(Witty Title Here)

There's such recency bias in fandom. As an author you post something, get a few reactions, and then it goes off into the bin. As a reader you check the tags, see what's new, and move on. But a lot of old stuff is really good. It's just sitting there, gathering dust, waiting for someone to take a peek.

So go on. Treat yourself.

And it just makes me wanna scream. Because AO3 is an archive, it's there to allow you to access fics from the whole history of fandom. If you restrict yourself to the fandom of the present, you're missing out on a whole world of fics and fandom history.

Imagine you're in a library. Look at the new acquisitions, yes, but then wander off into the stacks. Run your fingers along all the dusty old tomes of fanfic and pick something, anything. Even for a silly reason like you like the title. You don't just have to read what everyone else is reading.

There's a whole library of fic out there for you to explore.

Be not afraid!

So a week ago, I sprained my ankle and couldn't walk for 3 days. I'm used to hiking at least an hour a day with my huskies so not being able to walk at all was driving me crazy. And in my jittery sedimentary state, I kept getting visions of this blursed being: a biblically accurate axolotl. There was nothing I could do but draw it. I'm all better now and able to walk again, now back to making less cursed art (maybe)

This was always the cadence that Solas slipped into whenever he remembered something ancient that affected him in the Fade. In Inquisition, Lavellan only joined this cadence occasionally, when on the same page as Solas in conversation.

10 years later, not only is Lavellan mildly on the same page as Solas - now she has somehow fully and completely on the same page as him. Lavellan has become closer to Solas, after thinking of him so long. She is now “singing” the same song that he sang, fluently, in full verses. Lavellan has one foot in the world he loves, the world he had to leave behind, the world he longs for. The world she is fully prepared to enter with him, because she can speak his language and sing the song fluently.

Is this cadence really how the ancient elves used to speak to each other? For example, all of the mural memories are in this Hallelujah cadence, and Elgar’nan, Ghilan’nain and Mythal are all perfectly in the cadence when they speak:

A very telling detail to me in this cadence is the memory with Elgar’nan and Mythal so on the same page, so of perfect accord and of the same mind, that they are finishing each other’s lines.

In that memory, Solas is relegated to his own private segments that neither of the others join. He is exiled within his own Hallelujah cadence.

It is also interesting to note that Solas and Mythal never share this entwining that Mythal and Elgar’nan have. (The only times Mythal shares Solas’ line is to interrupt him with “Impossible,” and the moment they are apologizing while he kills her.)

Now, maybe this cadence is not an Ancient Elf Spirit Thing, and the cadence appears this way because it is filtered through Solas’ memories. After all, he painted these.

(And also, characters like Felassan do not speak in this cadence even once. So it’s not how all Ancient elves spoke all the time.)

But there is the use of Hallelujah between Solas, Mythal and Lavellan during Solas’ finale scene, and also one more example that makes me think the ancient elves may have at least occasionally spoke like this, and that this way of speaking, this song, is something that Solas is longing to hear again:

It’s this - it’s also in Solas’ conversation with Elgar’nan!

Solas is mocking Elgar’nan for being so blighted and corrupted, he can no longer speak in Hallelujah cadence. Solas seems to equate the cadence to “speaking elven,” speaking the language they should both speak. And I checked, neither Elgar’nan nor Ghilan’nain speak this way in dialogue.

So, it leaves me with this image of Solas as the last of his kind. Everyone who spoke his language is dead. The blighted monsters and ghosts can no longer hear or understand the music, they can no longer speak elven.

But Lavellan, half a world away, DOES.

Lavellan speaks this lost language of the gods.

Solas’ heart speaks Solas’ language. She has thought of Solas for so many years, she has endured her trials, and she has come to understand him even more than she had before. She has somehow, knowing the truth, become even closer to him, able to see both the good and the bad with open eyes.

Lavellan knows how to speak in elven, she can hear the hidden, mysterious currents that he can. Lavellan is his still-living family, his heart, the other part of the duet that Solas so clearly longs for.

It was fun and silly and I got a little certificate.

