#the ruins of second celestial war

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has battled his way to you and is yanking Aegon back by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston yells, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his blood-soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader

[quitealotofsodapop]

Just imagining, in a world where Wukogn wasn't immediately trapped in the scroll of memory after Azure freed the rest of the Brotherhood, he'd have some things to say. I'm thinking TMKATI au post Wu is Wikong reveal

Wu: MK... who helped you get me out of there?

MK: Oh, this only friend of yours. Called himself the Azure Lion?

Wu, immediately going pale as a ghost: Azure Lion!? MK, please tell me you didn't listen to him or make any deals!

Pigsy: What? Why would it be such a big deal? He's your friend isn't he?

Wu: Azure is anything but a friend! He's the reason I was trapped on the Furnace and under the Mountain to begin with, him and his rebellion!

Tang: Uh, what? But all the stories say it was because of the Havoc you caused!

Wu: The Peach Festival I crashed and ruined was hardly important enough for Heaven to do what they did to me, even with the pills and immortal peaches and wine I had stolen. It was just the catalyst. I was still a cub back then, a stupid, reckless cub who was impressionable enough to trust the wrong person. And then Azure had left me to take the fall for the rebellion he had started! Whatever you do, don't trust Azure!

Tang, taking in the implications: ...I'll kill him.

+Bonus:

Even if Azure did not realise it himself, he had built Wukong up in his mind to be the matyr of the Rebellion. And when Wukong surrendered, rather than die for it, Azure became convinced it was a great betrayal.

There's even hints of Macaque recognising/suspecting this sort of manipulation all the way back during their carefree Brotherhood days. There's a split second in "New Adventures" just after Azure convinces the others to make Wukong the leader of the rebellion, when Macaque is clearly unhappy/thinking about the situation. The only reason he doesn't speak out then and there is because Wukong seemed so sure of it. We see a similar look again just before they head out on their first attack.

And of course there's the memory Tang wanders into in "Court of the Yellow Robed Demon" thats very telling;

Peng: "Wukong is a traitor! He'll end us the first chance he gets!" Yellowtusk: "Yes. The Stone Monkey is unpredictable. Now he's thrown his lot in with the Celestial Host, there's no telling where his true allegiances lie." Peng: "You're characteristically quiet, Macaque!" Macaque: "I just think we should consider all our options before we—" Peng: "What's to consider? Wukong's made his choice. I say we strike him down now while we have the chance!"

The Trio are discussing attacking Wukong for aligning himself with "the Celestial Host" [i.e helping Tripitaka on the Journey so he can do parole] - the memory taking place within Camel Ridge.

Macaque's reaction brings up a super interesting twist to the story told in JTTW. Was the whole plan of disguising himself as Wukong and taking the scriptures not his own? Did the other three or an unknown villain working in the background insist he do so? Did he do it to stall Wukong so that his best friend/mate did not fall into a trap from the rest of the Brotherhood? Did Macaque die trying to give Wukong another option less the Monkey King risk being captured or worse at the hands of his former sworn brothers?

Macaque recognised that *something* was super wrong in how the Brotherhood treated Wukong, especially how Azure directed the situation. But being the same, barely-a-cub, age Wukong was at the time, Macaque wasn't sure/confident enough to speak out about it.

And ofc this whole thing with the Brotherhood would come to a boil in the TMKATI au when Macaque and Wukong are having their Big Fight.

Wukong/Wu had long since recognised that Azure was grooming/manipulating him for the fall, but isn't sure why he tried attacking him afterwards. Macaque is a bit proud in a "I told you so"-way and says that Azure had expected Wukong to *die* in the war as a matyr rather than live as a prisoner.

Wukong: "Why didn't you say anything!?" Macaque: "I was as young and stupid as you were! I only wanted to see you happy!" Wukong: "Oh yeah! Like you did when you left me under that mountain!" Macaque: "You weren't exactly grateful for the company at the time." Wukong: "Uh, need I remind you that before I was imprisoned, I had just spent 49 days being broiled alive!? I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. You could have atleast tried to visit me after a few years!" Macaque, uncharastically quiet: "I wanted to..." Wukong: "Huh?" Macaque: (*goes silent and leaves the room*) Wukong: "Wait! Mihou! What do you mean "you wanted" to!?"

note: Tang is accidentally privy to this convo cus he was in the stairwell when it started and got nosey. Then he kinda gets kidnapped by a baby bull demon before he can ramble his discovery to Pigsy and/or Sandy.

