#or someone happens to be born in a point in space like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

r3ynah · 4 months

Text

Extended Family

DCxDP

An Au where, Maddie is Damian and Danyal, Biological mother besides Talia, Basically Talia and Maddie(+Jack) both grew up in LOA and were very best friends(lovers?? at some point including Jack). Talia wanted a natural birth for her son, as she was not really fond of the idea of a test tube baby. so she asked Maddie a favour to become a surrogate. which Maddie happily accepted. because of her experience with Jazz and Danyal's birth, Talia was sure Maddie can give birth to her son safely.

This was approved by Ra's Because he deemed Maddie as someone that could be trusted due to her becoming one of the most strongest and smart assassins in the LOA(He was fond of her, like really really fond.) So he accepted his daughter proposal for Maddie to become the surrogate.

And then Damian was born, Jazz and Danny basically loved Damian and would not go anywhere but the baby's side. Jack loved taking care of Damian due to Maddie and Talia not knowing how to take care of a baby with physical affection.(basically house husband behavior,).

As the kids grew they become closer through the years until you know, it wasn't safe for them in the LOA anymore so they helped Damian escape first to his Bio dad's place(They did let him pick though, if he wanted to stay with the fenton-nightangles or go to Bruce, he chose the latter because if something happened to them he'll have connections.) and then Maddie and Jack escaped with their children in a random town named Amity park. which turns out was a hotspot for Lazarus pits or Ectoplasm. (They decided to change the name cause everytime Jack hears the word pits he started laughing).

The children of course never severed their communication throughout the years. And Bruce never asked about his life at the LOA so he never introduced his half siblings.

Damian hated his older brother, Danyal with all his might. if you asked him to choose between his Half-sister Jazz or Danyal. He'll choose Jazz in a heartbeat.

He hated him, because of his foolishness and absolute neglect of his surroundings, making him a easy prey amongst people who wants to take advantage of him. He disliked Danyal's poor choices in life especially now.

The youngest wayne stood in the middle of one of the many hallways of his highschool as he stared at a certain, black haired and blue eyed girl, who was waving at him ecstatically, he contemplated if he should fight the girl head on or just run and escape.

Obviously in this situation he would pick the most desirable option to make sure his day wasn't ruined by his older brother, so he picked the latter. Damian dashed through the hallways, making sure to lose the girl before the third period started. He slowed down as he looked warily at his surroundings his back against the storage room incase he needed a hiding place from that test tube spawn.

When suddenly a pair of arms phased through the door embracing Damian as he tried to escape.

The girl giggled as she kept her hold on the older boy who tried to get her off him. "Hi uncle Damian!"

she greeted as she finally let go making space for the boy to take a step back.

"Danielle. Why are you here, Did Danyal send you to pester me?" He glared at his niece, as he kept his guard up.

"Kind of, mama sent me here to check up on you." She explained "You kinda went MIA when you stopped answering his texts and calls."

"This is absurd, I can take care of myself. him thinking something happened to me for not answering his calls is offending, I am not like him." Damian stated as he finally lowered his guard. And started to walk away expecting for Elle to follow to which she did.

"Eh.. You know him, His just paranoid he always is" Elle exclaimed as she looked at her schedule. "What's your next class Uncle?"

"Math."

"Ooh Yey! We're classmates, let's sit together!"

A groan left Damian as Elle chuckled and continued to look at her class schedule beside him, Peaceful quietness welcomed the two as they walked to their shared class.

——

"Do you have a apartment nearby?" Damian asked as he stood up from his table waiting for Elle as she packed her notebooks, only filled with doodles from both party.

"Nope, Mama requested that we move here for easier transport but i didn't wanna bother with all the moving stuff." Elle explained as she finished tidying up. "Beside I can just fly back and forth, what's the use of my powers if I can't abuse em."

"Your logic is as worse as Danyal." Damian exclaimed as they both headed out the door. "Follow along. you'll be staying at my manor this week."

"Why?" Elle asked suspiciously

"Because, It is a tiring job to use your flight ability for something so stupid." The boy explained.

"Is that really all?"

"Ofcourse not, As your uncle it's my job to keep you energized and unbothered, But as your mother's brother its my duty to annoy him for thinking i was in danger. so I'm basically taking you hostage at the manor." Damian grinned, as he took his niece's hand to make sure she doesn't get lost through the maze of hallways

"So basically kidnapping? I'm in."

——

"Master Damian, welcome home." Alfred greeted as he opened the front door. "And who might you be?"

"Hello Alfred, This is Danielle your Great-granddaughter." Damian said, making Alfred raise his eyebrows slightly before returning to his relaxed state.

"Well, nice to meet you Lady Danielle" Alfred greeted with a smile, as he shook her hand.

"Please call me Elle, Alfred" Elle brightly smiled

"Very well then Lady Elle." Alfred chuckled.

"Is father home yet?" Damian asked

"No not yet master Damian, you two may go to the living room as I prepare the guest room for Lady Elle." Alfred exclaimed as he headed to the kitchen to finish what he was doing.

Elle looked at Damian, Damian looked at Elle.

"I can feel my phone vibrating from my bag." She laughed. Her mother Danny was certainly going to be sad that his little brother kidnapped his daughter for a Uncle and niece Hangout.

#dpdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc fanfic #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc fanart #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom crossover #dcdp #Danny is nonbinary

1K notes · View notes

capseycartwright · 2 months

Text

just kiss me slowly

tommy does this thing, when he kisses buck. to quote myself, i underestimated your rizz, tommy kinard. the two finger chin pull has been playing on my mind since the episode aired, and this pointless bit of fluff was born. buck and tommy are running circles in my head.

ao3 link

Tommy does this thing, when he kisses Buck. Buck has kissed Tommy enough times in the past couple of weeks to know its a thing, and not just a fluke. He hasn't kissed Tommy enough that he's lost count (27 kisses - he's been counting because it still doesn't feel real, and every time he can add another kiss to the growing list of moments he lets himself linger in as he lies in bed at night, or sits in traffic on the way to work, is another reminder that this is real: that Tommy is real) but he's beginning to learn more about the way Tommy kisses, has begun to map the surface of Tommy's lips with his tongue.

He knows its a thing, is the point.

The first time Tommy had kissed him, he'd tugged Buck closer, two fingers pulling on Buck's chin as he'd pressed that chaste first kiss to Buck's lips. Buck had assumed that had been a heat of the moment sort of thing, Tommy tugging Buck closer so he could get his point across, but then it had happened again.

Tommy had come to pick Buck up, for their date. "Old fashioned," Buck had teased. Tommy had simply rolled his eyes in response, catching Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's surprised lips. "I didn't want to wait until after dinner to kiss you again," he had said, by way of explanation, and Buck had been in a haze the whole drive to the Italian place Tommy had suggested they grab dinner at. No one - no one had ever kissed him like that, pulling Buck closer with a gentle grasp, as though they didn't want to give him a chance to turn his head away.

Tommy liked to kiss Buck. Buck was learning that too. It was all so new for him, but Tommy was confident, a reassuring presence to - quite literally - lean on as he navigated his newfound bisexuality. Tommy had been thirty-one when he'd come out, he'd explained to Buck - so he understood. Understood why Buck had played their dinner off as a friendly thing, understood why Buck hadn't told Eddie yet, understood why Buck hadn't told anyone, yet, only his sister, and Hen. Understood why Buck was more at ease here, in the warmth of Tommy's apartment, than he was at a bar - for now, at least. Buck wasn't ashamed, he was just learning how to lean into this new part of himself.

Buck couldn't help but flush as he remembered the genuine look of pride on Tommy's face when he'd leaned into the other man's space that afternoon at the farmers market, listening intently as Tommy explained the benefits of using a certain kind of tomato to make pasta sauce - the way his mother had taught him to, growing up in New York. Buck had leaned against Tommy, enjoying the way colour rose in Tommy's cheeks as he'd done so.

He'd earned a reward for it too, Tommy using two gentle fingers to redirect Buck's face toward his own as they'd loaded the groceries in the trunk of Buck's jeep, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's waiting lips.

That was the thing, Tommy did - he touched Buck so gently, always redirecting Buck's mouth to exactly where he wanted it to be, and it made Buck melt right down into his sneakers. He'd - he'd just never had someone kiss him so reverently, before.

"If you think any harder, you'll give yourself a headache," Tommy murmured, glancing up from the sauce he was stirring. This version of Tommy was new to Buck - the version of Tommy in his own apartment, relaxed, shoes kicked off by the door, an unfamiliar jazz album playing over the record player in the living room - because of course Tommy had an actual fucking record player. Buck liked this version of Tommy. He was realising he liked all versions of Tommy, actually.

