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agent-cupcake · 3 years

Note

IDK why but yandere prompt 10 screams sylvain to me! it's okay if you dont wanna do this one, though. thank you for opening requests! ive really enjoyed all your writings

10. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t have you.”

Sylvain didn’t greet you when you took a seat beside him, ready for the meeting to be called. Agriculture wasn’t a particular interest of yours, but it was a part of your duty as the wife of an important, land-owning lord to be invested in the affairs of Gautier territory. For his part, your husband didn’t seem terribly enthused. Just as you were about to ask if he was okay, he spoke.

“Who was he?” Sylvain asked in a would-be casual voice, low enough to be lost in the mindless chatter of the slowly filling council room.

The question usually went something like that, innocuous but pointed enough for you to know where it was headed. And you knew who and what he was referring to, knew it so intently that you felt a completely unreasonable stab of guilt because you knew how Sylvain was, how he might have interpreted your interaction with one of the male mages working on the current project. As familiar as the question was, you couldn’t immediately guess the tone. Sylvain was tricky, always masking his intentions behind playful masks and a glip front.

“Who?” you asked, playing dumb. That sometimes worked. If it seemed like you were innocent, he might drop it and move on. It would be incriminating if you admitted that you knew what he meant right away. And if he was just teasing, playing around to fill the part of the protective husband, you didn’t mind the role of the oblivious wife. Really, you wished you were that type of woman. Blind to the world, and especially the men, around you. Everything would be so much easier.

"That guy you were talking to,” Sylvain explained, dangerously nonchalant. “The two of you seemed pretty close.”

“Really? We only met… Mmm, last week?” you replied, refusing to meet his eye or become flustered. That would just make you seem guilty. Which you weren’t. “He’s from Fhirdiad, one of the mages who are working on solutions to fertilizing the soil in the fields near the Fraldarius border.” You hesitated, searching for something to add, something to change the subject and ease the tension. “Um, the tests so far have been really encouraging. They’re thinking that next spring they can have at least half of that land ready for production.”

"Yeah, I heard about that,” Sylvain said, nodding off your attempt to distract him. “I was just asking ‘cause you were laughing pretty hard.”

There it was. Sylvain’s tone, as you had come to know quite intimately, was cool, a little stiffer than his usual way of speaking. Lacking inflection. It was always like that with him. He never told you outright when he thought or felt or explained his stark shift in demeanor, always skirting around the subject with those needling little questions, maintaining his façade of indifference even as a storm brewed behind his dark eyes. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he told you that he’d never experienced jealousy before you. He told you that it hurt. Was this pain? Was that what made everything so uneasy and uncomfortable, leaving you scrambling to find the words to ease his mind?

You forced a faint smile, clinging to your innocence. “Was I?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, clearly not buying it. If anything, his eyes just narrowed. “You were.”

“We were just discussing his work. If I was laughing, I don’t…” You shook your head, forcing a shrug. “Please don’t get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” he asked. “I was just wondering who he is.”

“For no reason,” you said, some of your frustration leaking through.

“Yeah, sure, for no reason,” Sylvain agreed in an amicably flat tone. “Although now I’m curious about why you’re so defensive.” He paused, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I guess he was kinda handsome. Are you worried I’m jealous?”

“That’s not-”

“‘Cause I’m not…” he insisted. “Unless there’s a reason I should be.”

There wasn’t. There never was. You never thought like that. But he did. Sylvain always did, those too keen eyes of his following you around, waiting for you to slip up in some way, to do something for him to misinterpret in the most uncharitable ways he could. Even if it was ignored, unspoken, willed out of existence through the sheer force of his adoration, yours was not a relationship born out of the stuff of romantic novels or even the clumsy affections of young lovers. For as obsessively insistent he once was in proving your own feelings to you, sometimes it was like Sylvain didn’t believe it when you told him you loved him and only him. Because there was a time―such a long time ago, hardly worth remembering―when you didn’t mean it. Even though you did now, that memory was his constant anxiety, an endless tension lingering right below the surface.

“I don’t want to fight,” you finally said, spreading your hands out in an attempt to de-escalate the situation, to convince him of your innocence. “I swear that it meant nothing. But… but if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t talk to him again. I really, honestly don’t care.”

“Sheesh, you make me sound like I’m some sort of control freak,” Sylvain said with an air of coolly playful offense, leaning back in his chair. “Why would you even assume I’m trying to fight?”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not,” he said before you could really respond. Not loudly, never loud enough to draw any unnecessary attention to the two of you. Sylvain always knew exactly how to skirt the line of propriety in public. “It’s not like it’s even my business who you talk to. I’m only your husband. No big deal, really.”

“It is!” you insisted, heat burning at the back of your eyes. Realizing you’d spoken a bit too loud, you softened your voice, glancing around the room to ensure nobody heard the slip-up. “You are. Of c-course you are.” Maybe it was the trembling of your bottom lip as you stared hard at the table to fight off the tears burning your eyes that made regret flash over Sylvain’s face. Sometimes, when he was in a very particular type of mood, your crying only spurred him on, but not now.

“H-hey,” Sylvain told you, leaning close and draping his arm across your shoulders. “Don’t cry. I was just playing around. Guess I let it go too far.” Now he seemed apologetic, looking at you with a sheepish smile.

You met his eyes, confusion and distress giving away to understanding. Of course Sylvain had only been pretending. And you had been overreacting, always too sensitive to this kind of thing. Embarrassment followed the momentary emotional lapse, frustration that you wouldn’t just go along with his antics and had to go and make it all weird. Relief, too. It was just pretend, after all. He wasn’t upset with you.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Sylvain asked sweetly, pulling you towards him with the arm around your shoulders, his soft voice tickling your ear.

“You’re too mean,” you told him. But the words weren’t serious. They made him smile fondly, such a dramatic shift from the Sylvain of only minutes before.

“I’ve gotta keep you on your toes,” he said. “You never know what’s going on in the heads of pretty girls like you. I mean, imagine if I lost you to a guy who studies dirt. I’d never live it down.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you told him, leaning into the half embrace.

“Isn’t it? But, you know, I can’t help it.” Sylvain leaned in even closer, speaking in such a low, intimate way that it definitely pushed the lines of propriety, even for him. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t have you.”

#sylvain jose gautier #fe sylvain #sylvain jose gautier x reader #fe sylvain x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #look i almost feel bad #why is he acting like this #also this is so short orange you impressed #i should be writing an essay but who needs motifs when you can have #sylvain just emotionally abusing you #uh anyway i have one like this for claude i found hiding in my old wips but that might be more painful #physically i mean #claude is a nice gentle soul

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raspberryranpo · 3 years

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cuddle headcanons for the golden deer if you don’t mind, please and thanks! :)

cuddling headcanons

fire emblem three houses: golden deer

it’s lorenz’s birthday on the 13th of june & i’m making sure that everyone knows about it. it’s lorenz’s birthday on the 13th of june

CLAUDE

number one cuddler & i do not take any criticism. claude has the nicest arms to be held in and the nicest chest to lean on

will blow raspberries into your neck or your stomach (depending on how he’s lying) just to get a laugh out of you

cuddles with claude always end in a tickle fight or a laughing fit, no more and no less

likes to have you on top of him, holding your face in his neck or his chest, and you can even hold his waist too

will laugh at you if you try to get up because he knows it’s futile

LORENZ

he’s really stiff at first because he’s never actually held someone like this before, so you’ll just have to bear with him

mindlessly talks about his day and how stupid claude was acting that day, and in turn he’ll ask you a few questions about your day too

eventually he gets the hang of it + finds that he enjoys holding you from behind, and secretly he also enjoys being held from behind too

gently leaves butterfly kisses on your neck when neither of you are talking and when you’re both slowly falling asleep

lorenz always falls asleep first and it’s always really funny because his mouth hangs open & he snores really loudly. it’s so ungraceful compared to how he normally acts

HILDA

good luck not getting caught on her hair - it always manages to get caught on your pyjamas or any jewellery you’ve left on

definitely prefers to be the one being held because even when it’s just the two of you, hilda enjoys playing the weak maiden, simply because she loves seeing you as the strong and powerful knight

she said this out loud at some point and it was so ridiculously awkward. you both burst into laughter at the long silence & she ran straight into your arms, trying to hide her face

vents about how much she despises how annoying lorenz is or how lysithea is too stubborn to admit that she’s actually not half as cold as she wants to be

turns around and starts poking and pulling at your face, even if you’re asleep, simply because she’s bored & you’re cute

LYSITHEA

will outright refuse to cuddle you at first because she’s not cute and she isn’t soft and she definitely is not interested in affection at all

eventually she comes running to you because she heard thunder outside, or she thought that there was a ghost in the hallway

not much of a cuddler in general, really, but she likes just holding your hand or huddling into your side eating cake

make sure not to make fun of her if she falls asleep because she’ll never come back into your room ever again. she just can’t help falling asleep in your arms

MARIANNE

the only way she’ll ever cuddle you was if a) you’re both married, or b) something very bad just happened

let’s say that something very bad has just happened. perhaps she wasn’t able to save somebody and has been completely out of it all day, bless her soul

at the end of the day, she’ll come running to you, in tears and unable to hold herself together or form any words - the only way to get her to calm down is to hold her until she stops

which is a very long time, but it’s fortunate that marianne is literally the most comfortable person to cuddle (other than claude) & she has such a gentle hold on you. so gentle

she’ll gently play with your hair or your hands until she feels as though she can speak, gently pressing her lips to your neck and every finger

RAPHAEL

this man comes a close third. has big, strong arms that can lift anyone of any size up & he’ll hold you anywhere you’d like

actually likes being held because all he ever does is do the holding - he enjoys being the one being held for once

he loves having you on his back or on his chest because either way you feel like a little koala & he thinks it’s the cutest thing

whenever he holds you standing up, he’ll bury his face into your hair & tell you how nice it smells. he doesn’t see the problem with that and thinks he’s being nice

IGNATZ

also enjoys being held because he just can’t bring himself to hold you. he feels so bad about having sweaty hands too & is constantly worrying about whether he smells bad or not

loves it when you come up behind him whilst he’s painting & you gently wrap your arms around his neck. he feels so loved

lets you sit on his lap whilst he’s painting which is also a fun experience. he’ll definitely get paint in your hair though

doesn’t say anything whilst you’re cuddling which is slightly awkward but he makes up for it because he has such a secure hold on you + it feels very safe

LEONIE

will hold you and won’t have it any other way. you either lie in front of her or you lie on her chest, no in between

sometimes she talks about captain jeralt and you’ll just have to tell her off. she seriously can’t help it though, which is a slight problem

also has very firm and strong arms which are great for being held in, so you’d better not complain about not being able to hold her

likes to gently kiss hour hair or your shoulders, whichever’s closest - also likes to kiss and touch your face too

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almyrn · 4 years

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ALMYRAN CULTURE & GEOGRAPHY

most of my inspiration is drawn from seljuk ( & therefore by association, persian, turkish, central asian & arabic ) culture. i imagine almyra to be more homogenous than fódlan is with it’s distinctions between the empire, the kingdom & the alliance, though there are communities that may practice opposing religions that can lead to a whole different tension than can be felt in fódlan. furthermore, almyra does not practice distinctions between noble / commoners as strictly as fódlan does & crests are no sign of high power as they are rare to unknown in almyra.

LANGUAGE

the almyran language is heavily based on turkish when grammar & the melody of sentences are concerned. native speakers are able to wrap up entire sentences in a single word. suffixes are added to the noun & indicate tenses, possessive & personal pronouns & singular / plural. there is no grammatical gender because almyrans do not care.

an example for better understanding ( & also my favorite turkish phrase out of like three that i know. ) : arkadaşlarımlayım means i am with my friends.

arkadaş - friend + lar - indicating it's plural + m - possessive, in this case my + ım - personal, in this case i

FLORA & FAUNA & CLIMATE

almyra is significantly hotter than fódlan, the heat is dry & rainy days come as a rarity. therefore it comes as no surprise that most of the land is covered in sand or stone, sprinkled with the odd caravanserais here & there. ( to be explained in the architecture section of this trainwreck. ) the plant - & wildlife has long since adapted to the rough conditions. most plants are able to survive on very little water, saving what they get from the few rainstorms for months on end. their leaves are large & thick to withstand the burning sun & their roots are deep in hope of finding water far below the sand.

most of the native wildlife are coldblooded reptiles, several kinds of snakes, lizards & anything that comes alive in the sun. flocks of sheep, goats & chicken are kept in the oases & cities, cows & pigs are rare to non-existent, making beef & pork quite unpopular. the most notable species that almyra is famous for are its wyverns. wild flocks still inhabit the mountainous areas of the nation, far away from the population, but most wyverns are bred in captivity & for military purposes. riders usually raised their partner themselves or grew up alongside it, forming a lifelong band. they can be as close as siblings & are often considered tp be part of the family.

claude’s wyvern is called meera, a gentle soul to anyone she likes ( limited to claude & his direct family ) but will not allow anyone else to touch her & bites. she hatched from her egg when claude was six years old, he fed her from the bottle & considers her his closest friend. leaving her in almyra when he had to go to fódlan broke his heart.

CUISINE

as plants that bear fruit are a rarity in almyra ( exceptions being occasional figs, dates & a number of berries. larger cities with a reliable source of fresh water may also grow peaches, pomegranates, apricots, citrus fruits in general or even the odd strawberry. accordingly, they are quite expensive & almost impossible to afford for the majority of village bound people. ) most meals consist of soup, meat, such as lamb, goat or hunted birds, with rice or bread, sometimes beans or corn. goat milk & cheese are a popular source of calcium. for those lucky enough to live by the sea, fish makes a nice addition to the otherwise carb-heavy diet.

baklava ( thin layers of dough filled with chopped nuts & honey / syrup, EXAMPLE ) or halva ( sweet confections, EXAMPLE ) are popular dishes & eaten primarily for celebrations. sweet foods are often eaten for celebratory purposes such as weddings, birthdays & even the death of a family member.

ARCHITECTURE & some more GEOGRAPHY

the primary building material is stone, obviously, as it’s durable & the most common resource found in almyra. most towns will consists almost entirely of square / rectangular stone houses with a flat or straw roof. window panes are rare, most windows are covered by a curtain or sheet. as is the door, wood, too, is expensive to come by.

large towns or cities are located far apart from each other, all of them littering near the few oases with villages again dotted around them, living in a symbiotic relationship with the cities.

for those unlucky enough to cross the desserts, the almyrans built caravanserais ( EXAMPLE ONE / EXAMPLE TWO ) along the way, inns located strategically to give travelers a place to rest. they are often build into mountains, providing shade & even fresh water as the royal family ensures they are well supplied

one leaving the towns to head for the larger cities will see their difference is quite jarring. though the foundations are similar, the richer parts of almyra added not so subtle decoration to their houses, hand painted tiles stuck to the stone, the roof a dome instead of a flat, supported by an ornamental vaulting. the palace is especially famous for those. ( EXAMPLE ) if one wants to flaunt wealth, the tiles are decorated with jewels instead of paint & though claude thinks it tacky, most palace ceilings are covered in sapphires, rubies, emeralds & amethysts.

@vixencharme wanted to be tagged

#( 𝐀 𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐈𝐂 : 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 & 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍 ) : headcanon #there is A LOT #i still want to talk about in greater detail #religion especially #& how the people of almyra interact w/ each other #poor & rich most of all #but fuck this is enough for now i would say #as a general overview #lmk what u think tbh bc i am stressing #food tw #long post for ts

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charmergirl2468 · 4 years

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Past Life AU! Part 3

Golden Deer

Claude

This boi is still biracial because screw you he’s a handsome poc

He will 100% start talking in Almyrian just to piss people off. Ex: “Claude, could pass me the paper?” “Repap? Taht s’tahw?” “Just get me the fucking paper, you dick!”

Grew up with a lot of kids going through Babies First Racism with him but he had Hilda so it’s all good

He’s actually really fucking good at chemistry and no one has any idea why. If you tried asking him, he’d just say it came naturally.

He set up a chemistry club but he just uses it as an excuse to hang out with his other deer friends.

Nobody says shit about it since A) Claude can actually do chemistry so the validity of the club can’t be questioned and B) there’s a 95% chance he’ll just mix together a stink bomb again if someone challenges him

He’ll try to play off getting back his memories as no big deal, but he’s internally freaking out about 15 times over and has no idea how to sceme his way out of this

Marianne

At school, she’s your average wall flower that nobody really knows. Except the other deer but other than that she’s a total mystery

… then she gets home and logs into COD and goes fucking apeshit.