Wu gives the clipnote version of events to the gang as he's trying The Big Stupid, and they are horrified. The Monkey King, one of the most infamous tricksters in folkore, was ultimately a groomed teenager at the time of his punishment! And the Macaque was in the same boat, just more cautious...

When things are said and done - Wukong and Macaque go out of their way to tell their kids to always be wary of powerful people who put you on a pedestal. Perhaps not delving into their personal history (they are Normal Demon Parents™ afterall), but using the story of the Monkey King and his Brotherhood as an aesop. The Monkey King had many friends who thought he should lead them, but they shrunk away for whatever reasons when he chose to live and not die in heaven.

MK thinks its the saddest "superhero backstory" ever.

So when S4 of TMKATI comes about and the memory curse gets loose...

Azure Lion: "Ah, Monkie Kid-" MK:

Legit the only reason Azure is able to get away unscathed is because he's the only one who knows how the Scroll works and MK and the rest of the babus want their parents back.

Red Son is on standby (fire ready) outside the Scroll in case Azure tries some sh-t. But of course that doesn't last long.

Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy: (*released from the scroll. Sees Azure Lion*) All three: "YOU."

Then again this is all with the idea that someone else was additionally pulling the strings to ensure the demons downfall...

#the monkey king and the infant au #the monkey king and the infant #sun wukong #azure lion #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #shadowpeach #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk sandy #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #lmk golden winged peng #lmk yellow tusk elephant #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk aus

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[intuitive-revelations]

FLUXES [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "DOCTOR, The"

[Image description, courtesy of @quailfence: a series of pictures of text, alternated with screencaps and gifs from Doctor Who.

1: Text: Fluxes: [Celestis: Engineered Participants/Technology] Individuals transposed backwards in time but not too far in space, using a very high chaotic limiter setting and tied to their home period by a thread of biodata

2: The Eleventh Doctor stands in the future corpse of his TARDIS, looking and a pulsing stream of light that has replaced the console. He says, "That is the scar tissue of my journey through the universe. My path through time and space."

3: Text: He raised a finger. 'Look. There.

Now she could just make out the thread in the moonlight. It was just a faint reflection, maybe a foot or two long, about a metre off the ground. A taut strand of spiderweb hanging in the air, not attached to anything.

'What is it?' Fitz asked.

'It's only partially rotated into three dimensions,' he said. He pushed his finger right through the glimmering line, without affecting it. 'That's why it looks one- or two-dimensional. The rest is still perpendicular to what we can see - woven into higher space, or the time vortex…'

'Yes,' said Fitz, 'but what is it?' 'It's what your friend mistook for a ley line.' The Doctor was scuttling around the silver thread, peering at it from every angle, getting more and more agitated. 'It's part of the fabric of space-time itself. What DNA is to your genetic code, this stuff is to biodata. And it's all just exposed here now. Personality, history, memory, perception, all vulnerable…'

'I'm going to have to ask you again, aren't I?' said Fitz.

The Doctor said, 'It's me.'

4: The Fourteenth and Fifteenth doctors in the TARDIS. 14: "But you're fine?" 15: "I'm fine, because you fixed yourself. We're Time Lords, we're doing rehab out of order."

5: Text: The subject is turned loose in his or her own history, and the limiter setting allows tiny actions taken by the future version to have considerable effects on the past version. The biodata link then transfers these changes to the future version, which alters it, and thus alters the changes made to the past version. Therefore, the individual's history is kept constantly in flux.

6: The Fugitive Doctor says, "Let me take it from the top: Hello, I'm the Doctor."

7: Text: Let me finish. Think back to that time when you went to see your previous selves.

8: Ten, Eleven, and War talk to each other. Ten: "You're not actually suggesting that we change our own personal history?" Eleven: "We change history all the time. I'm suggesting far worse."

9: Text: 'Maybe there's no one home on Gallifrey,' said the boy softly. There was just the one of him.

The Doctor looked at him, cupping the small white cube in his hands. The boy said, Maybe they all left. Or maybe the whole planet's being destroyed, and undestroyed, and destroyed, and you just caught them at the wrong moment.