Buck could tell him. He could tell Tommy that the way he grabbed Buck so gently by the chin so often when he was going in for a kiss made his insides turn to goo. He could tell Tommy how good it felt to have someone want him like that, want to initiate kisses. He could tell Tommy that he had spent years of his life chasing other people's lips, desperate for the affection Tommy was already so freely offering him, a mere three and a half weeks into dating.

He could tell him all that, and Tommy probably wouldn't mind - but Buck wanted to keep the thought to himself, a little while longer. This thing with Tommy was so new, and it was good, but it still felt delicate, and Buck didn't want Tommy to stop the way he kissed Buck.

"I'm admiring you hard at work," Buck tilted his head slightly. It was still strange, to hear himself flirt so openly with another man, but he was getting used to it. He had to, really, when Tommy always responded to his flirting with a delighted grin, or laugh.

Tonight, Buck got both.

"C'mere," Tommy murmured, hand gentle on Buck's face as he caught Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a lingering kiss (28) and then a second (29) to Buck's mouth. "Just wait until you try the sauce. Then you're really going to want to kiss you."

As if Buck didn't spend every second of every day fantasising about kissing Tommy, like he was a horny teenage boy again. "Promises, promises."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Make yourself useful and set the table," he pretended to order, but he wasn't moving, nose brushing against Buck's. He kissed him again (30) and then kissed the corner of Buck's mouth, right where Buck's grin was splitting his face in two, his delight so overwhelming he couldn't contain it.

Buck leaned into the embrace, cheek scruffy where he pressed it against the palm of Tommy's hand. "I'm glad we're doing this," he admitted. Kissing, dinner - dating. All of the above. Tommy could decide which one Buck had meant.

Tommy's grin was liquid fucking gold. "Me too, Evan."

#911 on abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #theres no plot just kissin

503 notes · View notes

norman-fucking-reedus · 2 months

Text

Daryl Dixon, born to be a sweet mamas boy but forced into severe mommy issues. I will literally bury myself in this grave

Like okay sure the bad biker boy with a dominant streak is hot or whatever but realistically under all those layers of steel and dirt there’s nothing but a damaged boy.

I think about Daryl dating a woman of a motherly nature and how it would utterly fuck with his head. She’s more on the traditional side and usually expresses her love through cooking as well as baking.

At first, he doesn’t like any of it at all. The way you always want to cook for him when he literally didn’t ask you really bothers him, to the point he found himself not eating whatever you made out of sheer stubbornness, not knowing each plate was your indirect way of affection.

He doesn’t like the way you persistently try and get him to talk to you, because why do you even care? Sometimes the two of you will argue and Daryl will just storm away after a string of insults. He feels so gulity afterwards, especially when he knows that he really does need someone to talk to.

The hugs are the worst. The way you suddenly hug him makes his skin burn and he fucking hates it. Not physically, but he pushes you away. It’s what he wants of course, to not be around you and your forced niceness.

It’s what he wants of course, to be alone by himself. No background noises or smells. He can’t hear the way you passionately move around the kitchen or smell the mouthwatering smell of whatever you’re making. That’s what he wants.

When he comes back from a long run, so obviously shaken up and disturbed, there’s nobody to try and pry as to what happened even though he knows he needs to get it off his chest. That’s what he wants of course. He doesn’t need comfort, no. He never did. Never ever.

So why did he need it now?

Daryl thinks about you and how you did so much for him without him even lifting a finger, how you willingly put in the effort and he just threw it all back into your face without a second thought. He thinks about how hurt you he must’ve left you all the times he flat out refused even your prettiest dishes.

He thinks about the concern that etches your face when you practically beg him to talk to you, beg him to tell you what’s wrong so you can maybe help him. Daryl feels his chest tighten when he thinks of how he downright pushed you out his life, and feels a lump forming in his throat when he realizes that he needs you.

He was alone with only himself and his thoughts, ones that frightened him to his very core. He thinks about your hugs and how he yearns to feel the burn of his skin against yours.

Daryl wants to go to you, but he’s scared. He’s scared that you’ve already moved on and found someone better, someone worthy of a woman like you. He scared that you won’t want him anymore yet here he stands, nervously on your porch.

He’s not ready, no event in his life could have prepared him for this. He knocks with a shaky fist and can hear the sounds of his quick breathing.

The door opens just as widely as it always has, you standing there in your apron covered in flour. He thinks about turning around, you’re obviously busy with things much more important with him. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cup his face gently with soft floury hands as if insecpting it.

“Somethings bothering you”

Daryl nods, and he feels like he could melt into your hands.

You usher him inside, closing the front door and shuffling to the couch, dismissing his silent questions about his shoes. He joins you on the couch with a little space between you, he’s not sure how angry you are with him.

Daryl wants to apologize, he wants to beg for you to let him try again and let him do it right this time, but he just can’t find the words, twiddling nervously with his fingers in his lap. You watch him for a moment, reading his limited body movement before reaching up and brushing away a tear Daryl didn’t even know fell.

“Tell me what’s hurting you” You whispered, voice warm and comforting as your fingers danced across his cheek.

He found himself choking on the words, stuttering them out as he slightly flinched away from the contact although he desperately wanted it. “M-m’sorry. Fer being a dick to ya” Daryl mumbled, leaning back towards your hand. “I jus- I got scared”

You raised a brow. “You? Scared? Scared of me?”

He nodded. “I don’ understand wha’ ya want from me”

“I don’t want anything from you, Daryl… I just wanna take care of you and be there for you”

“Why? Why someone like me?” Daryl scoffed. “M’nobody”

“You’re somebody to me” You whispered.

“Wha’ did I do to deserve ya? Ya don’ even know me” He turned to you, the tip of his nose a light red and his eyes glassy.

You took his face between your hands once again, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “But I do. I see it, Daryl. I can see all the hurt you’ve been through, everything you’ve pushed away, down, all of it. All you’ve ever known is pain and my sweet boy, I’m gonna take it all away for you” You smiled, pressing your forehead against his.

Daryl’s heart pounded so hard that he feared it would exploded, more full of love than its ever had the chance to be. You held him as if he was made of the most fragile glass, brushing your nose against his as he sniffled.

“I love you” Daryl suddenly blurted, because he had denied himself of the truth for so long. He wanted to be with you, wanted you to take care of him.

You gave him another smile, this time placing a gentle kiss to his chapped lips. “And I love you too. Say, I was in the middle of making a cobbler, but I just don’t have anyone to lick the spoon…”

Daryl raised a brow. “Is it peach?”

“Only cobbler I know how ta make” You tugged him off the couch, and he followed you into your beloved kitchen, stepping foot into it for the first time. He thinks about all the times he watched you twirl around, cooking something with love only for him to completely disregard it. The thought made him visibly upset. “Something wrong?”

“Jus’ wish I appreciated yer cookin’ more s’all” He mumbled, regret written on his face, even more when a twinge of hurt painted yours. It was clear as day his past actions really did hurt you.

There was an awkward moment of silence, before you handed Daryl a peach. “As long as you appreciate it now” He could almost cry from how many chances you willingly give you, chances he just didn’t deserve.

“Yeah. M’gon appreciate you too, how I should’ve from tha’ very start” Daryl whispered, biting into one of the sweetest peaches he’s ever had.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

oof I made myself cry and this isn’t even that good 😕😕

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #norman fucking reedus #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd

457 notes · View notes

tanoraqui · 2 months

Text

In Which Space Orcs are Men

[AO3] A "what if humans are space orcs" take on Dagor Dagorath. (Aka the prophecied apocalypse of Middle Earth. Scifi story accessible to non-LotR nerds!)

Elves weren't really supposed to leave Earth. That's what they told us—the Elves, that is, told people thousands of years ago, when Elves could still be found here and there. When I was born, elves were nearly as much a fairy tale as they’d been on Ancient Earth.

Elves weren't supposed to leave Earth, the Elves said in the fairy tales, and in a few old scraps of records scattered around known space. They literally weren't made for it. They could only do it if they brought Earth with them—Arda they called it, leaves or dirt, water or a rare bubble of air, perfectly preserved in a white crystal. There are tons of tales about Elves losing their lifeline jewels—their hearts, their silimirs—and roping people into epic quests to get them back before they—the Elf—faded to nothingness.

Even the jewels weren't enough, though. That's why there are also stories about Elves who fell in love with a person or a place and stayed there until they faded, or Elves who charmed someone into following them back to Fairyland on Earth...because whatever they said, Elves didn't really live on Earth. Humans have maintained their home planet as a monitored nature reserve since like the 40th century, open only to vetted research teams and serious Human religious pilgrimages. The most confirmed accounts of Elves that exist are of their ships appearing out of nowhere, with no trace of any tech that would enable it, at random, always-changing points within 100 miles or so of Earth.

Nobody ever came back from trying to follow Elves home. Mostly Elves tried to dissuade people from trying. But there are always crazy and curious people—and Elves usually attracted those, because any Elf who left the home they were "made" for was usually crazy and curious themselves.