These are *peak athletes*. All of them.

Literally. These are Olympic athletes.

Literally peak performance. Human bodies at peak performance. Love it.

I want to add that both women's gymnastics and women's track have gotten far more muscular since these photos were taken. And if you want to say that decreases performance, I DEFY you to watch Simone Biles or Sha'carri Richardson perform.

They literally only compete with themselves. They are on that level.

Or watch Ilona Maher absolutely dominate at rugby. Again, peak performance.

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

Barry reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocket sized composition notebook and paged through it.

“What was the name?” Oliver demanded as you, and everybody else at the table watched Barry, but you were the only one who didn’t know what he was doing.

“Uh… oh! Me? Sorry. Her name was Irene. Irene Schumer. Why?”

Barry went back a page and then looked up from the book at all of the heroes around him and shook his head sadly.

“When did you last talk to Irene?” Diana asked gently. Too gently. Gentle to the point that you knew something terrible was up.

There was a tightness in your chest as you tried to remember. I guess it had been a while, but not a lifetime ago. You still saw her spouse posting stuff on Facebook with their kid. But now that you thought about it, Irene was always tagged in the picture, but not in them… “It’s been a few years. Maybe… nine?”

After they all exchanged a glance, Bruce said solomnly, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have it on good authority that Irene has been killed.”

Shit.

Suddenly the room seemed to dim and all of the Justice Leauge were looking at you, Clark even leaned towards you as if he expected you to break right there. But you had more tact than that.

“You have it on good authority? What the hell does that even mean, Mr. Wayne? Who’s authority is good?”

Clark stopped Bruce from talking and slowly explained, “Once we found out about the… nature… of the experiment, we started trying to track down the results and the participants. Something that Barry found out… well… every year, one person from the trial was killed.”

“Sorry to interject,” Hal suddenly spoke.

That was the first time you actually paid attention to him. His features were nearly as strong as Diana’s and Clark’s, but his hair was much more… shaggy?

“But we thought that maybe the reason they were being killed was because of how dangerous the testers determined them to be-“

He stopped when you snorted.

“Impossible,” you insisted, “Irene was the only fully grown adult I’ve seen with a 1 above her head. I’ve had a three as long as I can remember until recently.”

“Until recently?” Diana repeated.

Oops. Probably best to leave out the fact you were a ten right now.

“Maybe,” Clark said when he saw you didn’t want to answer, “it has something to do with the type of power it is.”

Clark seemed to be trying to put you at ease more than anybody else sitting at the table.

“A person with superhuman abilities or whatever can’t give off a one. That’s… insane,” you started arguing.

“Unless her power was deception,” Oliver muttered. He looked at Barry and asked, “how many people are left from that experiment that haven’t died, disappeared, or become incompacitated?”

He didn’t even look at the book before saying “just one”

Every eye fell to you again.

It was like someone poured something hot over your head. Your scalp burned and tingled and then it trickled down your neck and spine and made your shoulders ache until your arms tensed. You had to decide if you believed them or not. They were supposed to be the good guys, Clark seemed to think you two were friends, but some of the stuff they were saying was… ridiculous. Impossible. Inconceivable. Unbelievable. Just… You picked your coffee up and took a drink. To mask everything you were thinking.

You set it down and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Might need something stronger.”

That pulled a few smirks out of some.

“Okay,” you sighed, “let’s say-hypothetically- I believe you and I’m willing to go along. What is… I mean, what do you want… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, we started with meeting up with you for lunch to see if you’d be interested in joining us. Joining our little team.”

You examined all of them. Perfect, poised, powerful, with some kind of super power- besides Bruce (you assume). You had none of that. You had a history of hapkido, a green belt in tae kwon do, and saw floating numbers above peoples heads. That was hardly as impressive as anyone else at the table.

“Why would you want me to?” You finally asked. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not a hero. I can’t throw buildings, or fly, I’m not bulletproof, at all. That’s not a… liability? Or a bad idea?”

“None of us think so,” Bruce Wayne leaned forward.