10: The TARDIS by the ruins of Gallifrey

11: Text: 'It's impossible,' said the Doctor. 'It's impossible for my people. Our past is unreachable. What's written can't be unwritten.'

'Who said your history can't change?'

Another boy answered, 'Someone from his history.'

And another: 'Maybe it's the second-biggest lie in Time Lord history.'

12: Dhawan!Master tells Thirteen, "You are the Timeless Child."

13: Thitreen stares at a ruined house. Swarm whispers in her ear and tells her, "All the memories you've lost, all the people you've been. It's all in there, contained within that house."

14: Text: And it was like the Doctor's home. As if his ship understood the loss of the House and had compensated to fill the emptiness. Shadowy corridors, alcoves and stairways, a secret at every turn. Like being in the Doctor's head. Like his life, for that matter, the details of which were strewn like flotsam across the floor.

15: Text: 'Sweet,' said the little boy. 'That's my favourite of your origin stories, too.'

The Doctor opened his eyes. He had been laughing, he realised, he felt that lightness in himself. The boys had all moved away, behind him, leaving him facing the empty dark of the warehouse.

'What do you mean?' he asked. His voice sounded very small.

'Is this the version where they banned all mention of his name, and yours, for consorting with aliens? Or the one where he got every record of himself deleted from the files?'

'Feel free to believe either of them,' snapped the Doctor, 'or both of them, or neither of them. If you're curious about my past, I want there to be as many wrong answers as possible.'

16: The Eighth Doctor tells someone, "I'm half human. On my mother's side."

17: Text: 'Well he's a hybrid, you know that. A Gallifreyan not born of Gallifreyan, the one who unites the two races and brings good old human niceness into their alien society. Aliens need that, y'know.'

'A human hybrid? She saw the contempt in his curling lip. 'Pseudoscientific nonsense. There's no evidence,' he repeated.

'He's allowed to be different. He's got a prophecy and everything.'

18: Lady Me says, "By your own reasoning, why couldn't the Hybrid be half Time Lord, half human?"

19: Text: Someone giggled. 'Let's play pin the tale on the donkey.'

'Maybe you didn't use to have a father.'

'Maybe you're living in the middle of a time war. Maybe there's an Enemy out there -'

The Doctor shouted, 'I'm not listening!'

'- who's rewriting you when you're not looking!'

'Maybe you weren't always half human.'

'But now you've become always half human.' 'Maybe you weren't always a Time Lord.'

But now you've always been a Time Lord.'

'Maybe you originally came from some planet in the forty-ninth century. Fleeing from the Enemy who'd overrun your home -'

'I said I'm not listening! Laa laa laa laa laa -'

'- and you've just been written and rewritten and overwritten, ever since.'

'Pin the tale!'

'How d'you know it's not true?'

'How could you know it's not true?'

The voices crowded in. 'How would you know, huh?'

'How would you know?'

'How would 'How would you 'How 'How would you know? you know? you know? know?'

'Why would I care?' shouted the Doctor.

The boy fell silent.

20: Lady Me asks, "Am I right? Is it true?" Twelve replies, "Does it matter?"

21: Text: However, the one group from the Homeworld which has excelled at flux-engineering is the Celestis.

22: Two asks the Time Lords, "Now then… what about me?"

23: Tecteun tells Thirteen, "Which is ehy we engineered the Fluyx: Shut the universe down and you within it."

24: Text: Even Mictlan itself can be considered a kind of enormous flux, an endlessly-shifting realm so cortosive to the rest of history that its heartland has to be kept on the outer skin of the universe

24: The Fourteenth Doctor tells Donna, "I invoked a supersition, at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and everything is possible."

25: The space station from Wild Blue Yonder

26: Text: There are suggestions of a stable middle-ground between the two fates, in which the physical matter of the flux is lost but the meaning of the subject/ victim is retained, a series of memetic connections with no flesh to support it. Yet this entity exists only on a purely theoretical level, relying on the perceptions of others to survive at all.

27: The Twelfth Doctor walks up to the TARDIS console. He says, "Can't wait to hear what I say." Glancing at the viewer, he adds, "I'm noting without an audience."