Those were the stories I grew up with. There was a cave near the orphans' creche which was supposed to be haunted by a faded Elf. I didn't really believe it—like I said, the last confirmed Elf was last seen like 5,000 years ago, and not even on my planet. People have met two dozen new sentient races since then. We've discovered that reincarnation is probably real (just functionally untrackable), prompting the Pan-Religious Reform Wars. The last person to see a live Elf was still traveling via natural wormholes—they literally didn't know that you could loop pi.

When the Human natal sun started to turn really red, it wasn’t that big a deal at first. It’s a very important, very sad event for any species, but it happens to everyone eventually. It happened to the Hectort just after we invented interstellar flight. There were some unusual gravatic waves around Earth’s Sol, but nothing worth noting to anyone who didn’t already care for personal reasons.

Then the Elves sent us a message.

The local Parks Service picked it up, of course. I bet the Humans meant to hush it up at first—though the Centaurian government still won’t admit anything—but someone leaked it immediately on the intergalactic net. It should’ve only been famous as a joke of a hoax, but…

It was basically just a metal box with rudimentary fire-thrusters soldered on the sides. It contained two things. The first was a recording/replaying device so antiquated that the only way they got it working is that it was already playing on loop, and didn’t stop until someone disconnected it from its power source.

The message was in Ancient Bouban, which some folklorist soon announced is the latest language an Elf could know, since the last known Elf went back to “Arda.” The voice somehow sounded melodic to every species with a concept of music, from the screeching Vesarians to the deep-sea sub-sonic Thinkers, even when translated through cheap, staticky speakers. And to most species, the speaker was audibly distraught.

They said,

This is the final message from the Firstborn of Eru to the Secondborn, and everyone else. The Battle of Battles has come, and we…are losing. If there are any who remember the ancient love and loyalty which bound our peoples, if there are any heirs remaining of Thargalax the Magnificent, of Nine-Fingered Frodo, of the noble Houses of Haleth, Hador and Beor—

The speaker drew a sharp breath, there.

—by great oaths and greater friendship I bid you now to raise your swords and ride to our aid. Ride as swiftly as you can!

We will hold for another year. We will, they said determinedly. After that, it is unlikely that…

Another, shakier breath. A smile forced into a voice which would rather weep.

Fëanáro and Nienna believe there is a way to destroy the Straight Road. If we must, if it comes to it, we will do so, and trap the First Enemy here in this dying world with us. Though I don’t know about—

Hair-aristocrat! a more distant, slightly less perfectly melodious voice called, in a language so dead that they needed computers to decode it. The walls are falling, we need to go!

If you never hear from us again, and no sudden discord arises among you, you will know we succeeded, the first speaker said quickly. If otherwise…I am sorry. Either way, I bid you all only, remember us! Oh beautiful flames, remember us, as we have ever remembered y—

There was a sudden screech of tearing metal, a defiant, musical battle-cry, and a jarring silence. Then the message restarted.

And that wasn’t even the strangest thing in the box. The strangest thing was the recorder’s power source, which was powering the whole tiny rocket mechanism as well. It was an Elf-jewel right out of a fairy tale, a fist-sized, translucent not-quite-diamond—but instead of rock or water or a much-loved scrap of plant, the only thing it held was light.

...Kind of. It isn’t normal light. It arguably isn’t light at all, as we know it—scientists now think it’s technically some sort of plasmoid aether, except it only acts like a plasmoid aether about half the time.

It has no detectable source within the jewel. It fully illuminates whatever space it’s in, no matter how big. Its visible radiation is a frequency, the scientists say, that matches a hyper-accelerated version of what the universe must’ve sounded like in the split second after the Big Bang.

It makes people remember things, when they see it in person or sometimes even across a holo. Some remember a similar light in a strange traveler’s eyes. Others, dreamily enchanted valleys where spring never faded, or tall castles, bright swords, and stern and glorious lords and ladies. And some of us got hit with a whole lifetime of memories in one go: an identical gem on the brow of a sober forest king, friends who slipped through trees like shadows save for their merry laughter, an impossibly beautiful gold-haired maiden dancing in a glittering cavern...

(And all the pain and loss that came with them.)

And some people just remember the sight of a distant star—in another world, in another lifetime.

Reincarnation was provable but untraceable…until now.

The Thinker ambassador on Astrolax Station 5 was the first to kick up a fuss. Most Thinkers never leave their home planet, they're too huge and aquatic. But like I said, there's always crazy and curious people. The ambassador started bellowing the second che heard the message, without even seeing the light, because, "I know him! My Wisdom! We must send aid!" That made some news, and random other people shared their own, less dramatic revelations, and soon a compilation swept the net with timestamps showing that most of them were organically independent, not just jumping on the bandwagon….

Even that might've gotten written off intergalactically. The Thinkers are big in reincarnationist circles, on account of how they claim that deep in their planetary ocean they can hear echoes of their past lives. But being mostly planet-bound means they're not really influential on a big political level. Or it would've sparked another surge of the Reform Wars, and everybody would've remembered the rock, but not the recording. Or there would’ve been a fight over this potentially infinite energy source (though that is so last giga-annum)….

But first it was shown in person to the current Director of the Admiralty of the Astral Alliance, President of the X-ee Empire and Matron of the House of S,sh, Ch’ees/i’i S,sh. I was actually there—I was Captain of her ceremonial Alliance guards, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage my career after Zanzibus. Very ceremonial, considering the X-eee have laser-proof shells and pincers and I have, what, opposable thumbs? Vestigial tusks?

I wasn’t paying attention at first, too busy being suddenly assaulted by all my own memories. So I missed the President freezing mid-step and gasping (in X-eee), “Mother.” I also missed her rising alarm call of an attempt to speak Ancient Elvish without an Elvish tongue or lips.

I sure didn’t miss her snap back to X-eee for a sharp call to attention, and everything that followed: the call to arms! The rousing of the Alliance! A tour of the galaxy, to find anyone and everyone else in whom the Light could awaken ancient memories! And for the love of X'eeh, why had nobody figured out how to get back to Fairyland with this thing yet, and every warship in the quadrant?!

If I believed in the One Behind, or in any other creator god or gods—I'm not saying I do, but if I did, if there really is something out there all-powerful and all-kind—then it'd be because out of every soul in the entire universe, the probably one in the best position to act on the Elves' message turned out to have, from a past life, two parents and a much-loved twin still in Fairyland. Like, that's insane, right?

I stayed with the Director's ceremonial guards for the whole tour, actually more than ceremonial for once—it was the weirdest mission of my life, and I've been on a lot of weird missions. Or supposedly routine missions that got weird (and usually disastrous). My friends joke that I'm cursed. S,sh requisitioned an Inquiry-class ship, so the science boffins could study the Light and jewel along the way, and we started wormholing at weft speed, hitting a new planet every week. Sometimes every day. In each major spaceport and ground-city, S,sh stood with the jewel on the highest available point and gave a recruitment speech for going to save the Elves and fight the oldest enemy of all reality.

Honestly, it seemed a little redundant? The Astral Alliance was made for this sort of rescue mission (and for escorting trade convoys). But I was...if not happy, then sure as hell more self-certain with my ancient memories restored, and most people who joined up seemed to agree. It was mostly people who remembered, when exposed to the Light, who joined—so before long, we had a whole tag-along trail of mostly civilian ships, trying to get up to Alliance Fleet standard on the road in less than a year.

Three different religious sects tried to kill S,sh for "profaning the mysteries." Five others tried to steal the jewel because we were apparently appropriating a holy object. The boffins announced that, bar the can't-prove-a-negative possibility, the evidently sourceless Light should be counted as an infinite energy source, and at least seven different groups, ruthless financiers and sustainability idealists, immediately tried to steal it for that. And I still don't know what the rival thief-queens of Likkiliani were about, except that I got tied up upside-down from a palmdar tree for two hours trying to stop one, the other paid me 700 cron then threw me off a cliff, and in the end they recognized each other from past lives and just made out on worldwide live-holo before joining our growing fleet.

It turned out they were the Director's past life's great-grandparents, and a Canid pop princess was her niece. The Thinker ambassador was some sort of ancestor, too. Crazy extended family.

Most people who remember just remember the sight of a star in the sky. A buddy of mine from Fleet Academy remembered looking up at it as a Human sailor. The historians—and you’d better bet we picked up some Earther historians on this mission as well!—say this jewel or one like it was probably astrologically conflated with the planet Venus by early Humans.

(The more time I spent around the jewel, the Silmaril, the more I remembered, of my first life and more. Lifetime after lifetime with bad luck dogging my steps, killing loved ones in my arms, destroying cities I was supposed to save… One restless, haunted night, I met a Rigilic in the cafeteria who’d been awake with some of the same nightmares, who’d been my dead older sister once.)

The tour was cut short when word came from the Earth system that there was a black hole growing in the center of their reddening sun.