“Mr. Wayne-“

“-Bruce,” He corrected without making much noise.

“Bruce. What do you think I have that somebody else doesn’t have?”

It was a while before he said, “Skill. Spirit. Talent. But more importantly, a calling to be part of our team.”

Destiny.

The word your grandmother had said to you everyday since your parents died until her death echoed in your head. Everything leads to your destiny, but you have to know when you’ve reached it. Was this is? Did you reach it?

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Glancing around, you could see that everybody’s eyes were trained on you expectantly. They were waiting.

Where had your confidence gone?

“I-” Your throat caught on the words. Not a good sign. You tried again, much more successful this time. “I’m going to have to think about it.” You could practically feel the whole table let out bated breaths. Disappointment and something else rang through the air like a gong, reverberating inside your skull.

“I understand,” Clark Kent, a man you’d known for over a year now, nodded as he sought to relieve the tension in the air. “It’s a big decision to make. I trust that you’ll make the best one.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “I mean, my entire life changed the day I decided to become the Flash.” Your attention — and your head — snapped in his direction. So that was who he was? Your realization must have been clear, as he had made eye contact right after saying it with an upturning of the corners of his mouth that read something like: Oops… Well, too late now.

Diana spoke next, “Yes. The life of a hero is very different from that which you have known so far. You must make this choice for yourself.” Sincerity breached her face as she leaned slightly forward in your direction. “But I firmly believe this — the Justice League, with us —  is where you belong.”

Your eyes roamed around the table at everybody who had not yet spoken, taking in the malcontent clear on many of their faces. Guilt pinged in your brain against your will. No, you weren’t allowed to feel guilty. You had as much of a right to deny their offer just as you did to accept it. Besides, you didn’t even refuse yet, just extended the deadline.

You didn’t fail to notice Hal, Bruce, and Oliver’s silence, but right now the anxiety latching onto you was more concerning. Discomfort was racing up your spine and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the values that floated up above everybody’s heads; By agreeing to meet this group of people, you had knowingly put yourself in more danger than you had ever been in before. You rose to your feet and addressed the table once more.

“Thank you for your offer. As you understand, there is a huge choice in front of me and I need time to consider it more.” You nodded at them, receiving a few nods in return. “I will contact you with my answer soon, after I think about it.” You glanced at the two that you knew how to talk to — Clark and Bruce, of which the former was probably the best option — before turning away and taking careful, measured steps past the empty tables in this section of the restaurant.

As you approached an archway that led to a busier part of the restaurant, someone — was that Oliver? — spoke up. “Wait a second, we’re really just going to let them go? Just like this? They know our identities, you can’t tell me that’s not dangerous.”

A different voice this time, one you couldn’t quite make out. “Why wouldn’t they accept? This is a chance of a lifetime and-”

The words faded into obscurity as you got closer to the entryway.

There was so much for you to think about, so much for you to consider. What kind of changes would there need to be if you accepted? What about your friends and family? What would this mean for them? How much would you need to lie to them about this? What would happen if you told the truth? Would they be safe? How much danger would be in store for you? How much danger was already in your life? Your mind wandered to the notebook that Barry carried; Obviously, there was already a lot in store for you if everybody else was-

Your thoughts wandered to Irene. Somebody that you had known for so long and now she was dead. What of the others on that list? All of them were dead too. All of them were kids that you had met back when you were ten. Just kids. And to think that they had been dragged into this just because of something their parents signed them up for? That they were just kids when they were condemned to this fate? When they were sentenced to death? That didn’t settle right with you.

Your feet never carried you any closer to the entrance. Injustice and anger and courage welled up inside of you, replacing the fear and anxiety and uncertainty that had been there before. This was the chance of a lifetime, something that would most likely carry you toward your destiny; you couldn’t just walk away now. Especially when chances were that you were the next target of whoever was behind this. You had to do something, if not for yourself then for all of the others that didn’t have the opportunity to protect themselves. Something was stirring inside you that made you turn in the other direction.

