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hazbininlove · 3 months

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Hopelessly Devoted

Chapter 1

-About 5k of worldbuilding and angst

There’s an angel in Heaven few know of. Some wonder if she purposely let herself be forgotten, and others know that her isolation isn’t entirely her own fault.

Heaven’s structure wasn’t as simple as Hell’s mainly due to the fact that there were so many roles to play. Not every Archangel and or Virtue was a Seraphim. Seraphim has always been the highest rank, but even amongst themselves there was another ranking system not many knew of, and even they had other angels that outranked them due solely to the Divine’s words. Everyone had their own task, some, the Archangels, were given their tasks directly from the Divine.

The Seven, as they were called, were the Capital Virtues, angels with the rank of Archangel, dedicated undoubtedly to the Divine’s will. As extensions of the Divine, they were rarely seen within any city of Heaven besides possibly the Primum Mobile, where the Divine resided. Few winners were allowed there because only Virtuous Souls could enter those gates. While there were many virtues, the Seven were the ones to look towards to enforce the Divine’s will both in Heaven, and on Earth.

And within that Primum Mobile, the Heaven of the Angels, resides a Seraphim with the rank of Archangel, not a virtue but an angel nearly as old. She’s been around since before the Earth’s creation, long before the Garden of Eden.

She remained there in the Primum Mobile, kept within the walls of the palace, free to leave but knowing it was best to stay. Michael looked upon her, saddened by her melancholy that has not left her for thousands of years. She sat within the library, her black hair falling down her back in gentle waves as wisps of hair fell towards her midnight blue eyes. The two streaks of white weaves through her hair on either side of her. Her lips were set in a straight line, the blue circular marks on the corner of her mouth a stark contrast to the gray of her skin. She flipped the page of her book as he approached, and when she sensed him, she looked up to him with a soft smile on her face.

“Michael, always a pleasure,” she says, and though her tone is welcoming, Michael can still see the pain within her eyes when she looks at him. It breaks his heart knowing exactly why it’s there, but he feels no regret for following the task that the Divine gave him. He knows she understands this, but he also knows that it does nothing to ease her suffering, and nothing has for eons.

“Esther, my dear, when was the last time you left these walls?”

She looks away from him and back to her book, her fingers absently toying with the pages. “I sat in the Garden with Ramiel a few days ago.”

He sighs, knowing that it likely took weeks just to get her to do that much.

“You aren’t confined here, not anymore, and you know that. I know we… I made the mistake of keeping you here long ago as a precaution but that was centuries ago now. You are free to roam the cities as you once did, to roam Earth should you choose to! It pains us to see you like this,” he says, reaching forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. His hand slides down her cheek towards her chin to lift her face and see her eyes. “We miss our Eveningstar.”

“I am the Seraph and Archangel of balance, and yet I feel none,” she whispers to him, and his heart breaks for her. “I understand why I was kept here, you know I’ve never questioned the Divine’s words, but it does nothing to fill the emptiness I feel. A half of me is gone, Michael, and I’ll never get him back. Your Eveningstar is here, but my Morningstar is forever out of reach.”

His hand moves back to her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed and she leans into his touch.

“If I gave you a task, one that forced you out of these walls, would you follow it?” He asks her gently.

“A task from you means a task sent from the Divine. Of course I will follow it,” she replies, her voice a bit louder now, with a hint of playfulness. He knows she isn’t happy about it, but as she said, she will follow if that is what the Divine asks of her.

“Gabriel gave me the message, as he thought it was best that I give it to you. There is apparently a meeting today for the Head Council of the first Sphere, one that Sera seemed to not notify us of. The Divine knows, of course, but wouldn’t speak more of it. All Gabriel said was that you were to go to this meeting, assess what Sera is keeping from us, and report back.”

Michael didn’t care much for Sera. She was nice enough, and her devotion was clear, but there was something about her that reminded him a bit of his brother. She wasn’t a dreamer, and she knew when to keep her head down and voice quiet, but she also looked too calculating and too ambitious.

“It sounds like you are keeping something from me as well,” Esther replies, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

He was keeping something from her. He knows it’s best to tell her now instead of letting her be surprised later, but there’s no easy way to say it. “Gabriel has reason to believe that the request for the meeting came from Hell.”

He watches her eyes widen a bit, her jaw falling just slightly as she leans away from his hand. He tries to follow, to keep her grounded, but she leans closer to him now. “If the meeting came from Hell, that can only mean that he requested it.”

“Yes.”

Her breath stutters, and he can see her visibly shaken. “Thousands of years kept here to ensure I don’t see him and all of a sudden, I’m asked to go see him? Michael, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” he responds, truthful in his answers. He won’t lie to her, he can’t, but he wishes that he could. “If it was up to me, I’d go myself, but Gabriel said that the task was given only to you. I don’t know if it will be him, or Lilith, or… or their daughter. All Gabriel was able to say was that it has something to do with Hell.”

He hates having to be the one to remind her that the Morningstar moved on and had a child. He remembers the day that Gabriel delivered the news. He’d watched as she’d stretched her wings before curling the highest pair over her eyes as she turned and walked away from them, hiding herself deeper into the palace. They hadn’t seen a single tear fall, but Michael still recalls the small broken sound she’d made before hiding away from the rest of them.

He watches again now as her wings settle behind her with a flurry of silver dust, and she stands from her seat. The wings closest to her head, just as before, curl around her, concealing her face from view once more. Her lowest pair curls around her legs, still giving her room to walk but still wrapped like a comforting embrace. The middle pair don’t wrap around her, but they remain limp behind her as if there wasn’t a single bone in them.

“When is the meeting?” She asks him quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. He wants to reach out and comfort her, but she’s already moving towards the door.

“Tomorrow,” he replies. He watches her pause at the doorway for a moment before she turns slightly towards him. Her face is still hidden from him but she gives him a small bow of her head in acknowledgment before walking away.

He has a terrible feeling about this, but he can’t do anything about it. All he can do is trust the Divine as he too leaves the library, letting his own pair of wings come out as he flies back to where he’d last seen Gabriel.

——————————

Charlie recalls being in Heaven and seeing an angel with dark hair and midnight blue eyes. Her skin was gray, just slightly darker than Vaggie’s, and her cheeks had blue circles on them, much like her own and her father’s red cheek marks. She could tell the woman was a high ranking angel, based on the six wigs like her father’s though hers were blue on the inside where he father’s were a deep red. She was beautiful, just as all the other angels there, but there was something about her that felt familiar.

What really got Charlie had been the angel’s eyes. She smiled at those who greeted her, keeping her expression kind and welcoming, but her smile never reached her eyes. It almost looked like she wasn’t truly seeing the people she was speaking to, a far away look in her eyes. She kept her interactions to a minimum.

When Charlie had asked Emily about her, she watched the Seraphim of Joy’s eyes widen happily before abruptly tensing and looking nervous. She looked between Charlie and the other angel with fidgeting hands and cleared her throat.

“That’s Esther…. She’s the Eveningstar,” Emily had said.

Charlie remembers tensing as well, looking back to where she was walking in a new direction. She’s wanted to approach Esther, to say something, but she kept herself rooted in her spot. What could she even say? Hi, I’m Charlie Morningstar, you know the daughter your other half had with someone else!

And how stupid would that sound? Did Esther even know of Charlie’s existence? Did she know that Charlie was even there?

And then she saw her in the meeting. Even Sera had seemed surprised to see her, but Esther kept her gaze on Charlie the whole time. Charlie’s heart nearly broke seeing that far away look in your eyes clear for a moment, likely seeing her resemblance to her father. Esther’s smile never faltered, but there was definitely a sadder quality to it.

Sera seemed to want to continue speaking to her, but she’d excused herself and flew to a higher viewing point beside Emily. Sera looked frustrated, but hadn’t said more, just flew to join them on the podium.

And then that disastrous meeting had happened. Esther had seemed as receptive as Emily, until the moment Adam slipped and mentioned the exterminations. Esther’s eyes had widened, she hadn’t said much, but Charlie could see the glow around her increasing in size and the anger in her expression.

She’d been flung back to hell before she could hear how that ended.

And now, just days since her hotel was rebuilt after the destruction Adam caused, she hadn’t expected to see a portal open in the sky just outside her hotel and Esther come flying down.

The portal had alerted all of them. They rushed to get weapons ready, her dad already had his wings out and ready until they saw who it was. The others kept their weapons up, but Charlie dropped her weapon in surprise and watched as her dad’s wings drooped and his eyes widened in shock.

Esther looked as beautiful as she did the last time Charlie saw her. Her black hair fell around her face and down just past her shoulders in waves. She still had that same sad, soft smile on her face, though her eyes looked more present. Her wings, just as large and radiant as her father’s, fluttered gently around her to keep her afloat.

Charlie watches as Esther looks to her dad briefly before focusing her attention back to herself. She could feel her dad’s confused gaze as Esther approached her, her smile dropping to a frown as she spoke.

“I apologize that I couldn’t be here soon and stop them. Things in Heaven have been… hectic, to say the least. But I wanted to let you know in person that I’ve been doing everything I can to make sure these exterminations never happen again,” Esther said. Her voice is melodic, but soft and almost airy. It felt so different from her father’s richer tone of voice. She sounded and looked so apologetic as she spoke, and based on her reaction back in the meeting, Charlie didn’t doubt that she truly was. “Sera did a great job of keeping her secrets, but the other Seraphim have been made aware, including the Seven, have been made aware now, and they won’t allow for further oversight.”

Charlie cheers with her friends, all excited about the news that there would be no further exterminations, but she could see her dad’s uncertain expression.

“You expect me to believe that the others, that Michael, are just going to leave us alone?” Lucifer asks, his tone doubtful.

Charlie watches as Esther’s wings rattle, the feathers ruffling just slightly, and her eyes close. She takes a deep breath before she turns to Lucifer with a sad expression, her frown deepening. “We haven’t seen each other in eons, and that is the first thing you say to me, Morningstar?”

Lucifer tenses further, pulled tight like a band ready to snap. He looks properly scolded in a way Charlie hasn’t seen anyone besides herself or her mother be capable of.

“It’s uh…it’s been a while? How’ve you been, Eveningstar? You don’t look like you’ve aged a day past a thousand!”

Oh, he’s nervous. Her dad only rambled like that when he was nervous. It’d be a bit funny, if it wasn’t so awkward and a little sad to see him so anxious when confronted by the person who might as well be his soulmate. He was trying to look anywhere but at her, his hands moving sporadically as he fixed his collar, patted down his sleeves, or adjusted his hat.

Her wings curl around her, the top most moving to shield her face, but she doesn’t completely hide it from view. Her dad doesn’t see her expression, still caught up in trying to force his attention anywhere else, but he sees her wings shift, and by the time he looks back, Esther has focused back on Charlie.

“Azrael may come down, as the angel of death, he’s the most upset by this, but Michael is more upset by Sera’s lies than anything else. Unless it is something that directly affects the Divine and Heaven’s safety, he’ll stay in his place. As of now, your actions are seen as a necessary sign of self defense, and that is something even Michael can acknowledge. Unless you plan to directly attack Heaven, Michael has no need to act.”

It’s a relief, and it’s clear on her face because Esther’s smile grows a bit more warm, and a bit more genuine. And just as quickly as it was there, her smile fell again when her dad mumbled “He sure didn’t hesitate to act when I gave Eve the apple.”

“Well luckily self-defense and allowing evil into the world seem to be offenses on opposite sides of the spectrum,” Esther replied, glaring down at him. She wasn’t as tall as Charlie, but she was taller than Vaggie and her dad. Her dad grumbles a bit but doesn’t say anything else, thankfully.