No, the sun wasn’t compressing into a black hole millennia ahead of schedule—one had just spontaneously manifested within it, like it’d teleported in. No, not literally—that was impossible. We were pretty sure. No, the sun wasn’t falling into it…somehow. Yet. The black hole was only 17 quectometers wide, but it was growing at an erratic but unceasing rate. If their best estimation of the pattern held, it would consume the sun 2 months before the Elves’ deadline, and the Earth 4 to 950 minutes later.

We pulled back to Earth—well, to the dwarf planet Eros, on the edges of Earth’s star system. That’s where the nearest shipyard of any note was, and we were gathering the whole Astral Alliance. This is exactly the sort of thing the Alliance is for.

I was released back to ship duty. Zanzibus was still a black mark on my record, as was Jorab, and really everything on the AAS Endeavor…and that thing in third year of Fleet Academy… But no matter how bad my curse, I was an experienced captain and one of the best pilots in the Alliance. For this, we needed all the best.

The boffins had pretty quickly mastered limited manipulation of the Light, using modified aetheric resonators, and every day they came up with something new for us to test. They focused the Light into a laser cannon like no one has seen before. They laced it through plasma shields until a fully shielded ship glowed like a distant star. They managed to nearly replicate the Silmaril’s crystalline structure, so they could make “copies” that shone like the original for first a few hours; then, with refinement, a full week…

The one thing they couldn’t pin down with any real confidence was how to get to Fairyland. The frequency of the Light resonated with large bodies of Earther saltwater in a particular way, and models suggested that if the Light source moved horizontally along the water within a certain range of distance and velocity, the resonance would create a wormhole-like ripple in space—but wormhole-like, was the key word, and models suggested. The closest anyone had seen to that spatial distortion was in a logbook of dubious veracity from the Delta Quadrant, four hundred years ago. Alteia, my Academy buddy who’d been a Human sailor, took the Silmaril in an M-wing on a series of highly monitored test flights above the Atlantic Ocean, and space did repeatedly start to hollow in front of bom—so bo had to stop every time, rather than risk vanishing with our single, maybe-one-way ticket.

Then Earth’s moon stopped shining in the sky. Its albedo just dropped nearly to zero, from one night to the next. There was nothing wrong that anyone could figure out—nothing with the orbit, nothing with the surface rock, nothing with the artificial atmosphere. Inhabitants reported feeling colder by several degrees, but no measuring equipment recorded anything.

The black hole slightly off-center in the middle of Sol was now 844.9 zeptometers, and growing more steadily.

We didn’t have time to keep testing. We needed to raise our swords and make our ride, even if we only got one shot at it.

I was given command, for seniority, skill, and because I was the one who managed to talk S,sh out of leading the fleet herself. (If my lives had taught me anything, it was the importance of having someone, anyone, ready to be emergency backup.) Ironically, I was back on the Endeavor, with most of my old crew—though we got permission to rename the ship, in honor of the mission. A lot of people did. Alteia was now commanding the AAS Elendil on my right flank, star-friend in Ancient Elvish. That Canid pop princess had taken over a hospital ship and renamed it Rivendell. An Earth Park Ranger, of all things, remembered being my dad—briefly—and he was leading the Rangers plus my Rigilic drinking buddy on the EPSS Elfsheen.

We weren’t sure if any ship but the one with the Silmaril would get through. The fleet numbered in the hundreds in battleships alone, not counting scouts and scuttlers. Twelve races had sent ships on top of their typical Alliance Fleet tithe, and S,sh had brought about half the full force of the X-ee Empire. We all just locked tractor beams and hoped.

I was piloting as well as captaining, with the Silmaril between my forehorns. It was held in place by about a dozen wires and other connectors to the ship, like an old-timey pilot’s headset. We took off in orbit around Earth, as close as possible to the surface—not very close, in warships of Class S and higher, but within range of the oceanic resonance. A Likkilianian thief-queen stood at my shoulder, ready to advise if anything “Musical” started to happen.

Think about what you’re trying to get to, and why, the boffins had advised, so I did—bright-eyed kings and dancing maidens; lost friends, families, cities, planets and all. The jewel got warmer against my skin and shone brighter with every pulse of the engine, brighter than we should’ve been able to see through.

The silver-gold Light twisted and diffused as space did around us. But there was no familiar rippling wormhole boundary—instead, spacetime thinned to a curtain like driving rain, like Vesarian silver-glass.

A ghost appeared next to me. She looked like the oldest, grumpiest writing teacher at the crèche, though I knew that was only in my head.

“There you are,” she said, impatient and relieved like I’d been hiding in the sandbox again, rather than coming to class on time. Her sewing scissors went snip snip snip as she darted them around my body—and a chain on my soul faded into guiding threads.

Before she’d even disappeared again, I punched the engine and blasted through the silver-glass curtain.

Fairy tales said there’d be a peerlessly beautiful land on the other side, green with eternal spring, full of endless light and laughter. They said there’d be sunlit shores and shimmering waves, with welcoming docks for sea-ships, sky-ships and space-ships all…

We flew into the worst battlefield I’d ever seen, in any lifetime. It was more desperately vicious than Jerusalem V at the height of the Reform Wars, more ruined than Glaurung’s wake, more desolate than Zanzibus after the nuclears fell.

Either a massive supercontinent or a small moon had been shattered, leaving nothing but a roiling debris field. The brand-new meteoroids ranged from pebbles to rocks the size of a small space station, and included space-frozen corpses, forests, and what might have once been city blocks.

I gave the helm back to my Pilot Officer—zer had, I can admit, slightly better reflexes for dodging debris—and focused on captaining.

Most of the life signs were clinging to the larger rocks. There shouldn’t have been atmosphere for them, but walls of thunderstorm wrapped around every shard with even a single life sign—wind and water desperately hand in hand to safeguard the last of the Elves. The only thing visible through the impossible storms was the Light of a second Silmaril, on a meteoroid shaped like half a broken eggshell.

A corpse lay at the epicenter of the explosion—what might’ve been a corpse, if it wasn’t also shattered. The broken pieces of a massive stone humanoid, taller than my ship if it’d stood beside her, still bleeding lava so hot that it burned even in frozen space. Another titan knelt at the shards of its head, a figure of towering bark and leaves, wailing with grief even worse than the end of the world.

A slimmer tree-woman stood with one hand on her shoulder, comforting, and the other wielding a skyscraper-sized club spiked with incandescent wildflowers. Guarding her sister’s heartbreak, she fended off a swarm of bat-sized monsters with wings of darkness and whips of flame.

Bat-sized relative to the gods of Elves and ancient Humans. About the size of an M-wing, in flight.

Countless more of the bat-things flung themselves at the storm-bubbles, like carnivores chasing the prey hidden inside. They were fended off by an equal army of creatures with wings of light and swords of lightning, led by a towering figure who seemed to dance from one bloody battle to the next.

The biggest battle by far was the farthest away, over where the sun had been. In this dimension of stories over science, Sol was another woman-shape, smaller than the others but burning just as brightly as her star. Also just as blood-red. The light was centered on a fist she kept clenched at her chest, and instead of containing the black hole, the unseeable thing that it was here surrounded her, striking at her with a thousand hungry jaws and grasping legs, and she had only a one-handed whip of a solar flare to fend it off—

But she didn’t fight alone. A warrior tore at the Darkness’s spidery limbs with his fists, image on the cameras flickering impossibly between every hero I’d ever heard of. A snarling figure bit at it with jagged teeth, gored it with horns, shredded it with claws and talons, and generally made every ancient prey-instinct in me scream. And a queen with a crown of stars, a shield like the night sky and a sword like a streaking comet, stood dauntlessly at the sun-holder’s side.

With all that, and with the speed of even her most exhausted strikes, I thought the sun-holder could probably have gotten away if she’d tried. But I knew how a person fought when they weren’t willing to leave a friend, and a smaller, silver figure lay at her feet, unmoving and drained of light.

But even the battle for the sun wasn’t what grabbed my eye. No—all my attention, all my guiding threads of fate and the quick temper that always used to get me in trouble, before (and sometimes after) I learned to leash it in an Alliance uniform— All of that took me straight to the fight happening orthogonal to the stone giant’s corpse.

It was another one-versus-many. Morgoth, the First Enemy of Elves and Men— Master of Lies, Maker of Chains, Sonofabitch Curser of Bloodlines—towered over even his fellow gods. His shape changed constantly, sickeningly, but it was always black-armored with eyes like dying stars that hated you personally. His maul dripped with lava and every other kind of blood.

He fought against three great gray figures who moved as one. The tallest wielded a star-studded scythe with swift, efficient strokes, and wore the dark gray of corpse-shrouds. The shortest shimmered with more colors than even a Stamotapadon could dream of, and his weapon shifted likewise. The third was the clear, clean gray of skies after rain or tears run dry, and fought with only a shield—and hit harder with it than either of her brothers.