She’s the Legend27 of this AU’s COD and she scares everyone online.

That’s because, as a way to cope with stress and anxiety, she goes feral on video games.

She still follows Sothism. Not in the incel way obviously, but to where it can help her in her weakest state.

She’s still contemplated suicide but she’s got a good support in addition to a therapist so while she still gets that though at her darkest , she’s able to handle it.

Marrie fucking breaks down after she get to the Crest of the Beast part of her memories. All those feelings of dejection and self loathing come back to her and she almost can’t handle it. Raph finds her in time though and help her

Raphael

Boy is a gym junkie. He goes whenever he has free time between going to school and working at a local cafe

He’ll enter competitions for weightlifting and stuff but his ultimate goal is to get on a Fodlan version of “American Ninja Worrior” and win

He is the big brother friend. Need a ride home cause you’re drunk? Fuck the car, he’ll carry you home like a sack of potatoes. Just because he’s a sweet boi does not mean he’s gentle XD

He’s honestly pretty chill about his past life. Sure seeing war in first person is scary, but it’s in the past so why worry about it?

Answer: you should worry about it when it full out causes your friend a severe panic attack

Hilda

Crouching moron, hidden badass. It’s hereditary at this point.

Anyone who tries to deride her for being girly or lazy, that mother fucker ends up flat on their back within a second. They have no idea what happened.

Shes been Claudes best friend since they were tator tots. Stuck by him for everything from bullying to boring parties

That’s not to say they won’t talk shit. Rather, they do nothing but talk shit about each other. It’s how they’re platonic affection manifested and they’re sticking to it!

She feels frustrated at her past self since with modern her it’s understandable to nope out of stuff. You can’t Nope out of a war!

Lysethia

Child prodigy. Full stop. She’s in college and she’s fucking fifteen

She goes through what all Gifted Kids go through and has issues with being social since she build her Identity around being a prodigy.

Claude treats her like a kid mostly because he knows how fucked up it is to loose your formative years to something so arbitrary. He just wants her to act her age and not worry about pleasing adults.

She low key was raised in Fodlan-Mormonism so that also helped fuck her up some. She got the hell out of there on her own when she put 2 and 2 together but she had to leave her siblings behind. She hopes they’re doing ok

Oh, she looses every last crumb of her shit when everything that Those Who Slither in the Dark did. to her past self. There’s tears and snot and anger and a whole flurry of emotions she can’t articulate because of previously mentioned Gifted Child Bullshit.

She first confides in Hilda about it and from there Hilda makes sure the babu has a good support system for dealing with that shit. No deer left behind! Not even our little Fawn

Ignatz

He’s in an animation school trying to get better at his craft.

He does DeviantArt commissions so he can pay for rent when he can. Plus he finds it to be good practice for a future career in animation

He dreams of open up his own independent animation studio and he’s a little over a fourth of the way there! He’s done freelance work animating and, as uncomfortable as it made him, got experience leading a team of animators on a project

He’s dream project, however, is being able to animate one of Bernie’s stories and have Ashe be the voice of a lead character. FuckyouIlovethebowbrigade

He gets a little fucked up over the flashbacks of war and death, mostly because he’s a gentle soul. But Big Bro Raph has him covered

Lorenz

Boy has a superiority complex the size of Fodlan itself.

He also tries to act like a noble man of yore but it’s more to cover up the fact his confidence is a fragile as tissue paper thin glass

He tries to hit on girls and acts like one of those “nice guys” a bit but Hilda’s got a good leash on him most of the time

He’s trying so hard to be an Instagram influencer but he’s as unpleasant online as he is offline so he doesn’t really have any followers outside of bots

His past life makes him really take a step back on his behavior and think “ok Sothis, I’m just a incel in a fancy hat!” And adjusts his personality away from that

Leonie

She’s… actually a very stuck in the closet trans man.

He doesn’t know despite a lot of signs like wanting to keep his hair short, wanting to be just like Jeralt, feeling way more comfortable in men’s clothes then women’s, getting little pockets of euphoria when someone uses male pronouns for him, etc. etc.

He does eventually become friends- er, acquaintances with Felix and that what it takes for him to put two and two together. After that, he started transistioning in every comfortable imaginable

His new name is Leo and everyone loves and supports him!

The memories of his past life gives him a bit of gender dysphoria, especially after the timeskip, but seeing as his ancestor was a badass with an Axe definitely feels validating

There’s the three main houses down! Other parts after this will be for the remaining characters and maybe a worldbuild post to explain this modern version of Fodlan

#charm chatter #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #claude von reigen #marianne von edmund #raphael kirsten #hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #ignatz victor #lorenz hellman gloucester #leonie pinelli #past life au!

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askaceattorney · 4 years

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Dear askrikkaiandhyotei,

Thanks for waiting, first of all. I’m finally finished with all the essay requests that came before yours. As Nahyuta might say...

So, an essay about the Last Rites Prosecutor? Let us begin our journey down the path of enlightenment.

In order to properly talk about this prosecutor monk, I first have to talk briefly about the concept of religion -- not any specific one, but religion as a whole. Throughout history, religion has been described a thousand different ways -- something necessary for life and society, something needless or even harmful for life and society, and just about everything in between. The reason I bring this up is that Nahyuta does a great job of portraying both the positive and negative sides of religion through the use of a fictitious one called Khura’inism -- a pretty bold move on Capcom’s part, but if you ask me, it paid off pretty well.

We first meet him in his natural habitat, as peaceful as anyone could be.

His peace is interrupted when the police drag a captured member of the Defiant Dragons into the temple. As a prosecutor of high reputation, this rebel could be described as Nahyuta’s mortal enemy, but his attitude toward him, while disdainful, is far from unpleasant; he in fact offers him mercy on behalf of the Holy Mother if he’s willing to submit himself to the court’s judgment. Even knowing how empty of a gesture this is, considering the unfairness of every trial in Khura’in since the enactment of the DC Act, it’s still somewhat refreshing to see him speak so calmly to someone considered to be the lowest of the low in Khura’in. His patience stems from his calm nature, but also from his loyalty to the deity he serves, as evidenced in his words:

“O Holy Mother, as your humble servant, you would have me act to save this wretch’s soul? I suppose this, too, is part of my fate.” This demonstrates one of the nobler sides of religion -- a willingness to leave one’s fate in the hands of a higher power.

The next time we see him, he attempts to stop a potentially brutal fight between the police and a fugitive, who happens to be holding a knife to Maya’s neck. His desire for a peace is admirable, especially in such an intense situation, but what he says next is of questionable virtue:

It’s here that Nahyuta displays one of the less noble parts of religion -- looking down on those who don’t share one’s beliefs. Sure, a guy who’s willing to use an innocent bystander as a shield obviously needs some form of help, but what exactly are those condescending words supposed to do for him (or Maya, for that matter)? Not surprisingly, he refuses to listen, but luckily, Nahyuta has reflexes like Little Mac.

Interestingly enough, immediately after this, we see his compassionate side again. He not only rescues a foreign visitor, but wishes the Holy Mother’s divine favor on her.

As uppity as he’s shown himself to be, it’s hard to dislike someone who treats a stranger so well -- especially one who, as we know, has been through some serious rough spots in her life. This introduction of Nahyuta -- a disdainful yet compassionate man of faith -- leads us to wonder if he’s meant to be a protagonist, antagonist, antihero, or something else.

And we haven’t even gotten into the game proper yet. There’s still a lot to unpack about this guy.

Our next bit of info comes from his unlikely detec- sorry, forensic investigator, Ema Skye:

Like a lot of new characters, he’s shrouded in mystery from the very beginning. We at least learn what his reason is for choosing the prosecutor’s path, and where his courtroom nickname came from:

We’ve seen all manner of bizarre prosecutors up until now, but so far, Nahyuta is the only prosecutor who wears his beliefs on his sleeve, especially in the courtroom. For him, prosecuting is about more than seeking justice for the guilty -- it’s about seeking salvation for their victims. In other words, it’s not only his professional duty, but a religious one. Interestingly enough, his professionalism is no less strong than his religion -- according to Ema, he’s known for solving difficult cases around the world.

But religious, professional, or otherwise, Nahyuta proves to be the same as every other prosecutor, as well as every human being -- capable of making mistakes, both big and small. Before we get to that, though...

Well, what do you know? Looks like we have yet another connection between a new character and a current one. Apollo, just how many people do you know that you never talk about?

The importance of their relationship is put to the side as we learn how Nahyuta operates as a prosecutor. At first, he seems like a “gentle-mannered soul,” as Athena puts it, but that visage disappears in the next moment. Like pretty much every prosecutor we’ve seen, he’s proud, demeaning, and flat-out brutal when he wants to be. He even has a favorite adjective for describing his opponents.

Then there’s the sutra he often chants as a fancy way of telling them to “get real.” And as if that wasn’t enough, he uses his “duty as a monk to punish sinners” as a way of claiming the moral high ground, even going so far as to threaten to cast the defense and defendant “into the pit of hell.” It’s hard to blame anyone for getting upset after hearing that, is it?

But hey, at least there’s no physical abuse this time around, right?

...Oh.

And as fate would have it (or perhaps some divine being who decided to have some fun), his favored forensic detective is a lover of science. Talk about a perfect match, am I right?

At least the clash is more on the hilarious side in this case.

But anyway, on to Nahyuta’s mistakes. Aside from his sickening hypocrisy (which is par the course for most Ace Attorney prosecutors, anyway) and the oversights he makes in court, there’s one blatant sin of his that sticks out: ascribing to a principle that anyone, religious or not, should be able to see problems with -- namely, the DC Act and the persecution of those who defy it. To be fair, his motive for doing so is a humanitarian one -- protecting his family’s honor and safety -- but his willingness to look the other way as his own countrymen are wrongfully imprisoned and executed (not to mention his father having to stay in hiding because of it) is quite the opposite.

This brings us to his signature catchphrase, which could also be called his motto:

There are a lot of situations where this would be good advice, but in Nahyuta’s case, it’s a convenient excuse for him to give up on dealing with the problems of his past and remain loyal to the whims of Ga’ran. More specifically, it’s a mask he uses to hide what he feels inside, which we don’t discover until it’s forced out of him: a lack of faith.

Even as someone as who has no trouble believing in the Holy Mother, Lady Kee’ra, and the Twilight Realm, Nahyuta struggles to believe in change, no matter how much his family, his friends, and his nation need it. And it’s here that we see one of the most beautiful twists in his story -- when it comes to change, his father and surrogate brother have more faith than he does. It takes some persuasion from Apollo to make him realize it, but it turns out he hasn’t quite given up on righting the wrongs of the past.

Nahyuta’s unwillingness to confiscate his father’s badge is all the proof Apollo needs that his faith in Dhurke’s fight for freedom hasn’t disappeared completely. After proving this and Dhurke’s innocence, he finally forces Nahyuta to do something few people have the courage to do -- look at his own sins.

Unlike Claude Frollo, Nahyuta managed to turn his focus inward and realize his own imperfection. It took some push from a close friend for it to happen, but better late than never. And as it turns out, his faith in Dhurke’s creed was as close to him as his right hand all along -- in fact, it was on it.

Much like with Rayfa’s moment of transformation, Capcom was nice enough to give us a voiceover for this pivotal moment.

Nahyuta’s story in SoJ ends with him beginning a journey down his own path of redemption as he attempts to undo the damage caused by Ga’ran and his obedience to her. He’s even bold enough to ask for Apollo’s help in continuing Dhurke’s mission of restoring Khura’in’s legal system.

I love character redemption as much as anyone, but one thing I love even more is when a character takes it a step further by joining the same cause they were once fighting against. Whether it was brought on by the Holy Mother’s will, a love for his family and country, a mixture of the two, or something else, Nahyuta ultimately becomes a changed man. Transformations like this are a sight to behold, especially knowing how much struggle it takes to get there.

So, religion -- is it good overall, evil overall, or somewhere in between? That’s a mystery we probably won’t solve here, but Nahyuta and his religious devotion provide an excellent example of both the good and the evil that can come from it. As both a cliche religious bigot and someone who’s willing to make sacrifices for others, he illustrates the crucial fact that no one is perfect, and that religion doesn’t do much (if anything) to change this, but faith certainly does.

And finally, I have to agree with your analogy of Nahyuta as Apollo’s Edgeworth -- the two of them knew each other from a young age, grew up together, were separated by unfortunate circumstances, and followed very different paths, one being less noble than the other, but eventually undergoing a dramatic change in direction. It makes me wonder what a spin-off game with Nahyuta as the protagonist would look like. It might just be interesting...as long as we don’t have to chant that sutra into a microphone.

-The Co-Mod

#askrikkaiandhyotei #Nahyuta Sahdmadhi #Mod Post #Co Mod #Character Essay

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iced-coffee-and-imagines · 5 years

Note

B, K, L for Hubert, Linhardt and if you can Claude? Thanks!

Hi there! Of course! Three good letters for three good boys ^^

~Latte ♡

Wanna play? Click here!

Fluff Alphabet Headcanons - Hubert, Linhardt, Claude

Hubert von Vestra

B and K can be found here!

L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Hubert would meet them somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes and ears

And truthfully, it being just the two of them helps the nervous fluttering of his chest immensely

He would be blunt, straight to the point, no nonsense, no flourish; a simple, sincere confession is more his style

Linhardt von Hevring

B - Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Linhardt would admire his s/o’s security. They both know that they’re together; they don’t need to shout it from the rooftops or be around each other 24/7 to prove it

Also curiosity; Linhardt’s a scholar and enjoys hearing about his s/o’s knowledge or interest in a topic; s/o will never see him smile more

Physically? He just likes his s/o and doesn’t pay much attention to any particular part of them; all of them is beautiful to him

K - Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Linhardt’s about as middle ground as they come; he’s not really “good” or “bad,” per se, just kinda...there

His personal kissing style: slow and gentle; he takes the relaxed approach to life, his kisses are no different

The first kiss? Simple, cliche even, think “goodnight kiss after walking you to the door”; that’s Linhardt’s first kiss with s/o; it’s very sweet though

L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

They would be together in the library, sifting through books for Linhardt’s current topic of interest

He would glance over at them occasionally, weighing the odds; Should I tell them? What if they say no? Deep breath; it’ll be fine

He would just say it, no flowery preamble or complex metaphors; very sudden, potential s/o might need a minute

Claude von Riegan

B - Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Claude most values his s/o’s spirit, their personality, their opinions and views of life; having someone who can keep him on his toes and give him a new outlook is a major plus to the Alliance tactician

Physically? There’s a good chance that s/o will catch him staring into their eyes on more than one occasion; he just can’t help it! The eyes are the window to the soul, as they say, and Claude is determined to find out what makes his s/o tick

K - Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Claude is pretty good at kissing; flirty, confident, and observant? The perfect combination for things like this

His kissing style? Light and teasing, but loving, just enough to leave his s/o wanting more; usually book-ended by neck, cheek, or nose kisses

His first kiss? Surprisingly awkward; it’s not often that Claude’s plans fall apart, but with s/o? His mind completely blanked; it was still a nice kiss though

L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Claude would confess with so. much. flourish. Flower petals drifting through the air, extravagant dinner, doves?! He would spare no expense

He would take potential s/o completely by surprise, though it definitely wouldn’t be unwelcome

True to his silver tongue, he would have no trouble confessing his feelings; the sincerity in his eyes showing that his intentions are true

#00fabolous #hubert von vestra #linhardt von hevring #claude von riegan #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #hubert von vestra headcanons #linhardt von hevring headcanons #claude von riegan headcanon #fire emblem headcanons #fe three houses #fe16 #fe3h #three houses headcanons #fe three houses headcanons #fe hubert #fe claude #fe linhardt #fluff alphabet

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crackimagines · 5 years

Note

Angsty hc prompt/request for the child!byleth au: Byleth reacting to seeing one of his students dying in battle for the first time, promoting his first divine pulse use. Which student/house is up to you!

child!Byleth Post Masterlist here!

KILLER SOTHIS HAS ALREADY TOUCHED THAT UNIT

SOTHIS, ACTIVATE THIRD BOMB

[B A I T S A D A S U T O]

idk why i’m being this memey about the prompt, it’s actually really fucking traumatizing for little Byleth

—–

Child!Byleth using Divine Pulse after his student dies HC’s

Child!Byleth Professor AU

Golden Deer

—–

- Death was something Byleth was kind of accustomed to. He didn’t have any quarrels killing an enemy, because that was the way of a mercenary after all. Though, for someone his age, that shouldn’t be normal. At the same time, he didn’t care.