Esther quickly looks to Charlie once more, her smile now a bit sharper due to her annoyance with Lucifer, but kind all the same.

“Wait a sec,” Angel Dust interrupts, stepping forward. “What the actual fuck is going on? We’re just going to ignore the fact that these two know each other?” he asks, pointing between Lucifer and Esther. “And Eveningstar? Morningstar? Hello?!”

“Angel, for once, consider shutting the fuck up,” Vaggie says, groaning as she looks over at the taller sinner.

“What?” Angel whines back. “You can’t expect me to not be surprised when meeting an angel older than Earth who isn’t trying to kill me!””

“I suppose I should introduce myself. I apologize for not doing so earlier,” Esther said, turning to the larger group. “My name is Esther Eveningstar, the Archangel of balance. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“So are you two related or some shit?” Husk asks, just as confused as the rest. Lucifer looks disgusted at the thought, and Esther looks horrified.

“Oh Heavens, no!” Her wings fluttered a bit, and Charlie couldn’t help but be impressed how expressive she was with her wings. “We were um… well…”

“We are a pair,” Lucifer interrupts, looking distraught and completely hurt by her struggle to put their relationship into words. “We’re the original pair.”

Esther looks sad, eyes downcast and her hands fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. “Yes, a pair. We were named the sphere we were created for, Venus, the Morning and Evening Star, the closest to Earth, the first and last seen as the Sun rises and falls. I was created after Lucifer, as a companion… a pair. An even balance.”

“And yet, you spent more time apart than together! How interesting,” Alastor adds. Esther visibly deflates at this, and Lucifer’s teeth grit as his sclera briefly shifts to red.

“Yes, well, things happen, of course! I mean, given the universe's track record I think it’s fair to say that forcing a pair is never for the best. I mean, when has it ever worked, right?” she replies, an awkward chuckle as she continues to stretch the fabric of her dress.

“Hold on now,” Lucifer says, taking a step towards her. She seems to lean towards him, giving herself just that one moment, before she flinches and takes a step back. Lucifer pauses too, unsure of what to do. His voice grows softer, much more gentle now than the awkward banter of earlier. “We worked. We work! We definitely work. I mean, they were based on us!”

“And they separated rather quickly, didn’t they?” Esther asked back, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “Then the next wanted more, and you wanted someone else. How many pairs were made after that?”

The Story of Hell, Charlie realizes quickly. They’re talking about Adam and Lilith being a failed pair, followed by Eve’s temptation for more knowledge despite being created specifically for Adam from a piece of Adam’s own body. And the fall, wanting someone else; Esther didn’t have the book. She didn’t know Lucifer’s and Lilith’s side. To her, Lucifer had abandoned her for someone else, for Lilith.

“No, Esther, no, please, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe that. You know I didn’t leave you for someone else. You know, I never meant to let evil in, or to fall, or- or any of it! Please, Es, you have to know that,” Lucifer pleads with her.

And Charlie sees the exact moment, when her dad reaches out to touch her, that Esther sees her dad’s hand, shifts her eyes to look directly at Charlie, and looks back at Lucifer with a look that looks so much like defeat and acceptance that it nearly makes Charlie feel sick.

Vaggie’s hand squeezes her own, and Charlie knows she saw it too. The worst part is, she knows Esther isn’t blaming her, isn’t putting any fault on her, but part of her feels like she is the problem here. If she hadn’t been born, would this whole situation have been different? Would their reunion have been more pleasant, or heartfelt?

“I know you didn’t mean for evil to find its way to Earth, or for Hell’s creation,” Esther says back, just as gentle as Lucifer’s when he spoke, and just as broken. It doesn’t escape any of them that she said nothing about being left for someone else, because at the end of the day, Lucifer may not have fallen in love with anyone else, but that didn’t mean he remained entirely faithful either. And while it seemed that he had moved on, likely the way so many in Heaven believed, she had not. And Charlie couldn’t blame her. The majority of Hell’s residents, he’ll born and sinner alike, didn’t even know her part in the story. Most books erased her part entirely and made her parent’s story one of love. Her parent’s never even married.

Esther takes a step away from them, away from Lucifer, and she pretends she doesn’t see his heart break as he looks at her with eyes overflowing with pain.

Instead, Charlie watches as Esther’s attention is focused back on her once more. “Gabriel also wanted me to mention that your hotel works, and the Divine would be pleased to see you continue with this plan of yours. Sinner has arrived at the first Sphere, a being by the name of Sir Pentious, I believe Emily said.”

“What?” Charlie gasps, shock taking over. Beside her, Vaggie has let go of her hand to grab her shoulders, shaking her a bit. “It- It worked?! Sir Pentious is alive?!”

Esther smiles at her and takes her hands, bringing them together. “He is doing well, as far as the reports say. Emily has tasked herself with taking care of him.”

It doesn’t take long for Charlie to start sobbing. Esther looks flustered, unsure of what to do, but Vaggie brings her closer into a hug and Esther’s hands drop from hers.

“You hear that, Vaggie? We did it! Sir Pentious is in Heaven now,” she says between sobs, grabbing at the back of Vaggie’s shirt. She feels Vaggie patting her hair, shushing her a bit to try and calm her.

”Holy shit, it actually works! Well damn, guess it’s time to get serious, huh?” Angel remarks from the side. Vaggie gives him a glare, likely at the implication that he hadn’t been taking them seriously before, and his second set of arms raise in defense.

“So the big fella upstairs isn’t about to smite us or something?” Husk asks, pushing Angel out of the way.

”Of course not! The Divine is always just in punishment and forgiveness. Human souls are the Divine’s children just as the angels. All are worthy of forgiveness should they seek it and work virtuously towards it. Forgiveness is not easy to obtain, but it is worth the effort,” Esther explains to them.

“But, why now? Why didn’t any of this come up before the Exterminations were started?” Vaggie asks.

Esther shakes her head. “It is not my place to question the Divine. Rarely are we given clear answers, usually just a push in the direction that leads us where we need to go. I must keep my belief that everything happens for a reason the Divine chooses. Every task we are given is from the Divine, and we follow it without question.”

”So he probably knew of the extermination and knew that Sera chick was keeping secrets this whole time, and just let it happen?” Angel adds. Esther visibly winces.

”It sounds terrible, I know. None of us are happy about it. But again, we have to trust there is a reason for all of this. There is a reason that now is the time to put an end to it. I believe it’s because of you, Charlie,” she says, smiling towards her.

”Me?”

Esther chuckles at her incredulous reply. “You may be hellborn but… you are the daughter of an angel. You’re a demon, yes, but you’re also technically a Nephilim.”

”What’s a Nephilim?” Nifty asks, having climbed up onto Alastor’s shoulders. Esther smiles up at her.

“A Nephilim is a child born of an angel and a human.” She looks back at Charlie now. “You’ve certainly got an interesting mix in you; a Seraphim, a Human, and a Demon all combined. Not only that, but the first of each kind! I believe if anyone would be capable of bringing upon redemption for the souls of sinners, it would be someone capable of understanding both sides.”

She laughs a bit at the awestruck looks they are shifting between her and Charlie. She didn’t think it would be that surprising, considering it’s no secret that Lucifer was not only a Seraphim, but a Archangel and Virtue himself, but it seems Lucifer didn’t mention much about Heaven to her.

“I will be returning every so often, to check on your progress as well as keep you up to date on the status of Heaven. As I mentioned before, Sera will be punished for her actions. How the Divine chooses to do so has yet to be seen, but Gabriel and Michael will likely be the ones to deal with that. Now,” she says, her tone lowering slightly as she turns back to Lucifer, expression once again tense. “Samael, a word in private, please?”

She bows slightly to the group before turning and walking away. Charlie looks around in confusion as to who Samael was, if another angel had been with her, when see’s her dad’s shoulders raise and back straighten. He shifts slightly on his feet before trudging behind her, dragging his feet the whole time.

”Am I missing something else? Who the fuck is Samael?” Angel asks.

”It’s Lucifer,” Vaggie replies. Even Charlie looks at her, confused. “I thought you guys knew this? You know how before you got to hell, you thought Lucifer and Satan were the same person? It’s kinda like that. His name is Lucifer, always has been, but every Archangel, every Virtue, has a name in reference to God. His name was Samael. And like most of the high ranking angels, he had a lot of roles.”

”How do you know all this?” Charlie asks. “And what were his roles? The Story of Hell doesn’t mention any of that.”

Vaggie shrugs. “Heaven’s got a lot of books, and I had a lot of time. Plus, your dad doesn’t like to talk about Heaven, so I’m not surprised he made sure it wasn’t in the book. He was known as a lot of things; an angel of music who led the choirs in God’s name, the Virtue of Humility, and an angel of death, created to destroy sin.”

”You expect me to believe the first sin, the sin of Pride, the one that created this damned place, was a Virtue?” Husk asks. He looks irritated, and Vaggie’s expression matches his.

”He was one of the original Capital Virtues, one of the Seven. But every Virtue has a Vice and Lucifer fell to his. He hated sin, but he also wasn’t against it. It’s why he was called a dreamer. He wanted people to have free will, because he wanted people to be able to choose between right and wrong, and hoped that if humans were created to be as good as God said, they wouldn’t choose wrong.”

”But they did,” Charlie replies, voice just above a whisper. Vaggie nods at her interruption.

“I think it’s why he allowed the exterminations in the first place. He allowed for free will, allowed the possibility of sin, but he never meant for evil to come with it, or hell to be created. So he allowed sinners to be killed, because that was one of his tasks as an angel of death, to destroy sin.”

”But he’s now the Sin of Pride, he may hate it, but he’ll never say that he was wrong. And he wasn’t! People should have the chance to choose for themselves! He should take pride in that,” Charlie says, wanting to defend her dad. From who, she isn’t sure, maybe the universe at this point. None of this felt fair. It felt like he was doomed from the start.

”I know, sweetheart. I’m just saying, there’s a lot more to the story than just Hell’s side of things,” Vaggie replies, patting her arm. “So yeah, Lucifer is the name he was given as a Seraphim based on his Sphere, but Samael is the name he was given based on his role as an Archangel and Virtue.”

”Why does this sound like it’s gonna turn into a whole lesson. I thought I had enough school time when I was alive, don’t tell me I gotta deal with this shit in death too. And you angels keep talkin’ about Spheres! The fuck is that supposed to be?” Angel whines. Husk elbows him in the hip and he whines more, swatting at his arm.

”The same way Hell has it’s seven rings, Heaven has it’s seven spheres. It’s… a lot, honestly, and I think we can save the Heaven History lessons for another day, because there’s a lot to get into and I think we’ve all had enough for the day.”

”Quite so,” Alastor says. “How about we all head back into the hotel and let our King handle the rest. I’m sure he’ll tell us if there’s anything else of importance we need to know.”

Nifty hops off of him and starts walking back to the hotel without question, giggling to herself about all the bugs she’s sure to catch now that she’s given them a chance to roam. Husk and Angel shrug and follow, most likely already planning to sit at the bar and drink themselves under the table after all the revelations they’ve had today.

Charlie looks to where her dad and Esther are still talking, neither of them really looking at the other, but both still somehow almost leaning towards each other.

”They’ll be okay, Charlie,” Vaggie says, taking her hand once more. “Unconditional, remember?”

”Yeah,” Charlie replies, looking down at her girlfriend with a small smile. “I just hope that’s enough for them.”

——————————————————

Oh boy this took me a while to figure out how to write.

To make it clear, Esther and Lucifer were never married, but they were in a romantic relationship, which is why Esther believes Lucifer did cheat on her and believes part of the reason he and Lilith did what they did and fell is because of that.