Around their heads darted the only Elves on the battlefield, in small fliers more like sea-ships than aircraft. But they moved fluidly, pestering the Dark Lord like flies, pricking his skin and threatening his burning eyes.

Until Morgoth swung his maul with a roar of fury that traveled even though soundless space. My ship and heart both shuddered. The gray gods all staggered back, and the Elves fell from the no-longer-sky—all but their leader, more fire than flesh, who wore the third Silmaril. Morgoth caught him in one massive black hand and with sharp claws plucked the jewel away, as easily as a ripe berry from a tree—

“All power to fore-cannon and fire,” I ordered—and the jewel on my brow shone bright again as several stored months’ worth of infinite Silmaril-Light slammed into Morgoth’s chest with all the force that the best scientists in the Astral Alliance could engineer.

He stumbled. He dropped both the jewel and the elf-king (who’d been trying to bite him). The Lady of Mercy tossed her shield to catch them, staying low and out of sight—though she needn’t have bothered. The so-called “Lord of All” had already found his next enemy.

“All ships, move forward and join shields,” I ordered, and met his burning stare though the viewscreen. “Then broadcast me on all external frequencies.”

The wires on my forehead shimmered as we shifted Light-flow to the shields—and to my right, so did the Elendil, and to my left, the Cosmian Blade, and all around us the Minas Tirith, the Elfsheen, the Muse, the Rivendell, the Heart of Zanzi, the Longbottom Leaf… They were still soaring out of the silvery distortion behind me, tractor- and Silmaril-towed: sleek Rigilic eels-of-prey and Centaurian cruisers full of Humans eager to fight for their homeworld, Betan mine-ships and Canid X-M-wings and my own Hectoan starlighters, a full third of the X-ee navy with their X-eee–shaped six-engine dreadnoughts, and hundreds more.

“This is Captain Pel Cinia, once Túrin Turambar, of the Astral Alliance ship Gurthang,” I said. My words were broadcast from every ship on every frequency in every language that the people of Arda might know, as the Fleet assembled from forty-plus different worlds flew into position. Our Light-infused shields blazed and locked together, until we formed a seamless wall right in the Enemy’s face, with the Elves and their other allies safely behind us.

I’ve never felt more proud to recite the most cliché line in the Fleet:

“We got your distress call. We’re here to help.”

#the silmarillion #science fiction #humans are space orcs #fanfiction #my fic #dagor dagorath #not tagging characters bc spoilers (they're listed at the end of the ao3 though)

336 notes · View notes

shiraishi-kanade · 2 months

Text

An Shiraishi is always trying to be someone else: a short and messy analysis on how Vivid Street (unintentionally) messed her up

You know, I kind of have my own issues with the "Wishing to the Blue Sky for Your Happiness!" event, but a lot of my criticism of it boiled down to "huh, it's kind of weird how they gave An this insecurity out of nowhere, she didn't struggle with being herself before. Seems to be a reach just so Shizuku could have a role."

But that was before the Vivid Old Tale, and boy I'll admit I was very wrong.

The relationship between An and Nagi are... Very interesting, to say the least.

But there's no doubt that An absolutely idolizes Nagi. Sure, there's been this line about An always wanting to he a musical like her father, but we also know that for the most part, it was Nagi who taught her to sing, as well as Nagi who acted as An's mentor figure in a more emotional way.

In a way, An won the lottery. She was born into a family that loves her, into a community thay loves her, and just so happened to be talented and passionate about something that community values most. However, that talent has left her little to no space to actually... See herself as someone outside of it.

Now, none of this is actually necessarily negative by default. Having high expectations to one's children isn't necessarily bad either; with the right approach, it can make them grow and want to grow. We've also seen this happen with Touya in his childhood, which us another neat parallel.

But, unlike Touya, An has been very comfortable in her role, precisely because of her talent and being able to reach the very high bar raised for her. That comfort just... never made her reach out to something other than the place and the future she was already familiar with, because she never needed to. She was Ken's daughter and she was talented and everyone in town loved her and she promised to be the better than her dad and everyone took her seriously. What else could she possibly need?

In a way, An had her dole cut out to her before she was even born.

And then there's Nagi.

Yes, Nagi is An's role model. But there's more to that than just An looking up to her.

More than just being taught by her, An actually picks up Nagi's mannerisms, forms or speech, and even moral values (pretty much the entire point of Vivid Old Tale).

An saw, too, how much Nagi meant for the people of Vivid Street. She wanted to mean as much for them, too; rather, she already did mean as much, but she needed to be someone to justify being loved. It's not necessarily a conscious thought process but more of a subtle one: if you notice your community loves some traits of you more than the others, or values some aspects of you more, you start to lean more and more into them in order to fit in and be accepted.

For An, those particular traits were being talented, being Ken's daughter, but also... Being very similar to Nagi.

Them acting "like sisters" has been highlighted over

and over

and over again, even by people unfamiliar with Nagi, well into An's teenage years.

And it's not exactly... A complete coincidence on everyone's part. At one point, Nagi openly states she wants An to be like her, to be able to see things from the same perspective. At least to some extent, some of the actions Nagi takes to make that happen are completely deliberate.

So An tries to be like Nagi. This is both a conscious effort on her part and something that just... Is sort of a hidden force that shapes her into who she is. If you watch Nagi and compare even the way she talks with people of the town to the more mature, somewhat-grown up but not quite there yet An we have today... There's so many similarities it's uncanny. An is still much more hot-headed and impulsive, but that caring, considerate side of her shines through even more than before.

An doesn't try to deny or hide that, too. In fact, she's actually pretty proud of it.

(Whether Ken lied to her to make her feel better or if that expression was just a reaction to being reminded of Nagi passing away & the masquerade that followed after that, we'll never know.)

But here's the kicker: there's so much of Nagi in An it's hard to pinpoint where Nagi-san's traits end and An's own personality begins, if it even does. Because of how early has everyone decided on An's future, and because An never did anything to even hint at wanting to do something different (which she didn't! Sometimes people want to continue their family's legacy and that's completely normal and fine - again, she just got really lucky, both with her talent and supportive surroundings), An subconsciously kind of accepted that being like Nagi is... Just who she is.

That comes with taking on Nagi's part in the community, too. In the same way Nagi took care of everyone in town by helping them out at events, so too, does An - just to a much lesser extent, by going out of her way to keep in touch with everyone, going to events, and helping at a cafe, too.

But An doesn't purposely mold or change her personality to be like her role model, too. This is important: An doesn't wear a mask because she doesn't need to. In her mind, she already is like Nagi, or at least, she's on track to be, without doing particularly anything different. Because they're just so similar they're so close and practically behave like sisters, and because An grew up singing in the town exactly like Nagi did, and because she loves the town just like Nagi did - what else could An possibly need to do except get better at singing and get more grown up?

You know, to reach that mature and down-to-earth side of Nagi that we often see in the past?

That side?

Yeah.

Now the Shizuan event's conflict isn't so out of place, is it?

But anyway, back to the point.

Because of Nagi wording things the way she does and because of people on Vivid Street making such a point of their similarities, An naturally assumed she would eventually become like Nagi. This is why, even aside from Kohane's improvement, aside An's abandonment issues, Kick It Up a Notch is a giant slap to the face for An, as well as her wake-up call.

Kohane taking on Nagi's mantle before An was able to, or potentially ever could, isn't just about singing - it's an attempt at An's entire sense of self, just as well as her place in the world, and on the smaller sense, her hometown, too.

Because if An is not Nagi, she doesn't belong.

Because An never knew how to do anything but sing. Because becoming like her family, like Nagi, was the only option she ever imagined for herself ever since she was a child.

And if An is not Nagi, then who the hell is she?

[this post was very much inspired by @the-one-that-weeps 's An analysis post, who kind of put this much more eloquently than I could! Go check them out.

All translated lines that aren't taken from the wiki transcripts are by lozybug on YouTube!]

#jay rambles.txt #jay's character analysis #project sekai #prsk #an shiraishi #vivid bad squad #i spent like a solid 3 hours writing this

260 notes · View notes

rynwritesreid · 7 months

Text

Chemical Love|| Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer has feelings for reader but tries to rationalise why he feels that way with logic and science. While reader believes there is no science to love.

Content: GN reader. No warnings, just pure fluff.

Masterlist || Requests are open | Navigation

1.2k words

Spencer knew that love was a chemical reaction. He could always rationalise it; he could break it down. He would say that love is just noradrenaline, dopamine and phenylethylamine. Love to him was nothing more than just a chemical reaction happening inside our brains. That’s just the kind of person Spencer was, rational, logical, and smart. He had statistics and facts for everything, he could rationalise almost anything.