28: Text: You know what Sam represents. If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it make a sound? Stop me if I'm getting too abstract here, but if a Time Lord saves the world and nobody witnesses him doing it, does history care? She's your witness. The thing you need to make you whole.

29: The First Doctor looks at the viewer and says, "Incidentally, a Happy Christmas to all of you at home!" End description.]

[Plain text: Fluxes [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "Doctor, The". End plain text.]

@dw-described

#Doctor Who #DW Meta #DW Theory #First Doctor #Second Doctor #Eighth Doctor #Tenth Doctor #Eleventh Doctor #Twelfth Doctor #Thirteenth Doctor #Fourteenth Doctor #Fifteenth Doctor #Martin!Doctor #Tecteun #The Division #The Flux #Faction Paradox #Doctor Who EU #The Book of the War #Unnatural History #just some random thoughts #linking together some of the parallels and headcanons over the years into a chain #actually was spurred by me thinking about the 'destruction of the universe' line in Class and connecting it to the Flux #but had to cut it #as well as a lot more #due to the 30 image limit #so consider also the Solitract; the Great Old Ones from the previous universe; the Doctor as a 'virus'; “once upon several times” etc. #DW Spoilers #Doctor Who Spoilers #for Tennant and Gatwa together

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 4 / Ringleader

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 2,415

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission.  And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby.  But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job? Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff

A/N: Finally feeling (almost) 100% back to my normal, healthy self! Thank you for the good vibes and well wishes! <3

The warlock, the wizard, and the rogue.

This little group started off with the makings of some ridiculous fairytale your parents would have read to you before bed.

Though, despite your parents wishes, you hadn’t really been a child interested in fairytales and make believe. Your penchant for pragmatics had developed early on, and before long mama and papa had all but given up on their dreams of a perfect princess daughter. In her place stood some sort of mad scientist… at least in their eyes.

You hadn’t actually been mad. Not then, at least. Though you were starting to worry that between the parasite and your patron, you might truly be going crazy now. No doubt the two were at war, trying to determine who would wrestle ultimate control of your mind.

Should you simply choose between the lesser of two evils, when your fate already feels sealed as it is? 

Gale and Astarion had blindly followed your lead the first day, and remained silent every time you decided to stop and change course, prodded in another direction by the celestial being playing with your psyche. This abrupt switch in traveling plans led you all to Lae’zel, where you convinced the tieflings to let her go, and Shadowheart, as she desperately tried to break open the door of some abandoned ruins. 

Astarion had simply picked the lock of the ruins, earning him some clout among the others for his skill set and further suspicion from you. After all, why exactly did a man like Astarion have any need for a skill like that? 

Subsequently, the five of you explored the dank, dilapidated building. After downing a handful of humanoids and some reanimated corpses, the group happened upon a strange, skeletal being named Withers. He said he would see you again soon.

After a relatively restless night in camp, you all happened upon the Grove on the second day of exploration. Some druid named Halsin is missing, though it turns out he may be the answer to your little predicament, Nettie tried to poison you (stupid, really, to try to poison an apothecary with one of the most basic tricks in the book), you saved a little tiefling thief from death, and then you met Wyll… all in a couple of hours.

The Blade of Frontiers is looking for some devil he’s supposed to kill; he’s also got a tadpole in his head, and like Gale, seems in relatively good spirits for such a grim situation. Those two seem suspiciously well-adjusted. 

The entire journey thus far had only been two days long and exceedingly… well, odd. 

It was certainly a much different experience from your day to day of brewing potions and tending the shop. You wanted nothing more than to return to the comforts of city life. But instead, you were forced to be the unwilling ringleader of this circus, despite your protests on the matter.

You are discussing your concerns about leadership with Gale as the group takes a short rest not far from the Grove. Wyll is gathering the last of his supplies and will meet up with all of you in mere moments. 

“Oh, but you’re doing a fantastic job, Demetria!” Gale exclaims, somehow unfailingly supportive of a woman he barely knew. 

Oh, how you wished to trust anyone half as much. 

“You have such remarkable intuition. We wouldn’t have found Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Wyll, or all this great loot without you!” He continues, before gesturing to a handful of gold and scrolls while positively beaming.