- It was kill or be killed. However, that didn’t make any of the deaths from his side any easier. He’d mourn with the others, but no tears would be shed. They all knew they could die any day in this line of work after all. Plus, it’d be an insult to their memory if everyone broke down like babies.

- What really bothered Byleth were civilian deaths. No matter how many times he saw it, it always shook him. They didn’t have a choice in the matter, and were cut down, sometimes more brutally than the actual soldiers.

- Especially if they were children like him.

- So, when he was told that the students from his class were to accompany him to kill bandits, that was not something that sat well with him or Jeralt.

- Jeralt wanted to protest, but obviously Rhea wouldn’t listen. Byleth was unsure bringing students to an active combat zone. He didn’t really doubt their capabilities in combat after seeing them in the mock battle, but their psyche? That’s not something anyone can just switch on and off. You had to be born into it, or kill to survive.

- Regardless, it was up to Byleth to keep them alive. Despite their…quirkiness, putting it gently, they began to grow on him.

- So when they approached the battlefield, Byleth saw the bandits began to mobilize. In response, he turned to his class and looked up at them.

(Byleth) “Listen, this is your first real battle, and I will not put this lightly. You WILL die if you hesitate for even a second. I’ve fought plenty of bandits, and they cannot be reasoned with. Keep your mind clear in the battle, and keep each other safe. That is your top priority.”

- Byleth turned around drawing his sword.

(Byleth) “Move out.”

- He motioned the students to move forward while turning to the knights that had followed to supervise.

(Byleth) “Keep close, but do not fight their battles for them. If they’re injured, get them to safety.”

(Knight Captain) “Yes, professor.”

- Byleth nodded and ran ahead of his class, his sword drawn.

- 2 bandits charged him, swinging their swords carelessly. They underestimated him for being a child. Obviously, they didn’t realize who he was yet.

- With a single slice up, he cut one of the bandit’s hands off, the axe flying off into the ground as he screamed, making his friend back up in fear.

(Bandit) “SHIT, IT’S THE BLADE BREAKER’S KID!”

- He turned around to run, but was shot in the back by an arrow.

- Byleth turned his attention to the one screaming, and sliced his head off, no use in holding back.

(Byleth) “Nice shot, Claude.”

(Claude) “Thanks, Teach.” He replied, casually loading another arrow.

- Leonie, Lorenz and Raphael moved up and began fighting the reinforcements. Their movements were fluid, focused and strong. Good, no signs of hesitation.

- Claude and Lysithea began attacking bandits coming from the stairs, thinning their ranks…He saw Hilda sigh before she got into the frontline, cutting down the bandits. Good, she wasn’t being lazy. For once.

(Byleth) “…Wait a second, there should be two more.”

- He made sure that he was safe to take time to look back and saw Ignatz and Marianne hesitating to move up.

- Understandable. They were two of the most gentle souls here, and they just saw a child decapitate someone.

- Byleth spoke to them in his mercenary mindset, calm but demanding.

(Byleth) “Marianne, Ignatz. Get moving, or archers will be able to snipe you for standing still. Support Lysithea and Claude. Used range if you can’t get too close.”

- They both ran up and began doing as they were told. Byleth motioned the knights to move up, and he began making his way towards Leonie’s group.

- As strong as those three were, they couldn’t handle so many at the same time.

- He joined the fray, their combined effort pushing back the reinforcements. Byleth swung his sword into the air, clearing off the blood from it.

(Byleth) “Get those knights to follow you and begin enclosing around their leader, but do not engage. He’s strong, so if he starts charging you, retreat behind the knights.”

(Lorenz) “Understood!”

(Raphael) “Gotcha!”

(Leonie) “Got it, professor.”

- Byleth nodded and began helping the other four.

- They were starting to get overwhelmed. Claude and Lysithea were trying to help Hilda and Ignatz with the stronger bandits by picking them off, but they were barely able to hold their ground.

- Marianne was a little bit behind Hilda and Ignatz, not seeing a bandit sneaking up from behind.

(Byleth) “MARIANNE! BEHIND YOU-”

- Too late.

- The axe landed into her back, making her scream out in pain as she crumpled onto the floor, bleeding.

(Hilda) “MARIANNE!”

- Hilda kicked one of the bandits away as Knights came in, and brutally stabbed the bandit to death before filling in the lines and keeping Marianne surrounded.

(Knight Captain) “Damn it…She’s gone…”

- He stopped in his tracks, his eyes going wide.

- Someone as gentle as Marianne was brutally murdered as if she were just another soldier.

- At that moment, he felt his hands clench.

(Byleth) “Sothis, I’m activating it!”

(Sothis) “Go ahead, this is exactly why I gave you this power, after all.”

(Byleth) “DIVINE PULSE!”

- Everything halted in place, until he saw everything rewind to how it was about a minute earlier. Luckily Byleth was still in the same place.

(Sothis) “Time has begun moving again, child.”

- He managed to rush ahead, shouting to Claude behind him.

(Byleth) “Bandit’s trying to flank Marianne, keep her safe!”

(Claude) “Got it, teach!”

- He immediately shifted his attention to Marianne, and saw a bandit trying to sneak up on her. Claude let loose an arrow as it went straight through his head, making him drop dead on the spot.

- Marianne gasped in shock, before Byleth got in front of her, pointing backwards.

(Byleth) “Marianne, get back! You’re going to get hurt if you stay here!”

(Marianne) “B-But…!”

(Byleth) “I did not stutter, this is for your safety!”

- A bandit ran up to him and managed to get a swipe on his arm, but luckily it didn’t do much. The armor he was wearing underneath caught him off guard.

- All Byleth got was most likely a bruise from the attack. Meanwhile the bandit got a nice sword into his mouth from his counterattack.

- Marianne was already retreating behind Claude, and started casting spells alongside the two.

Byleth took a slight sigh of relief while he fought with Ignatz and Hilda.

(Byleth) “Good…she’s safe. Thanks, Sothis.”

(Sothis) “Shush, thank me later! Focus on the fighting.”

- Good point.

After the Battle…

- Everyone was quite exhausted, their first battle was dangerous but very educational. It seems most of them had gotten over the fact they had to kill today. Well, at least for now.

- As Byleth walked with knights in the front and rear, he and his students were in the middle and began the march back to the Monastery.

- While he was walking, he heard someone clear their throat.

(Marianne) “P-Professor?”

(Byleth) “Marianne.”

(Marianne) “T-Thank you for saving me but…You honestly shouldn’t have.”

(Byleth) “Excuse me?”

(Marianne) “I..I’m sorry for putting you in danger. I’m not worth the protection like the ot-”

(Byleth) “Do not finish that sentence. You’re my student. All of you are people I care for.”

- Marianne looked like she was about to protest more until Hilda put her hands on her shoulder, making her sigh.

(Marianne) “Sorry. Thank you professor.”

(Byleth) “Of course. One last thing, Marianne. Don’t ever say something stupid like how you’re not worth saving again.”

- Byleth clenched the sword hard, memories of villages being slaughtered, and survivors saying the same thing came back.

- Though, the image of Marianne’s corpse with her eyes so wide open, clearly in pain, was going to stick with him for a very long time.

(Sothis) “Try not to let it bother you. You saved her after all.”

(Byleth) “Hmph.”

- He walked ahead of the class, trying to keep his mind off of it while Claude looked at his face.

- His tiny professor wasn’t emoting, as usual but…It clearly looked hurt by what she had said…Though, it’d be more accurate to say what he’s seen.

(Claude) “Is everything alright, professor?”

(Byleth) “…Just some bad thoughts is all…Nothing more than thoughts…”

#fire emblem three houses imagines #fire emblem three houses headcanons #fe3h #fe16 #writing #imagines #byleth #child!byleth #golden deer #claude von regan #lysithea von cordelia #hilda valentine goneril #ignatz victor #raphael kirsten #leonie pinelli #lorenz hellman gloucester #marianne von edmund #sothis

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loyalflutist · 5 years

Text

Summoning Ritual (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Rating: General Audience Archive Warning: N/A Words: 2,066 Summary: The time has come when they must summon their professors. Edelgard is nervous, but it appears that luck may be on her side...

A/N: It started with a BS idea. Now it became a BS one shot. Just thinking about the Fate series concept of Master-Servant. Enjoy this random drabble! Am hoping to work on a Fate/Three Houses crossover series soon for comedy. (Comedy to an extent, of course.)

---

Here at the Officer’s Academy, something magical has happened. Various students from all three Houses stood in their classroom, their eyes all aimed at their house leaders.

Dimitri from the Blue Lions.

Claude from the Golden Deer.

Edelgard from the Black Eagles.

Three of the royal members of their family are in full preparation for what is to come. They cannot miss a single item on their checklist. Should they fail to do so, their efforts would be all for naught. Their classmates showered them with praises, luck, prayers, and even a snack for the long, arduous process.

“I wish you the best of luck, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert bowed his head, hand placed on his chest. “I have great faith in you.”

“You got this! If anything, I’ll be punching good vibes to your way!” Caspar nodded. As if to emphasize his encouragement, he began jabbing at the air. It would have continued had it not been for Linhardt slapping one of his flurried hands with a flick of his wrist.

“If there is anyone that can do it, it’s you, Edelgard,” Ferdinand tilted his head. “I know that for a fact.”

“Edie, make sure to take your time. It would be bad if the ritual failed because you were in a rush,” Dorothea handed her a small bag of… charcoaled cookies. (Edelgard is currently suppressing a mortified expression.) “I’m sorry these are a little burnt, but I’m sure these will give you energy!”

“I will be a here, praying for your safe return,” Petra bowed in a similar fashion as Hubert. “I heard this ritual is something of a tradition in this monastery.”

“I think the archbishop is just lazy to recruit new professors.”

“Linhardt!” Bernadetta swung her head towards him. “H-How could you say that!?”

He shrugged. “Why do you think this is the first year she proposed this idea?”

“W-W-Well, she might not want to come out of her room!”

“She’s not you, Bernedetta…”

“You’ve always got a sharp tongue, Linhardt.”

“Aren’t you one to say, Hubert.”

The noble scratched her cheek, beads of sweat flying out of her head. Her comrades and classmates were lively. Although Edelgard’s heart is racing, a small wave of nausea pulsed within her stomach, and her fingers were trembling, they soothed her shaken soul. She licked the bottom of her lip and gave a small huff.

“Thank you, everyone, for your kind words. I must now be off.”

Everyone in the Black Eagles waved their farewells as she turned her back towards them. When she took a step out of the lecture room, Claude and Dimitri both exited at the same time. The three paused in their place. They exchanged looks.

“Isn’t this a coincidence,” Claude placed both hands behind his head. His signature smile flashed at his rivals. “You both ready for this?”

“Of course,” Edelgard placed a hand on her hip. “I will be sure to summon a professor worthy to teach our house.”

“Likewise,” Dimitri faintly smiled. “It would be nice to have a professor who can lead our house to victory in the upcoming festival.”

“Isn’t that too far away, though?” the Golden Deer’s house leader mused. “We still have more than half a year to go.”

“It’s never too early to think ahead.”

“I agree with Dimitri.”

“If you both say so… I’ll just sit back and watch you both go at it.”

The other two leaders chuckled as they proceeded to walk towards the holy ground. It was not far and took less than five minutes by foot. However, each step brought them closer to an important ground. In their hands were the necessary ingredients for the archaic ritual. They gulped. One misstep and it’s all over for their house. The last thing they would want is to be stuck with a horrific instructor for the rest of their school life.

“Welcome, my children,” Rhea greeted them once they’ve arrived. As they got to their destined spot, the holy maiden graced her hands at the marked flooring before them. Black inked patterns drawn within the circle were scrawled all over the pristine surface. She let out a small exhale. “This is the first time in the history of Fodlan and the Officer’s Academy to conduct this ritual. It is a summoning ritual that will call forth not only your professor but your Servant too. This is an important role of a new Master.”

Right… Servant and Master. They were terminologies that were vaguely touched upon in this country. Apparently, they were from a famous magical war called the “Holy Grail War” in a land called “Japan.” Not that the citizens of Fodlan would know. The reason why Rhea decided to pursue this was due to the ease of access to the houses’ mentors. It would save her plenty of time to search for a suitable teacher. Based on the house leader’s personality, they would be likely matched with a Servant of a similar attitude. Plus, since these students are trained for battle, a Servant’s battle status is beneficial to teaching them the ropes with their potent abilities. There is also the limited time of when a Servant can stay with their Master. Until their Master either dies, chooses to free them, or finishes their schooling, the Servant is stuck by the house leader’s side.

Alas, it is simple on paper though! Physical and mental fortitude are required to make this a reality. Otherwise, a disappointing result will shortly follow.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

“Guess I’m the first one up…”

The blonde stepped forward. He walked up to the magic circle and began to place the necessary items. He spoke of incantations for the ritual.

Manuela came to him.

“Claude von Riegan.”

The brown-haired stepped forward. He walked up to the magic circle and began to place the necessary items. He spoke of incantations for the ritual.

Hanneman came to him.

“Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

The white-haired stepped forward. She walked up to the magic circle and began to place the necessary items.

Her heart thumped hard; she could hear it from her eardrums! A piece of green fabric. A pile of salt. A small stone from ancient times. A small vial of blood from an eagle poured upon the marked crest. Edelgard backed away and watched the circle begin to faintly glow. She closed her eyes. Darkness enveloped her vision as she deeply inhaled.

‘ Focus, El, focus! ‘

She touched upon her bloodline’s Crest of Seiros and extended her opened hand at the markings. One hand holding the outreached arm, the noble began to chant an incantation for the ritual.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation Let red the color I pay tribute to Let my great Master Hresvelg be the ancestor Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall Let the four cardinal gates close Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.

I hereby declare Your body shall serve under me My fate shall be your sword Submit to the beckoning of the Church of Seiros If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!

An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!”

A searing burn spread on the back of her right hand. It was as if someone pierced the skin with an iron knife! She immediately grimaced; her eyes narrowed as she felt a huge gust of wind blow in her direction. Just like Dimitri and Claude, a gust of wind whipped against her. This time, she was the direct target of the powerful blow. Edelgard’s knees bent at the immense pressure. Still, she maintained her stance and bit back a yelp.

The whole room became bright red. It was bright enough that everyone was forced to shut their eyes. Unlike Dimitri’s light blue and Claude’s golden yellow, their eyes instinctively avoided hazardous exposure.

“…?”

No one was there at the magic circle. All of the items were left untouched on the floor.

“…”

Did she fail? Even Rhea was a bit perplexed at the sight. The archbishop slowly examined the quiet premise. Aside from Manuela and Hanneman, no other professor showed up. Claude and Dimitri exchanged nervous glances as Edelgard felt her shoulders slump.

“Did I fail?”

“Edelgard…”

Dimitri started to approach her. He reached out towards her shoulder and eventually gave it a gentle pat.

“I’m so sorry.”

Edelgard hardly heeded any attention to him. She brought her right hand up. The burning sensation now throbbed, its red marking resembling an unknown crest fading into a black tattoo. Was it even possible to fail with the Command Seals still intact?

Shortly after that train of thought, a loud crash came from deep inside the holy ground. It shook the ground beneath their feet, all four present members nearly losing their balance. They were alarmed.

“Is that an intruder?!” Claude immediately pulled out his bow. “What an unlucky timing!”

Edelgard and Dimitri followed suit and unsheathed their weapon of choice. Rhea backed away as the three students and two Servants ran to the source.

It was surreal.

A teal-haired woman sat on a pile of rubble. The abnormal hole that cracked through the decorated ceiling shone the sun’s ray upon the newcomer. It was as if it were a beacon of light from the heavens above. Bits of debris crumbled upon the resting figure. An archaic sword at hand, the young adult raised her head.

‘ She looks like a queen… ‘ Edelgard widened her eyes. ‘ She’s beautiful. ‘

“…”

It took a bit of time until she broke their silence by standing. This made the three students gasp as both Hanneman and Manuela moved in front of them. Respectively Casters, they raised their hands in preparation. Not that they needed to. The unknown female walked up to one of the students nearest to her: Edelgard.

“Tell me,” she softly spoke. “Are you my Master?”

“Um— Y-Yes. Yes, I’m your Master.” Edelgard scrambled for words as she felt a flash of heat run into her head. “I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

The Servant blinked. Then, she cracked a small smile. (Unironically, Edelgard's heart skipped a beat! The smile was so pretty!)

“I am Byleth of the Saber Class.” As if out of a fairytale, Byleth reached out to grab ahold of Edelgard’s unoccupied hand. She got down to one knee and, as a knight, looked up to the house leader. “I will teach and protect you with my life.”