But you, he couldn’t rationalise you. You were pretty, caring and loving. You believed in love at first sight and soulmates. If you were someone else, he would argue with you, point out why those things just couldn’t logically happen. If you were someone else, he would ask how such an intelligent person could believe in something so intangible and illogical. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t be the man to ruin love for you.

He couldn’t rationalise how you made him feel. He could have so much to say but he would see you and all thoughts would vanish. If he thought like you, he would say that this is love, that the universe had brought you two together because it had a plan for you, but he wasn’t you. He had no reason to love you, you were in a relationship, you never flirted with him, and you treated him like a friend. But he still wanted to be near you whenever he could be.

If Spencer could step back from logical thinking, he would see that love doesn’t always follow reasoning and logic. He would be able to see that love had no bounds. I mean sure you were already in a relationship, and you would never cheat on anybody but that couldn’t stop love, and it couldn’t stop Spencer from wanting you.

He did try to rationalise it, to find a logical explanation for his feelings, but it was like trying to explain the colour blue to someone who was born blind. Love was irrational, illogical, and yet it was the most powerful emotion in the world. And this was turning his world upside down.

Spencer had always been a man of numbers and facts, but since he met you, he was no longer able to keep his emotions at bay. His heart would skip a beat every time he saw you, and his mind would wander to thoughts of you throughout the day. He knew that he needed to stay away from you, to keep his feelings under control, but he found that he couldn't resist your magnetic pull.

He tried to distract himself by immersing himself in his work, but even that didn’t work. He would find himself staring into space, lost in thought, and his colleagues would often catch him looking at you when he thought they weren't paying attention.

It was torture to be around you, to feel the pull of your energy and your beauty. And yet, he found that he couldn't stay away. He would rationalize his feelings, telling himself that it was just a chemical reaction, a passing infatuation. But the both of you knew that wasn’t true.

Spencer hated how with one mention of your boyfriend he was jealous. He would think to himself that it should be him. He should be the only man to love you, to be there for you, to care for you in that way. He hated your boyfriend and he hated himself for feeling this way.

But he couldn’t help it, it was love after all. I mean he loved everything about you. He loved the way you laughed, the way you spoke, the way you moved. He loved your quirks and your flaws, and he loved the way you looked at him. He loved how he felt when he was around you, how he felt alive and free and happy in a way that he had never felt before.

And if you were to ever admit it, you loved Spencer. Your relationship was coming to end, the both of you had just fallen out of love. But Spencer, you would never be able to fall out of love with Spencer.

You loved the way he was logical and rational, but you also loved the way he looked at you. You loved how he made you feel important and valued. You loved the way his voice softened when he talked to you, and the way he would get lost in thought when he was trying to make sense of something.

You knew that Spencer had feelings for you, but you also knew that he would never act on them. He was too rational, too logical, and too afraid of the consequences. But you couldn't ignore the fact that you had feelings for him too. You tried to push them aside, to rationalise them away, but they persisted.

So, when you had broken up with your boyfriend, you decided it was now or never. You walked over to his desk, to see him lost in his work. He was so attractive like this; I mean he was attractive all the time, but he was especially attractive like this.

You had thought about admitting your feelings to Spencer for a long time, but now you were actually doing it, you had no idea what to say. So, you tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up, surprised to see you standing there. You took a deep breath and spoke before you lost your nerve.

"Spencer, I need to tell you something," you said, your heart pounding in your chest.

He looked at you expectantly, his expression curious but guarded. He had every right to be. I mean you would be too. But you couldn’t hold back anymore, you couldn’t just not admit your feelings for him, because that’s not who you are.

“Spencer, I, erm.” You paused. You were freaking out. Did you really want to do this. What happens if everything is all in your head and he doesn’t feel the same way about you.

“Spencer, I like you. I broke up with my boyfriend, and it’s not because of you. But it’s you. It’s you who I love and I will always love.” You stopped talking, you couldn’t say anything else. You just stared at him, clueless of what he was going to say. God, what happens if he doesn’t actually have feelings for you.

“You don’t have to say anything, but I just wanted you to know.” You stepped back and walked back to your desk. Your eyes filling with tears. You knew you said he didn’t have to say anything back, but you wished he had.

Spencer was stunned. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. He had come to accept his feelings for you, and he was learning how to deal with the fact that you were with someone else. However, he had never expected you to feel the same way he does, let alone express those feelings to him.

Finally, he got up from his desk and walked over to you. He put his hand on your shoulder and turned you around to face him. Your eyes were filled with tears, and his heart ached at the sight of them.

"Hey," he said softly, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "You don't know how long I've wanted to hear those words from you."

Join my taglist

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader

555 notes · View notes

lotusmi · 4 months

Text

You'll Never Realize That.🖼️

(quotes by Dudaji ebook on Kindle) - thread on twitter

''There's an assumption that you can follow some kind of path, that you can implement some practice, that you can learn some teaching. But there's no you - there's only Oneness. So, ask yourself: "Who is following what? Who will follow what?" Sometimes there is the pretence of "me", there is a seeking, there is a longing. No amount of meditation or effort or practice will ever destroy the illusion of "me", because the whole effort of trying to destroy it continues to reinforce this "me". So, there's no path, no practice, no teaching. There's no method, no technique, no formula.

There are no oughts, no shoulds, no shouldn'ts. There is no goal, no direction, no plan, no from here to there, no expectation, no intention, no "in order to", no calculation. It just simply is what-is or "what happens".

If there is a message, it points to this Natural Reality, a Reality that is boundless and beyond description. But if you search it, you will not find it. The more you seek, the more desperate your search become.

There is no answer to seeking and to the seeker, because there is no seeker. Every seeking is illusive, that there is nothing to be sought and nothing to be found.

What is pointed here is the fact that this whole movie that includes the seeker, the seeking and what is sought is illusory. There is no point in time and space to reach. There is no going beyond, no border to cross, no ultimate viewpoint to be acquired.

There is no enlightenment state as well as there is no unenlightened state. All states are imagined. You may be seeking for answers. You see yourself as someone searching for answers: a person, male, female, young, old, tall, short etc.

But you cannot find any answer, neither in this book nor anywhere else because there is no one seeking, there is no one alive. Nobody has ever born. There is not an "I" and there is not a "you". This is an appearance, not real at all, which therefore is like a dream.

In this oniric experience you are separate from all the things that surround you. But what also seems to be part of this dream is a feeling of unfulfilment.

The contents of your aware presence of consciousness are momentary dreams, unreal, without any independent existence outside of the mind that is conceiving and perceiving them.

In those dreams you see everything as a separate object, then there is a "you" as you believe yourself to be. Since there is no separate self, who is to affect change? When you take life on its own way, everything will be discovered to be the ground of Unconditional Love.

The World you perceive is entirely private, a dream. The world you can perceive is a very small world. It is you who have invented a totality to contain you as a part.''

#non dualism #non dual #non duality #advaita vedanta #brahman #atman #nothingness

310 notes · View notes

cerastes · 2 months

Note

as far as my circle of mutuals goes, i think you're the only cishet guy around these days

We held a tournament, Highlander style, where we beheaded each other after climatic sword duels and absorbed the fallen's power. I am the Last Cishet who absorbed all of their power, known only by my title: Son Boy Allowed.

No but jest aside, that post did make me think of the times it's been brought up that I Am This in spaces where that's not the norm, and, well, each friend group or community has its own story, and in my case, it happened to be that the majority of people in my friend group & adjacent community, over the years, came out as trans mainly plus a few other identities, and while I did not understand it at all initially (even considered it could be catfishing, because I am from ye olde internet where catfishing was rampant and an olympic sport), my logic was "ok I love this person, they are asking me if I can refer to them as the other gender now, and that that's what they really are. There's not anything wrong at all with that, nor do I think this person I consider my friend could have nefarious intents with this, like catfishing, because I know them, so sure thing, let's go with that" and with time, I learned more and more about these topics, either by my own initiative (because I wanted to understand more) and when committing faux passes, because my friends would correct me or pull me to the side (send an IM) going "hey uh Drimo, you reblogged something pretty bad just now, are you aware?" "oh fuck no why" and I'd always get a helpful explanation.

Which brings me to the point: As a cishet dude, it REALLY helped me a LOT to understand these topics to have not only loving friends that live those lives, but to have said loving friends that live those lives and are willing to assume that my fuck ups and oopsies were born from ignorance and good faith, not from a hateful and discriminatory hill, and who then kindly informed me of X and Y.

So I have to agree with that post! At the risk of sounding self-aggrandizing, I do think being able to tolerate the misteps of a well-intentioned cishet guy who might not know all the 1s and 2s of the dance does in fact directly correlate to healthy, cool friend groups and communities. Over the years, the majority of my net friends have come out as trans, and a few others as non-binary and genderfluid, and I've never really had a situation where someone blasted me for my misteps, instead explaining What Happened instead. I've learned a lot over the years, and in fact, as a therapist, I've helped trans kids come out and have explained the whole shebang to their parents, but as a cishet guy, again, initially this was all very arcane to me, so I am always thankful for the people that took time and care so we could remain friends and so that I could grow to be a more worldly and open minded person.

