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smoft-demons · 2 months

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What if pacts gave you spells

I’ve had another idea!!

Demons in this setting are pretty fuckin magic. MC as well, has some funny magic going on in the late game iirc. What if the magic started showing up sooner, specifically because of the pacts?? What if the avatars have specific themed abilities and you get powered down versions of those powers through the pact? Ive been having Ideas about it!!

In pact order:

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Mammon is the avatar of greed. Money and stuff is his thing. So I think his pact, at a low level, should give you a heat metal spell. I imagine HE has a summon-molten-metal ability that he can use in combat, because that’d be awesome. It’d be a real no holds barred type of move, because like,, being burned to death in molten metal is a REAL brutal way to go. He’s a demon tho. I think it would make some sense for him to be able to do it.

Gravity magic also makes sense for Mammon. Black holes be greedy. The vibe seems right. The dunamancy spell Ravenous Void is pretty much what I’m thinking.

Mammon’s really fast too. So maybe he can give you haste, longstrider, misty step… maybe blink.

Another thing in Mammon’s wheelhouse is gambling. Luck, stacking chances in your favour and all that. So let’s have him give you something like silvery barbs too. Something that lets you skew chance in your favour when you need to.

I’d say the list of spells you get from him goes like: heat metal and longstrider at first. Then you get stronger after season 1, and you get misty step, something along the lines of silvery barbs, and haste (to make others faster I think is a higher level thing than making yourself faster). When you’re MUCH stronger, you get ravenous void. Maybe you get a weaker version earlier.

No matter what tho, no one’s version of that black hole spell is stronger than Mammon’s.

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Then you pact with Leviathan. He’s a sea serpent, and he’s the grand admiral of hell’s navy. I’d imagine he’s crazy good with navigation and has a sea monster form, on top of the other abilities he canonically has (summoning Lotan, making floods, etc)

I’d say Levi’s pact gives you: create water, find familiar (because Lotan), breathing underwater and some magical ability that helps you not get lost. At a higher level, you get to summon a powerful water elemental. Maybe even a wildshape-esque ability that is specifically for turning into a sea serpent.

I would also say it’s Levi’s pact that gives you darkvision. You really need it if you’re going in deep water. Also, if ANYONE of these seven can give you the classic warlock spell Eldritch blast, it’d be Levi. It’s not very high level, you can have it early on.

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Beel’s gluttony, and honestly black holes fit him too. But I think that’s such an absurdly OP thing that it HAS to go to Mammon.

Beel is also a tank. He’s a protector. He’s real strong and resilient and he’s the type to purposely take damage in order to save someone he loves from having to. In the game he makes the pact with the implication that he wants you to have it so he can protect you next time. So I think he wouldn’t WANT to encourage his human to do the same tank thing as him, but still I think his pact would help you do that. It would just make you stronger and more durable I think.

That bit is less a spell and more an ability score increase. Raises your strength and constitution.

Of the actual spells tho, there’s gotta be something abjuration. Some magic shield spell kind of thing. Also, obviously some way to create food. Maybe when you’re stronger you get hero’s feast. Some way to summon a swarm of locusts is on theme for Beel. Also, his telepathic connection with Belphie makes me think of message.

I think Beel wants you to have feather fall. I think that might be one of his first priorities.

So his list would go: feather fall, some magic shield, message, and the constitution increase. Then at a higher level, the strength increase, summon locusts, and create/summon food. Even higher, hero’s feast or something like it…

The summoning food spells is not really a thing I think Beel can do/an ability he can share through the pact, but I think he deserves to be able to give you that. He would just like to be able to do that. Why not let him.

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Next pact is Asmo. The most obvious thing for him is a charisma buff.

Then in terms of spells, suggestion makes a lot of sense. So does friends, disguise self, vicious mockery, and minor illusion. Later on, mass suggestion and crown of madness.

He’s not usually the very aggressive sort, though of course I don’t put violence past him at all. Bloodlust is still lust, after all. Passion is kinda his whole domain. No, Asmo is VERY capable of violence I’m sure, he just doesn’t indulge in it often because he likes his pristine image and others’ tendencies to underestimate him far more.

With that in mind, maybe some kind of slow acting necromantic curse makes sense for the offensive move he’d give you. Some way to magically give someone a dose of venom in their veins just by touching them.

Canonically in the game Asmo basically uses dominate beast (on Henry 1.0 in the catacombs under the demon king’s castle) but I can’t help but associate that more with Lucifer (because Cerberus) so I kind of want to give it to him instead… but Asmo literally DID it so…

I think Asmo’s list goes: suggestion, vicious mockery, friends, disguise self. Then the charisma increase, casting illusions (minor or otherwise), and crown of madness. Then mass suggestion, dominate beast, and the venom spell. That seems right.

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Then it’s Satan’s turn.

Ok so the most obvious thing for him as the avatar of wrath is giving you a whole ass level in barbarian. The rage ability. And like,, that works, but like… doesn’t super match his personality. Controlling his wrath is more what he seems to care about.

If the spells he can give you are chosen by him, then I think you’d get comprehend languages, speak with animals, legend lore, that kind of thing.

But if it’s not his choice, then the ability to rage. In terms of spells, stuff like blight, finger of death, fireball, meteor swarm, disintegrate. Dramatically destructive kind of thing.

I’m gonna say it’s probably somewhere in between. You don’t get rage or disintegrate from him, nor all the best of the curious nerd spells. But you DO get: prestidigitation (can start fires OR quickly clean messes, up to you, be smart and crafty to get the most out of it), comprehend languages, firebolt. Later, you get fireball (upgrade for firebolt!) blight, and lets say something electric. Like, being able to electrocute someone by grabbing them.

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Now for Belphie!

I can’t help but think of him less in D&D terms and more like,, psychic type Pokémon. That just seems like the right vibe for him.

I wanna say you’d get two necromancy spells after the whole lesson 16 thing—specifically, toll the dead and chill touch. The vibes of toll the dead just seem fitting for some reason, and come ON, chill touch couldn’t possibly be more perfect! It makes a spectral, skeletal hand that clings to your target (around their neck maybe?) to (and I quote!) “assail it with the chill of the grave” which deals necrotic damage and delays healing. It’s PERFECT, okay, except for… it doesn’t make any sense to get those from the pact with Belphie. They have nothing to do with HIM, and everything to do with what he did to you.

Maybe you can get it from the weird resurrection thing that happens instead. All kinds of weird shit can happen when timelines and your life get all fucky like that, I guess. You met a ghost and got shoved back to life and then time got weird, I’m sure at that point anything can happen.

Actually FROM Belphie, the obvious spell you’d get is sleep. Put some bastard to sleep, make them unconscious, that’s his main thing.

I think the list goes: sleep. Then later, with more power, you get confusion (like the Pokémon move)and phantasmal force (the one that projects an illusion only visible to the target, that is able to deal damage to them. Many very creative applications of this spell are possible). At the highest possible level, power word kill. The quickest and laziest possible way to do a murder, as long as you use it right.

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Finally, Lucifer.

Big strong powerful Morningstar! Proud bastard that everyone can’t help but listen to.

So OBVIOUSLY you get dominate person from him! (yes, all seven of them have the ability to force a non-MC human to obey them magically but shhh. Lets say only Lucifer can GIVE that ability to a human.)

I think he’d be the one who can give you classic demonic abilities like fire resistance and hellish rebuke. I can’t imagine Lucifer not having some disintegrate-like ability, as the third most powerful demon in the realm.

He can’t give you a whole ass pair of wings, he can’t change the structure of your body, but I think maybe he can give you the fly spell. Or even just something like a double jump and a fully controlled fall. I think that suits him.

Yknow what else suits him? Meteor swarm. Super powerful, dramatically destructive, only the strongest can cast it… flaming destruction falling from the sky… Fall imagery weaponized into an absurdly high damage spell. Seems like Lucifer!

So let’s say his spell list for you is: hellish rebuke and fire resistance (not a spell, but still). Then, dominate person, the flight-adjacent spell, and disintegrate. Then finally, meteor swarm. That seems right.

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apoemaday · 9 months

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Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?

by Mary Oliver

Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives– tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like? Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you? Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides with perfect courtesy, to let you in! Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass! Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart! No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint that something is missing from your life! Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch? Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself continually? Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone? Well, there is time left– fields everywhere invite you into them. And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away from wherever you are, to look for your soul? Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk! To put one’s foot into the door of the grass, which is the mystery, which is death as well as life, and not be afraid! To set one’s foot in the door of death, and be overcome with amazement! To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw, nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the present hour, to the song falling out of the mockingbird’s pink mouth, to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened in the night To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind! Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life? While the soul, after all, is only a window, and the opening of the window no more difficult than the wakening from a little sleep. Only last week I went out among the thorns and said to the wild roses: deny me not, but suffer my devotion. Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe I even heard a curl or two of music, damp and rouge red, hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies. For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters, caution and prudence? Fall in! Fall in! A woman standing in the weeds. A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what’s coming next is coming with its own heave and grace. Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things, upon the immutable. What more could one ask? And I would touch the faces of the daises, and I would bow down to think about it. That was then, which hasn’t ended yet. Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light, I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean’s edge. I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.

#poetry #mary oliver #have you ever tried to enter the long black branches

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landwriter · 1 year

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Heya, I love your writing and taste in things.

I’ve finished (and loved) everything you’ve posted <3

Are there any sandman fics that have tickled your fancy lately?

Thank you so much!!! I sadly do not have time to read near as much Sandman fic as I'd like, but I have scoured both my memory and my bookmarks on AO3 (all twelve of them) and dug up some absolutely wonderful stories - hope at least one or two of these is new to you?!

I am probably a bit weird in this, but I don't bookmark fics I love (which is really nearly all I've read) insamuch as fics that have done something in particular that I think is so well-executed or clever or inspiring that I want to be able to study it like a creature in its own right. Usually these are stories that have the traits I admire most in fiction: economy of language, being very fucking funny, making me viscerally uncomfortable, or outright haunting me.

I loved reading all of them but your mileage may vary! Caveat lector like more than half of these are smut and/or violent so please check the tags against your own preferences. Several long-winded recs with excerpts and explanations under the cut:

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The Birthday of the Beast | @slythernim | Dream/Hob | T | 3.3K

Father Almighty, though I have long not been your servant, I remain your unmanageable son. Here on Earth, closer to Hell than to Heaven, as I celebrate perhaps the least holy of holy days, I must imagine myself like unto Lucifer more than as Michael, that he and I might together make of the darkness a place for humanity to grow. He blows out the candles.

Hob turns 666. Extremely fun fic by Nym that features incredible characterization within a very short space, Catholicism, Lucifer, and of course, gets a very special birthday gift. But you shall have to read the fic to see what it is. Read everything of Nym's, actually.

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New Mistakes | Anonymous | Dream/Corinthian | M | 3.2K

Dream slid his thumb into the Corinthian’s mouth, the one he shared with most, the one with which he commonly spoke. “Well?” he asked. “Are you fed?” The voice that came from his left-eye mouth buzzed like locusts. My lord, we are. The voice that came from his right-eye mouth dripped like honey. My lord, we can always be fed more. Dream pulled back, looking at the Corinthian expectantly. The Corinthian swallowed, running his tongue along his teeth. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, and Dream was unaccountably flattered. “My lord,” he said. “I wish to be good.”

Have read almost no Corintheus but this fic hits on so much that I find distantly intriguing about the pairing. Perfect dialogue, gorgeous rhythm. Wonderfully visceral. Absolutely bonkers nuts for repetition in threes, as I'm sure you know, and I love how it was used here.

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Lucy Locket | Anonymous | Dream/Hob and Dream/Hob/Corinthian | E | 17K

Five chapters (now with a new threesome added in late April, much to my delighted surprise!) of just fantastic roleplay smut that in-between all the sex is by turns incredibly funny and tender. Alternating Dream and Hob POV. As somebody for whom sexual roleplay has been my literal bread and butter on a professional basis, it shouldn't be surprising I am so fond of this fic - but it catches me out every time! Like a blow from behind, and I am winded. It is ridiculously hot and distressingly perfect all-through, and I would absolutely marry the author about it (sorry author if you're reading this). No excerpt because I cannot choose and will simply suggest that if you're up for kink that you go read it all at once.

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Public | @softest-punk | Dream/Hob | E | 1.1K

"Oh, darling," Hob murmurs, fingering the edge of Dream's delicate lace knickers. Dream feels his smirk against his jaw, bites his lip at the brush of a kiss under his ear. "You forget how old I am. I learned to fuck with an audience."

Every day I get closer and closer to needing to write Dream and/or Hob with vulvas; this may have been the fic that sealed the deal for me, I think. Ridiculously hot, and enshrined in my head forever for the line above. I learned to fuck with an audience. God! How good. A masterclass in the slutty drabble that nevertheless retains peak Dream/Hob characterization (I would argue that sex is in fact one of the best narrative vehicles for characterization and exploration of interpersonal dynamics...this bias is probably why nearly all these recs are so horny.) One day I will learn how to write proper smut in media res like this and not preface it with gratuitous plot.

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worship like a dog | @thewalrus-said | Dream/Hob | E | 2.5K

“Is it so inconceivable that I might love you?” Dream murmured, running his manicured nail down Hob’s cheek. Hob tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “No one ever has before,” he said. “No one but God.”

Hob is a priest. Dream is a demon, except he's not. Dizzyingly hot for so many reasons, with a delightful canon dialogue echo. And again, must stress this: Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest, go read it.

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Safehouse | Anonymous | Hob/Corinthian | E | 5K

“I need a room. One without a door.”

The best execution of the sex pollen trope I've ever seen, with the worst men. Very, very good fic with a brilliant premise and unerring execution. World-building is done in such brief but vivid strokes - it feels like a 50K fic whenever I remember it, and I'm always surprised how short it actually is. Haunts me in the best of ways.