A blast of heat blew out of Edelgard’s ears as she began to open her mouth like a fish deprived of water.

“I-I— Yes! YES! Um— I mean… it would… be a pleasure having you as my queen-- I... I mean, Servant.”

She could not help but let out an additional comment afterward. This time, she didn’t mean to let it slip out.

“You’re so beautiful though.”

Byleth blinked. That caused Edelgard to immediately regret the sudden words that flew out of her lips. She dropped her axe and concealed her mouth, her pupils looking anywhere but the teacher’s face. This caused a chuckle to come from the older female. She squeezed Edelgard’s hand.

“Thank you for the compliment. I am happy to serve someone who is even more beautiful than I.”

That’s it, that did it for Edelgard. The Black Eagles’s house leader felt a mini-mushroom explosion occur on top of her head. This caused the Saber class to raise both brows when her Master became beet red.

Meanwhile, Dimitri and Claude squinted their eyes.

“What the Hell?” Claude mumbled. “Why did she get the hot one?”

“I’m impressed, Edelgard,” Dimitri crossed his arms. “I didn’t think you would summon someone like her…”

“Just... damn, just look at her. Why did I get an old man?”

“You’re one to talk. I got someone who is much older than Byleth.”

“Hey, at least yours is a woman. Mine is a dude! I’m not into old guys.”

“…I wonder what goes through your mind sometimes, Claude.”

“I’ll be blunt this time: I’m jealous.”

“It appears that this is something we both have in common.”

“I hope you both understand that we can hear you both loud and clear,” Manuela and Hanneman both remarked at the same time, their frowns evident.

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claudes-therapy-center · 4 years

Note

Seeing felix on ur blog has got me thinking...how would claude x felix interactions go

- So Claude meets Felix by literally falling out of the sky and landing right on top of him. Apparently, the two of them saw fit to visit the library that same afternoon. Claude made his way to a high shelf, Felix paid a visit to read some more of Ashe's recommendations, and boom. An angel fell out of the sky and crashed on top of him. Much to Felix's chagrin, the angel turned out to be a careless, rather annoying archer. "Would you mind?!" Felix snarls, helping Claude up. Despite being vexed, Felix is rather gentle with his fellow brunette, dusting him off and examining him to make sure he's not hurt. "Try not to be so ridiculously stupid in the future! What if I hadn't been here?! Sheesh!"

Cyril from a distance: "I'm here."

Felix groans while throwing back his shoulders. "Unless you managed to break something, I'm out of here," he sighs. He'll just have to read whatever book Ashe told him to read later.

- So Byleth pairs them for lunch. Felix starts off with a long, loud sigh and "You AGAIN?". Claude beams at him, sends him a wave and goes: "Hiya. Nice to see you again too, Felix." The professor asks about how they met, to which Felix replies with: "I'll tell you how we met. This idiot fell out of the sky and landed right on top of me. Would've broken a leg or an arm if I hadn't been there."

Byleth chuckles about how romantic that sounds, especially for Felix. Felix leaves lunch prematurely.

- Claude nicknames him 'Fee'. Felix threatens to kill Claude for using the nickname, but it sticks. Ignatz expresses concern after overhearing Felix make a claim on Claude's life, but Claude doesn't feel any real murderous vibes from him: "He doesn't mean the things he says. He's actually a real sweetheart. Wanna know how I know? My buddy Syl."

- So yes, Sylvain and Claude being twin souls actually links Claude to Felix by default. Cue the three of them training together quite often.

- Claude calls him ‘Fee’. Felix calls him ‘Riegan’ (at first).

- Felix shelters strong protective instincts towards Claude. He constantly chides him over his self-destructive behavior, and (instinctively) shields him in battle whenever there's a Blue Lions/Golden Deer co-op. Some of Felix's warmest, most compassionate sayings: "Here's an idea. How about looking out for yourself every once in a while? Pretty interesting idea, right?" "I thought you were all for clever ideas. Here's one: take a nap. Get something to eat. You look like you're ready to collapse."

- So Felix finds Claude sleeping in the library and drapes his cloak over him.

- Felix is actually a nurturing presence in his fellow brunette's life: he sometimes cooks for the archer, knowing of Claude's horrible eating routines, asks him questions like "did you get enough sleep last night, or did you spend the entire night being an idiot?" and asks him if he was hurt during battles.

At one point, Sylvain's old friend takes a rather brutal blow for him during battle, but shrugs it off: "I'm fine. Worry about yourself more."

- Cue Claude collapsing with a dangerous fever, and Felix being the one to catch him before he falls. Sylvain's friend ends up whisking him to Manuela's infirmary, and surprisingly doesn't leave Claude's side during the worst of it.

- Byleth pairs them for a special assignment. Felix notices how weary Claude looks that afternoon, despite the brunette fighting to sound merry and cheerful. "Why don't you let me handle this?" he urges the archer, surprisingly gentle. "If you fall out again, I'm going to have to carry you to the infirmary. Again. Don't make me babysit you, Riegan."

- So Claude blurts out to him: "Hey. Here's a fun fact: I'm half-Almyran." Felix groans: "So? And I have long hair. Would you like to waste my time with any more useless information?"

- Claude draws comfort from Felix's view of knighthood, agreeing with him on how lives don't need to be cast aside like unwanted chess pieces, in favor of honor, nobility, titles or what have you.

(More to come soon-I haven't even touched on quite a few other conflicts! I hope you enjoyed them!)

#claude von riegan #fire emblem claude #fire emblem felix #fe felix #11/04 #claude x felix

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three-houses-text-files · 5 years

Text

annette/claude

c-a support + paired ending

Annette: ♪Creepity creep...♪ Claude: Huh? A: ♪Living in a land that's dark and blinded by the frigid cold... Creeping through the loneliness for ages untold...♪ A: ♪In your heart you're desperate for the sweet embrace of light... Pushing through and crawling with all of your might...♪ A: ♪HERE! Creepy creepy creepity creep... NOW! Creepy creepy creepity creep...♪ C: … A: ♪Creepity creep... ♪ A: Oh! Claude! You weren't, uh...watching me, were you? C: I saw the whole ritual, yes. You have a gift, Annette. I could watch that all day. In fact... I just might. A: Claude! Ugh. Can you please...forget you saw that? A: I was just making up a silly song to pass the time while watering the plants. C: Sure, sure, it can be my secret serenade, if you so please. But tell me... You were born in Faerghus, right? A: Yes, that's right. C: I thought so. You're really talented, you know. It's been a while since I heard a song like that. One that stirs me to my very soul. A: Soul stirring? My creepity creep song? I think that's a bit of an exaggeration... C: I never, ever exaggerate. In fact, it reminded me of rituals we have back where I grew up. C: We’d gather around a blazing fire and spend the whole night caught up in song and dance. Not unlike what you just demonstrated. C: Really, the dance I'm thinking of is exactly like the one you just did. We'd scream like beasts and then jump up and roll around. It's freeing, isn't it? A: Scream? Like a beast? That is not what I was doing. And...and what's this weird ritual you're talking about? C: Even better than your angelic voice were your lyrics. I can't even begin to fathom the deep meaning they contain, but maybe if we talk about it... A: Deep meaning? No... Just... No. C: Oh, I get it. It's the sort of thing you have to figure out for yourself. OK, don't tell me. Give me time. I'll work it out. A: Work what out? C: Oh… Have you already watered the plants? Sorry, I'm just realizing it was supposed to be my turn this week. A: Ah, no, it's fine. Really. C: OK, see you later then. ♪Creepity creeeep...♪ A: He is not gonna let this go, is he...

——————————————————————————————

C: Hi, Annette. Looks like some tasty food you've got there. Mind if I join you? A: Sure, but I'm finished eating. You're here late. Busy day? C: Very. I got caught up thinking about your song. I find it really makes the time fly. A: So you didn't manage to forget about that. I really wish you would. C: Alas, I cannot! That song is engraved on my soul. The lyrics...they echo in my brain, begging to be understood. C: Those words represent the cry of a poor soul who died in anguish... Is that it? That's it, isn't it? A: The cry...of a poor soul? C: A land that's dark and frigidly cold... That could only mean the underworld. C: In my search for truth, I read up on the old rituals of the eastern regions of Faerghus. C: Those who die with regret are thought to end up in an underworld of sorts. Somewhere cold. Somewhere dark. Somewhere...creepy. C: To escape from their bitter limbo, they dig their way up through the earth, trying to find the surface... or the light, in other words. C: And so they creep about endlessly in the cold dirt of the underworld, clinging to their hopeless desire... Creepity creep, Annette. Creepity creep. A: Eh... C: So? Was I right or was I right? A: What? No! You're not even close! It wasn't supposed to be a dark and miserable song at all. C: Huh. Now that I think about it...the melody and dance didn't really match the weight of the lyrics. A: The lyrics are simply about seeds pushing out of the ground to become sweet, little buds. A: They creep through the dirt until they find the light! The song just describes what it's like to be a budding flower. C: Damn. That is good stuff. OK, maybe I read too much into it. Actually, now that you've explained, it really is a nice little song. C: Creepity creep... The gentle journey from the ground to the surface. I love it. A: Do you...think it's embarrassing that I made up such a silly song? C: Not at all. Oh! But that reminds me. I was so inspired by Creepity Creep that I made up some lyrics of my own. A: I've been nonchalantly carrying them around with me hoping to run into you. Would you mind taking a look? A: Oh, of course! Let's see here... A(?): ♪Walking with purpose and a steady stride... Lively and bright and full of pride...♪ A(?): ♪Crying, laughing, and blazing ahead... Why worry 'bout tomorrow? Let's eat instead...♪ A: So, uh... What would you say this song is about, Claude? C: Oh, Annette. Sweet Annette. This time it's your turn to decipher its meaning. Let me know when you've figured it out!

——————————————————————————————

A: Hey, Claude! I think I've worked out what your lyrics mean! Care to hear me out? C: Huh? Sure! So, you managed to work through the labyrinth of my melodic poetry, then? A: I did! You were writing about yourself, right? A: About how you just keep moving forward, no matter what difficulties you encounter. A: We've got this, we did it, now let's eat. That kind of thing. Am I right? C: Hey, that's pretty close for being completely wrong. It's actually not about me. C: It’s about you, Annette. It's a song about your single-minded march through life. A: It's about...me?! C: Of course! You know, about how you mess up and make a big fuss about stuff sometimes, but you're always looking ahead and striving. C: I just wanted to capture your pleasant, fidgety, fussy nature in a song. A: Haha, I see! I'm flattered...I think? Actually, I can't really tell if you're saying something nice or not... C: Of course I'm saying something nice! I'm so happy I get to be friends with someone like you. C: Everyone’s really uplifted by your cheerful attitude, your refusal to give up, and that boisterous nature of yours. A: Boisterous... That's definitely not a compliment. Still... Thank you, Claude. A: I'm really pleased that you thought so hard about me and wrote a neat song like that. A: You know, what this song really needs is a nice little dance to go with it... C: I couldn't agree more! And once you've finished, you should perform it for everyone. You're a fine dancer, after all! A: Nope! Not happening! I'm afraid my dances are not for public consumption. A: It will have to suffice that I let you see it. C: You drive a hard bargain. And if this performance is just for me, maybe I can coax you into letting me hear some of your other songs? A: I suppose there are a few others I could maybe share. Like my bear song! Or my dungeon song! Ooh! Or the waltz of the swamp beasties! C: I have never been more on board with anything in my entire life! A: Oh, they're all just silly songs... I don't know that they're anything worth being excited about. C: I’ll be the judge of that, and I can tell just by their descriptions that I'm right to be excited. A: Well! I guess I have no choice. I'm making an exception just for you, Claude. C: I’m honored to be the exception, as well as your number one fan!

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

Entrusting the future of Fódlan to his friends, Claude left for Almyra with Annette, whom he intended to marry. He announced this fact to his father, the king of Almyra, who approved of Claude's growth and Annette's wisdom and resolved to entrust the monarchy to them. Once he became king, Claude established a school of sorcery with the intent to use it as a bridge between Almyra and Fódlan. Annette took on a role as headmaster, supporting Claude's dream by opening the doors to students from every corner of the world. Relations between Almyra and Fódlan improved drastically as a result.

#fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #annette x claude #claude x annette

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idolizerp · 5 years

Photo

LOADING INFORMATION ON MAYDAY’S MAIN VOCAL, LEAD DANCE MOON YOONYOUNG...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Youmi CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE:15 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): honey, youdoll (a combination of a her stage name and doll, on account of her delicate features) INSPIRATION: she fell in love with music after first listening to the albums of korean artists from the late 70s to mid 80s. SPECIAL TALENTS:

creating acrostic poems on the spot

holding out notes for extended periods of time

imitating cartoon characters

NOTABLE FACTS:

as a child, she suffered from a mild case of arrhythmia (slow beating of the heart).

she is the middle child in her family with an older sister and a younger brother.

she once mentioned in a vlive that her favorite artist is claude monet.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

after waiting so long to enter the spotlight, yoonyoung plans on putting all her efforts into making mayday a group to remember—even if it means playing into a character for the sake of maintaining a well-liked image. already, it seems like the company is pushing her into modeling, a ploy to attract more visually-inclined fans. building a large social media following is also in the works, her public instagram essentially turning into a fashion blog. outside of mayday (and the plans the company has for her), yoonyoung wants to improve her skills not just as performer but as a creator as well and put that composition degree to good use. she hopes that in the coming months, management will allow her to let more of her creativity show through in whatever way that may be.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

ultimately, yoonyoung wants to be able to put out her own music. that’s what it’s always been about, after all; sharing her voice, her unique sound with the world. her goal is to delve into self-production work slowly but surely. the first step, of course, is to have more creative input in mayday’s discography. after that, she’d like to do lyric work for other artists, and eventually release original songs. she wants to establish herself as a distinct voice in the korean entertainment industry, setting herself apart by giving the people something they won’t be able to find anywhere else.

IDOL IMAGE

be kind. be gentle. be loving.

“do that,” her manager tells her the night before their debut showcase, “and you’ll be the nation’s sweetheart in no time.”

she wants to tell him that’s what he said when she first became a trainee so long ago, that it’s been seven years already without a single claim to fame. and that’s not what this is about, no. it’s never been about the recognition, but the point remains.

she’s a nobody.

they decide to play into the innocence of youth. doll-like. someone to be cared for, bringing out the need to protect in others. in the weeks that follow their debut, she clings to her members for dear life, hiding her face in their necks, pink blush high on her cheeks. a soft-spoken gem, youmi is the girl who can do no wrong. she becomes mayday’s resident baby, doted on and coddled like something precious.

she’s shy, or so it seems, preferring to let the others take the mic while she stands back and nods her head in support.

her nature is also elegant. a subtle sort of sophistication made soft by fanciful berets and dresses with hanging white lace, speech formal and polite.

but the truth?

the truth is she can hardly hold her tongue when she’s in public, has to physically bite down on her bottom lip until it threatens to burst to keep her words at bay. the truth is she’d go all day in wearing pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt if she could, can’t stand how pale her face is made to look beneath the bright stage lights (longs for the touch of sun on that comes with memories of home), is constantly seconds away from bursting at the seams with all the thoughts and feelings and conflicting emotions she has bottled up inside her rapidly beating heart.

the truth is she’s swears and drinks and tells jokes that often go over people’s heads. she’s rough around the edges, sarcastic when the situation calls for it, and can’t stand backing down from a challenge. she thinks the world, as it is, could learn a thing or two from her, from women in general.

but people don’t want a country bumpkin who’s not afraid to get down and dirty. they want a pretty and silent thing, something to show off.

so she will be kind, gentle, loving for now if it means a future that is set in stone and a chance to grab at something more.