#studentofetherium

151 notes · View notes

midnightsunnyday · 3 months

Text

Thinking a bit about Mammon and what we know of him canonically, his behavior, values, principles, and conduct, and how they seem entirely different from what we know of his fanon interpretation.

Canon Mammon is…well, let’s just call a spade a spade, he’s a clown. The certified Butt-Monkey of the brothers, if something bad is going to happen, nine times out of ten, it’s going to happen to him. Dude is a truffle pig for trouble and for the most part, loves to sniff it out and roll in it.

Have the fans explain it, and Mammon is a saint who's never done anything wrong in his life ever, yet story-wise, Mammon’s downfalls and shortcomings are usually due to his own dubious inclinations, though to be fair, are a consequence of him being the literal physical manifestation of one of humanity’s sins: greed. We see this through his gambling habits, his tendency to engage in shady deals or practices, his lying, and his cheating, but what really gains him the ire of most of his siblings and others is his tendency to steal and sell any and everything he assumes may bring him a profit, regardless if the item is sentimental or not.

Needless to say, Mammon isn’t the most respected of his brothers, and they remind him of it every chance they get, specifically with the words “scumbag,” ‘moron,” “idiot,” “money-obsessed moron,” etc. Mammon even suffers for his actions physically, with Lucifer finding little issue in stringing him up and leaving him there to rot for a while.

There’s also the fact that in the first season of the OG game, like most of the brothers, Mammon is kind of an asshole. Your typical Tsundere archetype, his personality is initially brash and not too keen on learning of his forced role as a human attendant, constantly insulting the MC while bemoaning his position all the while, a position he almost fails in upholding more than once when the MC’s life is threatened.

Yet because this is an otome game, Mammon eventually begins to have feelings for the MC as soon as the fourth lesson, and that whole being your “first” thing holds a lot of weight to Mammon, so much so that he’ll bring it up repeatedly. He becomes a bit more clingy, vying for the MC’s attention, to the point where personal space is but a mere myth to this man.

For you see, beyond his salty attitude is a man with a huge heart. Canon Mammon is competent and capable of showing a surprising amount of wisdom, intelligence, strength, and kindness when he puts his mind to it (the man admits himself to being sensitive, after all).

Despite his shortcomings, there’s a reason Lucifer entrusted Mammon with the MC, as out of all of his siblings, he is the only character capable of keeping his “bloodlust” in check. And despite his flakiness at times, Lucifer relies heavily on Mammon to complete certain tasks, to the point where he’s accused of showing favoritism towards the secondborn. Speaking of which, that second-born title also includes his power level, having the ability to clearly fight and defend himself, yet choosing to either run or hide from altercations, if possible. It’s rare for him to get angry or fight back, which is why it’s so scary when he does.

More importantly, Mammon is completely and utterly in love with the MC. This is true for all the brothers, but Mammon is the most consistent, a constant in his character that never changes and is the main drive to his appeal imo. Unlike the other brothers, who seem to have interests and relationships outside of the MC, Mammon’s focus is single-targeted, and it’s one of the many reasons why he’s the most popular character in the game. There are no limitations to his affections. No scary or overly complicated parts to his character. We are his “first,” and that’s a comfortable place to be because regardless of what we do or how we look, Mammon isn’t one to give up and will literally fight, yell, and cry his way into your heart, whether you choose someone else or not.

However, you wouldn’t be able to tell this with Fanon Mammon, a soggy wad of therapy session tissues. He is an absolutely miserable wreck of a man. A traumatized, suicidal-inclined, helpless dude in need of a serious hug. A prone character to hurt/comfort fics, he's the trauma dumpster for the fans who like to project, which would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that these traits are sometimes treated as actual aspects of Mammon’s canon character. Fanon Mammon is essentially boiled down to his most pathetic traits, woobifying him. In fics where the brothers are present, such as Lucifer and Asmodeus, expect them to be written OOC to make Mammon appear even worse. In essense, Fanon Mammon not only has his complexity completely taken away, but takes away the complexity of everyone else around him in the process.

I'm not certain why this happens to Mammon more than other characters. Maybe because of his "kick the dog" status in canon, which causes people to sympathize with him more. And if you're someone who can relate to a lot of Mammon’s shortcomings, then that probably adds to his "woobie" nature.

And this isn't to say you can never go beyond canon and write Mammon any other way, yet it's like I've stated before, there's your headcanon and there's canon. You can think what you want, write what you want, yet something doesn't become a fact just because you want it to be/are emotional about it. And you also don't get the right to attack people for it.

Anyway, these are just things I've noticed about his fanon vs canon that I personally don't like, though opinions are always appreciated.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me nightbringer

362 notes · View notes

alyakthedorklord · 9 months

Text

I’m having dramatic thoughts about Damian being born to Fem!Bruce ok I’m having THOUGHTS

(TW for alluding to Damian’s conception being nonconsensual)

Okay so set the stage of our Drama- Fem!Bruce (or just AFAB idc) is out on patrol or something and League Parent (Either Talia as in canon, or Ra’s if we’re feeling the creepy old man tonight) drops Damian off with “Hey, watch our son that you birthed and then I stole and let you think was dead for ten years, there’s some infighting in the league.”

(If we’re using Ra’s as dad then Talia is absolutely trying to kill Damian for the position of heir)

Bryce is, understandably, shocked. Her other children? Even more so. Because what do you mean you had a biological child? How did we not know about this?!

Damian isn’t old enough to be pre-robin unless he was cryogenically frozen. Did Bryce really hide a whole fucking pregnancy from them?

Dick is screaming, Jason shows up because he has to see this shit for himself, Bryce is standing in silence, staring at the results of every single test she can think of to confirm that yes, this is her son, this is her Damian, all the info matches up…

Tim tries to speak up, but Jason just turns on him, asking if he’s ready to be replaced too. Bryce didn’t even have to go looking this time!

Tim looks him dead in the eye and points out the birthdate(and death date) on file for Damian Wayne.

It’s exactly eight days before Jason was taken in.

How did Dick and Jason not know about this?

Because they weren’t there.

In the short period of time when Dick was striking out on his own, and before Bryce picked up Jason, League Baby Daddy of your choosing shows up and takes advantage. A simple greeting, a spiked drink, a blurry night, and a pregnancy test later…

Bruce is, as always, in any universe, is terrible at communication. But honestly she can be excused in this case. How exactly do you tell your wayward son ward that, after chasing him off because he was “being reckless” and “putting himself in danger,” you’ve gone and gotten taken advantage of, trusted someone that you had absolutely ZERO business trusting, and now you’re pregnant with an Al Ghul baby? And you’ve decided to keep it? That this isn’t you replacing him or demanding he return, because you understand his need for space, but also you desperately want him back with you because you’re scared but you can never admit it?

How do you do that in a text? Because Dick is not answering the phone.

You don’t. Thats a conversation you have face to face. So the messages Bryce leaves are all “there are some changes and i’d like to talk to you” “there may be a new member of the family soon” “please answer me chum”

Dick doesn’t answer.

Meanwhile, Gotham crime is being weird because “hey robins gone! Dynamic duo is out!” And Bryce is being careful because of her belly and sometimes she has to take breaks and hormones are bullying her and nothing is going her way right now.

And them she goes into labor too soon.

And something goes wrong (League Baby Daddy happens) and she’s told her baby is dead, and now she’s lost two children.

She recovers, and goes back out onto the streets, taking her rage and pain out on the criminals that got a little too bold with her in a hospital bed…

And then there’s a street rat jacking the tires off the Batmobile.

The fucking audacity. The guts. The challenge in his bright blue eyes, the sneer on his lips, the shaggy black hair. Skin just a bit darker than hers, not quite an Al Ghul’s deep olive but somewhere in the middle.

Is this what her Damian would have looked like? Is this what her son would have grown up to be?

Maybe its the hormones, maybe she’s projecting. She knows its a bad idea, but Bryce takes the kid home. Alfred gives her a knowing and slightly disapproving look, but accepts the new child with open arms, because there’s worse things. Jason fits in easily, and soon enough, Batman has a Robin again, and Bryce is smiling again, and begins to heal from the pain of losing Damian.

But Dick? Dick is PISSED.

Upon seeing news of a new Robin/Wayne, he finally looks though his messages, and comes to the wrong conclusion that Bryce was looking for a kid to replace him this whole time. She might have tried to get his input, but had eventually made a decision like this without him. And so he’s back, and he’s angry, and Bryce gets defensive because Jason is a good kid and she can’t use her dead baby to win an argument, not when the wound is so fresh.

So life continues. Jason dies, comes back, is angry because he listened in on a few arguments and now ALSO thinks Bryce actively hunted him down to be Robin, and now she’s done the same with Tim.