The worldbuilding is mostly about Heaven. Since we don’t see much of it in the show, there’s a lot to speculate on. The same way the show sort of reference’s Dante’s rings of hell, I’m also going to base Heaven loosely on Dante’s spheres of paradise.

Also! I drew a picture of how I see Esther in my style, as well as a little doodle of how I’d draw Lucifer in my own style (yes, I gave him a little nose). The same way Lucifer has a lighter streak in his hair, I wanted Esther to have something similar, but ended up with just two streaks of white on both sides of her hair. I tried a couple different hairstyles and outfits on her before I settled on this one (though part of me is debating if I want her to eventually cut her hair. I haven’t decided yet).

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel Lucifer x reader #Hazbin hotel Lucifer x OC #lucifer x oc #lucifer x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x oc #lucifer Morningstar x oc #lucifer Morningstar x reader #lucifer Magne x oc #lucifer magne x reader

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newyorkthegoldenage · 3 months

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The first architectural rendering of the future Rockefeller Center (then called Metropolitan or Radio City) was revealed on March 6, 1931.

The press was not kind. "The crux of the problem is that Radio City is ugly," wrote the Herald Tribune. "The exterior is hideously dull and ugly." The Times referred to its "architectural fallacies and horrors." The central feature of the design, a circular structure to house Chase National Bank, was called an "oil drum."

The architects were sent back to the drawing board, with Raymond Hood now advising. He opened up the campus, which had had a lot of buildings crammed into a small space, replaced the brick with limestone, and scrapped the oil drum. He also added rooftop gardens to several buildings and placed a fountain in the sunken plaza.

Photo: istoriadelosrascacielosdenuevayork

#vintage New York #1930s #Rockefeller Center #unbuilt New York #architectural rendering #design #urban planning #Raymond Hood #March 6 #6 March #architecture

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calypsolemon · 9 months

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This is more of a question and it's probably not a really interesting one, but do you think that the rose garden's architecture being different in the series and the movie (in the series it is a literal birdcage, while in the movie it is way bigger and also just not a birdcage anymore) is telling of something? Especially because of how Touga told Anthy the garden is "her domain" in (I think) episode 11

Oh anon, literally everything is interesting in rgu

I feel like I can't analyze this without pointing out that the birdcage rose garden is in the movie, its just busted all to heck

Its barely recognizable as it looks like someone basically exploded it, but the circular foundation is there and you can see the crosslike structures are really from the metal of the glass frame. I generally come at the movie from the framework that it is, at the very least, an emotional continuation of the show, so this has always made sense to me as anthy having broken free of the literal cage of akio's control (which is subsequently why he is buried under the remains of the old cage as well).

The architecture of her current garden in the dueling arena makes sense to me as an extension of that concept. Unlike the birdcage, it is in the open air, with not even anything around it to keep one from just falling off the edge (noteably this is linked back to in the shot that is definitely meant to parallel her attempt to jump in episode 37). It signifies the position Anthy has in this iteration of Ohtori - that is, without her brother, she is at the top of the hierarchy. She, despite initial appearances, is in control of what goes on here.

However, the garden/arena is also shaped like a diamond, and several shots of the movie very obviously give it the sense that it is the sort of caution sign you'd see on a road. Those two factors show that while Anthy may have some semblance of control in this space, she is still emotionally caught in the trappings of the dueling system/ ohtori itself. It could be a sign of caution to herself, in that way, or even to others - the subconcious part of Anthy that is afraid that she can never escape the trauma she went through and the negative behaviors she learned from them, even after removing herself from Akio's physical presence.

#rgu #revolutionary girl utena #adolescence of utena #im sure im not the first at all to point all this out but this is what ive taken from it #EDIT: tumblr fracking deleted some of my commentary wth. put it back

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pennylanefics · 1 year

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Secret Garden - Josh Kiszka

a/n: i of course got this inspiration at like 2 in the morning and finished it at 4 🙃 it starts off rough bc i haven’t written for a bit, and it’s not my greatest, but i tried :) also inspired by this photo i reblogged yesterday

summary: josh finds a hidden garden and brings you there to spend time together

Josh walks along a concrete path, his soft hand in yours, swinging back and forth like two children holding hands. His thumb rubs the back of yours soothingly, reminding you with his touch that he’s here and with you. Today, with him being back home from tour for a little while now, he wanted to spend time with you, of course, but in a new place.

Recently, while on a walk by himself, he discovered this little secret and hidden garden with a small but beautiful pond and a bunch of plants and flowers in the middle of a round stone structure; he immediately knew he wanted to bring you with him the next time he went and show you the space.

No words are spoken as you come up to a wooden structure, overtaken by the greenery. There’s a small bench underneath a large circle cutout in the paneling, overlooking the gorgeous yet slightly overgrown garden.

“Josh, what-”

“I came across this and it was so peaceful here, and I figured we could use some time to ourselves,” he murmurs, bringing you over to the bench to take a seat.

Looking out the window-like feature, you take in the bright green scenery, the early morning sunlight filtering through to bathe everything in a hazy glow, the fog in the distance beginning to settle. There was a large tree just to the right of you, a few ways away from where you sat, that provided some shade to the small pond that it was planted right next to.

“Who owns this?” You wonder, turning to your lover, who sits there, admiring you, a small grin on his lips.

“I’m not sure. It’s not on private property, so it must be a community thing. But I sat here for so long the other day, clearing my head, and I know you could use the same.”

His hand remains in yours as you lean against the curve of the circular cut-out, staring at Josh in awe. The sunlight was beginning to move, and the spot Josh sat in was its next target; though he didn’t seem to care, and as he gazes into the distance, you take in his features.

From the soft curls resting against his forehead, to the slight bump of his nose that you loved so much, his ears that were now visible all the time due to his haircut, and the newly shaved down sides that were your favorite part about it all; how soft it felt under your fingertips, like his velvet jumpsuits right before he goes on stage.

The blinding sun shone directly onto Josh’s face as he takes deep breaths of the fresh air, yet he still didn’t seem to have an issue with it. This gave you a chance to see the beautiful color of his eyes. He had always been insecure about his brown irises, hating that they weren’t a striking blue or deep green that would grab people’s attention.

However when you met him, you found a deep love for his eyes. They held so much of his soul and so much knowledge, they hide visions of film ideas behind them, and best of anything, they offer so much comfort. When you’re feeling down, you can look into his eyes and suddenly, everything is okay; he expresses his emotions with them as well, and it’s one thing you adore about him.

Of course, not to mention amount of love they held for you every single time they landed on you.

The streak of light lit them up beautifully, turning them from a deep chocolate brown to a stunning, rich, golden brown, one that makes them stand out so much more, and showcases their beauty in a different light.

You get lost in the sight for a moment, falling into the pool of color, feeling that sense of comfort come to you, even though no words have been said. Warmth washes over you by just looking into is eyes, a sign of how in love you are with Josh.

Traveling down his face, your eyes land on his soft, plump lips. The ones you loved to kiss so much, the ones that spoke praise to you during passionate nights, so pink and kissable all the damn time. Every so often, as you lay in bed laying side by side, facing each other, you take a moment to trace your finger along his lips just because. And he always makes sure to give your fingertips soft kisses in return as well.

“Something on your mind, darling?” His voice breaks you from your daze. Shaking your head for a moment, your eyes meet again, and now, that warm, comforting color was staring right back at you.

“Nothing at all,” you grin, brushing off the daydream. “Just thinking about how much I love you.” Josh smiles and leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

“I love you too, dove,” he whispers against your lips before sitting back down.

As the hours pass, you and Josh remain in your spots, enjoying the nice, spring weather while taking in the beauty of nature, and quietly chatting over anything and everything. Josh tells you stories from tour that he was saving to tell you, while you detail what some of your days were like without him, or complaining about work.

Eventually, you move to lay in Josh’s arms, with your back against his chest, your head snuggly fitting into the crook of his neck. His arms were wrapped around you as tightly as they could be, and he rests his cheek on the crown of your head. Your legs were sprawled out on the bench, the sun now high in the midday sky, making the leaves and vines creeping up the sides of the walls the perfect sunshade for you.

Your eyes flutter closed as a cool breeze washes over you, the chill in the air sending a small shiver up your arms. Josh begins to hum along to one of their new songs quietly as his hands rub your forearms, having sensed your sudden discomfort with the temperature.

“Josh, can you tell me the story of when you decided you wanted to become a filmmaker?” You ask, not turning around. He chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating onto your back.

“Of course, darling. I was young, probably twelve, when my school was doing a film contest. Anyone could send anything in, and I did something with Jake and Sam. It was so stupid, we were just running around on the playground at the park near our house. But it had a whole story to it. We used our imagination the best we could, and it somehow ended up winning second place. From there, I decided that I really liked telling stories.

“It escalated to writing out short stories for me and my friends. They went nowhere aside from acting them out whenever I had friends sleep over. But then when I was sixteen, I had a friend who offered to lend his video camera to us so we could shoot it. And ever since then, I’ve loved writing stories and and watching the script come to life.”

The soothing sound of his soft, melodic voice was enough to make your eyelids grow heavy, but you didn’t want to fall asleep and miss this incredible time with him.

“Haven’t I told you that before? Why did you wanna hear it again?” He asks, placing his cheek back on your head. You hum quietly and sit up, his face falling as you slip away from his arms. Coming close to him, you kiss his nose as softly as ever, a blush immediately rising to his cheeks.

“I just wanted to hear you talk. I love listening to you.”

“Is that so?” He coos, trying to cover up the fact that he was flustered and flattered. Giggling, you kiss all over his face in response, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from him as well.

“Very much so. Why do you think I ask you to read me to sleep every night? I could listen to you talk for hours.”

“You’re so adorable,” he gushes, kissing you as sweetly as ever. You settle back in his arms, silence falling over the two of you as the sounds of nature take over.

Birds chirping, the wind rustling the green leaves on the trees, the flowers bouncing along with every breeze. Crickets could be heard in the distance, adding to the ambience of the space. Josh closes his eyes as well, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, calming and grounding himself in the moment.

“I could stay here forever,” you whisper, turning your head to gaze up at him. He smiles, placing a single kiss to your forehead.

“Me too, dove. Hopefully when we settle down, we can move into a little cottage away from the city, no neighbors for miles, just wide open spaces, a beautiful garden to sit in and enjoy on days like these.”

“Do you dream about that? Like…what our future looks like and all?” Josh clears his throat and situates himself a bit to get more comfortable.

“I do,” he admits quietly. “I would love to move closer to the mountains, away from civility, but not too far, just for the solitude and peace. No honking cars, no drunk people walking down the street at two in the morning, no neighbors playing obnoxiously loud music until the late hours of the night. Just us two, maybe a dog and a cat.”

“What kind of dog and cat?” Switching positions, you were now sitting with your legs draped across Josh’s lap, his feet planted on the ground, facing forward. Your right arm rests around his shoulder while your left lays on your legs, playing with Josh’s right hand.

“I always imagine a greyhound. A gentle giant, one that’s rescued from the racing tracks. I would love to show them what it’s like to be loved, they’re such beautiful dogs and it would be such a magical time and feeling watching them accept the love and care they deserve. And for cats, you know we’d have to get an orange cat. They’re such characters and so loving and sweet at the same time.”

“I love that,” you sigh softly. “It sounds so nice. What else do you imagine?” Josh smiles and looks at you sweetly.

“I imagine a garden where we can grow our own fruits and vegetables, probably a little nook like this to spend our days in, reconnecting with nature and just being in each other’s presence. I also think it’d be a small house, not too big, maybe a room or two extra for our kids.”