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As well - these fics are well-known and well-loved - but some stories that are utterly wonderful and contain lines that haunt me weeks, sometimes months later - stories that rearranged my soul, lurched me closer towards writing for Sandman, and warrant mention even though I am SURE you have read them, include:

@moorishflower's iconic and beautiful Odyssey fic, maybe sprout wings was the first fic I commented on with my AO3 account, and among the best fics I've ever read in any fandom; slightly deeper cuts from Heather's oeuvre (if, for some reason you are not reading everything already) that I am obsessed with and have reread multiple times: vowel shift, most vain devices, an act of faith. Genius stuff and unbelievably gorgeous language. Just go read it all, honestly

@softest-punk's Shelter is one of the first Sandman fics I ever read, and is beyond lovely; if you have not read their entire deep and profoundly lovely back catalogue, I recommend Catching Up (quintessential Cecil deep tissue emotional massage), Delayed (or: my favourite kink and favourite Endless); Ferrous (vampires! bad men! ahh! ooh!); and I would of course be remiss and ungrateful to not mention self-abandon, and the confounding effects thereof, a 10K fic that perfectly answered my general question of how the three lads would actually get together once the Corinthian and Hob had started fucking (as narrative foils that deserve such treats)

@xx-vergil-xx's Hounds is an ongoing epic that has singlehandedly caused me more emotions than humanity has language for; it is ambitious in scope and sticks every landing. The world is alive and lovingly-detailed. The language is a poem. It is so smart, so beautiful, and so well-researched and built. It is a TEMPLE unto itself, and appropriately worthy of worship

I will also suggest you read absolutely everything by @that-banhus because she literally cannot miss and writes the loveliest, cleverest worlds. All of it.

#asks #gloam's sandman rec list #this is basically my fic rec masterpost lol #unfortunately i flatter myself about my good taste and cannot stop going on about what i love and why once given the barest excuse to start #the sandman #dreamling #corintheus #hobrintheus #COB #fic recs #it's not that i exclusively read fic ppl feel the desire to publish on anon #it's that what people publish on anon FUCKING SLAPS #spent far too long enjoying drawing this up and it still feels woefully inadequate #but it's a start #into either remarkable sandman fic or my id really

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 months

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tuesday again 1/9/2024

the BEAST (phil) has been SPAYED

listening

my sister ALSO, INDPENDENTLY, keeps tuesdayesqe lists in the back of her planner! which is what i used to do before these posts! You Got A Man by JAWNY is off her 2023 playlist. this philly artist's claim to fame seems to be that he dated doja cat for six months? the song is short, bratty, and fun indie/alt not-quite-rap. i have no knowledge of how much the man overlaps with the song. spotify

youtube

reading

ive never watched supernatural, except by osmosis bc i signed up for this website in 2011. this book is what i imagine people say when they say "what if supernatural was good?"

Rebecca Roanhorse's Trail of Lightning (her debut) and Storm of Locusts takes Maggie, a typical lone hero/monster hunter/horrible bitch of a woman (i say this approvingly) and says listen! you can do way sicker shit if you like. accept help and community and have a support system. it does not read like booktok found family or approach this in the typical fanfic way, which is refreshing. it points out that you will be a much longer lived and successful monster hunter this way. this is optimization, if you really look at it.

most postapoc stuff doesn’t contend with the fact (if it even acknowledges indigenous people at all) that indigenous people have already lived through several colonizing apocalypses. these books make a very sharp point that there is not a tremendous amount of difference between the reservation before the apocalypse and the reservation after the apocalypse. the worldbuilding in these is a interesting spin on sea levels plus the Energy Wars, to keep all of that at arms' length the Diné built a magical and physical wall, which i think is a funny spin on the trump border wall.

neither of them are really romance or kissing books, there is romantic interest but they are kept extremely busy not dying and admiring each other's competence. they are action and gore heavy. this is notable bc the books are fairly short (took me about two and a half hours each) and they have pretty fuckin good action scenes! the first book has an underground club and fight ring run by a cat god: club atmosphere was terrific (there's a bit about them having to drag in hastily camouflaged cheap walmart tables to handle some overflow and i instantly knew exactly the table), it had a dress up scene I was very weak to. i thought the series of events by which they ended up at the big boss battle post-club was kind of stupid but (forgivably) the big boss battle was quite enjoyable. figuring out what to do with your life next when you’re highly trained for a very specific thing but also not trained enough to be a serious danger and were set up to fail was extremely compelling to me, an astronomy major who cannot actually work in astronomy.

second book really hits its stride and (girl who has only played fallout voice) feels very fallout-y. desperate quest to save a loved one. girls' trip through a bunch of weird places with a bunch of weird guys. there's a lot of references that play with tone without ever going HEY REMEMBER THIS OTHER WORK YOU COULD GO LOOK AT RIGHT NOW? there’s a plane and a weird guy that made me think of mad max thunderdome, except the weird guy is his own character and has his own arc. there’s a weird grandpa on a boat who i don't think is a reference at all, except maybe to the timeless genre of weird grandpas on boats. there’s a sentient casino trapping people inside that reminded me of the new vegas dead money expansion, except Maggie barely steps inside bc she immediately gets caught up in a day-long battle of wits against the god of gambling. Maggie is a little more settled in her own skin now that she’s regularly talking to other people and has rejoined her community in her own small ways on her own terms and it HAS made her a much more successful monster hunter. the dialogue is snappier, the action scenes are more elaborate and smoothly choreographed. it's nice to watch an author grow so quickly (from this is serviceable to oh SHIT this is fun) over the course of a duology :) this feels like it was meant to be a trilogy but this book came out in 2019 so i am not holding my breath. it has a nice solid endpoint right here imo.

past sexual violence is sort of orbited around but no sexual violence is actually depicted, which i appreciate as a woman trying to enjoy postapoc.

libby has a very helpful Indigenous Voices category/reading guide/thing. thank u libby now i want to read everything else she's ever written

watching

saw a piece of fanart i cannot find now for the three minute short PUPARIA by Shingo Tamagawa.

Something is about to change drastically. We can only be witnesses to it.

youtube

it's a weird and stunningly beautiful little thing i am still worrying at like a dog with a peanut butter kong. if you have a thing about eyes or clusters of round shapes this is NOT the three minute short for you btw

playing

the free epic game was the Eidos Montreal Guardians of the Galaxy game, and since i am allergic to dead moms i will not be playing it. widely reviewed as "good writing, but not very much fun to actually play" so i don't feel like i'm missing out on too much.

youtube

i have no good story to tell about my time with genshin this week. we're aiming for "can i turn my brain off for forty minutes in the evening" and grinding a lot of one specific boss while listening to podcasts does seem to be enough to turn my brain off.

making

i have been frantically deep cleaning (including soaking the office in enzymatic cleaner [thanks phil]) bc my siblings are coming to town for a couple days and despite several setbacks (a completely different arrival time than the one they told me) and absolutely no sense of an itinerary we will be fine! we will all be fine and have fun! i will be SO fine and calm and chill and we will all have some fucking fun so help us god

ALSO also phil has finally been spayed and is now dealing with four separate issues: the giant wound still on her side, the spay incision, the necrotic abscess in her mouth from going too hard on a springy toy, and being underweight from trying to heal three things at once. we'll get there! we'll get there. it's just taking a while. we are going to have friday afternoon vet visits every week for the foreseeable future.

i love her so much and i'm glad she's feeling better but i genuinely think owning a horse would be cheaper than owning this one wonky cat. they shaved SO much of her tummy she looks even sillier than usual.

other than being Very Alert for the persistent little orange tomcat that keeps hopping up on my windowsill, mackie is doing fine. no concept of the fact that my siblings are going to pick her up more in two days than she gets picked up in a whole month. this is a girl that likes her feet on the ground thanks much

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

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0-jynx-0 · 1 year

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Just a dude admiring his wife

I never give my OCs attention but I felt the need to draw this couple! Queen Locust and her husband King Coyote, long reigning rulers of the ancient Sand Kingdom. While most dragons in their time lived a solitary lifestyle, Locust and Coyote were mated for life and spent many years together before Coyote was caught in the crossfire of an assassination attempt on Fossils life and died shortly after.

Time: 7h

#drawing #random #art #dragon #fan art #digital art #wings of fire #draw #wof #wingsoffire #dragons #sandwing

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hwaightme · 1 year

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Wilting to bloom

🍃 pairing: soldier!san x reader (told in first person) 🍃 genre: angst, a smidgen of fluff, warrior/royalty, battle 🍃 summary: we were meant to remain in the meadows, living under the sun and blessed by joyous unity. no eyes were made to witness what you had seen, san. these letters and dreams are a recollection of all that is to never be, and all that we have to bear. 🍃 wordcount: 5.0k 🍃 warnings/tags: nightmares, discussion of trauma, side character death, waiting for san to come back, cottagecore, military, ptsd/trauma, paralysis, told through the eyes of mc ('you' is an address to san), a dog, hoping for a better life, nothing will be the same. let me know if anything else. 🍃 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @izuijin @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🍃 a/n: a chaotic experiment, bear with me; much love <3

Wearing the purest white, chasing the freedom of being young. Hot summer rays kissing bare skin, the wind cheering us on until we collapse on the ground with breathless, airy laughter. Hiding among the lilac, lavender, and black locust. Those carefree days. Nobody thought that this could ever change. Our life was that of a mayfly’s, existing entirely in the present – the reason for our happiness. We lived in blissful stagnancy, with our guardian angels watching over us, hand in hand, from the heavens above. We were free in the groves, free to do whatever we wanted.

The clover and chamomile crowns we would make for one another – yours were always much better than mine. Sorry I could never give you something you truly deserved. But you smiled anyways and took my collection of withering leaves and put it on your head with pride, dirtying the perfect locks that turned to rich chestnut and mahogany hues in the sun. Pollen would stick to your tousled strands, and yet, you would wave off my hands, saying that this was a blessing of nature. I did not argue. You managed to make the floral grains take on the appearance of magical fairy dust, or glistening gold. We went out during daybreak into the meadows to pick the marvellous beauties – second compared to you, but nevertheless wonderful.

You brought me flowers – whichever were in season. By the bouquet on my windowsill, I could tell what time of the year it was. You were my messenger, my sun and moon. You knew how to make me blush and how to tease me painlessly, peppering kisses in a playful apology after a joke that would make me tear up from laughter. You learnt how to braid hair, just so you could tame my unruly curls on the days when the air hung low and stuck to the skin. A simple braid had turned into gorgeous designs, ones which I had never seen on any other lady, even on those aristocratic dames that had taken to visiting our lovely part of the kingdom.

Whenever I went out into the world, the market mainly, with your gentle touch having moulded me into what you called a goddess, it was a reminder that you were unparalleled – the girls would give me long side glances, obviously trying to spot a mistake, cursing me over and over. Little did they know, you, and everything you do, defined faultlessness. You have marvellous hands – not too delicate, not too rough. Just right. Those hands still linger on my skin in the echoes of caresses, yet another reminder of your irreplaceable presence. A man’s marvellous hands, your hands, which I could rely on holding me up to greatness. I wonder how they are now and if you are managing out there. Those hands were never meant for bloodshed and violence.

‘A musician’s fingers’ – that is how they are called; I found out recently. It is a shame that I could never put it into words for you then, so you just laughed whenever you caught me admiring them. You brushed me off, saying ‘they are just hands’ and continued doing what you were doing. Sometimes, your fingers would intertwine with mine and we would amble in the verdant grass together and collect gifts of the earth. Walking at the same pace, side by side. We were one another’s world. At least, you were definitely mine. You still are. The moment I wake up, right up until I fall back into a restless slumber, you greet me in my memories, with that gorgeous smile of yours. Do you still gleam like that, my love?

I have a particular scene ingrained in my mind, moment for moment. How we sat together watching the sunset, tired but still elated after ambling across the endless expanse of fields for far too long. How you glanced over at me and grinned wide. I was stunned then. What had I done to deserve to have such an angel beside me? Your features – a divine perfection, accompanied by wit and charms unlike anybody else’s. If only I could eternally live in that evening when we whispered sweet nothings to one another with our berry-stained lips, embraced by the corals, pinks and dusty ultramarines of the sky. The present would not be so terrifying if I had the ability to go back with you, to that small fragment of heaven.

How are you out there? My apologies for getting so sentimental – it seems that I cannot control myself when it comes to this… I miss you terribly. If only you could come home this instant. We could check on the honeysuckle in your mother’s garden – she gave me some to plant in mine! Just you wait, we will have the best garden in the village! Come home soon, I will have your favourite dinner ready, and we can chat about anything except the world out there, and laugh, and love.

Get back safe, San.

You came to me in my dream last night. It was so real that I could almost feel the breeze and taste the pungent odour of ripe fruit coming from the orchard. It was the middle of the night, and I was resting, embraced by rolling waves of linen. You had knocked on my window. Gave me quite a fright, you know!? The moon that enveloped your form and climbed into my room with its ashen rays had made your complexion pallid, washed out, ghostly, rendering me terrified and unknowing of who had awoken me from my slumber. A part of me had expected it to be father – you know how he is - a skilled carpenter, loves to work into the night, cutting and shaving away.

With one pull of the curtains, the white light had turned into a halo, and your skin had been covered by a silvery sheen. You beckoned me, and despite my initial hesitations I went with my calling, and in my nightgown, carefully opened the window and slid out. My family home only has one floor, however you were protective of my and were prepared to catch me as if I was about to perform a death-defying stunt, jumping from a cloud straight into your arms.

Not too far from the truth. That was what falling for you felt like. Though the best, unforgettable element was that you were there for me, reciprocating what had been building in my heart for so long. I only realised it when the beating got so loud and strong that it was about to burst. You told me you had loved me from the very beginning and had already sacrificed yourself to being by my side regardless of whether I returned your adoration or not. You were not afraid of any legends of unrequited love – nothing would turn your ribcage into a garden of flowers, for you had told yourself to live on, if not for yourself, then for me. Are you still living for me? Are you still out there, blood coursing through your veins reciting the vows we had made to one another under the moon?

A memory turned mantra had come forth to me in that dream. Of that night. How we were sat on our favourite hillside, overlooking the meandering river turned moon path, the world holding its breath for us. We promised to one another to be there until time itself would give the universe up to us. A destiny unbreakable by reality. We had tied all our strings of fate together, with you braiding them into an unbreakable union. Or so we thought. For the time being, you are not here. We cannot repeat that moment like we had done every anniversary. I had spent the third one without you sleepless – a wolf soundlessly howling at the glowing orb in the sky with a pitiful expression on my face. You would most certainly have poked me in the cheek and told me off for being so down.

Is the moon the same where you are? Did you think of me? Did you rest underneath the blanket of spectacular constellations, drawing lines between stars, your inhale and exhale being the only thing audible for miles? The nights are getting cooler now, I hope you wrapped up warmer. You had that one trench coat, remember? The hand-me-down from one of your friends who… oh, never mind that. It is not relevant. Didn’t you take it with you? Yes, yes you did! I can see your silhouette drifting away into the distance, becoming a dot in the horizon. You had that trench coat on. It suits you so well. Better not go around stealing the hearts of naïve young ladies wherever you are.