IDOL HISTORY

moon 文.

dalseong-gun, daegu. a place of sun and wind and everything nice.

she grows up surrounded by family, always. whether it’s watching her grandmother work magic in the kitchen or chasing her cousins through strawberry fields that stretch as far as the eye can see, she is never without warmth at her side. early on, she learns that love comes in many forms: her mother’s big bear hugs, yoonoh’s quiet reassurances, yoona’s careful guidance. all these things and more, such beautiful professions of adoration and love.

this is the life she lives. and there is so much good within it.

the dream doesn’t come until a little later. it begins as a sapling. she’s seven the first time she listens to one of her father’s old records. yoonyoung watches with wide eyes as he slides the disk out of its vinyl album cover with careful hands, setting it down on the record player. the room fills with crooning voices on top of lilting melodies, painting the most vivid scenes behind her closed eyes. a musical seed is planted that day, one of shimmering infatuation. it grows a with every waking moment.

musicophile. that’s the word her father uses to describe her, lover of sound. her great aunt prefers the term gifted. and when yoonyoung sings at dinners, hosts her very own concert right out on the front porch steps, her aunt says she’s got that god-given gift, a natural-born talent. the kind that takes you places. takes you far, far away from small towns like theirs.

in the coming years, yoonyoung dives headfirst into the world of music. her town is small enough that everyone quickly learns of the littlest moon daughter’s quest to become the greatest musician of her generation. the community pitches in to provide her with the skills needed to carry out such a huge feat. she’s taught how to place her fingers on guitar strings every sunday from mr. jung down the road and wakes up long before the sun to meet ms. jinhee, the kindergarten teacher, for weekly vocal lessons.

it isn’t long before the chance to prove herself presents itself in the form a nationwide audition from one of korea’s most renowned idol companies, midas media. her father drives the whole family out to the city in support of their future star. she walks into her audition with all the blind optimism a fourteen-year-old can muster, radiating confidence like no one’s business.

but all the confidence in the world can’t make up for the talent she so obviously lacks. when weeks go by without a response, yoonyoung is smart enough to know what that means.

six months later, there’s another opportunity to be had: 99 entertainment’s annual talent search. it’s a sign, she thinks, when the news reaches her ear during a trip to the farmer’s market. this time, only yoona goes with her.

the result is the same as last time.

still, she doesn’t cry. good things come to those who wait, or so her uncle always told her. if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

for the first time, her mother begins to show fear. fear for her daughter who dares to dream in a world as cruel and unfair as this one. in the late afternoons, the woman stands in her bedroom doorway watching as yoonyoung struggles through chord progressions, practices switching keys and shaping her mouth to allow for stronger high notes, better sound, and her heart aches in the way only a mother’s can.

“just let me try one more time,” she insists. “please.”

her mother never could tell her no.

yoon 倫.

shortly after receiving her letter in the mail. saying goodbye is the hardest part, and it claws at her heart so fiercely, she’s not sure the wounds will ever fully heal. family and friends gather at their house for her official send-off, bearing gifts and unbidden love and wishes of good fortune.

fifteen years old, and seoul is a city of endless wonder.

yoonyoung moves into msg entertainment’s trainee dorms with little more than the essentials—toothbrush, her guitar, yoonoh’s favorite stuffed bunny. it’s an adjustment, for sure, but it helps that she’s used to sharing space with others. if she stretches her imagination, it’s not too different from sleepovers with her cousins, all twelve of them huddled together on the living room floor. she tries to make friends with the other girls, get to know them and their stories. some entertain choose to her, but most prefer to keep to themselves. it’s hard not to stick out with her sun-kissed skin and heavily accented words, but she embraces her daegu roots.

a year passes in which she learns how to move her body in ways that don’t cause secondhand embarrassment. she’s not a dancer by any means, but she has to at least dance if she’s ever going to have a shot at debuting.

then a year turns into two with no clear vision for yoonyoung. they allow her to go to school for music composition in the meantime. she’s not stupid, knows it’s a means of distracting her from management obvious lack of direction, but she divides her time between classes and training as best she can anyway.

soon.

the word flits around in her head like a restless bird, wings forming hurricanes in her soul. there’s never a date attached to the end of it, simply the promise of an unforeseeable light at the end of a never-ending tunnel. every push for more information is met with ambiguity. she’s told to wait a little longer.

soon.

wasn’t it not too long ago that she was telling herself the same thing?

between cramming for exams, she works on bettering herself as a musician. picks up the piano and spends evenings studying black and white keys, trying to make sense of the notes in front of her. builds a portfolio of music, handwritten eighth and quarter and sixteenth notes scribbled on blank pages in between plucking guitar strings. writing lyrics, lyrics. so many lyrics. pouring her heart into every character, every syllable, aching for home. the isolation isn’t intentional. it just happens. it doesn’t matter. she’s stretching herself thin, but that doesn’t matter either because at least she’s being productive.

even if she’s been stuck in the same place for the past six years. even if her hope has waned over time, certain idealisms traded for crushing realism.

soon.

then one day, it comes. she can see it approaching, the light at the end of the tunnel. yoonyoung told that she’s been placed into a group slated to debut sometime next summer. it’s really, truly happening. two other girls have already been added to the lineup as well. yoonyoung has to pinch herself in the arm to make sure she’s not dreaming.

that night, tears stream down her face in rivulets, soaking her pillow. she laughs and laughs until she’s pink in the face, rolls around on her mattress and squeals into the sheets.

and to think, she’d almost forgotten what happiness feels like.

young 永.

it’s the birth of an era.

mayday debuts as msg’s attempt at a brand new, fresh-faced, girl group to complement their sister group’s trendy vibes. she’s thrown into the role of the regal doll, acting younger than she is all the while maintaining an air similar to that of a princess in the hopes stealing the hearts of many. they’re performing on music shows, making variety appearances, having photoshoots with established brands.

for a rookie group, they’re doing fairly well. it’s not the image or sound she’d hoped for, but it’s something. and that’s more than she thought she was ever going to get.

a week after their first comeback, a letter comes in from her mother. written on her favorite blue stationary in purple ink, her mother’s pen strokes burst pride and joy. at the bottom, the signatures of all the people she holds closest to her heart. yoonyoung rereads it three times before hugging it to her chest.

here she is.

a star in the making.

#id.bio #id.msg #id.mayday #id.kim sojung

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tryingthisfangirlthing · 6 years

Text

Like an Explosion in Slow Motion

Myka has been through all kinds of hell due to the Warehouse; what they don't tell you is that it's hell when it's gone, too.

Rating: Either a high Teen or low Mature. References to sex but nothing graphic, some sensuality Word Count: ~5.5k Contains: Myka/Pete (but they break up), angst, hints of Bering and Wells, the Warehouse is gone and everything hurts, the Warehouse family falls apart, did I mention Angst?

Many, many thanks go to the lovely @tinknevertalks for looking over this for me, poking me to write a proper ending, and just generally making sure the mess that was the first draft of this was not inflicted upon the general public. You're the best. <3

Also on AO3

She can't point to one instant when the chain reaction started, not even in hindsight. Maybe it was the moment the new cornerstone was struck, but maybe it was the moment Paracelsus was unbronzed, or maybe even the moment one of her normal cells split and began to mutate into a tumor, or maybe… In the end, it doesn't really matter what sets off the bomb, not to those who are caught in the blast.

It hits Artie first. Slowly, slowly, as the very back aisle begins to fade from view to god-knows-where (and they won't tell them, won't tell the people from the past about the future, to keep them from trying to muscle in on it, she supposes), he stops going near those back aisles. Stops going anywhere where he can see that gap. When that gap gets wide enough to be visible from his office, he pulls the shutters down over the windows, and keeps them closed.

Claudia starts disappearing, suddenly, more and more, arriving often in the company of Mrs. Frederic (though the latter never stays). “Where do you keep going?” Myka asks her, softly, one day, in the B&B over a quiet lunch. “I thought you didn't want to be Caretaker.” “So did I.” A quiet wry, smile, precious in its rarity, because she is hardly ever quite so sincere or still. “But the Warehouse is my home, you know, and I feel like — like it's a part of me, and I'm a part of it, and I just can't — I can't leave. I'll be an agent for as long as I can, and then when I can't —” She lifts one shoulder, and her smile turns almost beatific, serene, with the knowledge and wisdom of many many years beyond Claudia’s age behind it. An alien gesture, on Claudia; everything is changing, absolutely everything, the members of Myka’s little Warehouse family included. Her heart cracks. “I can't explain it. I’ll stay with the Warehouse, and it’ll stay with me.” “I'm — I'm glad for you, Claud.” She is; she really is. “That you know what you want, and you're — moving towards it. I'm proud of you.” Claudia ducks her head, a little bashful, the girl Myka knows again. “I can’t really take any credit. In the Warehouse, things just sort of happen to you, you know?” She does know.

With his partner away, and Artie avoiding setting foot on more and more sections of the Warehouse floor, shelving and inventory falls mostly to Steve. He bears it with his natural quiet, with a sort of stoicism Myka both envies and doesn't. “I could take over for a while,” she offers, one day. “You go on retrieval with Pete, and I can stay here and keep things running. It's not fair that you're stuck here so much.” He smiles at her, tired and terribly melancholy. “No, you and Pete are a team. And I kind of prefer it here. I'm not reminded of — anything,” and he gestures vaguely, “So often.” “Okay.” And she understands, even if she doesn't really know what he's talking about. “But if you ever change your mind.” He nods, and his inhale seems a little lighter, a little less weight on his shoulders. “Thank you, Myka.” “You're welcome.” She brushes her fingers over his arm, a brief gesture intended to offer comfort where there isn't really any to be had, and leaves.

She and Pete can pretend, for the most part, that everything is normal. At least on the surface. Or at least they try. He still eats anything remotely edible in sight (which was very bad the time they were looking for that batch of Kinder Eggs) and she still argues with him over the music in the car (she wants opera, he likes Nickelback) and they still get rooms with two separate twin beds. But then they'll bag an artifact that belongs in one of the missing sections, and they’ll have to go down to the empty section of the Warehouse, and put it inside a goo-slathered box, and then as soon as the box is shut it will vanish right before their eyes. And Pete kisses her, when they get to the door of the B&B (because they both take her “never at work” seriously). He's gentle about it, and it's nice, and then she’ll let him walk her backwards up to his bedroom, and there’s nothing normal about that. Sometimes, they have sex, which is a little weird, and sometimes they don't have sex, which is even weirder: start and stop, driven by the strangeness of it all, the is-this-even-happening, and sometimes she stops it and sometimes he does, and sometimes they don't even start. (And God, she’s happy those nights, too, maybe happiest, because everything is wrong in so many tiny ways but at least she still has her partner beside her.)

Usually, she tries not to think of Helena. There's the occasional e-mail, utterly mundane things. Furniture restoration, Victorian recreation had been Helena’s most recent venture. Now Giselle has a job in New York (State) and Helena is going to try her hand at writing a book again. I fear I will always be a restless soul in this world, she writes, of it, and yet still so utterly alien. You just need to find yourself again in the now, Myka writes. That sentence doesn't even make grammatical sense; she immediately deletes it.

The Regents come for Artie, one day. Or at least that's how Steve tells it, when they get back from Capetown: that Kosan just walked in one day, while he and Artie were talking stock, and Kosan just greeted him and nodded, and Artie just stood up and walked out with him. “‘Take care of the Warehouse, Agent Jinks,’ he said, ‘It won’t be much longer now.’” “Do you think he’s gonna be a Regent?” Pete asks. “I mean, they are kind of short on them, I think, given all that's happened…” “He'd like that.” Myka decides, for her own peace of mind, that that's what’s happened.

She overhears Pete on the phone, as she slips downstairs after her shower. “But Mom, can't you —” He stops, listens, and starts again. “No, you don't know what the Warehouse means to me! To me and Myka, to us! I can't — and it'll be a help to have experienced agents break in the newbies, right? That can only be a good thing.” More quiet, as Jane responds. “Just for a little while?” Space for another response, brief, and then the sound he makes isn't quite human. It's a stage of grief, bargaining. She turns the corner, and approaches him. He hangs up, and swipes at his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand. “We can't expect special treatment.” It comes out all wrong, like a rebuke instead of the sympathy she intends. She tries to soften it. “But there's nothing wrong with trying. Do you want a hug?” “Yeah.” And he staggers into her arms. “I'm sorry.” Myka rubs a hand over his back. She loves him, she does, and she hates seeing him like this.

The H.G. Wells aisle fades out. Myka tries not to notice. At least her grappler doesn't leave with it.

She comes across Claudia in the office one day, sitting at the computer, typing away. And it's almost like normal, except for that little black box she recognizes as an external hard drive. “Has that been approved?” she asks, instead of a greeting. Claudia spins around, and they both grin a little sheepishly at each other. “Hey, Claud. It's good to see you.” “You caught that, huh? I'm making a backup of the database, in case something goes screwy in the moving. First move since computers were invented, after all. And I miiight be taking a copy of the ping system home with me to tweak a bit in my spare time. See if I can't improve artifact detection time. Maybe.” Incorrigible. But if anyone can do it, and keep the project secure, she can. “You're going to run a very different Warehouse to the one Mrs. Frederic does, that's for sure.” “I'm going to run a different Warehouse to the one Artie did,” Claudia corrects her, and finger-guns. Myka laughs, for what feels like the first time in a long while.

Somewhere in between all of this, Myka starts packing her things, pulls out the “M.O.B.” crate and carefully wraps up the more delicate items: her CDs, the antique books, the picture frames. Sometimes, she tears up. There's never any good way of saying goodbye.

Abigail and Steve leave next. There’s only about two days’ worth of the Warehouse left, and any incoming pings are put into a holding queue for the next agents to take care of. Abigail just disappears during the night, and the next morning the B&B holds no trace of her, save a small note in the middle of the kitchen counter, as if she’d just gone out for her morning jog. I'm sorry I wasn't able to say goodbye. I wish you all the best, and please reach out if you need a therapist or someone to talk to. The note is signed with a nearly incomprehensible e-mail address. It's probably a little tragic, that this doesn't really surprise her. Typical Regent cloak-and-dagger. It’s a shame; she liked Abigail. “You want to head over with me or with Pete?” Myka asks Steve, keys jingling between her fingers. He’s an early riser like her, but he prefers to take his mornings slow, so it's generally a toss-up as to whom he'll go into work with. “Actually, I'm not going back to the Warehouse.” Steve sets his mug of tea on the counter, and watches her reaction. “I'm going back to the ATF. I might try things with Liam again.” She gulps in a breath with surprising difficulty, like the wind has been knocked out if her. “That's… I'm really glad for you, Steve. Uhm, do you need — do you need any help taking your things anywhere?” “No, I already took my things down to the post office for shipping last week. But thanks.” It is senseless to want what we cannot have, his mug reads. “Is that new?” She points to the mug. Why he'd have gotten that for himself when the B&B has plenty of dishware eludes her… though it is very him. “Personalized?” He arches his eyebrows a little wryly, smiling as he regards the ceramic. “No, I just found it in the front of the cupboard this morning.” One more slice of the sort of everyday magic you get so used to here. They smile at each other. “I'm really gonna miss you.” “Me, too.” He sets down his tea, and she hugs him, tightly. “Don't be a stranger.”

Pete still hasn't even started packing. It itches at her, as she sees at all his things still strewn around his room. But she does her best to be gentle. “Putting things off doesn't make them any easier,” she tells him that night, softly. “Tomorrow,” he says, “I'll do it tomorrow.” She doesn't think he will. “Thanks for being patient with me, Mykes.” “Of course.” It doesn't feel self-evident, all her patience, not any more. At least he appreciates it.

But there isn't a “tomorrow.” They wake up, get ready, drive to the Warehouse together — though they have no clue what they might do there — and it's gone. The place is the right one. That flat, dusty depression they walked across every day for the past five years, is exactly as she remembers it. Except that there's no Warehouse there anymore. “You think the football is still hanging around?” Pete asks. She laughs, at the absurdity of the small things they focus on to ignore the large ones, laughs so as not to cry. (They wait, just to see if it is. The sky stays empty.)

At the end of their return trip, a “For Sale” sign crouches at the beginning of the B&B drive, with matching crates beside it. She pulls over, gasping in a breath. “It's really gone, Pete. All of it.” Her voice is wet, and so are her eyes. He kisses her, and they cry; his sobs wrack his entire body, while her tears stream silently down her cheeks.

She doesn't know how long they sit there, in quiet mourning; it doesn't really matter, anyways. She hasn't sent her things anywhere yet, because she doesn't know where to send them to. They could go back to Colorado Springs, but that’s not where she wants to go. She doesn't know where she wants to go. Where does anyone go when their home isn’t there anymore? “I guess we still have jobs with the Secret Service.” She toys with the idea out loud. It seems flat, now, flat and bleak and lifeless, but everything else seems just as much if not more so. “I guess we do.” He looks at her, and she looks at him, and she unlocks the trunk.

They're not put back on protection detail, not right away. They're investigating, potential threats. And it's good to still work with him, good to still be putting her skills to use, but there's little of the same adrenaline and none of the wonder. She moves into his apartment, because his place is bigger and why not? The previous Myka Bering, the Myka Bering most people here still vaguely remember, would have laughed outright at the idea that she could ever be with Pete Lattimer. It's unsettling to have your own ghost haunting your footsteps.