Somebody must have heard your brisk walk back toward the table, because all of them, all of these superheroes, were looking at the doorway when you came through. Fear no longer rose up when you saw these people again; you were a ten too, just as dangerous as almost all of them. You could handle yourself. This was what you were meant to be doing with your life, you could feel it. You stood at the end of the oblong table, next to where you had sat previously, and took a deep breath. Determination coursed through your veins and when you opened your mouth, you spoke the words that changed the course of your entire life:

Hasbro: Time to nip that in the bud!

Hasbro:

Aliens have such different gender and biology from humans that none of them menstruate. So imagine this.

Alien: Human Steve, why did I find blood on the lavatory floor?

Steve: Oh, that's just Karen.

Alien: What??

Steve: Human females bleed from their reproductive organs once every month for five to seven days.

Alien: wHAT?!

Steve, calmly: Yeah, they can lose enough blood in a lifetime to kill ten grown men.

Alien: WHaT ?!?!

Karen, walking in: Steve, I need A FUCKING break. And chocolate. And a heating pad. I'll be in my sleeping quarters. Also, I threw up.

Steve: Okay, take the day off, I'll bring you your stuff in a bit.

Alien: *jots down in notebook* Human females are indestructible and fearsome. Regard them with respect.

Brennan's said twice now that Aeor was the last flying city to fall. At first I thought maybe Brennan was leaning on qualifiers like "last great city." I wanted to sort out whether Brennan was retconning this, but considering that he's worked SO closely with Matt to prepare Downfall, I couldn't help but feel like we must have missed something.

Zemniaz has been discussed very few times in the stream. In C2E110, the Nein discussed the city after the dinner with Trent Ikithon (Beau's conspiracy board scene):

Other than that it fell sometime during the Calamity, Matt didn't specify when Zemniaz crashed into the Zemni Fields.

Then In C2E125, the Nein interrogated Halas in an effort to learn more about Cognouza and Aeor. He's not very cooperative given that the Nein didn't help him out of the gem when they first found him.

At the beginning of the conversation, Halas claims that Aeor fell "before my time." Straightforward information that no one did an insight check on. After that, Caleb suggests that if Halas answers three questions, he'll see about answering more questions in "different circumstances," implying that he'll help Halas out of the soul gem he's trapped in.

Halas said that he's from Zemniaz, he grew into the belief that he could only rely on himself, and then he abandoned Exandria -- presumably to live in his Heirloom Sphere. He also makes no mention of the city's destruction, but that makes sense given that the Nein were asking about Aeor.

Now, if we stopped there, then we could conclude that Zemniaz fell during the calamity after Aeor. But you know what?

Halas is a fucking liar.

In Episode 125, Matt responded to Caleb's 19 insight check:

Explorer's Guide to Wildemount, Chapter 1: Story of Wildemount, Section 1: History of Wildemount, Subsection: Age of Arcanum, Page 12:

Powerful Archmages such as Vecna the Whispered One and Halas Lutagran began to carve their paths into history during this era of unbridled magical experimentation.

"Before my time" my ass. He was already a prominent mage in the Age of Arcanum, before the Calamity even started, and certainly before Aeor fell. This fucking fucker lied to us and we all took him at his word.

I don't have an answer whether Matt intended for that to be misinformation or if it was an unintentional contradiction. The Explorer's Guide to Wildemount came out on March 17, 2020 and Episode 125 aired on February 11, 2021 -- nearly a year later. Episode 83 (when the Nein met Halas) aired on October 31, 2019. I don't think that Matt would make that mistake given that he had been done or nearly done writing EGtW when Halas first showed up. I'm leaning on the side that it was probably intentional misinformation. After all, Halas was exceptionally distrusting, and he couldn't know why anyone would ask him about Aeor. He knew Aeor had been destroyed by the gods; do you think a hermit archmage is going to trust random bozos who found his gem and started pestering him about it?

Information from Halas can't be trusted, so it doesn't inform us one way or the other. Thus, I wouldn't say that Brennan is retconning so much as clarifying an unknown. And giving us more reason to realize Halas is a fucking liar.