I wonder if you are stationed in a town like the one to which we used to go to for school. Or maybe... you are in a city! A giant city with sky-high walls and a dizzyingly colossal castle, with bustling taverns and busy squares, luxuries spilling over from baskets and intricately woven into the locals’ drapes and… just the musings take my breath away. Last month I went to a city like that. No, even better. I went to the capital of our country – it was even better than in the pictures and textbooks. I was pleasantly overwhelmed by all of the activity and people rushing back and forth. In our village, you know almost exactly where a person is going by their facial expressions, by how they are dressed and how they are walking. Be it the market, the cemetery, the orchards, somewhere further out. We used to sit on a bench next to the main road and make our, nearly always correct, guesses about a fellow villager’s path. In the city, in the security of its grand gates, that was virtually impossible, and yet in the thousands passing me by, I had somehow managed to imagine I spotted your face.

There had been no silence in the night either. Always, there seemed to be something going on, and lights were never put out. Never was there a total somnolence, unlike in our quaint home. I bet that when one falls asleep, another wakes up – a cycle of the day and night. Would our moonlit walks have the same feel if we had been in the city? Probably not. Reality would constantly interfere and mute our true sentiments. I hope you are in a place where you are free to think; it seems to me that that is exactly what those who I shall not dare mention are trying to control lately. The posters clinging to stone walls have become wallpaper, dirtied by the sediment left from horse-drawn carts going to and fro. The announcements and misleadingly fun, inspiring songs boasting glory and promising a brighter future, tailored by fiendish composers to convince impressionable citizens that aggression is the answer. The horror of manipulation did not seduce you – you had cupped my face and whispered your hatred for the game where you and I were crafted to be pawns. But, somehow, the claws of the devilish puppeteer, searching for a fresh sacrifice, had made it into our paradise, ruining the safe haven and ripping you away to a foreign land.

I cannot begin to imagine where your feet are taking you at this very moment. Whether you are in a cheery stride singing at the top of your voice or burying yelps of fear and pain while staying crouched in the dirt. You would probably explain to me that it is better that I cannot see the present you. Before you left, you had told me that once you appear in the horizon once more, liberated from your unwanted service, we will be able to live with even grander joy, grateful for the time that we would still have together. All smiles, you promised to return with your arms wide, ready to embrace me. We could return to the same patterns, the same legend of our love.

Are you keeping your word? Does the promise stand?

Frankly, it does not matter, as long as you come home safe and sound.

San, my love, please return soon, so our hearts can beat in unison once more.

For the nation, for the glory, for the power.

You never understood why you had to leave. The slogans were obviously manipulated, the encouragements were laughably weak, and yet you left. You had seen through the façade immediately and yet, with pursed lips and tears in your eyes that you were never going to allow to fall, you marched away, so far away from home, from love, from life. We all wanted peace. However, unfortunately, those who had the power to decide thirsted for a good share of the riches that came with a catastrophe. The country, not the people, are struggling – that is what the flyers say. Fight for the greater good. For the big message. From crusades to conquests to battles to wars, there was always, supposedly a greater good. The country: a united front, a body that was the only one allowed to forget the names of those who make it, providing the individuals in control with beautiful ignorance, and the ones beneath them, sacred anonymity. You were called to work and fight for the country, not knowing what the country was. It is said that the country needs your help, but it is the people who have to fall in the end. The same people who fell into delusions that they would be saved by their glorious rulers, by their nation... Crumble like fortification, or rattle on forwards like heavy artillery.

No way back. You are an automaton. Keep your head down. Left right, left right, left right… A blank stare trained on the muddy path. There is no choice but to continue walking forwards. Those who fall do not get up again. Once you are taken to serve, you lose all sense of self. You forget about who you have been before this moment. Before the higher ups began to shout you down for breathing too loud, for having a foot a millimetre out of place, for blinking at the wrong time… You lose your feeling of being human, praying to become a machine. There is no place for humans out there.

You cannot recall what you have done after charging, spurring yourself on with an earsplitting scream. Your mind draws a blank. It is blocking you from returning to what you have seen and heard. But sometimes, on nights when you are restless and cannot fall asleep, lying on the side and staring at light coming into the room through the line between the curtains, your thoughts begin spiralling out of control. All the shards are recollected at once. You can smell the fear of your comrades, the despair and the lack of willingness to accept that it is all over.

You are holding your friend in your arms, practically lying down beside him in an attempt to avoid the barrage above you. You have known him since childhood. From the age of five years old you have supported one another and have shared one another’s joys and sorrows. You have watched one another grow up, learn, and fall in love… A part of your soul is being torn away from you. He is bleeding out too fast. Shrapnel is stuck in his body and bullet wounds pierced it right through. There is nothing you can do, and yet you keep on uttering that ‘it will be fine, you can survive, you will survive, do not go’. There is horrifying acceptance in his eyes. A gentle, holy smile. The only serenity on the battlefield. You find the actions of the rest of the soldiers around you to be sordid. They are not stopping, those fools. They are running to their own deaths. Your friend is rapidly departing. He gestures for you to lean closer. With tears making rivers down your cheeks, stained with dirt, you obey. Stifling a cry of mourning you hold him in an embrace. He whispers ‘it has been a good life’ into your ear, weakly. There is almost no spirit left in him. You could sense Death lying in wait – standing outside of the action, observing and calculating the work cut out for it: here goes another one, and another… How many guided tours would it have to make to the place of Judgement?

After coughing up the mucus that has blocked up his throat, your friend says: ‘I love you, brother. Thank you for being by my side… until the very end. Tell my wife and daughter that I love them. Yes… it has really been a good life.’ With one final push he grips your hand and squeezes it. The last handshake you will ever share with him. He shuts his eyes and lets out his final breath. His everythings will never see him again, only his name on a letter marking his end. They will never get to have a family breakfast beneath the birch in their garden. ‘Papa’ is gone. ‘Darling’ is gone. ‘Brother’ is gone. The least you can do is clean his fatal wounds and cover his body in tarpaulin to provide the bare minimum protection from the elements. Honour him by letting him go in the right way. He must have a name. Even after his death. The least you can do is to find a place which his ‘everything’, the two women in the photograph he carried in his pocket, could visit.

You scream. You cannot stop yourself. Grief overtakes you and you look up to the gloomy grey sky. Permanently overcast, looming. It is about to rain. You could smell it over the stench of raw and rotting wounds and destroyed earth. The Heavens are preparing to cry for the loss of so many innocent lives. So many guardian angels looking down on the regular civilians thrown into a war that was not meant for them. It is the people who fall, not the country.

The scream permeates dreams and reality. You jolt yourself back. Covered in cold sweat you find yourself shivering. Hair clinging onto the back of your neck and your forehead, you are lost. But it was… so real? Where did it go? You can still hear the gunfire, the sabres cutting flesh and bone, the yells. The sound of utter demise all around you. Your hands fly up to cover your ears. There is no way one can bear this. The noise spreads through you. Your heart is beating to the rhythm of the brutal march you were trained to follow.

You are home, but your inner turmoil cannot let you fully acknowledge it. Stuck in a limbo between past and present, you are trapped. The gunfire fades back into the rustling of the orchards, and the sirens dissolve into the hooting of an owl. You sit in silence, your breathing agonal. Vision swimming, it is impossible to focus. Drifting in and out of consciousness. After staggering from your bed to the windowsill you lean on it with both arms, which now bear a multitude of scars – majority of which you do not remember getting. The curtain obediently slides away revealing the night scene.

The rolling hills that go down to the river; the groves and meadows lining them at the tops. The forest in the distance. The moon. The wondrous, miraculous full moon. Untainted by the sorrows of the world it has to orbit. Forever young and beautiful. It has watched over you. Seen you at your worst and is praying for you to be able to return to your best.

The grass seems to shine in the silvery blue light. Dew has already built up, readying itself for flight in the dawn. Last echoes of grenades disappear, replaced by crickets that are giving a concert in the fields. It has been a pleasantly warm September, surprising the majority of the villagers. They rejoiced and happily spent their days working and then relaxing on one another’s porches.

Now new colours are taking over. Once the sun rises, the yellows are going to stand out against the greens, multiplying and spreading, until they will give way to oranges, reds, and browns. Birds shall migrate to a warmer place. You ponder as to where. What place could be better than this?

It was almost two hours until all symptoms and aftereffects of the attack have faded away. The tremor in your hands halted until another time, and the shallow breathing has finally levelled out and you could fill your lungs. You open the window to allow the fresh, cool night air in. Drifting into the room along with it is relief. You are thankful for the tiredness that washes over you. A welcome fatigue greets you and guides you back to bed.

Snuggling into the white sheets you curl into a foetal position and inhale the night air. It lulls you and comforts you. For now, all that haunts you is forgotten, and you are back to how you were. You are back to racing through the lilac, the lavender… Back to lugging heavy baskets full of fruit. Back when you knew of nothing that could harm you. In less than a second, you enter the land of dreams.

To this day we do not talk about what had happened. I do not want for you to suffer, nor do I want your present to be tainted with such darkness. We are now focused on what we love, and live to seize the best moments. Perhaps if I were to give my reasons for not mentioning anything, or asking you after what you had done, you would say I pity you and see you as a weakling, but that is not the case at all. I see you as the strongest person alive. You have survived through terror. You have faced phobia and apocalypse and did not cower in its presence. You have come back.

It was on a bright August morning that you have returned. The sun was shining, the nature was gleaming and a sense of victory was still hovering in the air. I had just finished preparing myself for a day of work at the farms and helping out with some resource gathering, when I see a limping figure in the distance. My heart was leaping. I did not want to bring my hopes up, but something was telling me that it was you. Perhaps it was the way your shoulders were outlined against the sky. The way you walked on without the need to check where you were going. You avoided the bump, the dips in the road without a single glance at them. It was you, my love.

I stepped outside and carefully chose my steps. Since our house was fairly close to the outskirts, I did not have to pass through the main roads to greet the mysterious, yet so familiar a figure. I slipped through the gap in the fence that has been there for as long as I can remember and quickened my pace. I strode past the field and followed the meandering path between the shacks and houses. Perhaps my wait was over, I thought. When I stopped at the road, I was sure. It could not be anybody else. But I was still tentative to rush ahead, letting me be carried by my intuition.

My legs moved on their own accord, leading me to you. We took our time. Our eyes were fixed on one another. I could not read your expression. Deep in contemplation and solemn, you trudged on, and we reunited on the golden, gravelly road to the village where we grew up. You were in uniform – had gone up in the ranks, look at you! You took off your hat, and your shabby rucksack fell to the ground, bringing up a cloud of dust with it. You leaned down to place the hat down on it, and then straightened yourself. Your eyes travelled up and down my body, as if you were trying to memorise me. I still could not begin to comprehend what you were feeling. I did not say anything. Were you disappointed? Did you expect to see somebody else?

My doubts dissolved as soon as your powerful arms wrapped around my waist, and you pulled me close. You held me in a tight embrace, whilst my hands snaked around you, recalling just how much I missed you. It was you. It was definitely you. We stood there for an eternity. We were as still as statues, even when a distant shout of ‘he returned’ had travelled to us. There was bound to be a commotion, a celebration. The biggest one after the news that the war was over. But we did not move. You did not look up. You hugged me tighter and let yourself melt into my caresses. Whispering my name, over, and over again, you were misty eyed as you removed your head from the crook of my neck and gazed at me. Tenderly, I guided you into a soothing kiss, reminding you that it was all over. You were here. You were home.

A month later, we said our real vows. We got married in the tiny church that was central to the village square. It was meant to be. The sun blessed us, shining down and giving us a shimmering peck on the tops of our heads. After the celebration, at dusk, we escaped to the hillside and gazed at the stars, drawing those same constellations with our fingers. We had been craving these quiet moments together. Now we always dedicate sometime to ourselves, in unity. Sometimes, we sit on the porch or at the table in the garden, drinking freshly made juice or tea. We do not have to talk. We just exist together. We understand what the other wants to say without it being voiced. Nodding and a knowing smile is plenty.

I will always be there. I hold your hand through your dark times and pray for it all to get better. Whatever it is. Perhaps there is no diagnosis – there are no physical symptoms for what you are feeling, and yet, you experience unbearable agony. I do not know where it comes from, so I can only assume it is in the mind. If only emotion and memory was built up of bricks or was a jigsaw puzzle. Then I would remove the pieces that hurt you so and you could go back to being a young boy with a dream.

You have matured in a way that nobody should. Far too early you have seen the evil of society and had to grow up into a stoic man. Now that you could, technically, return to how you were, the demons have stuck to you, and haunt you wherever you go, attacking you when you least expect it. Once, it happened at the farmer’s market. A loud bang from somebody dropping pots and pans resulting in us hiding in an alleyway where you collapsed with your back to a wall and curled into a ball. I dropped to my knees beside you, and counted out loud, diverting your attention, calling you back. It was always a challenge. There was nobody we knew who could give us a helping hand; we had to combat the invisible on our own.

So here we are two years later. Getting by. Living in small steps. That is enough. We try to stick to routines and use that as a comfort. A year ago, by coincidence on the anniversary that you have returned from the land beyond, we have stumbled upon a spectacular companion – an adorable mutt with wagging tail. He senses your pain and knows when to alert you. He knows you trusted him, and gave him the name ‘Haneul’. Suits him nicely.

He was the runt of the litter, and the owner thought to ‘let him go’, as they had put it. Your heart had ached for him and soon enough, the tiny puppy was wriggling in your hands, snuggling into your warmth. You fed him and cared for him night and day. The new responsibility swept you away and let your mind rest for a record amount of time.

Now, Haneul is always by your side, even when I cannot be with you. He follows you around with unbeatable persistence, protecting you. He allowed you to try and step out into society on your own, with success. Of course, it would not be life if there were no setbacks, but even when you could not leave the house, Haneul is right there, with you. He rests his upper body on your chest, right above your heart, and looks up at you with concern and adoration.

We are a happy family: you, Haneul and I. At least, we are managing with the happiness that we are provided. Long gone are the days when we would dance with the breeze, and bathe in the sunshine; white shirts fluttering like butterfly wings. It will not come back, and for the better. We would not give that time the love it deserves – our souls and will has dried out, and the time of our youth is distant. What is left is to sit in the garden, with Haneul at our feet, holding hands and recalling the time when we had made flower crowns – king and queen of a pretend world, accessible only through a child’s imagination. Too soon we have lost it. Too soon. Without a chance to say goodbye. We are two shells, together out of habit, waiting out the days and seasons. Living in perpetual motion until we live our peaceful last.