“You think about that too?” Josh’s face was now bright pink, his secrets having been exposed. Yeah, of course he thought of everything like that, but he wasn’t expecting to share it, ever.

“Yeah,” he whispers, looking down at your entwined hands. “But I won’t get into that right now.”

“Do you think about names?” You wonder, keeping your eyes down as well. He pauses for a moment before a small chortle rattles his body.

“Daisy and Heath,” he smiles to himself. “The boy’s name is a work in progress, but the impact Heath Ledger had on film was incredible.”

“I love those, Josh.”

“And I love you,” he finally looks up, tilting your chin a bit to meet his gaze. Smiling widely, you take notice of the absolute adoration in his brown eyes, back to the original color that you fell deeply in love with. “I want to be with you till the end of time, my love. You are my everything, and I want to give you the world because you deserve it.”

Tears form in your eyes and you fall into Josh’s arms, wanting to hide how emotional he’s made you.

“I love you so much, Josh. You mean everything to me, and you already give me the world by just loving me.” He leans in and kisses you deeply. His hand rises to cup your cheek, his thumb softly rubbing the apple of your cheek.

Your hands tangle in his soft locks, your right hand tugging on the curls at the back of his neck, your left hand threading through the side, right above the shaved section; your fingertips eventually trail down for a few seconds to stroke over the fuzzy area.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds before he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours, attempting to catch his breath.

“My beautiful angel, how in the world did I get so lucky to call you mine?”

—

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wumblr · 10 days

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again -- when zionists, conservatives, or terfs use bad logic, it's because they fundamentally don't care what the logic says, whether it's internally self-consistent or even at first glance reasonable. the ONLY things that matter to them are whether it makes their in-group look good or their out-group look bad, and whether it has utility to get them closer to their goals or not

everything they say depends only on whether it supports their preselected goal. truth, accuracy, nuance, and material implications of the matter are irrelevant. it's not a philosophy that allows for revised perspective based on new information, that would be seen as a display of weakness

this is one of the most meaningful distinctions between the logical structuring of totalitarian vs liberatory politics and every day i see it getting glossed over: circular-reasoning, garden-path, thought-terminating cliches are very effective at their intended purpose, which is, very simply, to make author and audience feel differently about the topic, so that they can morally absolve themselves of continuing their reprehensible behavior. in many cases this is openly stated! the doubt and confusion attendant to circuitous logic are cast as the devil's brainwash, a dangerous fire to be comprehensively and immediately stamped out. you have to feel it in your chest, the obvious "common sense" truth of the thing you already wanted to believe, and remain steadfast, and obliterate anything that gets in the way of that, no matter the lengths you have to go to get it done

and this is precisely what's capable of persuading people to discard it. isn't it exhausting? this doesn't have to be your circus. you wouldn't need to keep forcing yourself into contortionist acrobatics to constantly devise insubstantial, convoluted and ridiculous talking points to counter an endless litany of obvious facts, you could develop a solid moral core, and the easy, clear, righteous certainty that comes along with it would stand in stark contrast to everything you've ever known. it would be a lot of work, so much that the stress might quite literally cause your heart to fail or your mind to falter, because of how deeply entrenched you have allowed it to become, because you're so steeped in it and unfamiliar with any other habits -- but it is possible

of course the most effective method is being brought to face the way this philosophy hurts someone they love. that's not something that can be engineered through discussion, they have to make the choice to go and face it themselves, and many have been so primed by it that they would rather disown someone than face it. i don't think there's any hope for those people, and there's no point mincing words about it, because the alternative is to waste time on long-lost causes

#you could also add 'liberals' to the list but if i'm being honest they're the intended audience and stating it openly would make them object

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altraviolet · 5 months

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so im neck deep in reading echo garden - hi, hope ur doing well, holy hell what is this beautiful piece of writing and worldbuilding omg? i originally wanted to ask you something like; 'what's your inspiration for your worldbuilding, what ideas did you come up with, pull/build from etc'

..but instead i wanna try and ask you a different question/for advice, if that's okay? (your writing went and gave me a mild crisis, congrats you've reached peak 'make-ppl-feel-things-thru-writing' skillz. :}) how do you even 'do' worldbuilding? because i'm doubting myself, reading your story lol. i know the whole.. 'we get inspiration from literally everything around us', 'there's no such thing as a truly original idea' etc,

but i'm just now breaking free of the thought that i have to.. produce something big and unique and grandiose? (for others? it's a weird attention-y 'ey look what i made' thing.) like, honestly, i fell in love with your worldbuilding but feel.. envious? like, 'oh, damn, i wish i was this good.' which, yeah, I KNOW is silly.

I don't know.. how to worldbuild/craft (whatever term) something that feels like mine? I keep comparing to others, and keep feeling like whatever bits and pieces come to me isn't good enough. Isn't unique/cool/giant/'oh-so-new-&-different' enough. like I have to somehow reach that impossible 'true original idea', without using any inspiration at all (otherwise it's not 'mine') - when everything's already been thought of before by countless people.

I'm sitting here in a really weird, silly, downright stupid at this point, circular loop and I don't know how to get out of it. I think not understanding what worldbuilding is, or how it works or even how having ideas works, might be why I've screwed myself here? And the internet's weird.. impossible standard for idea-having.

I have tiny pieces, the barest little foundations, I just don't know how to grow them into.. something, anything. (is maybe the thought that I ought to grow them in the first place one of the reasons I'm having trouble? and it's.. okay to not? that just because they're tiny, or simple, or mundane, doesn't mean they're worth less than 'bigger & better' chunks of ideas/worldbuilding?)

Hi! I'm doing okay, thanks. Vacation could be structured more to my liking, but family & obligation something something.

Anyway. Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying Echo Garden. Especially the worldbuilding, which is one of my favorite things to do. It seems like you're feeling a lot of mixed and heavy things about it. I don't know if I'm any authority to help you with that, but I'll give it a shot. Let's go through what you've sent me, albeit out of order. I'mma put this behind a cut, because it got very long.

>what is this beautiful piece of writing and worldbuilding omg? Thank you! I appreciate that. Here I would like to stress that this writing has taken me almost 4 years and hundreds and hundreds of hours, and hundreds of thousands of words to accomplish. If you think it is beautiful, I am happy to hear that! I will be honest: I am very proud of what I've done. But what I'm stressing here is that it was not effortless. It is beautiful, but it has taken a lot of work.

>i fell in love with your worldbuilding but feel.. envious? like, 'oh, damn, i wish i was this good.' which, yeah, I KNOW is silly. No, that's not silly. That's legit. Envy or jealousy are totally normal things to feel in any given situation. If the situations were reversed, I'd feel the same way. When I see people who have things or skills I wish I had, I feel it. This might be a good time to drop a little story about when I first thought about writing TF fic. Please do me a favor and go read this ask, you can skip down to the bold words that say NOTE THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE READING. Here I talk about how I didn't write for a year because I read a fic so good I knew I could never be that good.

tl;dr and/or moral: it's ok and natural to feel envious. Don't let it stop you from writing, though. If I had let TGWP stop me from writing, you'd never have Echo Garden. That'd be a shame, I think. I'm glad I decided to try writing, even though I knew I couldn't do something as good as what I admired. I did something else.

>how do you even 'do' worldbuilding? because i'm doubting myself, reading your story lol. i know the whole.. 'we get inspiration from literally everything around us', 'there's no such thing as a truly original idea' etc, I'll come back to your first question eventually, but I wanna address the latter statements: "We get inspiration from everything around us," yes, this is true. Being a sponge, being observant of the world, will help you build a 'library' of ideas. Artists have a term for this that escapes me at the moment, but the idea is, if an artist draws 1000 trees, and within those, 50 different kinds of trees, they now have an excellent mental tree 'library' to reference when they need to draw a tree. And since it's super easy to find irl references of trees, one might ask, what's the use of the mental library? It gives the artist the basics and a ton of variations on The Concept of a Tree. In a similar way, observing the world, reading stories, listening to music, absorbing creative works, etc will also add to your mental library. You can call on these things when worldbuilding later. Quick example: if you know the ins and outs of a hospital, because you're a nurse, you'll have a fantastic basis for a realistically operating sci fi hospital on another world. Take a concept relating to the hospital, as we know it on Earth, and change it. What if patients can regrow internal organs but not limbs? See what that does to the organization of the hospital. The staff, the pharmacy, the stock, the medical supplies. What changes? Organ donors aren't needed anymore. Would this mean an actual reduction in the species's understanding of how those organs work? An irl nurse won't have to do a ton of research to get the basics which are drawn upon to answer those questions.

This line of questioning took me to something I want to expand upon later, but for now: What kind of cultural issues could arise from this species's healing ability? Is someone who was forced to grow a new liver due to an accident "less than" someone who has their original liver? Hold onto the fact that we just went from hospital -> biology -> culture. "There's no such thing as a truly original idea," I disagree with this statement, though I know it is a very, very popular one. I think it is true that plots and archetypes are commonly used over and over again. I think there are still original ideas out there, though. I pride myself on it, to be honest. Some of the worldbuilding you like so much comes from ideas that I've not seen in either TF canon or fanon. They tend to be smaller details that feed into bigger systems, once you take them to their logical endpoints. More on that later.

>I keep comparing to others, and keep feeling like whatever bits and pieces come to me isn't good enough. Isn't unique/cool/giant/'oh-so-new-&-different' enough.

All I can say here is that comparison is the thief of joy. If we're talking strictly fanfic, it shouldn't be this stressful on you. People love tropes for a reason. Don't be afraid to use them. Echo Garden itself has a few. "Enemies to lovers" never quite felt like the correct term, but it is recognizable and there are tons of fans of it. Remember the thing about me not writing for a year cuz I thought I wasn't good enough. Don't do that. Comparison is the thief of joy! >like I have to somehow reach that impossible 'true original idea', without using any inspiration at all (otherwise it's not 'mine') - when everything's already been thought of before by countless people.

Again, I do think there are truly original ideas still out there. You have a unique view of the world. Writing is one way to share it. All your experiences, your education, your hardships and your victories shape who you are. No one else will be looking out the same eyeballs. With practice, you can find ideas. I'll explain how I do it. Maybe that will help you, too. Though you do have, by your own words, little pieces: I have tiny pieces, the barest little foundations, I just don't know how to grow them into.. something, anything. Little pieces are a good place to start. And if they stay little, that's fine. Having a ton of little pieces layered on top of each other is what contributes richness to your world.

My goal with all the above was to address the emotional aspect of your ask. I haven't gone through everything, but I'd like to get to your core question. I am going to answer it literally, in a way that might not help you, then try to break it down into something that might be helpful.

how do you even 'do' worldbuilding?

I think. All the time. I am one of those people who has a laser focus and is able to make connections between unrelated ideas. I am always, always thinking. It's not really daydreaming. It's thinking about a single idea and then taking it for a ride down a million "what if?" paths. Put it this way: I think watching astronomy lectures is fun and I loathe parties. Fun for me is world building: building literal worlds. Playing with ideas. So how do I 'do' worldbuilding? Mostly in my head. Once I get some ideas that make sense, I write them down so I don't forget them. If I'm lucky, I'm at home at my computer and can type them fast. If I'm not, I'm at work, and I scribble them on pieces of paper. It can be anything, from a huge plot point to a teeny tiny detail.

How do I think? If I'm world building from nothing (as opposed to solving a problem or building on top of previously thought of stuff), I just... think of things that fascinate me. For Transformers, that's their biology and how it links to culture. It's their alienness. The possible geology of their world. I freaking love just thinking about that!