“I think—” Pete kisses her as he backs her towards the bedroom. “We should celebrate—” another kiss — “bagging that guy.” “I don't know, Pete.” She rests her hands on his lapels, turning her head slightly to the side. “It doesn't feel like much to celebrate.” “We stopped someone who was going to try to set off a bomb!” “Yeah, and it probably wouldn't have gone off either way.” She sighs, and offers him a tired smile. “At least he's getting help, now.” “Yeah.” Pete rests his forehead against her temple, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Feels a little like the old days, helping people, saving the world.” Pulling back, he offers her that boyish grin, the one she can't help but smile back at. “You know, after some of those cases, I always wondered what it would be like if you and me —” “Okay, no! I do not need to hear your — fantasies — about —” But she's his girlfriend, shouldn't she want — she punches him in the arm, instead of trying any further to find words, to piece apart her thoughts. His eyes darken. “I know you know what that does to me.” “I know.” And he wants her, and she loves him, and it’s easy to let him have her (even if it still feels like something is missing).

It was sweeping round swiftly and steadily, this flaming death, this invisible, inevitable sword of heat. I perceived it coming towards me by the flashing bushes it touched, and was too astounded and stupefied to stir. “Morning, babe,” he mumbles, as he shuffles to the counter where she's left his mug of coffee to cool. She doesn't look up from The War of the Worlds she's reading with her cereal. “Morning.” I heard the crackle of fire in the sand-pits and the sudden squeal of a horse that was as suddenly stilled. Then it was as if an invisible yet intensely heated finger were drawn— “How come I'm always the one to start the sex?” he asks, the words sleep-slurred, so it takes her a moment to really register them. “Wait, what?” Sharp, because he wants to bring this up now? When they have to leave for work (she has to drag his butt out the door) in half an hour? “‘Start the sex’ isn't even an actual phrase—” “Mykes.” His morning ‘dial it down’ gesture. “Just let me.” She lifts her hands, nodding for him to continue. “Sorry.” “How come you don't ever really seem to want to have sex with me? I mean, am I doing something wrong? You used to tell me when what I was doing wasn't working for you.” It sounds practiced, far too clear for usual him at this hour. How long has this been on his mind? “What? No, you're fine, you're doing perfectly — perfectly fine. No complaints.” He makes sure she comes at least once, and he cares about her pleasure, and it might not be mind-blowing but she really, really has no complaints. — were drawn through the heather between me and the Martians— “Well, that's hardly a five-star review,” he mutters. She sighs, and finally gives up on reading. “Well, what do you want me to say? ...Never mind, don't answer that. We need to get going.” He stuffs a doughnut in his mouth, and she suppresses a cringe.

It's harder to ignore all the little things, when it's just the two of them. When she doesn't even have her own room to retreat to. The crumbs on the counter, how he wants to keep her up half the night and waste half the morning dozing, not just sometimes but every. single. weekend. She reads beside him while he plays his Halo or Diablo or Super Mario Brothers, but it doesn't feel cozy or family-like, like it did when Leena was baking in the kitchen and Artie was playing the piano and Claudia alternated between cheering Pete on, giving him advice, and worming her way into yet another top-secret database from her laptop balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. Now, it just feels disconnected, like two puzzle pieces missing the bits in between.

Steve is settling in fine with the ATF again, and to hear him tell it things are going well enough with Liam. She hopes he isn't just putting on a good face, but then she's never known him to lie. The tone is just a little melancholy, that's all. Her emails probably sound the same.

She finds a message in her inbox one day, from “Next Generation,” no subject, no sender address. There's not much to it, just Claudia assuring Myka she's okay, and she’ll be fine in the future, too, and she hopes Myka’s doing well. Somehow, Myka knows this will be the last she hears from Claudia. Say hi to H.G. for me, the next time you see her. I think you should talk with her soon. I know she'd love to hear more from you. Myka wonders just how close the two of them are — or were, or still are? — and an irrational stab of jealousy threatens to gut her.

“Emily Lake” is publishing a new book, or so she writes Myka in her latest e-mail. Indulge me setting up this little game, darling. I shan't tell you the title, nor my pen name, because I'd like to see how long you take to pick it out. I'm quite certain you'll know it when you see it. This feels wrong, too. I thought we were supposed to solve puzzles together, and no matter how hard she tries she can't make that sound any less whiny. She hates it, but she leaves it in. And she starts scouring bookstores.

Twisted Time and Sparks Afly, she sees one day, by Eileen G. Wellington. A dark-haired seductress stares out at her from the cover, a far-too familiar stunner weapon in her hand and her chin lifted in something like a dare. It’s tucked onto a corner stand in a shelf, instead of put out in the center of the window like it belongs. Myka buys it without even looking at the synopsis.

“Come to bed, babe.” It's not a demand or a plea, but maybe a little of both. She looks up from the book, slowly untucking her legs from beneath her in the armchair. “What time is it?” She hasn't lost herself in a book like this in a long time, but this is the very best of H.G. Wells and better. She can see so much of Helena in this, Helena now, and a new side of her, in this story about someone from the past who wakes up to an incomprehensible future. “I don't know, two, three in the morning? Way too late. Or early. Or both. Time to sleep. Usually you're the one talking about work tomorrow.” Pete rambles when he's tired and has to speak anyways. “Oh god! Sorry, I just… book.” She gestures at the cover, and he nods. It's nice, to have that kind of shorthand figured out with someone. The one person who knows you better than anyone else, and maybe that someone is Pete now. (Or maybe it still isn't, because she just wants to finish reading.)

“This isn't gonna work out, is it, Mykes?” he asks, in the car on their way to their latest person of interest’s residence. There's no recrimination in the question, no self-pity, just a bone-deep sort of sorrow. “What do you mean? This investigation?” She knows, though, or at least she thinks she might. “Us.” He gestures between them. “This. Our relationship.” “What makes you say that?” She can't — she just can't. He's her partner. “You're not happy. Not like you were.” Gently, he says this, like he needs to ease her into the idea. “And I care about you, and I want you to be happy.” “Of course I'm not happy, Pete! It's not like it used to be!” She doesn't know where this vehemence is coming from; this isn't like her. “I'm sorry.” She forces herself to be quieter. “I miss it all, you know?” “Of course I know.” He sounds mildly insulted, like he doesn't know how she could think otherwise. “I didn't mean it like that.” And it's snippy and also not her. “I know.” Bitterness lurks there, somewhere. “A-are you mad at me, or at the world? Or at yourself?” She shakes her head at him, because she cannot stand this passive-aggressive bullshit, and it's not like him either. Road noise fills the silence, as the seconds stretch into double digits and she can see him really thinking it over. “I think I'm a little mad at everything, right now.” She isn't sure if he means it as a confession, or if it's a revelation to him as well. Another pause, and then, “We aren't good for each other, are we? Not like this.” She doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to admit that even this isn't right any longer. “I guess we're not.” He pulls over, and for the second time that spring they cry together in the car. They may have survived the blast, but they’re breaking apart on impact.

She moves out as soon as she can, puts her things in storage and puts her resignation in with the Secret Service. There are far too many ghosts here, ghosts and scars and stumbling blocks. She needs a clean break, needed it months ago. Maybe, just maybe, she understands a little better now what Helena did.

She tries to find the words to talk about Helena’s book to her, tries and fails. I did recognize it the moment I saw it, is all she says, finally, on that topic. Where are you living right now? I'd like to visit you. I'm not sure that's a good idea, Helena replies. But she gives an address anyways.

Myka is not the kind to just show up on people’s doorsteps, but it really does seem like Helena is the exception. Except it's not Helena who answers the door, it's a different woman, petite and olive-skinned, with dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Uhm, hi, is — is —” Myka really wants to avoid a repeat of the Nate thing; she isn't here with the Warehouse, just looking for a friend. “Does she still go by Emily?” The woman — Giselle, Myka guesses — wrinkles her brow, and glances back inside the apartment. “Hel? I think she wants you.” “She?” And then there's Helena in the foyer, drying her hands on her jeans, and when their gazes meet Myka could swear she pales and flushes at the same time. “Myka! I —” She glances at… her girlfriend, Myka forces herself to think, though it feels like swallowing chunk of ice just a little too large. “We weren't expecting you.” “No, we certainly weren't.” Giselle arches an eyebrow at Helena, but extends her hand. “Hi, I'm Giselle.” “Yeah, she's told me about you.” Myka shakes her hand. She’s happy for the both of them, really, she is. “I’m Myka. It's great meet you.” “I haven't heard a thing about you yet.” Giselle glances at Helena again. “To hear her talk, you'd think she'd met no one and done nothing until she became a forensic scientist in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin.” “I told you, darling, I spent a great deal of time with books. There isn't much there to tell.” And if Myka didn't know better herself, she might just believe her. “You don't get up to much with a roommate-slash-research-partner, I promise. Myka, do come in.” “Thanks.” She wipes her shoes, and offers a polite smile that maybe comes out more of a grimace, and they all shuffle out of the narrow foyer. “Roommate like her? Damn, Hel, you did know you were gay back then, right?” She doesn't whisper quite quietly enough, not for Myka, who has been conditioned to listen for strange quiet voices where you least expect them. “Sorry, know you were bi already.” “I've been well aware of my ‘bisexuality,’” and she says the word like she's still getting used to the taste of it, “for far, far longer than you, I'll wager.” Helena doesn't bother to keep her voice down. “I told you, I realized I was gay in, like, fourth grade.” It sounds like an old back-and-forth. “And I keep telling you, I realized I loved women as well as men in 1884.” Giselle lets out some small grunt of frustration. “Fine, don't tell me. Again.” Myka shouldn't be happy that Giselle doesn't know everything, but her stomach flutters a little nonetheless.

“Did she do this thing back in college, too?” Giselle asks, accompanied by the quiet snick of her knife through carrot. “This ‘I'm from the Victorian Era’ joke? Like, sometimes it's cute in a quirky way —” charming, Myka mentally corrects, the word you're looking for is dangerously charming, “and sometimes it just drives me absolutely nuts. I had to sneak a look at her driver’s license to figure out her actual birthday.” “I did tell you it was the 12th of August.” Helena pushes the noodles and onions around in the wok. “And I’m right here, in case you’d forgotten.” “Yeah, but then you always followed it up with ‘1868.’” Giselle reaches for a bell pepper. “And I’ve already told you this, so now I’m telling Myka.” She glances towards where Myka stands just outside of the small kitchen area. “You know, sometimes I half-believe it, like her knowledge of the time period is phenomenal, and she still acts like the refrigerator and microwave are these new and amazing inventions. But, I mean.” She waves her knife dismissively, a gesture that makes Myka clench. Giselle and H.G. have a similar disregard for safety, that’s for sure. “There's no such thing as immortality. Or, like, time travel.” Yes, there is, Myka wants to say. On both accounts. Some form of it anyway. She glances at Helena; their gazes slide together, and linger. There’s a sort of helpless indulgence, of people who just can't know, and it's good to have someone around who does know, a shared secret, a quiet bond. When Myka looks back at Giselle, the other girl is watching Helena and her, brow wrinkled. Myka’s been asked a question. “Yeah, Helena’s been doing that for as long as I've known her.” “I don't know if I should be relieved it's not just me, or worried.” Giselle laughs, ducking her head, a little wryly, and then nudges Helena with her hip as she adds the vegetables to the pot. “Gorgeous weirdo.” “I think that's a compliment...” Helena nudges back once Giselle is finished, perhaps a little harder than necessary. Myka is quick to reassure her, “It is.”

It's a small apartment, with a fairly open floor plan, so of course Myka sees part of and hears most of their goodbye. She turns her back, wandering to the far side of the living room to try to give them some privacy. But if you're trying so hard not to hear something… “We need to talk, Hel. I'm serious. I've been trying to give you your space and privacy, but I don't like things — people — being hidden from me. Tomorrow, or sometime this weekend, maybe.” “I didn't hide her from you. I did say I kept up with some old friends via e-mail. I never really expected her to just—” Myka can almost hear Helena shaking her head. “But you're right, I should have.” Sometimes, just sometimes Myka wants to be just as damn cocky as H.G. was: if some small part of you didn't want me here, you would never have given me your address. But she won't. She's never been that sort of person (except “never” and “that sort of person” seem to flee out the window when Helena enters the room). “We'll talk about that, too. Later. Go see your guest now.” “Wait,” Helena demands, and then there's the sound of someone being backed against the door, a muffled, needy whimper, and it's seventeen long seconds before Myka finally hears, “Now you can go.” “Bitch,” Giselle mutters, but there's plenty of affection and no trace of venom. The door opening and closing, the click of a latch, and then Helena returns, one hand on her hip and running her fingers through her hair. Myka is suddenly lost for words.

“So.” Helena makes the word almost an entire sentence as she settles on the couch beside Myka, close, but not too close. Expectation hovers in the air (in her aura, Leena might have said, and maybe that was what an aura actually was). “So, this whole ‘I'm from the Victorian Era’ thing?” It's not what she came here to talk about, but it's the easiest. Helena exhales, slowly, and leans back. “Oh, I know it's ridiculous. No one believes I'm actually over a century old, and my official documents say 1979. I just…” She stares at the ceiling, shaking her head minutely, the way she does when she's searching for words. “I knew I needed to do something differently this time. This way feels a little bit less like lying.” Myka hums, and it's not assent or dissent, just sympathy. “I guess it's hard.” She looks down at her hands, runs them down to her knees. “Of course it's difficult.” Helena snaps the edges of the consonants between her teeth, leaving them sharp, jagged. “Myka, look at me.” Despite herself, Myka glances up at her. “What did you come here for?” Myka swallows, and glances away again. When she finally finds the words, they crack wetly in the back of her throat. “How did you do it? Just — leave the Warehouse behind? How can you — I'm so lost without it.” It's a relief, to get it out, all of it, to someone who isn't struggling alongside her. “Pete and I, we're not — we just don't work without the Warehouse. Claudia’s gone, just — gone. I'll probably never see her again. Artie’s gone, too, and so is Abigail. I think — I think Steve’s doing okay, but I can't know, and we're all trying, but you can't just — forget, endless wonder like that.” Helena chokes out some mangled parody of a laugh. “Of course you can't forget. It's senseless to even try.” “You managed to get away.” And it's partially an accusation, one she didn't mean to level here and now, one she ends up voicing anyways. “You really think —” Disbelief floods Helena’s tone. “For God’s sake, Myka — Nate broke things off, Adelaide’s —” She shakes her head. “You're here. I haven’t the slightest idea what will happen with Giselle after this — that I'm here, in this time, at all —!” Gesturing demonstratively, she meets Myka’s gaze, as if that's supposed to help her understand. Myka doesn't. Helena licks her lips, and tries again. “That's the downside of the Warehouse, Myka. It might destroy you, drive you mad, or abandon you —” and they both know the Warehouse is something alive, something sentient — “but it never, ever lets you go.” Myka shakes her head. “That can't be — there has to be something. Something you can do, something —” She doesn't even know what she wants to happen; she doesn't want to forget, but remembering hurts, too. “If there is any solution,” Helena says quietly as she shifts closer, lays an arm around Myka’s shoulders, pulls her into a gentle hug Myka didn’t realize she’s been starving for, “I haven't found it yet.”

There’s a crater where the rest of her life used to be, and too much is broken, and she doesn't even know where to begin to pick up the pieces. But she's not alone, and sometimes you just have to stumble forwards from wherever you’ve landed. She starts composing an email to the address Abigail left.

#warehouse 13 #rinari's fic #myka bering #i don't know what else to tag this #any ship tags would feel dishonest #bering and wells #myka x hg #myka x pete #angst #explosion imagery #family falling apart #the warehouse is gone and everything hurts #this is That™ fic #which is not in the sense I meant it a year or so ago #surprisingly i am not yet a smut writer for this fandom and that needs to change :p

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inviciousx · 6 years

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spider bite ♟

The hunter looked tired. Then again, there wasn't often, he noticed, that she wasn't. He was around more than she realized, and he kept to himself. Watching, waiting, and keeping tabs. He was waiting until she was ready. The good part was, she wouldn't even know when the time came. As the hunter flopped back on her bed, a little black spider crawled onto her windowsill to settle in for the night, and whisper nightmares in her ear.

Caroline groaned as fever racked her body. Moonlight spilled through her windows in streaks through the plastic blinds. Her body ached with the repercussions of the week’s hunts. She turned onto her back, feeling the taught muscles strain and try to relax, though there was a perpetual twitch in her shoulder she couldn’t stretch out. She turned for ten minutes, trying to arrange herself into a cool, comfortable position, but her entire body felt disgusting, though she smelled of lavender after the night’s shower.