Once, in half slumber, you told me about your friend. Yes, the one who said that he has lived a good life. All I can pray for is that when the time comes, we would be able to say the same.

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onenicebugperday · 2 years

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Saw a Carolina Locust yesterday ☺️ really magical, just started flying like a black and white butterfly then dropped to the ground like a dead leaf

Always fun to see! I think a lot of people forget (or don’t realize) that grasshoppers can fly, and that they often have very pretty and colorful wings! Here’s a Carolina grasshopper’s wings for everyone to admire:

Photo by sambiology

And one of the prettiest species, in my opinion:

Green milkweed locust by bushboy

#polyvania #insects #bugs #grasshopper #carolina grasshopper #green milkweed locust #bug story #the more you know

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ahedderick · 7 months

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Given that I don't usually spray and pesticides or fungicides, my apples most often look a little wonky. Like, um, this:

However, quite a few of the high-elevation apples up by the cell tower (the one in the first picture) are just *chef's kiss* FLAWLESS. Look at her. She is beautiful!!!

Side note. See the resin-coated butcherblock countertop in the first picture? My husband made that, using black locust lumber from our farm. He was able to use the industrial equipment at a local cabinetry shop (great big clamp to hold it all together, etc.) because he knows the owner. When it was time to pour the resin, he got it all put up on sawhorses on the porch. You only get 15 minutes to spread the resin before it starts hardening. We got everything ready-to-go, he mixed the resin, I literally stood there with a watch timing him, and he slapped it on the woods as fast as possible. Fifteen minutes - Done! - we stood back and admired it. Only to have multiple stinkbugs come zooming in and land on it right before it hardened!! I mean, we're talking within seconds, here. He was incensed. We had to pick bug-parts out of the hardened resin. You can still see the odd fossilized leg or antenna if you look very close. Jeeeeeez!

#apples #apple harvest #fruit trees #woodworking #diy #harvest #solarpunk #eat local #farmblr #orchard #fall #fallcore #fall fruit

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floofgryph · 13 days

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Percy Ó Comhraidhe

Species: Human (the smallest hint of vampire blood)

Birthday: November 5th

Age: 29

Sexuality: Biromantic demisexual

Occupation:

Author

Painter

Pianist

Convenience store clerk (formerly)

Abilities:

Dermo-optical perception

Clairvoyance

Telepathy

Levitation

Enhanced mind, durability, speed, and brain capacity

Absolute mastery over visual arts, literature and journal writing, the piano, and the keytar

Intuitive multilingualism

Lexiconicy

He can bring his humanoid or animalistic drawings to life for a short period of time

Infrasound and frequency manipulation

He can scale walls like a spider

He can transform into bats, black cats, wolves, mice, and locusts

Personality: Despite having a photographic memory, there are times when he occasionally forgets things, especially when he's stressed out, experiencing a panic attack or reliving a traumatic event. As a result of his blunt and talkative nature and dark sense of humour, he’s quite socially awkward. He’s a pathological liar that constantly tells himself that everything will go as planned and that he’s mentally fine. He has a strong semblance of narcissistic personality disorder as he needs constant admiration, has a sense of self-importance, is interpersonally exploitative, and comes off as patronising. He also has major depressive disorder and is viciously suicidal, but he hides this from everyone else by putting up a cheerful facade. Despite the pessimism that surrounded most of his life, he has managed to keep up a somewhat happy-go-lucky outlook on life.

He has a bit of a temper, especially towards those he finds annoying and disrespectful or try to manipulate him by playing on his flawed emotions. He’s capable of forming sincere and meaningful relationships due to his natural inclination for generosity, compassion, and honesty, but struggles due to his mental health issues. He’s overprotective and self-sacrificing of those he cares about and unfamiliar faces that leave a good impression on him. He can be quite gullible, superstitious, and emotionally sensitive at times, which can interfere with his serious-mindedness, wisdom, courage, and strategic mindset. He has an exceptional imagination, immense gratitude for those he cares about, is slightly masochist, and strongly believes that everyone is capable of redemption. As a result of his disgust for unnecessary fighting and warfare, he desperately tries to avoid arguments and physical fights.

Whenever he takes cocaine, he’s strangely happy, energetic, and restless, and abnormally sensitive to touch and sound. When he’s drunk, he’s more inclined to participate in risky behaviour and has lowered inhibitions. His concentration is noticeably decreased, his anxiety is more heightened, and he’s quite irritable when drunk.

Likes: Familial bonds that are healthy, fuzzy blankets, storytelling, the sound of windchimes, poetry slam, obscure media, his father’s record player, arcades, animals, and mecha and psychological horror anime

Dislikes: Betrayers, bullies, queerbaiting, suffocation, lack of inspiration, animal cruelty, struggling to get out of bed in the morning, traumatic nightmares, his cocaine and alcohol addiction, and ungratefulness

Equipment:

An blue-and-green iguana plushie named Zion

A journal where he records his thoughts and perspectives on various situations that he’s in as well as record ideas for stories

A sketchbook

A large, organised case of sketching pencils, three erasers, paint brushes, and a paint palette

A duffle bag of acrylic and gouache paint bottles, six canvases in different sizes, a can of paint sealant, and a container of pastels

A satchel bag that contains four books and a harmonica gun

A keytar with an amp

A baseball bat with rusty nails

A taser

Physical and outfit appearance: He’s a 5’ 11” (180.34 cm) endomorph with a rectangular figure, prominent thighs, a partially rounded belly, and a slight athletic build. He has reddish freckles on his face, neck, and hands, and a few brownish solar lentigines scattered across his body. He has jade eyes, slightly sensitive limestone skin, and two moles on the right side of his forehead, which is somewhat covered by his hair. His light auburn hair is incredibly smooth and swept to the side in a style that was both casual and calculated. He has a fluffy balbo bembo beard that’s meticulously kept to just the right length.

As a result of drinking some of Demaryius’ blood, he’s now 6’ 3” (190.5 cm) and remains on the physically heavier side, but he has a better body weight than before. His left eye is a sparkling jade with an amber outline and his right is an icy blue with a lavender pupil. His pupils function similar to a feline’s, and he can open his mouth wide, revealing a deep blue-green serpentine tongue. His hair is now a gingery balayage blend of shimmery copper with deep auburn and medium orange, and it has saffron-yellow streaks. His upper canines are replaced with the fleshy fangs of a serpent, and his scaly skin has a sort of vitiligo effect in light grey and orangish-white. Due to his increased sensitivity to sunlight, he can’t be out and about during the day for 5 hours or he’ll be set ablaze and burn to death. He has six fingers with slightly curving claws in metallic silver and a deep scar that he made himself when he tried to cut his throat open. His chest is covered in twenty short common blanket octopus tentacles that are deep red with rainbow sheen.

He has three jacket choices that he switches between: (1) a pleather trench coat; (2) an olive green anorak; and (3) a corduroy sportcoat with black sheepskin lining. He has two hats in his possession: (1) a black snapback with a wisteria brim; and (2) a greyish-blue pageboy cap. He wears a sky blue, greyish-purple, and yellow flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves and a pair of reddish-brown Converse All Stars. His flannel skirt is accompanied with neon-coloured polo shirts that have upturned collars, golden pearl snaps, and beachy and poetic imagery. He dons a pair of boxy bluish-black eyeglasses and acid wash tawny-blue pants with a gold-buckled coffee brown belt that has a lucky rabbit’s foot tied to it. He occasionally wears a theatrical vulture mask of orange-rust wood with a black band under each eye.

Family:

Unnamed vampire ancestor

Unnamed Canadian mother

Unnamed Irish father

Unnamed maternal uncle

Unnamed maternal aunt

Unnamed fraternal aunt

6 unnamed cousins

Biography: He was born into a relatively supportive family, encouraging him to pursue his dreams as a creative individual. He had an older cousin that he looked up to as a role model, but she ran away from home due to being lesbian. For a couple of months, she was reported missing before her body was found, bruised, broken, and crudely flayed. The images and video footage of her death on TV severely scarred him due to its visceral nature and the loss of someone he looked up to. In the beginning of his elementary years, he lost a childhood friend who was living right next to his house. It was during a family barbecue with her parents and older brother, she was trying to obtain a ball that got onto the road and he witnessed her get unexpectedly hit by a drunk truck driver.

Near the beginning of his secondary school years, he befriended a photography fanatic and website builder named Olaf, becoming nearly inseparable. However, as they moved into high school and his kindness and bubbly attitude became more prominent, Olaf began to grow jealous and disgusted by how emotionally expressive he is. Later on in college, their relationship began to fall apart as Olaf would spread nasty rumours about him, losing his other friends as a result. Olaf would disregard his emotions and many people would bully him because of these nasty rumours, viewing him as an outcast. Percy would eventually meet Salvacion, a Filipino girl who was attending university to become a veterinarian. This was after her cat, Marilou, stole his grocery list and dragged him over to an abandoned 1920’s hotel. It was love at first sight, going on dates for a few months and talking about philosophy, nature, conspiracy theories, and the history of art together.

Olaf would catch wind of this news through a friend of Salvacion and took this opportunity to ruin Percy’s life. During the night before Christmas Day, Olaf vandalised Salvacion’s house and killed her by stabbing her face and neck multiple times and asphyxiation. He staged her death as a horrific suicide, which would devastate Percy the next day, beliving that he could have prevented it if he properly recognised her problems. This caused him to fall into a deep depression, using pathological lying and narcissism as a way to forget all of his trauma and mask his true emotions. He dropped out of college, ruining his chances of becoming a professional screenwriter and cartoon artist. He worked as a convenience store clerk, while living in a shitty apartment somewhere in the ghettos of Toronto, Canada. He got addicted to illicit, cocaine-affected alcohol that one of the neighbours was illegally selling. The only things that brought him some joy was Marilou, his journal, and an ecological dystopian novel that he was writing, which contained some elements from the Y2K scare.

One day, Marilou was slowly dying and he felt an urge to kill himself, but decided to make his way to the 1920’s hotel. He headed to the out-of-place banquet hall and began to play the piano, surprised at how well he’s performing the music. Without him noticing, Demaryius was on a stroll with Koi when he heard faint piano music nearby. They both went to investigate, observing him from a distance as he played the piano with Marilou peacefully sitting on his lap. It was the most beautiful and creative piano song that graced their ears, so they listened carefully. Koi decided to explore the vincity for potential danger and Demaryius noticed that Percy was beginning to tear up near the end, a deep sorrow was emitting from him. After the gorgeous piano rendition was done, he took a swig from a bottle of vodka and tried to take his own life with a kitchen knife he bought at a cutlery store. He placed the knife near his throat and before he could slice it open, Demaryius stopped him. Percy dropped the knife not out of fear, but in total awe at what he was witnessing. Demaryius saw something special in him and told him to play the piano once more with all of his emotions on the table. After the second time, he decided to take him in as he understood his pain and rejuvenated Marilou as a sign of respect.

Fun facts:

He has synesthesia and sleep apnea

As an author and painter, he prefers to go by Percival Coughlan

He has gotten into a few fights during high school

Whenever he monologues, his psychic abilities begin to go haywire without his knowledge as he’s lost in his thoughts.

Demaryius taught him that he should write well-articulated journal entries to healthily vent about his problems and uncertain emotions, which has helped him greatly.

When he found out that Demaryius had children, he immediately turned his life around and overcame most of his addiction. There are uncommon instances where he’s craving alcohol, cocaine or both. When this happens and when he remembers, he allows Sister Rosa to punch him in the face as it’ll make him forget these cravings.

He enjoys entertaining the younger children of Demaryius with unique stories and fun, yet creative activities.

There are very rare instances where he craves blood, which causes vicious headaches and nauseous fatigue. He gets his blood tablets from Kianna, which taste gross, yet strangely pleasant to him. Kianna once told him that he should only spit them out immediately when it feels painful or it tastes disgusting because it can be quite harmful.

From what he can recall of his father, he was a war journalist with a strong fondness for vinyl records and psychology. He divorced his wife and left home out of fear that his worsening PTSD might cause him to harm his family.

He owns Marilou and she was raised by a pack of stray dogs, so she exhibits a bit of canine behaviour. She’s a white feline with a prominent orange marking that looks like a wonky comb mustache.

He kept Salvacion’s pleated skirt with a pattern of greys and blues as a reminder of his love for her.

He performs numerous duties for Homeworld such as keeping records on each child, cleaning the mansion, and aiding with peace treaties.

His mother taught him how to read piano notes and play the basics

He prefers to work with acrylic and gouache paints

The sketches consist of landscapes outside and inside of Homeworld, Marilou, eldritch monstrosities, his strangest dreams or worst nightmares, and animals that grab his attention.

He’ll only publish work that he feels proud of, personally believing that it should be shared with others in order to garner attention and make them feel inspired. The only times that he won’t publish his work is when they feel uninspiring and mediocre, don’t have a satisfying ending, or are too personal to share.

His ecological dystopian novel is called Subterranean Paranoia

He has written a collection of romantic, fantastical, and surrealistic poetry called Down The Early Hole

He likes to write his stories in different genres, but he always incorporates elements of dark fantasy, dystopian fiction, adventure, action, and mystery into each one.

His favourite entertainment consist of bad kaiju movies, dark fantasy RPG games, point and click adventure games, comics that contain cyberpunk, steampunk and/or dystopian elements, found footage films, veterinarian documentaries, eloquent and thought-provoking poetry, and obscure novels.

He loves to drink homemade smoothies and root beer floats

He prefers food made from home and at fancy restaurants

He doesn’t mind hugs, but will either politely or rudely decline if someone gives off extremely bad vibes.

He uses Zion as a punching bag and emotional support

He’s the writing acquaintance of Miss Katherine

He would ask Miss Katherine for tips on writing, but his narcissism would prevent him from doing so at times.

He views Maverick as a big brother

He was intimidated by Svyatopolk at first because of his harsh Russian accent and his mean-looking appearance. After spending some time together, they became fairly close friends, relating to each others’ struggles with loss and addiction.

He finds Rhodopis to be mysteriously attractive, but he’s afraid to approach them because of their threatening presence.