Once you have a fascinating idea, you push it. What does that mean? Do you recall, in the nurse/hospital example above, I noted that, while we started with 'hospital setting,' it moved to how that healing factor could be interpreted in the culture of that species? That was what I mean: taking the idea of 'alien hospital' to 'what does this mean about their biology?' to 'what does this mean about their culture?' And to be honest, this is how I do a lot of world building. Culture comes from biology and geology. This is a personal theory I have, I'm sure anthropologists have a better definition of culture. But that's the one I use for worldbuilding. What is the consequence of your fascinating idea? That is the key for me. That is how I worldbuild.

If I'm worldbuilding on top of previous stuff, it's sometimes a bit harder or easier, depending on how the previous stuff narrows your possibilities. But in that case, I usually try to be as logical as possible. Here's an example for Echo Garden:

canon facts: the Lost Light has a fuel furnace and an engine room and a bridge

me: hmm, okay, the LL has utilities and facilities, kind of like a small town. someone has to tend to those things. I'm sure some mechs have specialized knowledge that makes them a better fit for maintaining/upkeeping certain things than others. We saw Blaster on the bridge acting as a communications officer of sorts. Hmm, he's probably the best bet for keeping comm-related stuff clean and running. Hmm, that fuel furnace... I bet it's really hot in there, lol. I bet it's complicated in there. They probably have to color code the pathways to the different furnaces. I bet most mechs wouldn't like being in there because it's so hot. I wonder who'd get stuck with that chore. Well... Rodimus is fireproof, basically, and Trailbreaker could protect himself with his shield. So they can do that chore.

It feels rambly when I write it out. I suppose it could be. I do this very quickly in my mind, though. I pull from everything I know: canon, fanon, things I know from my own life experiences. This 'pulling' happens all at the same time. So, going back to that 'mental library,' as you can see, that's a powerful thing for me to have for my worldbuilding method.

Okay okay, so how can I make all that into something actionable by you? Good question. I suppose I will answer it with more questions!

Precisely define what it is you want to worldbuild. Is it cultural (language, food, clothing, music, etc)? Is it biological (bodies, adaptations, appearance, etc)? Is it environmental (geology of the world, or the inside of a space ship)? What exactly do you want to accomplish?

Once you have selected your Topic, think about all the things related to that Topic. What are the usual characteristics of Topic? Which of those characteristics can you change to fit your world? Example: food in TF. Food is often energon or engex. Food in real life is a huge part of culture. If your goal is to showcase a character making a special dish, maybe pick an irl dish you like, and see how its preparation would change if it was made out of a pretty, glowy energon-y substance instead of whatever it's made of on Earth.

If you haven't worldbuilt to your satisfaction, try another avenue. What else about Topic can you think of? What are your personal experiences regarding Topic? Maybe go do some research on Topic- you might find a neat little tidbit to incorporate into your writing.

Once you've worldbuilt Topic to your satisfaction, link it to the rest of your world! What does Topic existing do to your environment? To your characters? It's okay if Topic isn't a huge deal. That's totally fine! It's lovely to just have little worldbuilding details hanging around in the background. Remember- layering lots of tiny details really helps make a world feel rich and lived in. In the event that Topic is a big deal, repeat step 2 to discover how it affects your world.

Once Topic is happily integrated into your world, repeat the process! Take breaks, listen to music. Zone out. See if your brain can make some weird connections while you're not even really thinking about it. Be open to something that sounds kinda nuts at first. Maybe there's a way to pull it off! Or maybe not.

Side note: if you think of a really cool idea but it doesn't fit into the story you're writing right now, stick it in a file for later. Mmm, delicious ideas file, ready to be cannibalized for your next story.

So... yeah! That's how I worldbuild. Thinking a LOT and connecting ideas together and then pushing them to logical extremes/conclusions.

If you have any specific questions about anything I've written, feel free to ask. I don't think my method will work for everyone, but hopefully you can put your own spin on it and find a method that works for you.

Best of luck and happy worldbuilding :)

#ask #long post #worldbuilding #world building #nyctocryptid

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zeciex · 8 months

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A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans

AO3 - Masterlist

A theater had been erected amidst the lush gardens of the Red Keep, its semi-circular structure complemented by the captivating backdrop of the vast expanse of the sea. The structure was a mix of marble and limestone, ornately carved, and had been built during the reign of Jaehaerys and Alyssan.

Daenera had arranged three elegantly sets of tables on the balcony, offering a splendid view overlooking the stage and the sea. Her invitations had been extended to esteemed guests, including Tris Caswell, the second daughter of Lord Merryweather, Kaylys Merryweather, Lady Fell, and Lady Sylvie Rosby. An invitation had also been extended to Queen Alicent, but that had politely declined, much to Daenera’s delight.

The early morning had been spent making the last preparations. The tables were filled with cakes and fruit, a colorful display of abundance and wealth, with the possibility of being watered with some of the finest wine Westeros had to offer. Daenera had chosen a colorful dress of orange and gold and her hair were braided in the traditional Targaryen way, keeping it from blowing into her face.

She was standing on the balcony, listening to the ladies talk among themselves excitedly, already indulging in the wine. The sun shone brightly and were it not for the shadow the stretched out fabric provides, they would surely have burned.

Jelissa hurried into the middle of the theater, her steps clicking over the pale stone. She looked up at Daenera, a bright smile on her lips. “We’re ready!”

Daenera nodded in acknowledgement.

Jelissa hurried away, letting the guards at the gate know that they could open. She then sprinted back to stand with Joyce by the side of the rounded stage, the table in front of them filled with leather pouches, brimming with unspent money and the promise of more to come.

A mass of people filed in through the gates. People of all colors, backgrounds and skills. Some were from Lys, some Essos, some Pentos. There were Westerosi singers, artists and musicians. Daenera smiled as they gathered by the backdrop of the ocean, all looking up at her expectantly.

“Welcome, my artisans!” Daenera greeted loudly, letting her voice carry out into the theater. “I am Princess Daenera Velaryon, daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.” Her eyes were sharp as they filtered through the mass of people, lingering on the few that displayed some sort of scrutiny to her words. “I’ve always enjoyed the arts of music and dance, and with my return to the capital, I found myself able to finally show patronage to the thing that I love.”

It wasn’t the entire truth. While she enjoyed music, song and theater, she wasn’t as invested as some other ladies were to the arts. But the thing about artists was, that they traveled throughout the continent, singing their song, acting in plays, telling their stories. And such things held sway.

It was a tactic Queen Visenya herself had once used.

“My mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, has tasked me with finding artists to patronage. She too is a lover of the arts. We wish that you bring the joy you give us, out into every corner of Westeros. We wish you to sing your songs, play your tunes, and tell your stories to the people. That is our wish.”

And it wouldn’t hurt to sing a little something about her.

“Now, please, show us what you’ve got!”

Daenera looked down at Joyce, giving the maid a nod, who nodded back in acknowledgement. Joyce called out the first number as Daenera took her seat, picking up a grape and propping it into her mouth.

The first artist was a singer. He began with high appraise to Daenera, telling her about his adventures, where he had been, who he had sung for. That was the dreary part of the whole thing. She wasn’t interested in that, all she wanted to know was whether they could sing and what they’d sing.

The Bear and The Maiden Fair seemed to be a favorite among the singers and musicians. Each time it was sung, it lost its appeal, until Daenera would rather listen to Aemond call her a bastard than listen to it once more.

By the time they had reached number seventy seven, more than half the songs had been The Bear and The Maiden Fair. One third of what was left were Maids that bloom in spring, and the rest after that False and the Fair, and Flower of Spring and Little Flower.

It was then an older man stepped out into the middle of the stage, a lute kept close to his breast, dark beard kept and freshly shaved. At the corners of his eyes were crows feet and a deep line cleaved through his forehead. He bowed to the princess and her company. “I am Samwell Tradd, my princess. I have played the cold seat of the North, to the sand dunes of Dorne, but I have played for none other as important as your mother, the good princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

This piqued Daenera’s interest and she stood from her seat, carrying the cup of wine with her to the railing of the balcony, which she leaned against with her forearms, squinting in the sunlight of the afternoon. “You played for my mother?”

“That I did, Princess,” Ser Samwell Tradd confirmed. “It was a pleasure to play for her.”

“What did you play?”

Samwell Tradd chuckled to himself. “ Under the Dragon's eye.”

Daenera grinned.

“She made me sing it… two dozen times over,” Samwell told the princess. “She would not hear another, only that, until my hand cramped and my voice was raw, and even then, she bid me continue.”

“Then would it not suit you if I asked you to play it again?” Daenera responded with a gracious smile.

“For you, The Realms Flower, I will play it again.” Samwell Tradd plucked a few strings on the lute, humming to loosen his vocal cords, and then began to sing.

She fled with her ships and her people,Her heart broken for those she could not save.Nymeria, fearless and wise, led with determination in her eyes. With ten thousand ships, she led her people’s flight, Across the Narrow Sea, seeking a new life.

Under the dragon’s eye, they sailed so far and wide, Nymeria and her Rhoynar, their hopes and dreams allied. Through hardships and trails, their spirits remained high,Bound by a destiny, under the dragon’s watchful eye.

Through stormy seas and treacherous tides they roamed, Leaving behind their homeland, their past disowned. With strength and resilience, they faced each new day, Guided by Nymeria’s wisdom, they found their own way. Through shifting sands, they found their place, United under Nymeria’s willful grace.

So let the tale be sung, of Nymeria’s nobel quest, Of the Rhoynar’s journey, their resilience put to a test. Under the dragon’s eye, their spirit never broke, A testament to courage.

Under the dragon’s eye.

“…Under the dragon’s eye,” Samwell Tradd finished.

Daenera exchanged a knowing nod with Joyce, who discreetly handed the singer a pouch filled with jiggling coins. It carried more than mere currency, it was a symbol of her endorsement, and more significantly, Rhaenyra’s endorsement. Unspoken expectations were attached to the weight of those coins, urging the singer to spread the good word of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realms Delight, and the Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne.

While some noble houses disregarded the significance of the common folk, Daenera recognized their importance. After all, it was the small folk who dutifully paid their taxes, who ensured the smooth flow of goods, who tirelessly toiled to create the fabrics and wines that the nobles delighted in. Though unaware of their latent power, the small folk held a sway over the very fabric of society.

And with the small folks' support, they could sway their lords and ladies.

By the time the sun had dipped down behind the horizon, Daenera’s head was buzzing with wine, sun and song. Fragmented lyrics sailed around her skull, not able to gather enough strength to become a full song. Lady Fell had left the younger ladies to their own devices, citing exhaustion. Daenera couldn’t blame the older woman.

“Have you heard about Prince Aemond?” Kaylys Merryweather said, fanning herself with the fan, her cheeks flush with the wine. She smiled covertly. They were all leaning back, enjoying the otherwise quiet. Daenera had called it quits, telling the remainder of the performers to come back on the morrow. At the mention of Aemond her head propped up again.

“That someone tried to poison him?” Lady Sylvie Rosby quipped behind her own fan, crumbs littering her chest from all the cakes she had indulged herself in. Kaylys Merryweather and Lady Rosby shared a look.

“I heard that it was an allergic reaction,” Tris Caswell interjected.

“An allergic reaction? Please, that is the excuse you use for covering up poisoning,” Kaylys Merryweather criticized. “Someone poisoned his sword.”

“Do they know who did it?” Daenera inquired, her voice raw and tired.

Lady Merryweather shook her head, her blond strands whipping over her shoulders and back again. “They have no idea. Some say it was a failed assasination-,”

“Oh please,” Daenera groaned at the grotesqueness of that statement. If she wanted him dead, she very well would have used something else, something less obvious and that left little to no evidence. An assassination with poisoning, should either be quick or drawn out over time, the ladder creating less suspicion if the poisoned had a history of illness. No one would suspect a thing after a long bout of fever and illness. People simply dropped dead of that.