After thirty minutes in restless darkness, the young woman shot up, throwing her covers forward in frustration. She left her bedroom for a few minutes to turn down the temperature and bring back a glass of water.

As she settled in again, she peeled off her shirt, throwing it to the side. Chilled air brushed up against her skin. She wished it was winter, then she could just open a window and let the snowy breeze drift in…

Caroline molded herself into the pillows as sleep crept up. She blinked slowly. The sensation was intoxicating at the end of two days without rest. Dark fingers dragged her brain down into a restless sleep, but it was sleep none the less. Figures from her past, her parents, Ben, and hunters she’d lost clawed at her with demonic claws in her dreams, tearing her muscles from her bones in her mind as morning grew closer.

Caroline awoke with a small start. She pulled the sheets up to her chin immediately. The thin fabric settled over her gently. They were chilled, and the air felt cold on her face. She must have turned the thermostat down too far in the night. Nonetheless, she imagined she would spend her day lounging on the white couch, recovering from the week’s work, so she nestled back down into the warm pillows.

The dark, starless night had yielded way for the gentle onset of morning. Claude enjoyed the nights she was restless. It made his job that much easier. He watched her start, and the way her eyes drifted lazily around the room as she found her bearings, differentiating the glow of morning from the crimson tint that seemed to soak her dreams to match her bloody past.

The demon watched as she rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the soft, probably over bleached pillows. It didn’t take long for him to notice her breathing as it softened, being captured once again by the seduction of sleep. He waited until she was only moments, single breaths, from falling over the edge into restful slumber before he shifted, turning to his more humanlike form.

Quietly in the faint, morning glow, golden eyes danced over her, moving gingerly like they had together in a waltz that should have been impossible for two beings that were gapped as they were by centuries. This impossible girl with her soul that burned as bright as fire.

Slowly, as she fell into the deep, darkness of slumber, the demon reached out his fingers brushing over the pink, silk-like skin of the jagged scar that wound its way up her spine. He remembered that night just as clearly as she did. It was a glorious closeness they’d shared. Her taste….

He licked his lips lightly, remembering how her blood felt while it lingered, warm on his tongue. “It’s healed nicely over the years. I’m glad it served as something to remember our time together by.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. He knew it didn’t need to be any louder. He simply knew.

In the limb between sleep and waking, the hunter sighed delicately, releasing the tension she’d felt waking up in cold sweat from her nightmares. The bed was like linen quick sand, drawing her down further again. She rolled over onto her stomach, enjoying the steady rush of cool air. In her sleepy haze, she shifted with a small moan as sensation brushed up her spine. It was featherlight, almost imaginary, and wonderful. She thought herself in line for a relaxing dream.

However, the impossible, horrible voice she heard was from many a nightmare. Sleep scattered from her brain as she slammed into wakefulness once more. Caroline froze, her body tingling with adrenaline. Her warm brown eyes blinked open slowly, staring into the stark white pillow squished around her face. Her heart slammed into the mattress below. A tense moment passed before she worked the nerve to move. Caroline’s hands slid out from under her pillow, bracing her body under her shoulders. She pushed up off the mattress and turned slowly to the source of the sound.

Her eyes locked with the demon’s golden gaze slowly. Caroline remained still, half-arched off the bed, for several long seconds. Her lips closed and she swallowed hard as horror blossomed in her body. Ice ran through her veins. The soft touch that had made her shiver now lingered on her skin like a raging fire. Caroline righted herself slowly, fearing any sudden movement would release the evil intentions burning in his eyes. She didn’t think of her bare body, for she knew he coveted her for far more intimate reasons: her soul.

“Claude.” she breathed, glaring dangerously at him though tears stung her eyes. She was no longer the weak girl he’d broken on the basement floor, but, looking at the golden-eyed monster, she felt it.

@a-murder-of-muses

#amurderofmuses #Claude;

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themonologuearchive · 7 years

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Clara - Full Text

From: Clara’s Husbands, by Laura M. Williams (Ten Minute Play)

Genre: Comedy

Topic: Marriage; Divorce

Character: Female; Older

It's come! I'm divorced again. I am the most unfortunate of women. So many live happily, or at least contentedly, with one, and he was my fourth! [Sniffles; reads paper.] One hundred a month--hum--he might have done better. Men are always so selfish.

My fourth. It doesn't seem possible. [Sighs.] We fascinating women suffer so. [Face of CLAUDE appears in first frame; CLARA starts, rises and goes toward picture.] Claude! I haven't forgotten you. You really were the best looking one and so romantic. I called you Lovey [sighs], but I was only sixteen and you were twenty-four. You should have considered my youth and silliness then. But men consider only themselves. You urged me to elope and you had no money. [Hastily.] You misunderstood me.

Good Lord, must a young girl spend her life scraping vegetables and mixing puddings? [Shudders. CLAUDE smiles sadly.] But you were so wrong to bring Dicky home with you. I couldn't help being attractive. Did you want me to shave off my hair or blacken out my teeth? [Laughs.] I believe you did. How jealous you were. [Seriously.] It really was your fault. You shouldn't have brought him home. When will men learn to leave their friends in town, when there are pretty wives about the house.

And then you became so unbearable, Claude, you know you did. Refusing to go out to dinner with us. Angry when Dicky, who had so much, gave me a few little things you couldn't buy. Should I go without because of your silly pride? That opera cloak I actually needed and the ear-rings meant nothing to Dicky and so much to me. But you couldn't see my point of view at all, so it had to be good-bye. Really, you made me suffer very much, your love was so selfish.

[DICK appears in the second frame.]

Don't look so reproachful, Dicky. It was all your fault. You should have kept away when you saw how pretty I was. I couldn't help letting you see how unhappy I was with Lovey. I was too pretty to be hidden in a flat, but you should not have listened to me. Men are so sentimental. I shall never forget you and Claude. It was so exciting.

Here stood Claude and there stood you. "Dick," says Claude, "my wife is unhappy because I cannot give her everything. You can!"

"Claude," says you, "she must have everything"; and then you shook hands. It was lovely. You arranged it between you. It wasn't my fault. I left Claude and married you.

You must admit I was a devoted wife. You had nothing to complain of, Dicky, nothing at all. You said I should have everything yourself. That white motor was beautiful. It was ridiculous of you to complain. I never knew such a downright crank as you were. Each time I bought a new gown you groaned. At every ring you sulked, and at the pendant you swore! You were unbearable.

Naturally, my health broke down. No woman could live with such a fussy creature. I had to take that western trip to get away from you. [Sighs.] Selfish, cranky Dicky. I forgive you now. It's all over and your settlement was generous. But you didn't understand me. I cannot live without harmony. I liked showy, costly things--you did not, that's all. What is wealth for if not to impress others. I think, Dicky, in spite of your wealth and breeding you were a little common.

I couldn't help seeing the difference between you and Bertie. [BERTIE in third frame.] What wonderful weird things he wrote before I married him. He was so temperamental. His long hair and dreamy eyes deceived me. I thought he could understand me--but no.

Sometimes I think men don't understand us because they won't. They see but their own selves. I gave up a beautiful home to marry you, Bertie, but you never thought of that. Of course I had my jewels and Dick gave me such a nice sum, but I couldn't bear to have you touch a penny of it. That would have been too vulgar.

I thought you were going to be famous. Why couldn't you have done something while I was with you? But no----! Every time I went to your study you were writing or reading. If I wanted to go out I had to forcibly drag you with me. Your getting up at all hours of the night to scribble disturbed my rest. Why couldn't you have written when I didn't need you? You would write at the most inconvenient times. I was losing my looks with you, Bertie. You were so absorbed.

I expected you'd consider my personality a little. I had such a cute plot for a play. I remember it. A girl runs away from home and goes on the stage. Becomes famous in a night, she is so beautiful. Returns home just in time to save her poor old mother from being sent to the poor farm. You refused to help me write it.

All you thought of was your own work. I never could see any sense to a thing you wrote. Now you're rich and famous. [Sighs.] You earned little enough when I was with you. If it hadn't been for Dicky's alimony I could never have kept up any sort of appearance. That helped you a lot--my appearance, I mean. Every one thought you were prosperous--having such a well-dressed wife. Perhaps that accounts for your success now. No one but I know what you went through. I'm sure you can't blame me for leaving you. I was perfectly willing to help you with your work, but you refused to allow me. I'd been through high school and I had lots of cunning ideas. Well, I let you go it alone and you have surprised me.

I didn't see how you could have afforded such an alimony. But you were the last young man, Bertie. I made up my mind I'd never marry another. Young men are so ambitious and selfish.

[SAM in fourth frame.] When I met Sam I never was so deceived in a man. I thought he was gentle. Your children were darlings, but how a man could expect a stepmother to take care of another woman's children I never could make out. Of course, I used to tell them stories before I married you, but I couldn't keep it up afterward. I must have some chance to express my individuality. I wouldn't lost that for all the husbands in the world.

You were so selfish like all the rest. Not one of my husbands had such a temper. I must not allow men to dominate me any more. I have quite made up my mind. I have always lived for some one else. Poor old Sam, you didn't understand me. You might have been a bit more generous with the alimony. If it hadn't been for the children--perhaps--oh, I think you were positively silly over those children. You'll spoil them.

Well, there goes the last of them--that is, so far. I've been--a wronged, misunderstood woman. I think I'll turn to the stage. There may be somewhere in the world--a man who will push me forward in a career. Allow me to express my soul. [Sighs.] Oh, is there such a man? [To husbands.] Oh, my husbands? He shall replace you all. He shall be number five.

#clara's husbands #laura m williams #female #comedy #ten #ten minute plays #ten minute play #theatre #theater #monologues #monologue

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mysteryfanfictheatre3000 · 7 years

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Back to the Frollo, Chapter 9

Warning: Poor Quasimodo gets dragged into this now.

"Hey, Quasi", as I reached for the little hand-carved wooden figure of what looked like General Grant. "Grant's beard's a little too bushy. He's starting to look like Gabby Hayes." "Gabby Who?" replied Quasimodo blankly. "Never mind. Here, look at the picture. Are you sure you want to do this? It's a lot of work", I said as I handed Quasi a picture book of the Civil War.

Why does Quasimodo care about a war that hasn’t happened yet in a country that hasn’t been founded yet on the other side of the world that in no way affects him?

I had been spending a lot of time in the belltower of Notre Dame ever since that first, botched encounter with Claude Frollo. I felt really bad about going off on him those few days ago, and I never told a soul about our meeting. I just figured that if I stayed out of his way and kept my mouth shut, things would cool off and maybe we could try to be friends. I went to Notre Dame the day after my encounter with Frollo. It was there I met Quasimodo, the cathedral's bellringer. I was immediately struck by his sweetness and gentleness; I was not put off by his deformities. Quasi showed me his belltower home, and the miniature city and townspeople he carved himself. I complimented him on his talent and he seemed fascinated by my interests as he noted seeing me in the square with the kids.

Awww, it’s just like his first meeting with Esmeralda! Except Esmeralda was actually a decent human being and not a racist bigot with a Frollo fetish. The opposite, actually.

I soon found myself lugging American literature and history books up the steps leading to the belltower. For several days, I enthralled Quasi with stories of the Civil War, American folk heroes, the Underground Railroad. He especially liked the African American folktales of John Henry and High John the Conqueror. He decided he wanted, as a gift to me, to carve a Civil War battle scene, complete with Lee, Grant, and Union and Confederate troops.I thought this was weird but I indulged Quasi.

He’s just using his artistic talent to carve you a present. That’s just sweet, not weird. Your crush on Frollo is weird. Also, is Quasimodo the one reading those books? Because seeing as he was still learning the alphabet in his 20s, and its set in a time when most were illiterate anyway, I doubt he can read. Phoebus probably did- he was a male in a position of power. Esmeralda seems to be pretty smart and knew lots of stuff that wasn’t common knowledge at the time (after all, she could swim and give stitches) so she probably could too (if not she probably picked it up fast from Phoebus.) I’d say they might have taught Quasi, but they seem to have vanished off the face of the earth, so who knows?

"I don't mind doing things for people I care about", Quasi said, as he painted a newly carved figure of Abe Lincoln, "When you're stuck up here alone, you have nothing but a lot of time, so might as well do something to keep yourself occupied...and happy." He smiled as we wrapped another day's activities. I didn't want to stay too long as Quasi expected Claude Frollo any time. My visits with Quasimodo always ended with me hastily exiting as soon as Frollo entered the cathedral. I hated doing this and so did Quasi. He told me how Frollo 'adopted' him when Quasi's momma didn't want him.

…no, he brutally murdered his mother and then tried to drown him in a well.

"Frollo took me in when no one else would. But he's very strict about me leaving the belltower, or having visitors." "Well, Quasi, maybe it's best that I don't hang around when he comes to see you. I surely don't want to get us into trouble." I packed up some books, hugged Quasi goodbye, and started down the tower steps. Whew! Frollo's not expected for a least another hour, and this time I didn't have to rush. My thoughts were then focused on Quasi's mini-battleground. I suppressed a giggle as I wondered what Frollo would think of all those tiny cannons and rifles, and little soldiers in blue and gray. I told Quasi to keep it hidden where Frollo wouldn't discover it.

Hide an entire model battleground? How?

I had to take my shoes off because all those steps and high heels were a dangerous combination. Just a few more steps and you're home-free, I thought as I juggled shoes and books. I was within three steps of the ground floor when I dropped my shoe and a couple of books. I made it to the bottom and, as I sat down to put on my shoes, a tall figure approached me. He picked up my books and looked at the titles. "Interesting. 'The Speeches of Abraham Lincoln', 'The Civil War'". He knew enough English to pronounce the words exactly. "Such intellectual pursuits for one so beautiful."

How can he read modern English? Even if he could read it then, the language has vastly evolved in 600 years. And this is set in France.

I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of Judge Claude Frollo. Oh no, I thought, he's going to arrest me for sure, probably for visiting Quasimodo. "I like reading New World history", I hastily explained as I took back my books and placed them in my bag. I expected him to laugh and tell me that my country was too young to have any kind of history, but he didn't; instead, Claude Frollo knelt down and assisted me with my shoes. I tried to protest but he smiled at me so sweetly, his hands cradled my foot so gently, I couldn't say a word.

Oh my god. And so the immense OOC-ness begins…

He spoke softly, "You should be careful wearing such shoes as these." He looked me squarely in the eyes and said, "We don't want you seriously injured. By the way, Mlle. Wood, if I offended you..." "Offended me?", I wondered. "Oh, you mean what happened a few days ago...No, Minister Frollo, I'm the one who should apologize. I had no business going off on you like that."

And you had no business going off on Romani people like that, either.

Claude Frollo smiled again as he helped me to my feet. "Well, no matter. What's done is done. I still watch you at play with the children. I'm still intrigued by you. Now that I've espied some of your reading material, you arouse my curiosity even more..."

Because he cares so much about Abraham Lincoln.

Then Frollo's voice trailed off as he drew closer to me. He still looked me straight in the eyes as if he were searching for something inside me. "You were up in the belltower, visiting Quasimodo", he said, at last with certainty, his eyes never wavering from mine. "Quasi is my friend. He likes me to read to him. He's fascinated by New World history and literature. He likes poetry and folktales the best. I hope you don't mind me coming to see him." I wondered if Claude Frollo would suddenly become angry that Quasi and I had become such close friends. What was to come next proved me right, for Claude Frollo continued to gaze into my eyes and coolly said, "Quasimodo is 'different'. I don't want his head filled with ideas that may give him false hopes."

“You are deformed. And you are ugly.” -Frollo to Quasimodo

How can he do this? How can he stand there, be so sweet and attentive one moment and then turn into the Ice King the next? I was beginning to believe all the rumors about Claude Frollo's cruel coldness, that he was too wrapped up in himself to even notice what people actually think of him. I shot him a long, hard look and, in my best 'sistah-with-a-tude' voice said, "I don't think Quasi is as 'different', as you make him out to be. You're selling the poor kid too short. I'm just trying to make his day a little brighter, that's all. As for 'filling his head with ideas', so what? New ideas aren't going to hurt him! If you ask me, reading a little Lincoln or Frederick Douglass is not going to turn Quasi into a raving radical overnight! I don't see why you're so fired-up mad about me spending a little time with him."

A.) sistah-with-a-tude, really? and B.) Quasi’s like 20-something. Probably your age. He’s not a kid.