Demaryius, Koi, Sister Rosa, Kianna, and Homeworld belong to @nunezs-stuff

Miss Katherine belongs to @vanillafalvoredcoffee

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the-churroguy · 19 days

Text

Omg! It’s here! The first chapter?!?!

So one thing I’m going to say. If you aren’t aware of who the Night Lords in 40k are: the worst. They are literally the worst. They should not be admired or looked up. They are assholes. In the worst way imaginable. Why am I writing shitty fanfic about them? Don’t ask question! Anyway, I do NOT ship the main male and female leads. They are NOT a wholesome couple. They aren’t even an item, I realize that won’t stop some of you, but please be warned that these two monsters are NOT NICE TO EACH OTHER.

Kerreck fiddled with the edge of his blood-stained lightning claws as he glanced through the red tinted goggles of his helmet. His eyes flicked left a hair's breadth as he took in the sight in front of him. Just barely visible above the egress zone of this accursed world were three more battle barges.

The first and most pronounced was ‘The Nexum Arcana’, an ancient warship hailing from the sons of Magnus; captained by Azariah, a skilled sorcerer, seconded by none save Ahriman himself. Across from it was ‘The Miasmic’, which was heralded by a war-band of plague marines being led by a powerful terminator captain simply named Locust. He supposedly took the name from one of his ‘grandfathers’ own never-born after slaying it in battle. Lastly, and most dreadful in Kerrek’s opinion, was ‘The Warmaster’s Requiem’ a battle barge belonging to Black Legion. It had been renamed by its captain, Talos Infernus, a Master of Possessions. The ship was renamed to pay tribute to their former primarch, the Luprechal.

Kerreck and his brothers’ war party were not here willingly, at least most of them were not. Their captain had lost sight of their fathers last wish, the Night Haunter’s dying command, and had chosen the path of ‘apotheosis’. This was no doubt spurred on by talks with either the Rubric or the Black Legionnaire, perhaps even both. He grumbled as he stared out of the viewport, still gently gliding his gauntleted hand over his lightning claws, “Hmmmph, demon-hood. As if it is to be some sort of honor.” If he had his helmet removed, he would have spit at the notion of ascension. He understood the ruinous powers of the dark gods, and the ‘gifts’ they could provide; but all, save perhaps Khorne, would trick their subordinates and cripple them or curse them for nothing more than entertainment. No, Kerrick wanted NOTHING to do with them.

“Perhaps…” a young female called up to him, followed by the sound of a whetstone grinding against metal, “The good captain and his guard are simply seeking to honor your father in this way?” There was a scratchy chuckle from her throat as soft pink eyes stared up at the Night Lord. “What better way to sow terror, fear and bloodshed across the materium than by becoming the monster of your own story?”

The female was in rudimentary armor, scraped together from plates of former guard members and scrap they had lying around in the dark belly of the barge. It was dingy, barely offering protection, but it was light, and quiet, allowing her to slip in and out of the shadows with ease. It stood in stark contrast with Kerreck’s own warplate. His armor was ancient, fierce and covered in a leathery, blood-soaked cowl of his favorite prey he had hunted. The Night Lord turned his head to face her; sneering beneath his face plate. This girl, barely on board their ship for a quarter of a century, had nerves of adamantine to address him so casually, even more so to assume his thoughts. But she wasn’t wrong, a monster is the only thing Kerreck could call his captain, Envrol Skavak. He had served the Night Haunter faithfully throughout the heresy, and had carried out their fathers will for three different crusades, but now… greed and power had poisoned his soul. His vision had become jaded by thoughts and spirits of the warp as he steered not only himself, but his entire company down this forsaken path.

“Have you completed your tasks, Sahar?” Kerreck inspected the ax blade in her hands. It was nearly as large as she was, and undoubtedly heavier, but she was able to maneuver the weapon with relative ease as she twirled it in her hands, the black of the handle nearly blending in perfectly with the ebony color of her matted hair.

A cruel smile curled around her lips as she offered Kerreck his weapon, bowing her head to hide her eyes, “Of course, lord. This one was tempted to test its edge against some of the slaves below deck. But she stopped at the thought of using her master's arms without his permission.”

“So there is still some wisdom in that malicious head of yours after all.” Kerreck scoffed and took the device. “That is good. I’d hate to kill you, girl. You’re the only human aboard this vessel who can truly appreciate a blade's purpose. I’d hate to have to train up another one of you.”

The girl giggled slightly, “This one shall do her best not to inconvenience her lord.” She straightened herself back out and brushed her hair out of her face, “Besides, she prefers the quiet blades, engines give away positions.” She rested her hand against the pommel of one of her machetes. “Have we been summoned yet?”

Kerreck tisked as he turned his faceplate to stare at her. His eyes peered into her soul as he reprimanded her, “Know your place, Sahar. You are my ward because I ALLOW it. But you are NOT part of this war band, you are NOT a Night Lord.”

Sahar’s expression dropped slightly. She knew she would never be an astartes, no matter how hard she trained herself, bruised herself, bled herself. She would never be at their rank. She bowed her head low, “Forgive this one's forwardness.”

Kerreck paused as perhaps a small tinge of regret lifted to the forefront of his mind, but he quickly shoved it back down. No time for sentimental weakness. “You are correct, however; the captain HAS called me up. You will accompany me, and we will see what fresh hell he has planned for the company. No doubt the makings of another crusade.”

Sahar leaned to the side as she looked up to Kerreck with curious eyes, as if she had forgotten that she had just been scolded by a Night Lord, “Perhaps the four of them wish to marshal favor with the war master?”

“Abaddon is beyond any of us.” Kerreck grumbled, “And the fact that you know his name is very… disturbing…”

Sahar giggled to herself as she followed alongside Kerreck, “This Lord talks in his sleep. Dreams of malice leak bits of information. She does her best to maintain knowledge for the sake of her lord.”

“Keep it to yourself, for both of our sakes.” Kerreck looked down to her, “Many of my brothers would relish the chance at us. And while you would never be able to stop them, you can certainly do your best to remain unnoticeable to them.” Kerreck turned to make his way towards the bridge.

—————————————————————

Sahar had never seen so many astartes assembled in one place; and there were so many different colors. The ones in gold trim seemed to strike her the most. She had never known metals could be so brightly polished. And they were shining. It almost hurt her eyes to stare at them for more than a few seconds. Hues of purple and blue danced around them. The warp ebbed into the cracks in the war plate and danced across the surfaces of their heraldry.

She caught her master's left hand shift slightly. Glancing up she saw his helmet slightly tilted towards her, a subtle sign that let her know she was staring. She took a half step back and pulled the dingy blue hood of her makeshift shawl over her head, wanting to remain as unseen as possible. She smiled a bit as she stepped back though. Other slaves aboard this ship were terrified of their masters, and rightfully so. The eighth legion was the most bloodthirsty of the corpse gods creations, perhaps even more so than the World Eaters. The twelfth legion shed the most blood physically, but they did so with ‘honor’ and ‘pride’, all to appease some god that would only cast them aside. Just as the corpse god had done to his sons. It was a pointless cycle to her. She and her master did not kill for honor, they did not do so to bask in the gifts of some heathen deity. They killed… simply because they could, and they were GOOD at it.

The girl snapped back to reality as she listened to the meeting. The captains were all arguing over the war plan. Another thing Saharr and her master hated about these joint efforts with the cousin legions. Planning and logistics and rituals and… Sahar had to hold back a groan as she stared out of the viewport. She was getting anxious, ‘and if SHE is anxious…’ she looked up to her lord; ‘HE was bordering on insanity.’

———————————————————————

Kerreck was certain that if his teeth had not been filed down and reinforced from his geneseed, they would have been ground to dust by now. His eyes darted between Locust and Azariah:

The terminator stepped forward, “Speak carefully sorcerer. My armor may not bear the shine of yours. But the powers of the grandfather, as well as the endurance of my own strength will see that I am alive LONG after you and your brothers are reduced to dust…” he looked Azariah up and down, “… again…” Venom dripped off of that last jab as Locust reminded the Thousand Sons captain of their legions greatest failure and subsequent curse.

The sorcerer responded quickly as his staff tapped the ground as roaring blue fire erupted from his hand, “Mind your tongue, you walking pile of refuse.” Azariah hissed, “Your foul bodies may be immortal, but a snap of my fingers will see that entire ship ripped apart in the darkest realms of the warp as demons feast upon your putrid souls.”

The terminator’s autocannon began to cycle on his right arm. But ultimately, it was Talos who had the final words, “Brothers, please.” He reached out and touched both of their chests, “We already have so few allies. We can scarce afford to lose what little we have in the materium. Besides, you forget we are ALL guests to our host, Skavak.”

A Night Lord captain, draped in leathery capes and skull-embossed armor plating, slowly crept from the shadows as he stared at each of them. “He is correct, you two. You stand in MY ship, surrounded by MY honor guard.”

Locust huffed, “Some guard, you merely keep a handful of Talons aboard this bridge.”

“Those are the ones you are ALLOWED to see. Do not forget my filthy friend, the Raven kin are not the ONLY ones who can hide in shadows. Now then, this debate.”

Talos bowed lightly, “Yes, noble lord. We are ready for the next step. Perhaps an explanation?”

Skavak nodded and looked at the plague marine. “I will not deny the power you hold, ancient one. But your grandfather's gifts will not serve me or my company as we haunt the galaxy.” He motioned towards the Miasmic. “However, they WILL serve as an invaluable shield against whatever Imperial reinforcements arrive at the mention of this planet's downfall. My gift to you is that. Whoever you wish to capture and claim during the fight for your purposes will go unchallenged by the rest of us.”

Locust went to protest, but he could see it in Talos’ stance that there would be no further negotiations of his cause beyond this, “Very well. But heed my warning, Envrol. The Great Changer is not as… merciful… to failure as Nergul.”

“Do you believe any amongst the eighth legion are prospects for mercy?” Skavak raised an eyebrow.

“I have said what all I will say.” Locust turned to leave, a noxious cloud following behind him like an opaque cloak.

The rancidness of his armor made Sahar gag as she had to bite her tongue and hold her breath just to keep herself from vomiting across the decks. Once he had departed, she turned her hidden gaze back to the Black Legionnaire.

“And for the three of us?” Azariah asked, “What shall be our goals here?”

“Tzeentch and Khorne…” Talos smiled, stealing a quick glance to Sahar as if he could almost read her thoughts. “The two brothers have always been in an ebb and flow for the champion of the great game. The blood god detests all things arcane, while the Great Changer is disgusted by Khorne’s… straightforward… tactics.”

Envrol growled, “And yet, you claim they will both accept me as their champion? This doesn’t make sense to my mind.”

“You are a CAPTAIN of the Night Lords.” Talos raised his voice, but not in derision or condescension, but rather as a sort of praise, “A true son of Kurze, the Night Haunter. Your armies wade through torrents of blood and death. The War god hates spellcasting, but apotheosis is something he is no stranger to. And your deeds here will cement your claim. As for the Keeper of Knowledge…” Talon turned to face Azariah.

The rubric nodded and took a half step forward, “Tzeentch is above all else, curious. He craves knowledge, and the idea of a merging demon prince between him and his brother may anger him, but his curiosity will win over. It can be done.”

Sahar caught something just there, as the sorcerer spoke. A slight pause, a fraction of a second in looking back to the Night Lord Captain. He was lying. A scheme was brewing between the two arcane masters. Skavak might very well achieve apotheosis, but he would no longer be the one pulling the strings.

“Very well.” Envrol nodded, “Nine days. We will lay waste to this world for nine days. Eight monuments are to be erected as we take the hive sectors to venerate the blood god, around each monument we will inscribe the whispers of Tzeentch. The blood will appease the one, while the knowledge claimed by this world slakes the other.” Envrol looked to Kerreck, “Prepare your brothers. When shadow falls across the planet. You will strike.”

———————————————————————

#warhammer 40k #artists on tumblr #warhammer #space marines #art #ao3 fanfic #writers things #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #fanfic

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bumblingbabooshka · 8 months

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Mirror!Neelix & Mirror!Kes Thoughts: Shared theme of destruction. Leaning further into Kes' 'insect' vibes where the Ocampa are actually a locust-like species that require a near constant source of food, though any food will do (it doesn't have to be a cooked dish). The caretaker was able to satisfy that but since Kes is alone now she finds that she's hungry a good deal of the time. Ocampa have been known in the past to cannibalize one another if there isn't another source of food. Also, I can imagine Mirror!Kes playing into the fact that other species view her age as being very young and pretending to be naive or in need of help in order to get others to let their guard down. Manipulative and often irritated by others. Despite playing into the fact that others might see her as a child, she deeply resents it. Lashes out in covert ways which she can deny. Wants to unlock her telepathic abilities to gain more power. Views herself as special and above others for being able to reach the surface. Mirror!Neelix I can imagine as having a direct hand in the destruction of his home and family. Basically, he became a soldier instead of running away. Has a poor reputation with other Talaxians because of this which he resents. Is still deeply sad about the deaths of his family but tries not to think about them at all. Also unlike regular Neelix who somewhat oversells his abilities, Mirror!Neelix undersells them. Much more lethargic and outwardly jaded/bitter than regular Neelix. Intentionally poisons Voyager's crew on a monthly basis but not Janeway or Chakotay and never lethally so she doesn't kick him off. Can make amazing dishes but often intentionally ruins them. (Good food is a special treat). Obviously dislikes his lot in life and enjoys bringing others down. Finds Tuvok intriguing because he seems immune to this. ('I want to make him happy!' is mirrored as 'I want to make him sad!') Since Voyager's Mirrored goal in my mind is 'conquer' instead of 'explore' - they often see Kes & Neelix as nuisances since they don't seem to care at all about growing their influence or being feared throughout the quadrant at first. However, Kes quickly learns to like conquering and power and grows to admire both Janeway and Tuvok. Neelix doesn't much care about conquering so much as he wants to mooch off Voyager's resources and make others miserable. Eventually becomes attached to Voyager's crew but that doesn't mean he'll poison their food any less, especially if he hears them complaining. Even after this change they're still viewed as nuisances because they don't care about any command structure except for 'Appease the Captain'.