“A scorn lover then?” Lady Sylvie suggested.

“Or Aegon,” Tris proposed. The women all nodded in silence, thinking. “Aegon is known for his absurd pranks.”

“But would he harm his own brother?” Lady Sylvie asked. Aegon would most definitely harm his brother for his own amusement , Daenera thought.

“I saw his hands. They were swollen and red, the poor thing. The Maesters said that they’d itch and burn for a few days, and there was little they could do.”

“It’s just awful,” Lady Sylvie continued in a huff. “If the princes aren't safe from such attacks, then we’re all at risk.”

“I severely doubt you are at risk, Lady Sylvie,” Daenera cut in. “Why would an assassin or prankster target you?”

Lady Sylvie blinked at Daenera’s cutting words. Daenera wouldn’t entertain her with pretends of importance. Lady Sylvie might be a lady, but she wasjust a lady. She was neither heir nor the first born. Her brother was more of a target and her father even more still. Her words seemed to have struck a chord and Lady Sylvie glowered.

“I personally think Prince Aemond is quite handsome,” Lady Merryweather continued, ignorant to the tension. The second daughter to Lord Merrywhether were betrothed to one of the lower houses of the Reach, the name of which eluded Daenera. The Lady was five and twenty, a crone by small folks' accounts. She was allowed to dream though.

Everyone stared at her.

“What?”

“He's been maimed,” Lady Sylvie chided. “He’s a one eyed prince. And have you seen the scar? It's so grim and disgusting. If it had been me, I would have flung myself from the highest window in the Keep.”

You may yet do that .

“I think he’s handsome,” Lady Merrywheather reiterated. “And strong and tall. I can overlook the scar and maiming for the handsome side of his face.”

“You’ll have to sit at his right side then,” Daenera muttered, head throbbing with the subject of Aemond and ‘handsome’ in the same sentence. If the cutting edge of a knife was handsome, then she supposed Lady Merryweather was right. “Or perhaps it’s best to sit where he cannot see you.”

“What do you think he’s got hiding underneath his eyepatch?” Tris quietly asked.

“Not his eye,” Daenera responded, bored with the conversation.

They ended the evening not long after, scattering to the winds while the servant’s cleaned up and prepared for the day after. Daenera had dismissed her maids after presenting them with a piece of cake each and kind words for a job well done. Jelissa had been extremely excited, rambling on about her favorite singer, while Joyce teased her relentlessly. Daenera watched them go, turning on her heels to take the long way back to her quarters, heading through the garden.

The rose bushes barely managed to overpower the smell of the city. On days where the wind came from land, it was especially rough. But on this day, the gods had graced them with a mild sea wind. The sky turned golden as the sun disappeared below the horizon, the last rays keeping the gardens from falling into shadow.

Daenera took a deep breath, trying to clear her heavy head, rolling her stiff neck from spending the day on her ass.

“You’re quite creative, I have to give you that,” Aemond’s voice split her quiet apart, the sound like a pick beating against stone, splitting it in two.

Daenera’s shoulders immediately tensed up and she breathed out an annoyed huff. “You’re out of the infirmary.”

“Poisoned sword,” Aemond hummed, approaching her. It was strange to see him here, in the gardens, surrounded by soft beauty. It had been just as strange to see him in the sept, though there the heavy smog had coiled around him, curled up the nape of his neck, hung around him like a cloak of shadows. Now he was bathed in golden light that made him seem wholly unholy.

He was no man of flowers. He was a sword, meant to cut, to stab, to bleed one dry. A weapon.

“If it were poison you’d be dead,” Daenera corrected him. “Or severely sick. As I’ve heard, you must have had an allergic reaction to something.”

His scoff was sharp and dismissing. “An allergic reaction?”

“Those sometimes take a few days to recover from. I believe you’ll be back to your pristine state before the feast.”

Her gaze flickered across his face, trying to decipher his intentions, though the wine clouded her thoughts. From his cheekbones down to the curl of his smirking lip, she studied him briefly before refocusing on his eyes, masking the curiosity clawing at her insides with thinly veiled sympathy that bordered on mock pity. “Does it ich terribly?”

Daenera squealed when Aemond gripped her arm, pulling her into one of the alcoves of the garden. They were totally enclosed by an overgrown pavilion, the vines climbing up the columns, to spread across the roof. She balked at him, ripping her arm out of his grip, noting the bandaged hand. “What are you doing?!”

“You vicious little cunt,” Aemond sneered, his face contorting in disdain.

The wine not only made her cheeks flushed but it dulled her senses as well. “Mmm, call me that again, I rather enjoy it.”

Aemond’s eyes were all fire and ice. They burned with an intensity she hadn’t yet seen, with something utterly terrifying and vicious. Something with teeth and claws and breath of fire. “I should punish you, and tear you apart.”

“What are you going to do, bend me over the knee like a child?” Daenera taunted him, flipping her braid back to its proper place, her eye glaring daggers at the prince. “If I remember correctly, you were the one to start this. You burned me. Or have you forgotten?”

Daenera raised her bandaged hand and provocatively waved it in front of his face. He had burned her writing hand, and she had retaliated by making it itch so intensely that he might desire to peel off his own skin. All she had done was to respond to his initial transgression. They could have maintained their distance, preserved civility, but he just had to bother her.

With a mocking expression, Daenera glanced down at his hand, then back up at him. “Oh, was it your swordhand? Can’t have a little fun without it?”

“Do you believe I won't retaliate?” Aemond bit at her. “Do you think I’m oblivious to your schemes?”

Daenera blinked.

“Talking with Caswell, befriending his daughter, the musicians. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re alluding to,” Daenera feigned ignorance.

“Surprising, I must say,” Aemond taunted with a sly smirk. “Your feeble attempts are bound to fail, I will make sure of it, Lady Strong. ”

Aemond advanced towards her, a predator stalking its prey, his teeth appearing sharp as fangs in the warning light. Shadows enveloped him, accentuating his sharp bone structure, tracing delicately over his features. In the dim light, he became the embodiment of wickedness. There was an inherent darkness within him that would forever resist any semblance of light of purity.

It was as intriguing as it was frightening.

Her back collided with a stone column, and the tendrils of the overgrown vines brushed against her bare shoulders, entangling with her hair. She swallowed, feeling the dizziness intensify from the wine.

In an instance, Aemond’s hand clasped around her jaw, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh of her cheeks, reminiscing of their encounter in the sept. Her eyes widened, and she fought against his grip, attempting to push him away as her heart picked up speed.

Aemond absorbed her strikes against his chest as if they were nothing, a menacing growl emanating from deep within him, gradually morphing into a coarse chuckle. “I’m only giving voice to what is so plain for everyone to see.”

“That is treason!” Daenera growled.

“It is the truth, is it not?” Aemond asked amused at her anger. “ That’s why you play your little scheme with the lords and ladies, so desperately hoping to forge alliances in case your mothers imprudence comes to light. Should it not be my sweet half-sister who’s out here, tirelessly forging those alliances? Shouldn’t she be the one fighting tooth and nail to secure her own place as heir to the throne?”

“Aemond,” Daenera warned.

“It’s what they’re all thinking,” Aemond continued maliciously. “Along with wondering whether you take after her.”

Daenera tried to pry her face from his grip, but he held fast.

“They’re all wondering whether a marriage to you is worth the risk. And weather you are as impudent as your mother…” Daenera beat against him, growling at the insult. “They think ‘will she carry bastards and try and pass them off as true borns’.”

The scent of smoke and crackling fire surrounded her as Aemond drew nearer. With each beat of her heart, a surge of heat cascaded down her spine, coiling in the depths of her belly. Her gaze darted between his piercing blue eye and the eyepatch, as if they would tell her something she didn’t know, and then lowered to his lips, drawn into a sharp sneer. Her heart shuddered in her chest, her gaze burning with intensity.

“I am going to ruin you,” Aemond vowed. “I’m going to ruin you, consume you, destroy you.”

In a fleeting instant, his gaze descended to her lips, carrying a wicked and malicious gleam, brimming with both hatred and an unnameable, devastating force. His thumb brushed against her lips, a menacing gesture that threatened to smudge the lip tint she had applied to accentuate one of her redeeming features. If her mind had been clearer, she might have sunk her teeth into his thumb.

Aemond’s pale locks tickled the exposed skin of her bosom as he leaned in, his breath scorching against the delicate shell of her ear. “I’m going to destroy you and win this war.”

He abruptly released her and Daenera pushed him away from her, breathing heavily and forcefully, eyes ablaze with indignation and fury. Who did he think he was?

She sneered. “I will take out your other eye before I let you destroy me. Two can play at this game. And if you burn me, I will burn you.”

Once again, Daenera found herself feeling from the suffocating presence of Aemond. Clutching her skirts tightly, she propelled herself forward, each step one of panic and determination. The corridors of the Keep blurred as her hurried steps echoed, giving rise to the feeling of the ghosts laughing at her.

King’s Landing had become a treacherous maze of power and deceit, and Aemond embodied the shifting tides of its dark underbelly. His transformation was undeniable, a chilling embodiment of calculated malevolence and an untamed chaos. He was an unpredictable storm she had to venture through.

As Daenera ascended the stairs, the weight of realization settled upon her. Aemond’s presence had already begun to creep under her skin. She would have to root it out and shield herself from it, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the seeds of darkness he had planted wouldn’t be so easily removed. She supposed it was a challenge she would have to accept.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #hotd #A Vow of Blood #my fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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outofangband · 10 months

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Teleri gardens post for @actual-bill-potts

Mentions of this on my other world building posts for the Teleri! I actually have a lot of head cannons about the differences in gardens between the three peoples of the Amanyar and I will make posts about Vanyarin and Noldorin gardens soon!

Second note: this is not meant to be a flora post as I want to make a separate one with more extensive information on that however, I will include some examples of plants

As always please feel free to ask more!

-The Teleri have beautiful gardens of a variety of forms; formal gardens, groves, orchards, vegetable and herb gardens, aquatic gardens ranging from elegant ponds to elaborate whimsical waterscapes, and coral gardens.

-There are extensive and beautiful gardens at the palace of Alqualondë including a fountain carved over a natural spring, a grove of trees (mostly black and maritime pine) with a small natural pond, and a stream that runs to the ocean through a small opening in the sandstone walls.

-Shapes of gardens tend to be spiral or circular from above. Circles, spirals, waves, and other similar shapes are common and a lot of their art and this absolutely includes outdoors and garden art

-Some of these coral gardens are cultivated from existing tide pools with help from Maiar of Ulmo. These can serve as living monuments to the ocean and its creatures, and are very sacred places to the Teleri.

-There are several green houses in Alqualondë including one or two built over warm springs that provide moisture to the plants and soil. Glasswork is another important Telerin craft as I mentioned on my first world building post. Though Noldorin architectural styles or practices might have been used in their construction, the glasswork and horticulture/ecological work is from Telerin knowledge and practices

-There are also many purely underwater gardens. Some of these are in lagoons, and groves found more inland. Some of these are in the ocean beyond the harbor. Many of these are very difficult to access to outsiders, requiring access through hidden coves and through steel treks. These gardens are home to many aquatic and ocean plants, and the creatures that find sanctuary in them; kelp, seaweed and sea grasses and others

-Gardening, landscaping and design and water engineering are important Telerin crafts! They take a lot of pride in how land and water are represented in their gardens, in contents and layout and shape, etc

-The soil around and through Alqualondë is very fertile. It’s not uncommon to find fragments of shell and limestone or sandstone in the soil thus the plant life tends to be limestone friendly though the levels are not so high that it makes it inhospitable to species that aren’t

-Small pebbles and shells often decorate paths in gardens and parks. Statues are rare in gardens but small rock/pebble formations are sometimes made

-Especially among the nobles but also elsewhere, aquatic gardens often with elaborate waterscapes. These utilize pumps, spinning wheels, elegant slanted trofts carved from stone, clay or bamboo, and elvenmade streams and ponds

-Even in non water based gardens, water elements such as fountains, often in whimsical or creative shapes, bird baths and ponds are common. There are carved sandstone structures around several saltwater springs creating fountains in Alqualondë’s main spaces. These are viewed as the sea opening up within the city

-Telerin gardens, even formal ones, tend to require minimal pruning, and rely on methods that allow the species to grow thrive, and cross pollinate as they would naturally. While, this is true of most elven garden practices in general it’s often especially visible in these

-Children play in the gardens a lot and lessons are often held here!