Bryce keeps quiet, because how is she supposed to explain after all these years? Jason is right to be angry. She let her emotions get the better of her and dragged a sweet boy into her life. The loss of all three if her children was her own fault, because she put him into the line of fire. There’s no excuse for that.

So years pass. Tempers settle somewhat, Bryce holds her grief close to her chest because she can’t do that to her children, but… then Damian is back. And it all explodes.

The story comes out in bits and pieces. Tim figures out a timeline based on the rest of the info in the file, and Bryce and Alfred slowly fill it in.

And like- they’re all still angry, and it is justified, because what the fuck, Bryce. But also…

Dick is horrified. He had been so angry, so so angry, reading those messages that he now knows, with this new information, were a cry for help. Bryce had been desperate and scared and wanted nothing more than to just talk to him after their fight, and when he had come back after something like this had happened he had immediately started another fight.

Jason isn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been taken in to be a replacement soldier, he had been taken in to be a replacement son. What is he supposed to do with that? Knowing that Bryce had seen him at his worst, and taken him in and shoved down her grief to help him?

Tim is wondering if every time Bryce backed away with an unreadable expression, it hadn’t been keeping herself emotionally distant, it was grief for the sons she had lost.

Steph is realizing that Bruce wasn’t lying, when Steph had to give her own baby up and Bryce had hugged her and said “I understand.”

Damian is sitting in a corner wondering what the ever-loving FUCK is going on. Why is everyone crying this is pathetic. Father take him home he prefers the threat of imminent death.

468 notes · View notes

starberry-cupcake · 1 month

Text

After a weekend that exhausted me, I am finally able to come back to this book. My reacts proved useful to remind me where I left of, who would have thought.

previously, on harrowberry the ninth:

this happened

also, harrowberry is courtesy of @lady-harrowhark

after which I suggested the following album cover as a representation of her

currently, chapters 14-16:

"The Mithraeum, the seat of the First Reborn! The Sanctuary of the Emperor of the Nine Houses, the bolthole of God"

I don't want to sound like gideon

I really don't

but I have to be entirely honest here

I read that sentence twice, at separate times

and neither of those times did I read "bolthole"

MOVING ON

harrowberry is settled in a room which was made for a lyctor that never was

I don't know if this is at all important but it caught my eye

I wonder what happened there

and I am, as we have established, fixating on very particular things

the emperor johnny bravo has a room that's described as a locked tomb, but harrow says that, unlike the other locked tomb, she's not interested to see what's in this one

on the one hand, I want to know what this guy's actually doing but, on the other, I don't care about what's going on in his intimacy

harrow is also surprised that he gets embarrassed

which I don't, because he should be embarrassed and ashamed about all of the stuff that is going on in general

I don't know specifics and I don't know details, but I know he's at fault

like we say over here, I've got no evidence but I've got no doubt

he tells harrowbean about the BOE

he says they hate the nine houses and that they have agents who turn planets against them

they got themselves a leader about 25 years before harrow was born, who made things more difficult for johnny man

let's bring back the timeline I'm constantly discarding and bringing back

we've been told now that: this leader showed up 25 years before harrow was born, they disappeared nearly 20 years ago and gideon was born 18 years ago in space to a mom who was brain dead upon arriving at ninth

there's also the whole eggs thing that idk if it has something to do with this or not but we're not totally throwing anything away here

we've moved from a cork board to a 3d model at this point

emperor johnny boo is blaming these people for not!dulcinea going ballistic

idk johnny man, you kind of fucked that up on your own I think, but go off, I guess

he also says that the BOE folks hate necromancers and necromancy

I don't wanna be making assumptions with little to no info (literally all I've been doing) but all I've seen so far is these people teaching harrow to kill planets

that's not what miss frizzle told me I should be doing when she wore the most iconic looks in television history

maybe if the emperor dressed like this I'd be trusting him more

emperor johnny also clocked harrow being a ninth kid smoothie

because harrow was doing theorems in the river and only one other person ever did that before

the person who founded the sixth

we're ok with the sixth because camilla came from there

when harrow starts telling him the smoothie story, the emperor says "This was...all so different...before we discovered the scientific principles" and proceeds to tell her that her parents basically did a mini resurrection

he says "I have committed the same act, and I know the price I had to pay" and calls her "a walking miracle"

to which harrow responds "I have just told you that I am the product of my parents' genocide"

emperor, my man

he says "nobody has to know" about the kid smoothie

there sure are a lot of things people aren't supposed to know or ask about over here in the emperor's bolthole

*me, high fiving gideon's force ghost*

he says the initials of BOE mean "blood of eden" and that Eden is "someone they left to die"

then he quotes shakespeare??? I think king lear???

“How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child”, that quote

I'm not super knowledgeable when it comes to shakespeare tbh but...ominous

he also says "once you turn your back on something, you have no more right to act as though you own it"

and harrow thinks "at the time, that had made perfect sense to you"

that's pinned under the "hope for later" category

NEXT CHAPTER

harrow talks to ice cube barbie in her dreams

ice cube barbie says she's died twice

THEN, AND THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT

harrow asks her if she has ortus's eyes or if her eyes are hers and what her eyes are like

and ice cube barbie says "she asked me not to tell you"

this is me, adding another thing to the "hopeful hints for gideon" shrine I am building

chapter 16

harrow asks yandere twin about her diary and she says it has been burned on her own orders

more hints for my theory of past!harrow knowing a lot and planning ahead

harrowcita calls lyctortus (name suggested by the reply gang, thank you reply gang) "the other one"

which could be "other" as in "other lyctor" or as in "other ortus", so it's fine either way

harrow is worried about not!dulcinea still being a threat

AREN'T WE ALL

I SURE AM, ALWAYS

she should have been flushed into space

harrow thinks not!dulcinea is moving and yandere twin calls her "crazycakes"

then we start going a bit more in depth about augustine

I have come to understand that he isn't called "saint of patience" because he's patient

he's called "saint of patience" because that's what you have to practice when you're around him

good god, this man

he has the charisma of the fifth but the disagreeable nature of the eighth

here I am, making judgment on these people I only know like 2 representatives of, but anyway

he's like if magnus hadn't discovered a passion for baking and had instead decided his hobby was to be passive aggressive and thinking too highly of himself

his cav was his brother, apparently

harrow thinks he's hollow inside

he is absolutely horrendous to mercygirl

BUT, MOST IMPORTANTLY

he also alludes to not!dulcinea moving and thinks mercygirl is doing it

I don't know about this, you guys

two mulders in one recap is what you get when I have been forced to not read for a couple days

I think fox mulder represents my energy in these recaps

Augustine The Unpleasant mentions that johnny j has "spent the last 10 thousand years on a perpetual search-and-destroy mission out of, as far as I can tell, purely symbolic retribution"

great, that sounds fantastic for god to do

and that "I wouldn't set myself up as his replacement A.L. He doesn't need another bodyguard, and even she was significantly more lucid than you are" (you being mercygirl)

I had mentioned the possibility of ice cube barbie being this AL person, we still don't know, but this AL is "she"

let's put that in the 3D model

augustine calls chad a "nice boy", which tracks for him being a Senior Chad

he treats harrow badly, which we absolutely don't stan over here in the harrow respect corner

harrow obliterates him with a comeback and he calls her Anastasia (You were born in a palace by the sea / A palace by the sea? Could it be?) like the previous ninth

these people love comparing their old pals to everyone they meet, even if they supposedly didn't get along much

harrow also makes fun of yandere twin for being what gideon would call "a weenie" over augustine

then we get the augustine and johnny explanation of how to kill the beast

I am all for information but this whole thing gives me the worst vibes

basically he says the beasts (disrespectful name) eat planets like oysters and then keep the thanergy as armor

the beast can inhabit anything it's thanergetically connected to it via their death

like that which they kill

they travel as river projections

they have agents, which he describes like the borg in star trek

individual forms connected to its hive

the whole lyctor thing, having a necromancer's ability with a cav's training to take over the body, seems to be a key to fighting these things

because the necro part goes down into the river to do the thing and the cav can take over the defense of the body

this, I think, could be what we saw harrow doing in the prologue, the projection thing

but harrow's body isn't protected, because she's "lyctor lite"

because there's hope for gideon or so help me john

which might be why yandere twin was telling her she would not be guarded if she did what she was about to do

I am very intrigued as to what harrow will come to know to push her to do what she did

also, she got stabbed, so I'd like to know if she's fine

but we have 0 guarantees of anything over here in the mithrandir or whatever

the emperor's bolthole

god, what has gideon done to me

they say the point of the combat is to throw the beast's soul into the abyss and hope it doesn't come back

that's what I've been trying to do with not!dulcinea all this time

ALSO still no camilla

see you next time and thank you for not hating the length of these things ♥

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw

97 notes · View notes