#also in the mirrored verse Neelix is just as possessive at first but Kes is very irritated by it and they fight a lot #eventually they stop their on-off romance and just become partners in crime and their relationship improves (to everyone's dismay)#<- they are twice the nuisance 24/7 #In the mirrored verse Kes wants to the doctor to make some sort of serum/medication that can keep her alive longer #st voyager #Neelix #Kes #mirror voyager #mirror Kes also wants to eat dead crewmates v_v EMH will NOT let her until he does an autopsy thank you very much #mirrorverse to me is: Voyager crew is still a fucked up little family made unhealthily close due to the circumstances <3 #they just ALSO kill and conquer and torture people and are evil #WELL....that's the more 'zany' mirrorverse. My other Voyager 'mirrorverse' is just basically 'wrong decisions' AU #where they're still a fucked up little family made unhealthily close due to the circumstances <3 #they just ALSO have made so many impossible and bad decisions that they're paranoid beyond belief and have essentially abandoned Starfleet #code and many of their own morals to focus entirely on survival while feeling guilty and miserable the entire time #but this is the zany version where their backstories are changed - in the 'wrong decision' AU they start out as the same people/backstories

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tarot-dreams · 1 year

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A Horoscope For A New Year.

♑️ Continue to tout your achievements, they are impressive; but know that you aren’t fooling anyone. The loneliness that grips your quiet places is as clear as the forced smile on your face. If you are to know true happiness, you must resolve the pain from days gone by. It has to happen now. It’s such a distant past. You know what must be done. You don’t want to compromise, and you don’t have to, but if you don’t, misery will gladly walk hand in hand with you for the rest of your days.

Mantra : Strive.

♒️ You’re so sure you’re right. You refuse to see the perspective of those who have a differing point of view. Your words are like daggers, and you aren’t afraid to cut those who you feel are deserving. Be forewarned: there are many who hear what you say, and see what you do. They are quiet now, but they won’t remain that way forever. When it happens, you’ll say you weren’t picking a fight, and that’s somewhat true. But regardless, strife will come for you, and when it does, you’ll be blindsided. This doesn’t have to be your future. It isn’t always easy to do, but if you can open your mind to your ideological inverse, you will avoid disaster.

Mantra : Forgiveness.

♓️ Where do you fit in? Do you truly accept your tribe? Do they accept you? How long will it be before you’ve come to the conclusion that this well has run dry? Now you’re searching for the next trend. Then you realize that’s your true tribe. The nomads. The locusts. Leave this downward spiraling cycle behind. Look inward. Stop placing blame on others. Your failures and your success stem from the same place. You are able.

Mantra : Sustain.

♈️ A riddle desperate to be solved. Unable to be caught. Always on the run. Your constant thirst for something new is unquenchable. It could be said that you should take a moment for introspection, but that moment will come only when you allow it. Is there a challenge you won’t attempt to conquer? Will you ever back down? Have you discovered your limits? Your eyes are fixed upon the horizon, but it’s a place you’ll never reach. But when you are home, you are royalty.

Mantra : Quality.

♉️ Your success is immeasurable, but how do you see it? Do you value your accomplishments? Are you focused more on others around you, and how you feel undervalued by them? They see the work you do. Perhaps they don’t thank you as much as you’d like them to, so perhaps you need to be your own advocate. You aren’t taken for granted, they just don’t know how to thank you in a way that you will find meaningful. That’s not entirely your fault, you just need to calmly and clearly let others know what it is that you truly need.

Mantra : Merciful.

♊️ There has never been a greater time of change in your life than right now. Changes that can’t be undone. Do not let abandonment enter into your mind. This is your path now. This is who you are. Embrace it wholeheartedly. It will be taxing at times, but it also will be the most rewarding thing you’ve ever done.

Mantra : Hope.

♋️ Will this be the year when true stability enters back into your life? Whose definition of stability are you using? A younger version of yourself once played this game. Your maturity is your greatest strength. It’s all a game, but it’s your choice to play it or not; and you’ve finally realized that you are the one who makes the rules.

Mantra : Enough.

♌️ Your quest for adventure knows no end. A youthful heart is your guiding light. You’re admired by many, who aren’t brave enough to walk your path. Quietly criticized by cowards, but you’d never know because you only show them kindness, and in the end they envy your life. Never stop living your life on your terms.

Mantra : Limitless.

♍️ The twilight hours can be lonely. Hours of uncertainty. Staring into the face of a clock. Watching the minutes pass like hours. Holding tightly to that which you can’t control. You can’t stop the rapid passing of time. Give thanks for that which you have. Realize how far you’ve come. Be thankful for each new day.

Mantra : Acceptance.

♎️ If you can’t be honest with yourself, how will you ever be honest with anyone? Your highs are heavenly, and your lows are within the deepest depths of hell. You preach, but do you listen to your sermons? This is a time for true elevation. If not not now—when? Stop putting off that which you know you must do. Embrace your honest self. Speak only words that are true; and if you aren’t sure of the truth, remain silent. Reflect, breathe, and move forward. Return to your true source and you shall find enlightenment.

Mantra : Mindfulness.

♏️ You stand upon the precipice of the next great chapter of your life. Keep riding your wave, know it will take you to great places. Continue to laugh, it’s infectious. Alway be true to yourself. You are nobility. But now you have to take the reigns on your responsibilities. No one else can do it for you.

Mantra : Believe.

♐️ There is nothing beyond your reach. There is nothing you can’t achieve. But you have to be patient. It doesn’t all come at once. If your focus is constantly on that which you don’t have, you’ll never see all that you do. You continually inspire. Don’t be afraid to sing your songs, everyone is waiting to hear them. Your will can move mountains.

Mantra : Strength.

#horoscopes #2023 horoscope #zodiac

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spyridonya · 10 months

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The Knight Commander as a Companion - Part 1

Name: Kadira Storadottir

Race: Tiefling - Devilkin

Class: Wizard - Spell Master (can be classed into Rogue to Arcane Trickster). Her focuses will be based on buffs.

Age: Mid 20s.

Appearance: Tall with wide shoulders and hips, Kadira tends to gain and shed weight easily, a trait notable among Kellids to survive the harsh climate of the Northern regions. A heart shaped face with a firm chin and jaw framed by black curls and large blue eyes, Kadira's angelic features contrast with medium red skin, a thick tail longer than she is tall, black furred goat legs. It is readily apparent that Kadira is a tiefling though she lacks the asymmetry of most Doomspawn or Demonkin have with their features. She dresses modestly in clean, neat, and well made clothes that are usually shades of blue and green pastels. Her outfits are often minimalistic but well made. The only piece of jewelry she wears is a bracelet of beaten silver, one of the last gifts she was given by her grandfather on her 13th birthday. Kadee is aware she's attractive, but is very sensitive about her legs.

Top Skills: Knowledge: Religion, Arcane, Nature and Trickery

Alignment: Neutral Good

How/when do they join the Commander’s party?

Kadira will introduce herself at Defender's Heart, informing Commander that Irabeth has asked her to assist in escorting the commander around the city. She's a bit curt and formal in this introduction, though the commander will realize she's not entirely trustful of them.

General Personality:

At first impression, Kadira is a dutiful young woman whose initial shyness might be mistaken for arrogant - an impression that can quickly melt away depending on the KC's actions. Rather, her distance is self protection due to living in a city that sees her as a constant reminder of the Worldwound and from the Inquisitors who are too eager to clamp down on the tiniest bit of heresy. When comfortable with others, Kadira is considerably kind, bright, and a reliable friend and ally. She becomes giddy with excitement in sharing her knowledge, though it's more prone to being helpful than to showing off.

Due to her seemingly well organized and loyalty to the Eagle Watch, many mistake Kadira for being lawful more so than chaotic. If pressed Kadira would say that any method that helps the benefit of all should be used, if following the letter of the law can save more soldiers, she'll stick to it. If flipping a table and demanding a change of guard can save more civilians, she'll do it.

Kadira, however, can be prone to being far too sharp with some of the more forceful characters within the commander's party, and she has a high sense of morals - goodness is what she's truly loyal to and is quick to leave if she finds the Commander is dangerous - meaning she will leave under Lich, Demon, or Devil paths without the right circumstance.

In romance, Kadira returns to her cautious nature once more, she compares herself to other LIs harshly, considering herself as too boring in personality and a required taste. However as she opens up, Kadira is playful, affectionate, and open with her affections. There is a spicer element in her romance around Chapter 4.

What traits/values do they admire?

Compassion, ingenuity, competence, and humor.

What traits/values do they disapprove of?

Mistaking cruelty for pragmaticism, putting methods before morality, hard love methods, grasshoppers and locusts.

Are they affiliated with any deities?

Kadira worships Shelyn, though her focus is primary on Shelyn's role as a goddess of love and compassion with art being secondary. Though she doesn't bring it up often with the other companions save conversations with Sosiel, Trevor, and Wenduag. However, the commander can find her sketching the flora and fauna around camp and in the march to Drezen, Drezen, and the Abyss.

What do they think of their role in the Crusades, and of sharing the Commander’s Mythic powers?

Kadira has a unique perspective due to the mundanity of her life, notably so compared to the other companions coming from Kenabras. As someone with Sarkorian heritage, she's very aware how much of her culture has been lost due to the demons and the crusaders, and that the only way to get it back is to close the Worldwound. She finds the Eagle Watch the least problematic among the crusaders, though she often attempts to speak with Irabeth about why Mendevians are the way they are with minor success.

Kadira never expected such a role, and if she had to be honest she felt she was fighting the good fight that wouldn't end well for Golarion. She's honored and a little overwhelmed with her powers, due to the fall out with her family, but has to admit she enjoys their uses.

Upon finding out the powers are from the Abyss, Kadira will react reasonably with non-evil paths, pointing out that ultimately the KC is choosing how to use their powers and isn't bound to fate. She strongly approves of Angel, Azata, and Gold Dragon paths, and tolerates Aeon and Trickster. Kadira will leave the party, regardless of romance, if the commander goes Demon, Lich, Devil, or Swarm. However, with a Another Archdevil Path, she might be able to stay…

What are their reasons for joining the commander’s party?

Kadira's reasons to join are simple, she was assigned as a guide to the commander by Irabeth, and knows the city well and many of the named NPCs that the party can interact within the city. Her reliability and skills make her a useful member of the companions and she's dedicated to stopping the demon threat.

Who are their friends among the other party members?

Arueshalae - The relationship begins with outright curiosity and Kadira becomes more animated in talking with Arue as the game goes on. Eventually she'll discuss that change is just as much a part of 'law' as 'chaos', otherwise the universe stagnates - and what Desna is doing for Arue isn't chaotic. It's ultimately 'good'. As a romance rival, Kadira is very much loyal to Arue and encourages her to follow her feelings.

Ember - Kadira knows Ember, and Ember knows Kadira, and Kadira cannot fault Ember for her rejection of the gods. She worries that Ember does too much and tries to encourage her to stay at the camp or at Drezen. She's deeply concerned when Ember is kidnapped but becomes so very proud of Ember's courage.

Lann - Kadira and Lann get along well, often exchanging banter and jokes with each other in their reactivity. She does become dismayed when Lann leans more into 'lawful evil' than 'lawful good'. She also trades methods on how to groom horns as the crusade progresses. He can also be 'romanced' by Kadira if the KC encourages it. She gets very conflicted about being a romantic rival with Lann, because her ‘canon’ crush on him.

Seelah - Kadira has some prejudice against paladins and inquisitors, so she's half unsure that Seelah compassion and friendliness is real. Eventually Kadira will warm up to Seelah and there will be a few camp banters where they're both drunk and cackling about Cayden Cailean hitting on both their goddesses.

Woljif - Woljif and Kadira become like squabbling siblings at times, Woljif having the remarkable knack of getting Kadira's nerves. However she is fierce in defending Woljif when he runs away and when dealing with his fiendish relatives.

What about neutral?

Ulrbrig - She’ll be fascinated by the big man, constantly asking him questions about their old homeland. He finds her endearing at first, but when he finds she’s a wizard, he becomes rather cold. Kadira is remarkably hurt by this.

Trevor - She never becomes friends with Trevor, who doesn't understand why a wizard would worship Shelyn, but she always remains unfailingly kind towards him.

Sosiel - There is a strange rivalry between the two. Kadira is far more focused on Shelyn's love and compassion than her art, despite her attempts to perform art, and finds Sosiel clings a little too much to the 'rules' when love has no rules. She also attempts to ask if his distrust of the Hellknights is based on what they do, or propaganda by his homeland. However, she does agree if the Hellknights over welcome their stay, she’ll treat them like she will any demon cultists.

Nenio - The two are remarkable foils as wizards; Nenio is arrogant about her intelligence and collects knowledge blindly. Kadira gently downplays her intelligence and uses knowledge as a benefit for others. Nenio doesn't care about the lack of her past but Kadira cares a little too much about her past.

Greybor - She's one of the few people Greybor is uncomfortable with, and that's due to the fact Kadira was abandoned by her father. While Kadira is not the one who brings it up, Greybor does once or twice. He slides into the friendship side after her Act 5 quest, being remarkably compassionate. (Over what? Good question!)

Regill - Kadira will claim that the fundamental wrongness of the Hellknights is their adherence to dogma and refusing to see the Law as transmutable reference for how a society should act in the Material Plane, notably when the Hellknights have their own biases what pragmatism is. Regill tells her she's too naive and needs more discipline. However, they both admire their end goals even if their take of said goals are remarkably different pathways.

What about rivals?

Camellia - Unlike Kadira as a Knight Commander, Kadira as a companion doesn't know much of her family's former Green Faith. She finds Camellia largely boring and hypocritical, Camellia is no meaner to her than she is to most people. Kadira actually can lose her temper and will go on about how they're both bastards of peasant stock. Camellia will absolutely mock Kadira’s lack of experience as a romance rival for the KC… nevermind that Camellia is on the same boat.

Wenduag - Kadira and Wenduag do not get along; Wenduag finds her weak in nature and doesn't appericiate her Kadira's role as a support caster. Kadira finds Wenduag's method of bootlicking as disgusting and finds her lack of planning troublesome for Wenduag's people. As rivals, Kadira is oddly meek, and Wenduag does prey on it.

Daeran - Kadira dislikes Daeran, who is largely amused by her (and attracted), though Kadira never hesitates to let him know his misanthropy is hardly unique - punching up while pissing at the feet of others doesn't make him special. She becomes kinder to him after his Act 2/3 quest, picking up his discomfort but never approaching him about it at the party. (DLC dependent) If Kadira is the only DLC companion that romances Daeran downloaded, he can be a romance for her. As rivals, he hints they really ought to join forces to capture the KC's heart. If Kadira is with other DLC companions who romance Daeran, Kadira will not romance Daeran. As rivals, Daeran is quick to mock the traits that she finds uncomfortable.