-As I mentioned on my previous world building post for the Teleri, many streams run from the Pelóri to the ocean and they run through the city. There are also many underground streams, and both sources are utilized to bring water to gardens, houses and other water elements. I actually headcanon that both Tirion and Alqualondë have systems somewhere between canals and aqueducts.

-Sea cabbage, common gorse, juniper, bay, sea oats, yarrow, sea thrift, curry plants and sea campion are some of the most common plants in small gardens. Bay leaves are common garnishes and seasoning in Telerin cuisine.

#the silmarillion #Valinor #Teleri #musing and meta

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mybeingthere · 10 months

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Portia Munson is a visual artist who works in a range of media including photography, painting, sculpture and installation and focuses primarily on environmental and cultural themes seen from a feminist perspective.

Munson was born in Beverly, MA in 1961. She has a BFA from Cooper Union (1983), and an MFA from Mason Gross School of Art (1990), Rutgers University.

The Memento Mori Mandalas memorialize and honor creatures that have paid the price of humanity’s harsh impact on the land. Evoking the transitory Buddhist spiritual practice of mandala making, Portia Munson reflects on the passing beauty of earthly things and the costs of climate change with arrangements that center on fallen birds and insects she finds on her walks around our region. Using a high resolution flatbed scanner, she holds up these specimens of loss for our respect and admiration, often surrounding them with flowers and plants she grows.

“I began creating flower images in 2002 after the death of a favorite person left me pondering the fleeting lives of flowers and people. While walking in my garden images of flower arrays came to me. I imagined flower mandalas that were reminiscent of suzanies from Uzbekistan and the vivid garlands of fresh blossoms I had seen being used as religious offerings in Southeast Asia. Using the mandala, the circular form that in Eastern religions represents the universe, I meticulously arrange flowers from the garden into combinations of color and form that exaggerate the vibrancy of both. Sometimes I slice into buds and append blossoms onto one another. As with all my work, a closer look at the subject reveals hidden secrets – in this case, the flowers’ hairy, sticky, or poisonous parts; pollen; seeds; and the occasional insect.

To make these mandala images, I use the scanner like a large-format camera. I lay flowers directly onto it, allowing pollen and other flower stuff to fall onto the glass and become part of the image. When the high-resolution scans are enlarged, amazing details and natural structures emerge. Every flower mandala is unique to a moment in time, represents what is in bloom on the day I made it.” – Portia Munson

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duck-ducks · 2 months

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Enter the Autobots!

Chapter 3: Toy Soldiers

Gadiolus’s equilibrium was out of whack. Something about the clear cube, the liquid in it that was sloshing as breakdown swayed while he walked down a hall that looked like every other hall they had already walked down, and her nerves from being dropped on her ass after she stabbed the supposed leader of this band of rapscallions had her getting a dizzy spell.

Motormaster was stomping in front of the rest, mumbling to himself. At first, she had tried to hear what he was saying but after catching a few choice words about squishing and shooting her, she elected that it was better for her peace of mind to ignore it for the time being.

Once again they all were silent. She wanted so badly to ask questions. She didn’t know what they were or where they came from. She had so little information she craved more of it. Inside her fish bowl, it wasn’t seeming like the time to chance that they might be happy to explain themselves.

Being sloshed to the side saddled her out of her thoughts.

They had entered a room bigger than any she had ever been in before.

It must have been at least half a football field, a grayish purple in color. One of the walls was covered in screens of varying sizes while another had electronics of unrecognizable origin. However, the most striking thing had to be the structure on the other end of the room. Large and circular, it had stairs leading up to it and a control panel to the right of it at the bottom of the stairs.

“Why can’t we just have a base on land?” This one didn’t have glass eyes, instead, he had a visor, yet somehow still conveyed a “wide-eyed” expression with it. “What if a wall collapsed and the water rushing in killed us all?”

“Shut up Deadend.” Motormaster said this like an automatic reaction, unthinkingly and with no change in his expression.

“But it could happen! I’ve seen Blitzwing accidentally set off his blaster on the battlefield, what’s to say he wouldn’t set it off inside the Nemesis!?” Deadend started to jog to get closer to the front of the group. Unfortunately for him as soon as he got in front of Motormaster he was shoved out of the way.

as they drew closer to the structure she noticed it. It was a bird, sitting on the stair rail. A bird that like everything else she had seen today was also made of metal.

“Hey Buzzsaw, do you always draw the short straw or do you just volunteer to babysit us for fun?” The gray and red one with purple “eyes,” whom she realized she didn’t know the name of, leaned forward to be “eye” level with the bird

“I enjoy watching you struggle.” Buzzsaw didn’t sound the way you might expect a bird to speak, he almost sounded like a girl with a southern lilt. “Now who might this be?” He turned to look directly at Gladiolus, catching her off guard. She had expected to be largely ignored, but then again when had anything been as she expected today.

“I don't know, some human we picked up-near the drive-in.” The last part was hurriedly tacked on the end like it was an important detail.

“Huh, that so.” Buzzsaw drawled, tilting his head in a manner of amusement. “Well Wildrider, we got an awful lot to do in less time than I’d like,” As this was said the large structure started to power up. Color began to swirl in the circular center. The sound it made made the air around Gladiolus tingle with power. “So we should get going.”

it was one of the portals they had been through earlier. Blues, greens, and purples made a jarring collage within the metal frame.

Gladiolus didn’t want to find out where they would be headed this time. What was it that the gray one, Mega-something or other, had said? A power plant? But where? It wasn’t like she knew where every power plant was, they could be headed anywhere.

She closed her eyes. She wished she was back home. She wished she could go make tea and relax in her rocking chairs, or in bed, or anywhere but here.

They drew closer to the portal. The bird flew the short distance to Breakdown’s shoulder of the arm carrying her cube prison and subsequently holding her. Fixing her with an alarmingly reading stare. Those glass eyes held a mischievousness that she feared to see.

for the first time since she had stopped begging for help that wouldn’t come, she felt she had to say something.

“What are you?” Gladiolus wasn’t sure if she had said it loud enough for anyone to hear, but Buzzsaw made what she could only guess was the approximation of a smile.

The light from the portal was blinding for the moment they went through, Gladiolus couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, she felt cold and stiff. Breakdown sped up to exit the light, it seemed he wasn’t fond of the feelings either.

It was dark here, it must have been past 8 pm by now, yet she could still make out the large billows of smoke wafting from the top of the giant structures. She had never been to a power plant before but with the context of what was said by Megaton? And the general movie and TV show knowledge of what a power plant looked like, she could guess that this was in fact, a power plant.

“Where should I put her?” Breakdown broke the silence.

“I don't care.” Motormaster had begun to unspool a cable from his arm and pulled a cube similar to the one she was held captive in from seemingly the middle of his chest. She didn’t have the brain power at the moment to question that. “Just put her on the floor. What is she gonna do? Leave?”

She braced herself from the new barrage of jostling Breakdown bestowed upon her as he placed her cube down on the concrete. While Buzzsaw had not ceased his intense staring, the others paid no attention to her. They all looked nervous, frantically looking around like something was going to jump out at them from the shadows.

Deadend who was the closest to her was mumbling something that she could only marginally make out.

“-Going to die, why do we always have to do this stuff so close to their base? Why can't we just stay inside where it’s safe? This is where we die-” No one else acknowledged him, Gladiolus, despite being disturbed by this, was growing annoyed by the continuous rambling.

It was now she noticed it. No one was looking at her. Not even Buzzsaw who was still perched on Breakdown’s shoulder. They all had the same cables that she saw Motormaster take out of his arm, each with a few cubes as well.

she raised her hands to the top edge of the cube, she could just hook her fingers over it. With a small jump, she was sure she could pull herself up. She looked around, but still, no one even glanced at her.

With a little hop, she managed to get her arms up on the ledge. What was she to do once she was out, would she be able to run, would they notice her before she could escape?

Then a sound echoed through the room, like the beat of a huge bird's wings. She couldn't move in her terror, the cube jostled slightly as Buzzsaw landed on the edge behind her.

“Conducting a jailbreak little mouse?” She turned her head, Buzzsaw still had that approximation of a smile, the light from his eyes was flooding her vision. “Unfortunately we may have a use for you, so why don't you just-” Another voice cut him off.

”aww you didn’t think to invite us to the party! And after our little meet-up earlier I thought we were getting along.” This new one stood by one of the smoking Structures, white with a blue visor and a friendly atmosphere.

Immediately Motormaster shot at him, where he got a gun she didn’t know, maybe the same place he got the cube he had pulled out of nowhere.

And then there was complete chaos.

More robots in an array of colors showed up, shots were fired, punches flew, and Gladiolus slipped off the edge of her cube. Buzzsaw had turned his back to her, wings spread in an aggressive display.

Now was her chance, she jumped back up to the edge and tried to throw her leg over and felt something pull in her back.

She was thrust forward, and an explosion was heard overhead.

She was back.

back three years ago.

back upside down looking out of the broken windshield of her car, still feeling the crashing of other cars around her. Still ignoring all of the sounds and looking towards Oliver in the passenger seat. Watching his little limp hands sway as blood dripped from his fingers.

She was back three years ago the day her son died.

As she blinked she could still hear the crashing of cars but it was different this time. Louder. There was yelling, it also sounded like taunting.

her eyes opened. It had been three years. The sounds around her were no longer cars but things that used to be.

she wasn’t upside down but on her side. The cube had been knocked over, spilling her and the little bit of liquid out of it.

They ran around her, shooting and hitting each other sending shrapnel flying, making the ground shake from their steps.

Despite all that was happening everything seemed slow and her vision was unclear.

her entire body jittered, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.

Red and gold blurs crisscrossed past her corralling what must have been Deadend away from the other Stunticons.

details made more clear as time sped up, yelling became actual words of taunts and threats that made little sense without vital context she sorely lacked.

Hands held out in front of her, in little jerky motions she lifted herself onto her feet to not stand tall but to hunch over, knees unable to straighten, and her hands uncontrollably shaking.

An opening. She just needed an opening. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Red stopped, gold turned.

Deadend fell.

The bang is what made her move. The terror portrayed on his face is what made her pause. Looking through her, he was still moving his mouth as though his earlier ramblings were still ongoing but no sound left him.

Gold yanked him to his feet and red left his side, his sights on Gladiolus.

“Retreat!” The yell was behind her thoughts and sight. Red stepped closer as she took smaller steps back. If she ran he would still catch up just by walking.

“Hey there, bet you’ve had a pretty crazy day, assuming you didn’t purposely join up with the cons of course.”

“What?” Everything was quieter now, clangs and bangs, crashes, and the tremors that it all had sent through the ground had stopped for the most part. Metallic steps echoed through the area, a sound like a few car engines buzzed.