The wizard clasps a friendly hand on your back and then scans the surrounding area. He smiles at you once more, “Now I plan to make myself useful and harvest some flora! If you plan to make use of that newly procured cauldron, I best give you materials to work with.” 

You smile softly and nod at the wizard before he disappears into the shrubbery. Brewing potions was easy; you could craft all the basic ones by memory alone. But leading a group of people through the wilds based on some sort of fabled intuition and instinct? You weren’t so sure about that. 

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission. 

And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby. 

But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job?

Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Astarion is perched on a fallen log, basking in the midday sun’s rays. He’s the picture of relaxation, as if this entire sordid affair is a holiday away from Baldur’s Gate.

Sure, the pale elf had been helpful in battle, and he seemed to have a strange knack for opening locks, but as far as participating in camp efforts went, he certainly left a lot to be desired. You should have guessed as much. With the princely attitude and haughty confidence, it was likely he was merely another spoiled, rich elf. He reminded you of…

Nevermind.

You look to Shadowheart, hoping to pursue a conversation with the woman, but she is a few feet away, resting on her knees in prayer. Lae’zel is also preoccupied as she meticulously sharpens her already deathly blade. You’ve spent almost all day trying to intentionally avoid Astarion and keep any conversation with him to a minimum. But as everyone else seems busy doing their own thing, you’re left with no choice but to take a few minutes of reprieve near the rogue. 

You sigh and nestle yourself on the ground, unwilling to take the empty spot on the log next to Astarion; sitting like an animal in the dirt seemed the better option for your pride. As you lean back to stretch your aching muscles, the warm country breeze picks up, swirling around the elf’s silver curls. You are sitting downwind from the rogue, and the gust pushes a whiff of bergamot and rosemary in your direction. 

You can’t help it. The fragrance angers you. Astarion hadn’t even written to you once, even to send a simple rejection or at least compliment your sample. He’d wasted your time on your last few hours of vacation three years ago. All for what, exactly? 

He hadn’t even gotten to bed you, which had surely been his goal, in the end. 

You glare at him, in all his world-endingly beautiful privilege, as he simply lounges about in the sun as if nothing is wrong.

“It seems you liked my perfume sample enough to procure a rip off of it, but not enough to write.” You state coolly, watching the pale elf as he snaps his eyes open to study you. You notice him thinking, no doubt calculating some sort of smooth response.

“You can save the piss-poor excuses, Astarion.” You sigh, now reaching into your pack, trying to find the small vial of perfume oil you’d had inside your robes when that ship snatched you up. You open the vial and take a deep breath, basking in the comfort of familiarity.

It smelled like home. Like your quaint little townhome, in Waterdeep. Too bad scents can’t transport you back in time… at least not literally. 

There are a few beats of silence as Astarion watches you.

“I do apologize for not recognizing you before, and for not writing…” He begins, slowly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal, “I lost your card. I have a tendency to be… forgetful. And I lose things a lot. But, I did quite like the scent, as you can tell.”

You nod, acknowledging the apology but not willing to acquiesce any further. You cannot decipher if Astarion’s words are the truth or if they are simply honeyed lines meant to subdue you. Your pinky finger presses against the perfume bottle’s rim and you rub a bit of the fragranced liquid behind your ears.

The wind shifts, blowing your thick, dark hair forward around your face, obscuring your vision. You cap the small vial and then quickly tie your hair back. When you are able to see again, Astarion is almost gawking at you, scarlet eyes blown wide in surprise. 

He shifts and recovers quickly, jerking his gaze away and running a hand through his windswept curls. When he speaks, his voice has a manufactured, airy nonchalance to it, “It is quite windy out here, isn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and he turns to face you once again. His jaw tenses for a moment, and then he leans back, assessing you once more. He tries another tactic.

“That is… another lovely scent that you’re wearing.” He murmurs, and this time, the genuine, hesitant intrigue in his voice catches you off guard.

“Thank you,” You begin, and despite yourself, you are flattered by his statement. You truly love when others notice and compliment the artistry of your craft. You shrug and offer the vial to Astarion. Perhaps a small olive branch is due, if the two of you are stuck tethered together for who knows how long. 

The rogue takes the bottle and inhales the fragrance, and then he emits a noise that sounds something like a soft moan or groan. It’s a deep, uninhibited sound from the back of his throat, almost as if he’s absolutely losing himself in the scent. When he focuses on you again, there’s a relaxed look in his eyes paired with a soft, unguarded smile. It reminds you of the way he looked at you in your parent’s tavern. 