Other NPCs

Kadira has a friends with benefits relationship with Ramien in her recent past. When romanced by the PC by Act 3 and if Ramien survives in Act 1, the cleric will head to Drezen regardless of who is the Prelate of Kenabras to engage in a more romantic affair with Kadira. If Daeran is in the party while talking to Ramien and referring to their past affair, Kadira will react to the conversation. There will be a reaction from Daeran in Act 3 about the relationship. Ramien doesn't die during Act 5 outside the Angel and Trickster path due to a protective ring Kadira gave him.

Kadira begins a long distance romance with Aranka should she not be romanced by the PC. Aranka will arrive in Drezen in Act 3, regardless of the mythic path the KC is on. There isn't as much reactivity by the party, save Arue or Seelah encouraging the romance in camp banters once the affair begins. Aranka will give Kadira a ring before Kadira must go to the Abyss along with the KC.

Kadira is very fond of Gretlen and her idiosyncratic acting trope, knowing that joy is very important in such dark times. She'll always encourage the commander to speak to Gretlen during her conversations in all acts. At times there will be scenes at the camp and in Drezen where Kadira is attempting to help with the play.

One Eye Devil, Kadira becomes friends with the merchant due to both being devilkin in a land of Doomspawn. Sadly, this friendship doesn't help with discounts. His possible death in Act 5 is a blow to Kadira.

DLC Companions

Coming soon

Are they on any councils? If so, what sort of advice do they give?

Kadira would be placed on the military and logistics council. She's prone to focusing on the citizens of the worldwound and then its soldiers. She will often champion better equipment and well trained units at the cost of smaller units.

Where do they hang out in Drezen? In the Abyss?

During the city's siege: Kadira will be helping with the refugees inside and will be absolutely enraptured by the golem, asking him questions and being delighted with any and all comments.

On the March: Usually on the outskirts, found crouched and looking at shrubs, she'll say she's a bit busy and wants to get this sketch done.

In Drezen: Prior to the Ivory Sanctum, Kadira can be found just about anywhere, if not talking to One Eye, the Golem, Wilcer or drawing scrub bushes or birds. After the Sanctum in a romance state, Kadira can be found talking to Ramien and the Hand.If the KC encourages her to romance others, she can be found next to Ramien/Aranka/Lann/Daeran depending if she's in romance. If she's not romancing anyone, she can be found near the Hand.

At the Nexus: Kadira is everywhere outside, she'll complain about the energy but she's still drawing. There will be three or four cycle animations of her in various areas, exclaiming about how she's shocked how harmless these plants can be.

What are their idle animations?

straightening her skirts

holding a spell book with her tail, paging through the contents with her fingers

checking her tail behind her

checking her hooves, raising her skirts

playing with a pen while her tail sways behind her

stretching her goat legs and looking so cute!

If they’re taken to Areelu’s lab, what is their dream?

Kadira dreams of a shadowy figure rushing towards her, enfolding her into a hug. She sounds like she's sobbing as she clings desperately and whispers 'Gramps'. When awake, she will be in pain and answer the question of what she was dreaming with this, "That my family accepted me."

Do they advise the commander to abandon or keep their mythic powers?

Angel: Kadira approves of these powers, saying that how one uses power is more important than the origin of power. She'll remind the KC how all the good and justice they've done and that they've shaped the power. She understands Iomedae's worry, but she's followed the commander from the start.

Azata: Kadira approves of these powers, saying that how one uses power is more important than the origin of power. She'll remind the KC how all the good and justice they've done and that they've shaped the power. She understands Iomedae's worry, but she's followed the commander from the start.

Trickster: Kadira will be doubtful of the power, saying how one uses power is more important than the origin of the power. That being said, she'll note that it's not so much the chaos that Trickster causes but rather how it's slowly eating away at the KC's psyche and do they truly want to risk that?

Aeon: Kadira will be doubtful of the power, saying how one uses power is more important than the origin of the power. That being said, she'll note that it's not so much the chaos that Trickster causes but rather how it's slowly eating away at the KC's psyche and do they truly want to risk that? She will try to remind the commander that rules are impossible to keep not because they're wrong, but rather they're guidelines.

Lich: Kadira will leave if the KC stays on the Lich Path.

Demon: Kadira will leave if the KC stays on the Demon Path.

Gold Dragon: Kadira is in awe, and approves of this new path greatly.

Swarm: Kadira leaves.

Legend: Kadira approves of this, telling the KC that sometimes the greatest power comes from within.

Vanilla Devil Path: Kadira will leave if the KC steps on the Devil Path.

The Other Archdevil's Devil Path: The KC will have a chance to be offered power by a different Archdevil on the Angel or Lich path. Which Archdevil is this? What will Kadira do? Well, that’s for the next update…

Provide some dialogue/bark examples!

When selected:

"What can I do?"

"You rang? (amused)"

"Oh! Yes! Wait, let me cross the t..."

"No time like the present."

"Need my expertise? (Hopeful)"

Assigned a task:

"Of course!"

"Let me handle it."

"I know what to do!"

"I read this in a book, once."

Success:

"Perfect!"

"I'm glad you trusted me."

Failure:

"I guess I didn't get to that part of the book."

"Well, mistakes do help us to become better..."

"Shoot."

Magic Item Failure:

“But I read the instruction manual, twice!”

Spotted something:

"Oh! How interesting!"

"Wait! Stop! Don't step on it!"

"Hmm?"

Into battle:

"You are intolerable."

"Oh, demons and cults. How surprising."

"Get out of my homeland!"

Critical hit:

"Gotcha."

Health low:

“I... knew I should have studied medicine.”

Falls unconscious:

“I will ... know better... next time.."

Refusing to equip something:

“I feel this is a bit bulky for me."

"Oh! This is something only Shelyn could love..."

“Don’t you know how heavy this is?”

"I-I don't know how to use this."

If romanced after sex:

"Wait... it's cold out there. I want you to be warm."

"The idea of lingering and waiting for you is... a perfect use of time."

"I'll be thinking about you all day."

"I... take care of yourself, if I can't?"

“I promise I’ll use my tail. Again.”

(coming later!) Quests/Romance

(coming later) Endings/Banter

#character: knight commander kadira #commander as companion #pwotr #pwotr pals

21 notes · View notes

istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Queensguard (Barristan I) [Chapter 55]

Welcome to Part II of the LOCUSTS MYSTERIES.

Click for Part I.

"You were the queen's man," said Reznak mo Reznak. "The king desires his own men about him when he holds court."

I am the queen's man still. Today, tomorrow, always, until my last breath, or hers.

God please shut the fuck up.

+.+.+

Barristan Selmy refused to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside.

"Wait for it" will not prepare you for the nonsense that's coming.

+.+.+

One by one, Hizdahr removes us all. Strong Belwas lingered at the door of death in the temple, under the care of the Blue Graces … though Selmy half suspected they were finishing the job those honeyed locusts had begun.

Why? Is there a single thing you could point to that would justify that belief?

+.+.+

Skahaz Shavepate had been stripped of his command. The Unsullied had withdrawn to their barracks. Jhogo, Daario Naharis, Admiral Groleo, and Hero of the Unsullied remained hostages of the Yunkai'i. Aggo and Rakharo and the rest of the queen's khalasar had been dispatched across the river to search for their lost queen. Even Missandei had been replaced; the king did not think it fit to use a child as his herald, and a onetime Naathi slave at that. And now me.

The more George amplifies Bad Guy Hizdahr, the uglier his death will be.

+.+.+

And this mistrust was mutual. Hizdahr zo Loraq might be his queen's consort, but he would never be his king.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside.

Yeah, I wonder why Hizdahr wouldn't want you protecting him.

+.+.+

"If His Grace wishes for me to remove myself from court …"

"His Radiance," the seneschal corrected.

"Might I know which men His Grace has chosen to protect him?"

"May they defend His Grace against all threats." Ser Barristan's tone gave no hint of his true feelings; he had learned to hide such back in King's Landing years ago.

"His Magnificence," Reznak mo Reznak stressed.

"I am His Grace's to command."

"Not Grace," the seneschal complained. "That style is Westerosi. His Magnificence, His Radiance, His Worship."

His Vanity would fit better. "As you say."

I'm sorry, we're going to have to address this before we can move on.

This is so fucking obnoxious, it makes Daenerys look like the world's greatest xenophile.

He's not just refusing to use the proper title, he's actually insulting Hizdahr zo Loraq.

"A whore, you mean."

"They call them Graces. They come in different colors. The red ones are the only ones who fuck." - The Dragontamer, ADWD

The Graces are priestesses of the Ghiscari region. Some of them are prostitutes. There's no vanity, Reznak is requesting common fucking courtesy.

Pay attention to how Reznak mo Reznak addresses Barristan Selmy, despite knighthood not existing in Meereen.

Surely you can understand that, ser.

Your other duties shall remain unchanged, ser.

Incredible how easy it is to be respectful.

+.+.+

"No, no, no, you misunderstand me. His Worship is to receive a delegation from the Yunkai'i, to discuss the withdrawal of their armies. They may ask for … ah … recompense for those who lost their lives to the dragon's wroth. A delicate situation. The king feels it will be better if they see a Meereenese king upon the throne, protected by Meereenese warriors. Surely you can understand that, ser."

I understand more than you know.

HAHAHAHA.

no.

You are a clever imp, just as Varys said, and Daenerys will have need of clever men about her. Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning. - Tyrion II, ADWD

+.+.+

"Might I know which men His Grace has chosen to protect him?"

Reznak mo Reznak smiled his slimy smile. "Fearsome fighters, who love His Worship well. Goghor the Giant. Khrazz. The Spotted Cat. Belaquo Bonebreaker. Heroes all."

Pit fighters all. Ser Barristan was unsurprised.

Slaves. They're slaves.

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq sat uneasily on his new throne. It had been a thousand years since Meereen last had a king, and there were some even amongst the old blood who thought they might have made a better choice than him.

Gosh it almost sounds like now would be a bad time to kill his wife.

+.+.+

And the king's protectors grew fewer every day. Hizdahr's blunder with Grey Worm had cost him the Unsullied. When His Grace had tried to put them under the command of a cousin, as he had the Brazen Beasts, Grey Worm had informed the king that they were free men who took commands only from their mother. As for the Brazen Beasts, half were freedmen and the rest shavepates, whose true loyalty might still be to Skahaz mo Kandaq. The pit fighters were King Hizdahr's only reliable support, against a sea of enemies.

I'm not about to defend his decision to try and takeover the Unsullied.

+.+.+

"May they defend His Grace against all threats." Ser Barristan's tone gave no hint of his true feelings; he had learned to hide such back in King's Landing years ago.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside.

+.+.+

"Your other duties shall remain unchanged, ser. Should this peace fail, His Radiance would still wish for you to command his forces against the enemies of our city."

He has that much sense, at least. Belaquo Bonebreaker and Goghor the Giant might serve as Hizdahr's shields, but the notion of either leading an army into battle was so ludicrous that the old knight almost smiled.

Slaves. They're slaves.

+.+.+

This time his oily smile betokened dismissal. Ser Barristan took his leave, grateful to leave the stench of the seneschal's perfume behind him. A man should smell of sweat, not flowers.

Amazed you can even smell him with all that brown on your nose.

This (not the) perfumed seneschal is a walking dead guy.

+.+.+

The Great Pyramid of Meereen was eight hundred feet high from base to point. The seneschal's chambers were on the second level. The queen's apartments, and his own, occupied the highest step. A long climb for a man my age, Ser Barristan thought, as he started up. He had been known to make that climb five or six times a day on the queen's business, as the aches in his knees and the small of his back could attest. There will come a day when I can no longer face these steps, he thought, and that day will be here sooner than I would like.

Eight hundred feet? What the hell is George R. R. Martin smoking?

He's Cressen!

To reach him they must cross the gallery, pass through the middle and inner walls with their guardian gargoyles and black iron gates, and ascend more steps than Cressen cared to contemplate. Young men climbed steps two at a time; for old men with bad hips, every one was a torment. - Prologue, ACOK

+.+.+

Mezzara, Miklaz, Qezza, and the rest of the queen's young cupbearers—hostages in truth, but both Selmy and the queen had become so fond of them that it was hard for him to think of them that way—had gone with the king, whilst Irri and Jhiqui departed with the other Dothraki.

I bet they haven't forgotten.

+.+.+

Only Missandei remained, a forlorn little ghost haunting the queen's chambers at the apex of the pyramid.

So she's kinda like a ghost in Pyramid?

+.+.+

The Yunkishmen burning their dead, he realized. The pale mare is galloping through their siege camps. Despite all the queen had done, the sickness had spread, both within the city walls and without. Meereen's markets were closed, its streets empty. King Hizdahr had allowed the fighting pits to remain open, but the crowds were sparse. The Meereenese had even begun to shun the Temple of the Graces, reportedly.

The slavers will find some way to blame Daenerys for that as well, Ser Barristan thought bitterly.

A leader should not take credit when things go right if they are not willing to accept responsibility when things go wrong.

+.+.+

Forty-seven years, and the taste still lingered in his memory, yet he could not have said what he had supped on ten days ago if all seven kingdoms had depended on it. Boiled dog, most like. Or some other foul dish that tasted no better.

You are such a twat.

+.+.+

Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. I am become old and slow. Small wonder Naharis mocked him as Ser Grandfather. Would Daario have moved more quickly if he had been beside the queen that day? Selmy thought he knew the answer to that, though it was not one he liked.

Too slow, old man?

If he is anywhere near her when she dies I will climax right then and there.

+.+.+

Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon's back, flying.

+.+.+

Beyond the gates had been a solid press of people. Maddened by the smell of dragon, horses below reared in terror, lashing out with iron-shod hooves. Food stalls and palanquins alike were overturned, men knocked down and trampled. Spears were thrown, crossbows were fired. Some struck home. The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded.

TWO HUNDRED FOURTEEN?

He's already dracarys'd two hundred fourteen people with her mounted on his back?

She better hope I don't find any evidence she said the word.

+.+.+

Some swore they saw her fall. Others insisted that the dragon had carried her off to devour her. They are wrong.

That's true, actually.

+.+.+

"She might be flying home," he told himself, aloud.

"No," murmured a soft voice behind him. "She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us."

Ser Barristan turned. "Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you." She hesitated.