She had barely moved since she had been placed in the cube, yet exhaustion was creeping into her limbs. Could she run, would her body allow her to?

“Hi, I’m Sideswipe, in short, we’re the Autobots and we just rescued you from the bad guys.” Red or Sideswipe, did a little awkward jazzhand motion. “Can someone a little more qualified take over this conversation please!” Quickly the white, blue visored one took Sideswipe’s place, lowering himself until he was on his hands and knees leaning over to be almost eye level with Gladiolus.

“Hello, little lady, the name’s Jazz. Can you tell me what yours is?”

“I-” she licked her lips, she just noticed how dry her mouth was. “Gladiolus.”

”Good good. I know this is a lot to take in, and you’re probably scared and confused, but we need you to come with us right now. We won't make you, you can leave if you want to, we won't stop you. But if you come with us everything that just happened will be explained, alright?”

“Alright.” What else was she to do? Go home from who knows where she was and pretend this hadn’t happened?

With all the questions she had, she found the energy to ask only one.

“Where are we going?”

#transformers #maccadam #deadend #motormaster #breakdown #drag strip #wildrider #sideswipe #sunstreaker #jazz

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yfhe · 2 months

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The shabonos (or yanos) are the traditional communal dwellings of the Yanomami tribes of Southern Venezuela and northern Brazil. They are circular buildings with an open-air central area in the middle. The dwellings are reconstructed every few years in order to adapt their size to the growth of the community. They usually have a general diameter of around 80m with the roofed area of approximately 10 m, but very different sizes have been recorded.

Located at the middle of the jungle, the shabonos are wooden structures built using several species of plants and trunks and with thatched palms and different types of roots forming the roof. Each family in the community is housed in a sector of the circular structure sleeping in hammocks and cooking around its own hearth and storing food and a few belongings on racks and shelves. The internal half of the roofed area is used as a common corridor shared among the families. The central space is used for common activities such as rituals, ceremonies and feasts. Usually, a community of around 70 people is housed in a shabono.

The structures are extremely simple, but include several details which make them extremely functional; for example, the roof is made up of two parts, an outer one which covers the living area and which slopes outwards, and an inner one which slopes inwards, overlapped to prevent the rain of entering the interior. The floor of the roofed area is made of beaten earth, raised slightly above the level of the central communal area.

The outer wall of the shabono is punctuated by four main doors which lead to the main trails connecting the village to the gardens, the nearby streams, and to other Yanomami settlements in the area.

Each Yanomami community is independent respect of the others and every decision is taken by common consensus inside a single community. Each family that is going to live in a particular section of the shabono is largely responsible for its construction, choosing different materials at their own wish.

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badmusejail · 11 months

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(@shatteredwastes)

Gaster had to admit that the area Papyrus chose was nice.

He wondered if Papyrus actually put some level of thought into it, or if it was simply random choice based on the proximity to a forest.

It was calm and quiet, distant enough from the nearby village that there was only an occasional holler on the wind when the inhabitants got a bit too wound up. It happened sometimes, being off on your own.

The ground was mostly flat save for the occasional knot of a long gone tree, or miscellaneous rocks that had lodged themselves into the dirt. It was unclear how fertile the land was, but they could always try to plant a garden. A few discrete trees provided shade during the most brutal time of day, before clumping together to make the outskirts of the forest.

Ebott was nearby enough to be an ominous shadow on the horizon, but far enough that it was unlikely any of the inner inhabitants would bother them, save for the visits from Gaster's children.

He wondered if the basic markings Papyrus had set for the foundation would be large enough for Lily...

The village too was nice; and diverse. It had originally startled Gaster to see humans among the inhabitants... but it was fine; certainly no one would cause trouble. After all, the village had a relaxed and carefree atmosphere; they must have integrated in well.

Rabbit monsters seemed common, which Gaster found odd; he thought the vast majority of them resided in Snowdin. Canines and Felines seemed common as well, along with the occasional reptile or monster that defied easy comparison. Winged monsters, on the other hand, seemed less common. Gaster supposed they tended to prefer heights.

Children, even, ran about; particularly a trio of small rabbits carrying on, chasing each other around, adults simply shaking their heads at the nonsense.

The center of the village was marked by a massive fountain, what was likely the most elaborate construct in the area. The base had to be over fifty feet in diameter, with a second level nearly three-quarters as large, and the top an intricate flower (or something, Gaster genuinely didn't know what it was meant to be) blasting the water upwards. He would guess it to reach twenty feet at its peek.

It was unclear what sort of powerful magic powered the fountain, but the water was perfectly clear, and the villagers seemed to use it as both a communal bath and drinking hole.

With the fountain as the literal and metaphorical center of the place, everything else seemed to be structured around it, creating circular paths of buildings and houses. Of course, given the popularity of the fountain, businesses and merchants flocked to the area, causing the surrounding area to double as the primary shopping center.

Gaster wondered if there was some sort of enchantment that preventing the spray of the water from getting on everything.

Although there was some organization centered around that centerpiece, no two buildings were exactly the same, each one tailored to the individual monster's needs. Some were taller, some were shorter; some tucked underground. Some were constructed of stone, others of wood; even some other strange materials or construct.

Unlike the strange, awe-inspiring architecture of the mountain itself, most of the buildings here were simple, constructed as the needs came. They weren't amazing, but they were functional; cozy and homely.

It had everything that was needed for a simple and comfortable life; plenty of options for food; friendly inhabitants that seemed to look out for each other.

Gaster thought he could call it home.

He wondered if Lily would feel the same.

#shatteredwastes #|| shared | verse | kings and knights.#|| gaster | chorus of nothing.

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ghulehvous · 15 days

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Mushy May, Day 5 (Animals) - Menagerie of the Damned

Inspired by Mushy May prompts by the fab @forlorn-crows. I'm a day late with this one but I'm a good Satanist and never follow the rules anyway...Also on my Ao3!

If you've ever been told it's "just a pet", Papa Primo has your back!

***

He had been sitting forlornly on the hard, wooden bench since the meeting ended. He should move really. His ass had gone distinctly numb and such a public display of weakness wasn’t fitting for someone who was about to become the figurehead of the global Satanic Clergy. He knew he must look a sight, his face blotchy and as red as his scarlet cassock. And yet his grief kept him here, weighed down like a stone in the stream of busy people moving along the corridor.

“We must say goodbye and I do not think I know how to, little one,” Copiah sniffed, wiping away a stray tear with the end of his fascia and absently scratching between the ears of the nut-brown rat in his lap.

He knew Sister Imperator was right of course. The logistics of the tour would be complicated enough without having to factor in transporting Eliza with them; the hotels and tour buses they must use would see her as vermin, not as the beloved pet she was. And she was getting old, it wouldn’t really be fair on her.

The bench shifting next to him roused him from his musings, making him startle until he looked, bleary-eyed, into the kind face of his oldest brother, Primo.

“I never did care much for this hallway,” the retired Papa groaned as he stretched out his legs in front of him. “Too drafty. Which is probably not good for the little one, eh?” He held his hand out towards the rat, who cautiously climbed into his and regarded him with twitching whiskers.

“I don’t know that there is any place good for her anymore. I must find her a new home but…who will want her? She is not so young anymore…Who can I trust to take care of her?” Copia replied, attempting to disguise the way his voice cracked by clearing his throat. “Sorry, I…I am being silly.”

Primo nodded thoughtfully as he stroked the rat with a single finger. Eventually, he placed the creature on Copia’s shoulder and heaved himself to his feet with a huff. “I may have a solution. Come.”

The older man had started to head off down the corridor before Copia had a chance to ask a question or compose his tear-stained state. Sure, now he can be sprightly he grumbled to himself, struggling to catch him up down the corridor.

They walked through the endless, labyrinthine corridors until Primo led them out into the gardens, past the greenhouses where Copia assumed the man spent most of his retirement. He hadn’t seen this dark, tucked-away section of the grounds before though. When they reached a gate set into some tall hedges, he gave Eliza a fond pat to soothe himself as much as to reassure her, and finally interrupted his brother’s contented humming. It sounded suspiciously like All Things Bright and Beautiful. “Where are we going?”

Primo beamed as he opened the gate and waved for Copia to enter.

His eyes widened as he gazed at the scene before him. A huge circular space; a stunning meadow flower bed at the centre and outlined by ornate aviaries filled with plants and shrubs. The roof of each structure was the green hue of oxidised copper and reminded Copia of the gothic bandstands he’d seen in older parks. They even had the pre-requisite spooky ravens and crows scattered around their wrought gables. Some had open mesh walls while others were enclosed by glass or blacked out entirely.

“I do not know when this structure was first built. Probably back when collecting animals was fashionable. Humans have always sought animals – especially birds – a symbol of status. Of power,” Primo hummed as he started to walk a lazy circuit, stopping to peer in at the two barn owls perched in a distant corner of the first aviary. Copia placed a protective hand over Eliza, but the birds merely ruffled their feathers sleepily and resumed their daytime slumber. “I restored this place, but like our Abbey, I aimed to offer sanctuary to all who needed it. Especially those who’ve been harmed by our ridiculous superstitions.”

“So, it’s like a menagerie of the damned?” Copia murmured, walking further along and taking in more owls, ravens and a raptor didn’t recognise. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he caught the amber gaze of a fox before it darted into the greenery.

His older brother chuckled. “You could say that I suppose. We leave the hatches open to allow the birds and bats to fly free. I think you’ll be more interested in what’s at the other end though,” he nodded for him to follow towards the enclosed area on the other side of the circle.

The balmy warmth hit them the moment the door opened. A Sister of Sin looked up and smiled, apparently in the middle of cleaning out a huge stack of cages where a dozen or so mice happily scampered about. “Sister Frances,” he nodded kindly.

After sitting subdued on his shoulder, Eliza suddenly perked up and began chittering loudly in Copia’s ear. He soon saw why. At the other side of the former aviary was a huge enclosure, filled with toys, scattered bedding and the curious faces of three other rats. “Oh!” he gasped, unable to resist moving towards them.

Sister Frances followed, opening the front and allowing the three of them to skitter up her arm, where they peered curiously at newcomers. “Cannoli, Cornetto and Confetti. Papa always did have a sweet tooth,” she grinned up at Primo before returning her attention to the rat on Copia’s shoulder. “And who is this?”

“A new resident, perhaps,” Primo said placing a hand on Copia’s other shoulder. “If you are happy for Eliza to come here, it would be our privilege to care for her. And you’re welcome to come and see her at any time.”

Copia’s momentary delight in the rats evaporated into the muggy heat of the small building and he felt his expression pinch again. His treacherous tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, averting his gaze away from Primo and the Sister. “You must think I’m a pathetic fool.”

“Of course not,” Sister Frances murmured kindly, holding out her arm for Eliza to climb up so she could sniff at the other rats. “It’s always hard to say goodbye.”

“Indeed, fratellino,” Primo sighed. “You think you are being silly but let me tell you…not so far away we have a space where we lay departed souls to rest and there are plenty of our animal friends there. Terzo’s cat, Morpheus for one. Even Secondo’s snake. He dug the grave himself. We are not Catholics; we do not deny our animal friends a soul. If you love another living being there is nothing trivial about that love, si?”

Copia nodded with a hiccup, watching as the Sister placed the rats in the enclosure. He managed a watery smile as the three of them showed Eliza around the toys and feeding stations, like little realtors bragging about a property’s granite countertops and fitted wardrobes. “She looks like she fits right in,” he mused.

“She does. She’s very welcome. And we will take excellent care of here, fratellino, I promise you.”

#mushy may 2024 #the band ghost #papa emeritus fanfiction #cardinal copia #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus primo #rats #you sany it admit it #animals

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