Claude Frollo immediately lashed out at me. "Have you forgotten my warnings? You shall pay dearly for your insolence. How I rear Quasimodo is no concern of yours!" He reached out as if to grab my arm but I quickly stepped back. "Minister Frollo, is it true you can't arrest me here?", I announced in a raised voice. Some of the priests and parishioners heard me as I continued my little routine. "Yes, that's right! I heard the Archdeacon tell someone that once they're granted sanctuary, you can't touch them. So you know what? I'm going to sit right here and there's nothing you can do about it."

“I’m a whiny child who will continue to taunt powerful figures of authority for no reason regardless of the consequences on myself or others.”

Minister Frollo glared hard at me and started to say something, but I quickly continued my tirade, "And where you get off being so nice just to cut me down. I don't know what your problem is but it's just not right. I thought we could be friends but I guess I was wrong." I sat down on the stone floor and glared up at him. Claude Frollo stared right back at me, his eyes registered a curious mixture of anger and - pain. Yes, pain. It was more than just humiliation - I think I actually hurt him with my words. I did it again! I let my mouth get the best of me, and now I just may have lost a potential friend. Momma always told me my mouth would get me in trouble, and it did. Just before Frollo turned to ascend the belltower steps, he knelt down before me and said in a surprisingly calm voice, "I don't believe in 'second chances'. If I had my way I'd arrest you here and now. Unfortunately I have no authority here." He gently stroked my cheek. "But somehow I cannot see your glorious honey-brown skin spoiled by whip marks, or that beautiful neck snapped in a hangman's noose."

Funny, because it sounds to me like Frollo actually enjoys imaging women he likes but can’t have being hung, murdered or mutilated. Evidenced by him cornering Esmeralda, groping her, sniffing her hair and telling her he’s imagining a rope around her pretty neck. And praying to Mary to let him burn her alive. And crushing her leg in a vice. And trying to rape her.

His voice softened to a whisper. "Oh...Danisha, my dear, you have the most beautiful brown eyes." I didn't know what to think of this sudden change in mood. I looked at him with surprise and confusion. "Minister Frollo...what are you saying?" Claude Frollo gently held my hand and fingered a lock of my hair. "I am saying that I am letting you go. I can't believe I said those words, but there's something about you..." He stood up, quickly composed himself and, in a commanding voice, said, "You have been warned, my dear. Those who disregard my authority will clearly pay. Now, get out of my sight!" I blinked as he left, but I wasn't mistaken; Claude Frollo had given me a quick wink before heading up the belltower steps. And was that a slight smile I detected? I didn't know what came over him but it got me off the hook. Of course, I still had the rest of June and all of July in Paris: was this town big enough for the both of us?

If you quit being an awful, stupid person, it would be.

As I walked out of the cathedral, I lifted my eyes heavenward. Oh please, I prayed, let the rest of my vacation be without mishaps...and please don't let Claude Frollo be mad at me any more.

* * * * * * * Claude Frollo stood on the parking deck and stared out across the canal. "I was very angry with you and I had every intention of punishing you", he said as I unlocked the car door. "But I couldn't bring myself to..." His voice quavered as he embraced me; I could feel what I thought were tears. "Claude," I whispered softly. "Are you OK, baby?" Claude looked into my eyes, almost the same way he looked at me that day in the cathedral. "Danisha, my dear, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. And even though you maddened me with all your...sassiness... I like that word." Claude sweetly kissed my lips and continued. "At any rate, we managed to forgive each other and become friends...and much more." He kissed me again.

And an annoying flash-forward to their cheesy modern-day relationship!

"Claude, you forget that I almost left Paris for good because...", I started to clarify a few key things when Claude Frollo interrupted me. "Now, my love", he laughingly said, as we got in the car, "the entire 'incident' wasn't all that disastrous. You admitted your guilt and I reacted. That is all." "You 'reacted' all right, sugar", I said while starting the engine. Then, in a quieter voice, "I didn't know what to think. I was confused, angry. All I wanted to do was get out of Paris and forget we ever met."

If I came across Claude Frollo, I’d probably try to get out of there too. Mostly because I’d be worried about being raped and/or murdered.

Claude leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I'm glad you stayed. I don't know what I would have done without you..." He kissed me again, then leaned back, smiled broadly. "Well...no matter. We're together now." He pursed his lips in an imaginary kiss and in his deepest, sultriest voice, asked, "Now, my sweet darling Nisha, where to next?" I smiled back at him, returned the 'air kiss' and said, "Do you like spiced apple cider and gingerbread?" Claude Frollo grinned and ran his tongue over his lips saying, "So much spice in one weekend. Sounds oh-so delicious." I giggled softly and kissed his lips.

Does he even gave a concept of what gingerbread is?!

As we travelled northward towards Lilly Orchard, Claude once again reminded me of an unforgettable incident that nearly ended a special relationship.

Was it the murder and the genocidal tendencies and the rapey undertones of every interaction he has with Esmeralda? Probably not, it’ll probably just be another stupid, mundane thing made up by the author for no reason other than to drag this thing on longer and make me want to jump off a bridge more.

#The Hunchback of Notre Dame #Claude frollo #danisha #back to the frollo

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festpop · 7 years

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This last weekend, June 15-19 2017, we were able to experience What The Festival (WTF) for the second year in a row. WTF is a carefully curated weekend of electronic and live music, interactive art, speaker series, movement classes, and easily our favorite music festival. Located at the Wolf Run Ranch in Dufur, OR, WTF is the perfect festival destination, with just a 2 hour drive from Portland into the beautiful, scenic Mt. Hood area. We can’t help but feel at home here with all of the amazing people we meet, mind blowing performances from some of the biggest names in the game, and in true Oregon form the earth friendly environment that is so familiar to us locals.

Entering the Festival and Setting Up Camp

Getting your camp setup is relatively easy, especially with the ability to checkout dollies from the WTF General Store to carry your gear and belongings into the forest. You will probably have to make a few trips, but the dollies make a world of difference as well as a few extra hands & beverages ☺. Even better, they ask for a $5 deposit and will return your money if you return the dollie within an hour!

The campgrounds are always great to explore and look at other people’s setups. The forest is filled with a plethora of tents, tree tents, tapestries, hammocks, and canopies that help create little communities throughout.

Pro tip: If you want a good spot, go early. We arrived at 3:00 p.m. on Thursday (we had an Early Entry Pass) to a slew of cars and excited people waiting to go through check-in. The process takes awhile as the festival security search your car for weapons, glass, and the like. However, all of this is a small inconvenience and it’s nice to vibe out with your future festival attendees via the car window ☺. While no glass might be seen as kind of an arbitrary rule, it helps keep the forest and the venue clean and you don’t have to worry about possibly hurting yourself by walking barefoot.

The Lineup

Overall Music

Variety is a theme at WTF and the lineup was no exception. It helps to keep the experience fresh, and when you get a little tired of hearing a certain genre you can always find a stage that’ll satisfy your need for something new.

When you have had enough with the DJ sets, there are just as many shows with live components to add that natural feeling to performances from live instrumentation, to singers and rappers. It was also nice seeing some electronic acts with live components including Hawyre slaying the piano live, Brasstracks with drums and trumpet, Big Wild with drums, MPC, and piano, and Russ Liquid Test with an ensemble of drums, piano, and guitar.

Some of our favorite sets from the weekend have to be from Rezz, Stööki Sound, Big Wild, Gramatik, Electric Mantis, Stylust Beats, Brasstracks, Manilla Killa, Claude Vonstroke, Giraffage, Manic Focus, Haywyre, and ZHU.

Artist Highlights

Artist: REZZ I Photo Credit: Jake Southard – jakesouthardvisuals.com – @JakeSouthard21

Rezz, aka. Space Mom, completely crushed it. Visually she was the artist that stood out the most with her hypnotizing LED goggles. At moments all you could see was her silhouette and the eyes looking out at the crowd as she played her unique style of techno and choice dubstep/riddim selections.

Stylust Beats slayed the Qube with an array of sinister basslines and choice vocal cuts, and even mixed in a little Bohemian Rapisody by Queen which was really impressive. This was the first performance from the Qube that really wowed us.

Electric Mantis also paid his respects to the Qube on Sunday by delivering a set of some of his unique, signature tunes as well as throwing down the hype. It was a great blend of mainstream electronic tunes, futurebass, festival trap, and bass music.

Stooki Sound brought the hype as well. One of the English trap-duo even got some crowd time as he rapped to the filthy beats, surrounded by fans. However, the main highlight of this performance had to be “My G’s” ft. Jelacee. Great song, great crowd interaction, and catchy as hell.

ZHU was fantastic as well. Incredibly melodic and soothing, with some mainstream touches here and there. We especially enjoyed it when he mixed in Thriller by Michael Jackson, and skeletons appeared behind him on the LED screen doing the iconic dance. Big Wild had us bobbing the whole time, with his tunes oozing out those luscious summer vibes. You can’t help but feel happy listening to his music, and his hair… beautiful.

What The Festival- The Experience

Stage Overview

The many stages came with upgrades from the previous year, including a metal dragon (previously red), an LED screen for the WTF Stage, and lasers for the Groove Qube. We want to give special kudos to the lighting department on all stages, and especially the Groove Qube. The lasers almost seemed like they had a life of their own as the hovered over the Qube and mimicked the intricacies of a LED glove show.

Photo Credit: Thuy Tran

Pool Stage

Despite less than stellar weather at times, the pool stage was fun as ever! Pool shenanigans were in full effect as giant piles of floaties were created, someone was in a human hamster ball at some point and was moving in-between pools, there was a mystical buffer man giving people massages out on the grass, and much more. The special guest this year was the legend himself, Claude Vonstroke, who has yet to miss a WTF. From the get-go he brought the energy as he instructed the crowd that they too can “bake a cake, ah ah ah ah ah ah ah.” :). Other highlights from the stage include sets from The Funk Hunters, Hotel Garuda, Giraffage, Classixx and Wingtip.

One of my (Rashae) favorite memories from this weekend was protecting Otto the Octopus. It all began when I saw this adorable octopus inflatable toy and I reached for him to hold. I was instantly scolded (in a fun way) by the people near him for being too aggressive. They informed me that Otto (yes, the octopus had a name) wasn’t ready for that, and if I wanted to interact with him I had to be gentle as if I were trying to pet a skittish animal. For the next 2 hours we protected Otto from other attendees that were drawn to the adorable pool toy, and it honestly was a blast. This is all a testament to the type of kind & fun-loving people you’ll meet at the festival.

Shinto A Gogo

Shinto A Gogo was mystical & mysterious as ever, with dim lighting and seemingly pagan rituals taking place throughout. We were able to catch Soul Trigger perform there doing a variety styles of dance including popping, krumping, and b-boying. Their performance really fit the mood of Shinto A Gogo, with a great selection of music, and dramatic speeches for the dancers to further hypnotize the crowd.

Transitions from Day to Night Sets

Artist and stage scheduling is one of WTF’s many strengths. The schedule curators help create a musical flow & feeling from stage to stage and set to set. At the splash pool stage, it was largely house and futurebass influenced with a slew of daytime melodic feelings. As the day progressed the splash pool DJs would also add a little more flavor to the pot, with some trap and dubstep selections just as it was time to turn it up a bit.

As the sun slowly begins to descend, the Effin’ and WTF Stage opens. The placement of these stages on the top of a hill truly adds to the magic of the festival with the sunset and Mount Hood in the distance. These stages will host a variety of genres and beautiful sets from artists like Manilla Killa and Big Wild, and then progress to more filthy sets once the sun has set. Then night falls and the bass of the Groove Qube begins to rumble throughout the forest, and the night is on.

Not only do the founders create a unique experience with transitioning stages, but they also take careful consideration on who is playing and at what time (or at least it appeared so because it was too perfect). For example, ZHU, one of the headliners this year, performed on the WTF Stage at 10:45 on Saturday night. This set couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Everyone in our group was a bit fatigued by this point as we were going HAM for REZZ and were in dire need of a break. We all sat in the middle of the field playing with gloves and looking at the stars as ZHU just took us away. Don’t get me wrong, you could definitely get down to ZHU’s set if you had the energy, but it was just as good sitting and enjoying his musical transitions and all the feels.

Volunteers & Security

We would also like to give a special shout out to the volunteers and security working this weekend. All of the volunteers and security personnel on site were amazing. Not only did they make us feel safe, but they were also obvious fans of the music. Most of them could be seen smiling, dancing and laughing while performing their duties. It was awesome walking in and out of the festival and being greeted by the same people who began to recognize us, and make references to our earlier interactions. I (Rashae) never felt violated as they searched our gear, which is something that has always bothered me about other festivals. If I ran into a situation where a friend or I needed help, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask one of them.

Movement Classes and Talks

While our main course was the music and the art, we did catch a few movement classes and talks along the way. With some refreshing yoga in the mornings with Ezentially Yin from Corrine Hathaway, House Dance from Donna Mation, a highly energetic class from the Dance Commander Experience from Celeste Bolin, and catching the Easy Speak Talk, “A Unicorn’s Guide to Getting Your Horn On 2.0” from the Guardians of the Vibe. One of the elements I love about these classes and talks is that it helps to create an experience of community that many larger festivals can’t accomplish due to scale. These talks and movement classes are also accessible for novices, and only the word humble describes all who attend. The talks are especially nice to attend if you’re feeling a little fatigued but still want to experience the festival!

Art Installations

By Jungo Blizzard

The creativity of the art installations brings the forest to life and offers festival attendees places to explore, interact, and solve little mysteries. There were incredible additions to this year of art installations along with some old favorites, like the Registroid, the Heart of the Forest, the Labyrinth, and the Immersive Jelly.

Some of the new art installations we enjoyed were Axis Mundi, Jungo Blizzard, and C3. Axis Mundi looked fairly unassuming before going in, however inside the 6-sided gazebo lies a mirrored-kaleidoscope that contains the galaxy itself. Another epic addition was “Jungo Blizzard” from the Colossal Collective, a nearly 20 foot gargantuan gorilla manned by ten

Axis Mundi

puppeteers bringing it to life. Lastly, I really enjoyed “C3” by Dotdotdash, a reactive light and music sculpture where you could touch a small orb and create a crescendo of music & light.

The first time I (Eric) saw this we were laying down in the middle of the field between the Effin’ and WTF Stage, listening to the melodic tunes from ZHU when the behemoth of Jungo Blizzard walked by us.

Pro-tip: If you see an installation you really want to go into, GO INTO IT. We forgot to go into the Star House which looked really comfy and squishy inside.

Food Vendors & Community Kitchens

All of the meals that we bought this year were absolutely amazing! Coyote Coffee was a lifesaver this year! We ordered plain Americano’s and they helped us get the day started on the right foot. On Saturday we stopped by Bates Steak House. All of the items on the menu looked so good but we decided to get a burger. A little basic of a choice, but it was so good. 🙂 Dump City Dumplings was a definite crowd favorite this weekend. They offered delicious dumplings for $3 each—What’s not to like? By the time we went through the line up Sunday, they only had 1/3 types of dumplings available they were so busy! We also stopped by Fuego Food Carts twice. The first time we ordered a chicken burrito bowl, and the second time we went for the full burrito. Again—AMAZING. The chicken tasted fresh and the guacamole was on point. For more bang for your buck we would recommend going for the full burrito. Purchasing drinks and meals from vendors can run a bit expensive, but you kind of have to realize you’re in the middle of no where and can walk a couple feet to get a pizza if you want and that’s pretty awesome!

If you want to save some money you can always bring food with you, however WTF has a policy against open flames and using camping grills. This is why WTF offers community kitchens for an area to cook your food and hangout while you do it. On a side note, there are designated smoking areas as well!

The community kitchens are perfect places to meet people and a great way to save some extra cash. It isn’t uncommon to walk by a community kitchen and get some leftover food. This year, the only issues we ran into were slow cooking meals (user errors on our part), and I (Rashae) burned some of my hair off because I turned the stove all the way up while lighting it (Again, user error). If you run out of food or just don’t feel like eating what you brought, you can always purchase some from the many food vendors on site.

Conclusion

There’s a reason why What The Festival our favorite festival; everything comes together so well from the music, the stages, the food, the classes, the art, and of course the people. We could talk about this festival forever. What the Festival, it’s been fun! We look forward to returning 2018! 🙂

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Stooki Sound

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10 out of 10 — We will be back again

FestPop Staff Writers and Friends

Rashae- FestPop Staff Writer

Eric- FestPop Staff Writer

The Forest Paradise Review: What The Festival 2017 This last weekend, June 15-19 2017, we were able to experience What The Festival (WTF) for the second year in a row.

#Festival #music festival #music festival review #Rezz #What The Festival 2017 #ZHU

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