Not Barristan Selmy being caught off guard by Missandei paragraphs after he contemplates whether he's too old and slow.

+.+.+

"Skahaz mo Kandaq wishes words with you."

"The Shavepate? You spoke with him?" That was rash, rash. The enmity ran deep between Shakaz and the king, and the girl was clever enough to know that. Skahaz had been outspoken in his opposition to the queen's marriage, a fact Hizdahr had not forgotten. "Is he here? In the pyramid?"

"When he wishes. He comes and goes, ser."

Yes. He would. "Who told you he wants words with me?"

"A Brazen Beast. He wore an owl mask."

He wore an owl mask when he spoke to you. By now he could be a jackal, a tiger, a sloth. Ser Barristan had hated the masks from the start and never more than now. Honest men should never need to hide their faces. And the Shavepate …

Skahaz of many faces coming and going as he pleases. Love the sound of that.

Honest men should never need to hide their faces.

Lol.

+.+.+

He did not like the taste of this. It smelled of deceit, of whispers and lies and plots hatched in the dark, all the things he'd hoped to leave behind with the Spider and Lord Littlefinger and their ilk. Barristan Selmy was not a bookish man,

We can tell.

+.+.+

but he had often glanced through the pages of the White Book, where the deeds of his predecessors had been recorded. Some had been heroes, some weaklings, knaves, or cravens. Most were only men—quicker and stronger than most, more skilled with sword and shield, but still prey to pride, ambition, lust, love, anger, jealousy, greed for gold, hunger for power, and all the other failings that afflicted lesser mortals. The best of them overcame their flaws, did their duty, and died with their swords in their hands. The worst …

The worst were those who played the game of thrones. "Can you find this owl again?" he asked Missandei.

"This one can try, ser."

"Tell him I will speak with … with our friend … after dark, by the stables."

Exactly what Barristan Selmy is about to do.

There you have it, in his own words, the worst of the Kingsguard.

+.+.+

Missandei turned as if to go, then paused a moment and said, "It is said that the Yunkai'i have ringed the city all about with scorpions, to loose iron bolts into the sky should Drogon return."

Ser Barristan had heard that too. "It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded."

That was three hundred years ago.

Weapons evolve over time. Dragons haven't.

+.+.+

Aegon's son Jaehaerys had bestowed the white cloak on him when he was three-and-twenty, after he slew Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. In that same cloak he had stood beside the Iron Throne as madness consumed Jaehaerys's son Aerys. Stood, and saw, and heard, and yet did nothing.

But no. That was not fair. He did his duty. Some nights, Ser Barristan wondered if he had not done that duty too well. He had sworn his vows before the eyes of gods and men, he could not in honor go against them … but the keeping of those vows had grown hard in the last years of King Aerys's reign. He had seen things that it pained him to recall, and more than once he wondered how much of the blood was on his own hands.

It's unreal he has so much disdain for Jaime Lannister.

I'm allowed to hate Jaime Lannister, Barristan Selmy is not.

+.+.+

If he had not gone into Duskendale to rescue Aerys from Lord Darklyn's dungeons, the king might well have died there as Tywin Lannister sacked the town. Then Prince Rhaegar would have ascended the Iron Throne, mayhaps to heal the realm. Duskendale had been his finest hour, yet the memory tasted bitter on his tongue.

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings.

God damn your life has been pointless.

+.+.+

Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

Me thinks Barry is going to have to convince himself Aegon is not real.

+.+.+

Afternoon brought Ser Barristan a brief respite from his doubts. He spent it in the training hall on the pyramid's third level, working with his boys, teaching them the art of sword and shield, horse and lance … and chivalry, the code that made a knight more than any pit fighter.

Slaves. They're slaves.

+.+.+

With no king to guard, I will have more time to train them now, he realized as he walked from pair to pair, watching them go at one another with blunted swords and spears with rounded heads. Brave boys. Baseborn, aye, but some will make good knights, and they love the queen. If not for her, all of them would have ended in the pits. King Hizdahr has his pit fighters, but Daenerys will have knights.

Slaves. They're slaves.

Why do you have so much contempt for these slaves?

+.+.+

He kept his sword and dagger. This could still be some trap. He had little trust in Hizdahr and less in Reznak mo Reznak. The perfumed seneschal could well be part of this, trying to lure him into a secret meeting so he could sweep up him and Skahaz both and charge them with conspiring against the king.

Reznak mo Reznak has yet to do a single thing wrong in this book.

#JusticeforReznak

+.+.+

If the Shavepate speaks treason, he will leave me no choice but to arrest him. Hizdahr is my queen's consort, however little I may like it. My duty is to him, not Skahaz.

Wait for it.

+.+.+

Or was it?

The first duty of the Kingsguard was to defend the king from harm or threat. The white knights were sworn to obey the king's commands as well, to keep his secrets, counsel him when counsel was requested and keep silent when it was not, serve his pleasure and defend his name and honor. Strictly speaking, it was purely the king's choice whether or not to extend Kingsguard protection to others, even those of royal blood. Some kings thought it right and proper to dispatch Kingsguard to serve and defend their wives and children, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins of greater and lesser degree, and occasionally even their lovers, mistresses, and bastards. But others preferred to use household knights and men-at-arms for those purposes, whilst keeping their seven as their own personal guard, never far from their sides.

Ahem.

Look at honorable Barristan Selmy desperately searching for justification to skirt his duty.

+.+.+

Then a shadow detached itself from inside an empty stall and became another Brazen Beast, clad in pleated black skirt, greaves, and muscled breastplate. "A cat?" said Barristan Selmy when he saw the brass beneath the hood. When the Shavepate had commanded the Brazen Beasts, he had favored a serpent's-head mask, imperious and frightening.

"Cats go everywhere," replied the familiar voice of Skahaz mo Kandaq. "No one ever looks at them."

Please don't tell me he's wearing a cat mask.

Please don't tell me the man who may have attempted to assassinate Daenerys is wearing a cat mask.

LMAO.

+.+.+

"If Hizdahr should learn that you are here …"

"Who will tell him? Marghaz? Marghaz knows what I want him to know. The Beasts are still mine. Do not forget it."

Oops, oops. Who surrounded Daenerys the day the fighting pits reopened?

At the base of the Great Pyramid, Ser Barristan awaited them beside an ornate open palanquin, surrounded by Brazen Beasts. Ser Grandfather, Dany thought. Despite his age, he looked tall and handsome in the armor that she'd given him. "I would be happier if you had Unsullied guards about you today, Your Grace," the old knight said, as Hizdahr went to greet his cousin. "Half of these Brazen Beasts are untried freedmen." And the other half are Meereenese of doubtful loyalty, he left unsaid. Selmy mistrusted all the Meereenese, even shavepates.

[...]

"A mask can hide many things, Your Grace. Is the man behind the owl mask the same owl who guarded you yesterday and the day before? How can we know?" - Daenerys IX, ADWD

+.+.+

"I have the poisoner."

"Who?"

"Hizdahr's confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a catspaw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived."

Hey stupid, ask him why they would kill the daughter if half the city believes Daenerys is dead.

He could almost hear them whispering—Great Masters, Sons of the Harpy, Yunkai'i, all telling one another that his queen was dead. Half of the city believed it, though as yet they did not have the courage to say such words aloud.

+.+.+

"Why?" Doubts gnawed at him. "The Sons had stopped their killing. Hizdahr's peace—"

"—is a sham. Not at first, no. The Yunkai'i were afraid of our queen, of her Unsullied, of her dragons. This land has known dragons before. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had read his histories, he knew. Hizdahr as well. Why not a peace? Daenerys wanted it, they could see that. Wanted it too much. She should have marched to Astapor." Skahaz moved closer. "That was before. The pit changed all. Daenerys gone, Yurkhaz dead. In place of one old lion, a pack of jackals. Bloodbeard … that one has no taste for peace. And there is more. Worse. Volantis has launched its fleet against us."

In other words, the peace was real?

Hey stupid, ask him why the locusts were poisoned before Drogon touched down in the fighting pits.

+.+.+

"Volantis." Selmy's sword hand tingled. We made a peace with Yunkai. Not with Volantis.

The peace deal with Yunkai allows for slave trade to continue everywhere but Meereen. Volantis launched their fleet because Daenerys destroyed the slave trade.

I can't know for sure, but I think war could have been avoided once they arrived.

This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

+.+.+

"You are certain?" "Certain. The Wise Masters know. So do their friends. The Harpy, Reznak, Hizdahr. This king will open the city gates to the Volantenes when they arrive. All those Daenerys freed will be enslaved again. Even some who were never slaves will be fitted for chains. You may end your days in a fighting pit, old man. Khrazz will eat your heart."

His head was pounding. "Daenerys must be told."

Lying. There's still a contingent of Yunkish lords who wish to honor the peace deal.

Poor old Yezzan. The lord of suet was not so bad as masters went. Sweets had been right about that. Serving at his nightly banquets, Tyrion had soon learned that Yezzan stood foremost amongst those Yunkish lords who favored honoring the peace with Meereen. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

"No. Have the Yunkishmen chosen a new commander?"

"The council of masters has been unable to agree. Yezzan zo Qaggaz had the most support, but now he's died as well. - The Spurned Suitor, ADWD

+.+.+

Skahaz grasped his forearm. His fingers felt like iron. "We cannot wait for her. I have spoken with the Free Brothers, the Mother's Men, the Stalwart Shields. They have no trust in Loraq. We must break the Yunkai'i. But we need the Unsullied. Grey Worm will listen to you. Speak to him."

"To what end?" He is speaking treason. Conspiracy.

If the Shavepate speaks treason, he will leave me no choice but to arrest him. Hizdahr is my queen's consort, however little I may like it. My duty is to him, not Skahaz.

+.+.+

"Life." The Shavepate's eyes were black pools behind the brazen cat mask. "We must strike before the Volantenes arrive. Break the siege, kill the slaver lords, turn their sellswords. The Yunkai'i do not expect an attack. I have spies in their camps. There's sickness, they say, worse every day. Discipline has gone to rot. The lords are drunk more oft than not, gorging themselves at feasts, telling each other of the riches they'll divide when Meereen falls, squabbling over primacy. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince despise each other. No one expects a fight. Not now. Hizdahr's peace has lulled us to sleep, they believe."

"Daenerys signed that peace," Ser Barristan said. "It is not for us to break it without her leave."

Astonishing how often this man calls for blood.

The Shavepate has a harder heart than mine. They had fought about the hostages half a dozen times. "The Sons of the Harpy are laughing in their pyramids," Skahaz said, just this morning. "What good are hostages if you will not take their heads?" - Daenerys IV, ADWD

Dany studied the scroll. All the ruling families of Meereen were named: Hazkar, Merreq, Quazzar, Zhak, Rhazdar, Ghazeen, Pahl, even Reznak and Loraq. "What am I to do with a list of names?"

"Every man on that list has kin within the city. Sons and brothers, wives and daughters, mothers and fathers. Let my Brazen Beasts seize them. Their lives will win you back those ships." - Daenerys V, ADWD

+.+.+

"What of Hizdahr? He is still her consort. Her king. Her husband."

"Her poisoner."

Is he? "Where is your proof?"

"The crown he wears is proof enough. The throne he sits. Open your eyes, old man. That is all he needed from Daenerys, all he ever wanted. Once he had it, why share the rule?"

Why indeed?

That's not proof.

I don't know Barristan, why don't you take a second to think about it. Could there be a less opportune moment for Hizdahr to kill Daeneyrs?

Pit fighters all. Ser Barristan was unsurprised. Hizdahr zo Loraq sat uneasily on his new throne. It had been a thousand years since Meereen last had a king, and there were some even amongst the old blood who thought they might have made a better choice than him. Outside the city sat the Yunkai'i with their sellswords and their allies; inside were the Sons of the Harpy.

And the king's protectors grew fewer every day.

The pit fighters were King Hizdahr's only reliable support, against a sea of enemies.

And while you're thinking that through, try to think of anyone else who might have motive to falsely incriminate Hizdahr.

Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile. - Daenerys I, ADWD

The Shavepate's eyes brimmed with fury. It had been his notion to have the Brazen Beasts follow her betrothed and take note of all his actions. - Daenerys V, ADWD

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

The Green Grace says there is blood between Loraq and Kandaq, and the Shavepate never made a secret of his disdain for my lord husband. - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

He could still see the air shimmering above the scarlet sands, smell the blood spilling from the men who'd died for their amusement. And he could still hear Hizdahr, urging his queen to try the honeyed locusts. Those are very tasty … sweet and hot … yet he never touched so much as one himself …

How to Not Get Away with Murder.

The Lannisters were framed for the murder of Jon Arryn. Tyrion was framed for the murder of Joffrey Baratheon.

Hizdahr did not poison the locusts. Is there a dumber POV? (Don't you dare say his name.)

+.+.+

Selmy rubbed his temple. I swore no vows to Hizdahr zo Loraq. And if I had, he has cast me aside, just as Joffrey did.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside.

+.+.+

"This … this confectioner, I want to question him myself. Alone."

"Is it that way?" The Shavepate crossed his arms against his chest. "Done, then. Question him as you like."

"The Shavepate has ways of finding the truth."

"I do not doubt that Skahaz would soon have me confessing. A day with him, and I will be one of the Harpy's Sons. Two days, and I will be the Harpy. Three, and it will turn out I slew your father too, back in the Sunset Kingdoms when I was yet a boy. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

The Brazen Beasts had taken dozens of the Harpy's Sons, and those who had survived their capture had yielded names when questioned sharply … too many names, it seemed to her. - Daenerys V, ADWD

"If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession."

"No," she said. "I do not trust these confessions. You've brought me too many of them, all of them worthless." - Daenerys V, ADWD

+.+.+

Skahaz's smile was savage. "My word, then. No harm to Hizdahr till his guilt is proved. But when we have the proof, I mean to kill him with my own hands. I want to pull his entrails out and show them to him before I let him die."

No, the old knight thought. If Hizdahr conspired at my queen's death, I will see to him myself, but his death will be swift and clean. The gods of Westeros were far away, yet Ser Barristan Selmy paused for a moment to say a silent prayer, asking the Crone to light his way to wisdom. For the children, he told himself. For the city. For my queen.

"I will talk to Grey Worm," he said.

Great! Two people with a vendetta determining if the accused is guilty. Sounds fair.

Final thoughts:

I hate Barristan Selmy more than Tyrion.

There, I said it.

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the queensguard #barristan i

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