catharsis, but I imagine the end result will be more difficult to reconcile. King's Landing is a powderkeg just waiting to go off. I mean, we've got the combined Stark and Targaryen forces about to do battle with the combined Lannisters, Ironborn and Golden Company sellswords, Dany unleashing her wrath on dragonback while Cersei uses the populace of King's Landing as a shield, the Hound facing off against the Mountain, Arya coming to kill Cersei and Jaime possibly on his way to do the same (more on that below), there's a good chance Cersei will use wildfire again to give her more of an edge, all on top of Tyrion and Varys butting heads as they toy with Jon and Dany's lives in the game of thrones.

If The Long Night was any indication, we'll likely see most of this resolved in the next episode after much senseless violence. However, unless everyone ends up killing each other, that still leaves a bunch of other unanswered questions. Will our heroes Jon and Dany come to terms with who they are? How does Tyrion go on after the downfall of his dysfunctional family? Can the Stark children ever come back from the tragedies and horrors that have defined their lives? Is what's left of Westeros going to survive the long winter? How long will this winter be? Why are the seasons so long anyway? If the realm does survive, will it and its people learn from this devastation and evolve, or forget and doom themselves to repeat history over and over? What exactly is the Prince That Was Promised, or the Lord of Light? Where does any of this magic come from? Does Bronn get his fancy castle? Was the Three-Eyed Bran the bad guy all along? Will the gallant cat Ser Pounce ever return?

I guess I'll find out, one way or another. Hard to believe this show's almost over.

Schemes & Plots:

* The funeral scene got to me. Guess I just wasn't ready to see characters like Jorah, Theon or Dolorous Edd get laid to rest.

* I love how Podrick casually sets up a threesome in the background as Sansa talks to Sandor.

* Bronn gets a scene with Jaime and Tyrion that, while fun, is basically a retread of most other scenes between these characters. Which pretty much boils down to this: "You fuckers owe me a castle!" I know it's a cute way of illustrating that Bronn would rather not kill the Lannister bros, but realistically he should have cut his losses a long time ago.

* Varys mentions that the "new Prince of Dorne" has declared for Daenerys. Whoever this is, I doubt we'll ever see him. Guess the show chose to forget that Oberyn Martell had eight daughters, which would leave five still alive after the demise of the loathsome Sand Snakes.

* Gilly is pregnant with Sam's baby. Big surprise, they're gonna name it Jon if it's a boy.

* Not long after the Jaime/Brienne ship sets sail, it capsizes when Jaime learns that Cersei is gaining the advantage over Dany. He then apparently abandons his chance at honor, love and peace to go back to Cersei, breaking Brienne's heart. Or so it would seem. I think Jaime is really going back to put an end to Cersei himself, and simply played the villain to keep Brienne from following him to almost certain death. Jaime states the unforgivable things he's done for Cersei as if to affirm that he is just like her, but I think this is him owning up to the fact that loving Cersei made him into a monster, something he doesn't want to be. In this light, Jaime killing Cersei would be as poetic as Tyrion killing Tywin; their struggle to please these hateful tyrants enslaved them both, forcing them to compromise their principles and accept lives of humiliation and scorn. A missing sword hand isn't Jaime's greatest handicap no more than dwarfism was Tyrion's. It's Cersei. She's a chain he needs to break free from.

* Watching Jaime struggle to unbutton his tunic or ready his horse makes me think of all the other one-handed difficulties he must have dealt with during his solo journey north.

* I still really hate that there's no snow in King's Landing. After all the talk about how "Winter is Coming", winter has had far less representation than I imagined.

* Tyrion's parlay with Qyburn reminded me of the deleted scene from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King where the heroes meet the Mouth of Sauron.

* We see the way this world's history repeats itself through Gendry. House Baratheon was originally founded by a man said to have been Aegon the Conqueror's bastard brother, and they are once again made rulers of the Stormlands by another Targaryen conqueror. It's taken even further when an overjoyed Gendry asks Arya to be his wife and gets rejected, just like his father Robert was rejected by Lyanna Stark. The Baratheons are typically very gifted individuals, but they are woefully unlucky when it comes to love and family.

* Speaking of history repeating, it turns out Cersei really is manipulating Euron the same way she manipulated King Robert, tricking him into believing that her Lannister incest baby is his Greyjoy heir to the throne.

* Rhaegal died at Dragonstone after being unceremoniously impaled by three javelins and sinking into the waters. This was similar to his namesake, Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone who was unceremoniously defeated and died in the waters of the Trident.

* Still not enough Ghost.

Quotes:

Sandor Clegane: Used to be you couldn't look at me. Sansa Stark: That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then. Sandor: Yes, I've heard. Heard you were broken in. Heard you were broken in rough. Sansa: And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him. Sandor: How? Sansa: Hounds. Sandor: (chuckles) ... You've changed, little bird.

Jaime Lannister: You know the first thing I learned about the North? I hate the fucking North. Brienne of Tarth: It grows on you. Jaime: I don't want things growing on me.

Daenerys Targaryen: (to Jon) I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look. So many people have looked at me that way, but never here. Never on this side of the sea.

Jon Snow: If you only trust the people you grow up with, you won't make many allies. Arya Stark: That's alright. I don't need many allies.

Tormund Giantsbane: (to Jon) You've got the north in you. The real north.

Sandor Clegane: (to Arya) Must've felt good, sticking your knife in that horned fucker.

Varys: How many others know? Tyrion: Including us? Eight. Varys: Then it's not a secret anymore. It's information.

Varys: You know our queen better than I do. Do you think she wants to share the throne? She doesn't like to have her authority questioned-- Tyrion: Something she has in common with every monarch who ever lived. Varys: I worry about her state of mind. Tyrion: We're advisors to the queen. Worrying about her state of mind is our job... We still have to take King's Landing. Maybe Cersei will win and kill us all. That would solve all our problems.

Euron Greyjoy: She's coming for you. Cersei Lannister: Of course, she is. Keep the gates open. If she wants to take the castle she'll have to murder thousands of innocent people first. So much for the Breaker of Chains.

Daenerys: They should know who to blame when the sky falls down upon them. Damn.

Varys: I have served tyrants most of my life. They all talk about destiny. Tyrion: She's a girl who walked into a fire with three stones and walked out with three dragons. How could she not believe in destiny?

Though I'm not crazy about the direction these last few seasons have gone in, it was an absolute pleasure to be able to write reviews for this show. Game of Thrones is truly phenomenal. It'll be a shame not to have it to look forward to anymore. Three and a half out of five Starbucks coffee cups.

Logan Cox

#Game of Thrones #Jon Snow #Daenerys Targaryen #Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Tyrion Lannister #Cersei Lannister #GoT #A Song of Ice and Fire #Game of Thrones Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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