“Delicious…” He murmurs, his tone dropping into that salacious one he’d used on you at the tavern all those years ago, when asking if you planned to murder someone with poisons. Something about the way he said the word while staring directly into your eyes, his pupils blown from the fragrance he’d just inhaled, made your face grow hot.

You aren’t interested in a rake, and you won’t be fooled again, you remind yourself. No matter how beautiful the bastard truly is. 

You extend your hand out, motioning for the vial and he obliges with a disappointed tut.

“It’s a combination of lavender, sage, and vanilla.” You explain, tucking the precious vial back into your pack.

“And what else? There’s something else, isn’t there? It’s the same thing that was in the sample you gave me.” He responds, eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

You laugh in genuine surprise, “Good nose. Are you trying to steal my recipe so that when you return to Baldur’s Gate, you can have an exact duplication instead of the lesser version you have now, Astarion?”

You are partly joking, partly serious. 

The elf shakes his head, brows crinkling together in absent thought, “No… merely curious, I suppose. I’ve never smelt anything quite like your concoctions. I have to admit the memory of the scent from that night has… stayed with me. I would have written to you to tell you as much, if I could have. If I hadn’t… lost your card.”

You squint your eyes. There is something genuine in Astarion’s statement, despite the strange excuse about losing the card. Sure, he may have truly lost it. But then, he could have simply returned to the Drunken Dragon and asked your cousin for your address.

The next time you visited your family on holiday, after your conversation with the rake, your cousin indicated the elf hadn’t been by since that night. When you asked about Astarion every year, feigning nonchalance, your family always indicated he hadn’t been seen. 

It was almost as if he were avoiding the Drunken Dragon altogether for those three years.

You’d ultimately assumed he moved away… or perhaps died, murdered by one of his jealous lovers.

“It’s dragonsblood… just a drop.” You admit, eyeing the silver-haired elf with suspicious curiosity.

A sudden bark of laughter escapes Astarion’s lips. And then his head tips back and he positively cackles in a mixture of amusement and delight. He seems to find this information exceptionally hilarious. Your brows stitch together in confusion as you watch the rogue chortle.

Sure, it was an unusual additive. But it wasn’t exactly hilarious, was it? 

“Dragonsblood!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together in front of him as his eyes crinkle with mirth, “How… unique. You are quite the artist, Demetria.”

You feel the flush rise in your cheeks at the compliment while you murmur another thank you. Surely he’s flattering you, trying to ingratiate himself and hoping you’ll forgive his slight against you, isn’t he? 

Astarion’s eyes flit between yours now, and he hums in thought, “You look… different. From my memory at the tavern.”

“Really? Well you didn’t actually remember me at all until the parasite helped you, so I’m not quite sure how reliable your memory of me is. You look the same as I remember.” You deadpan, instantly trying to deflect from his observation. 

You know what he means… the ring hadn’t just affected your mind. It has permanently altered the color of your eyes into a strange purple, reminiscent of the cosmos itself. But you aren’t ready to share anything about your patron or the damn ring with anyone else just yet.

Astarion cocks his head, and he is about to say something more, but then Gale is bursting back through the brush. His eyes are wide with apprehension as he looks between you and the rogue. The concerned expression on your otherwise affable campmate causes everyone in the vicinity to quickly rise to their feet.

Gale grimaces as he addresses his new traveling companions with some level of unease, “I think you all might want to see this.”

And then he disappears back into the brush without another word. Part of you thinks you shouldn’t follow him, but you do anyway. After all, how could this possibly get stranger than it already is? 

Your patron is laughing again. Poor little apothecary, you have no idea.

#astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #astarion fanfic #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion fanfiction #astarion reader insert #astarion bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate iii #bg3 astarion #bg3 #bg3 writing

[assaultvvyvern]

ya'll asked for geography, so u get geography!!! of space, lmao. let's start with the basics. but here's my version of the magical dimension!

details under cut! (also do clic on the picture to see stuff better tunglr ruined the quality as always)

note: the size of the planets is very indicative, and just to make the map more readable.

● THE SUNS ●

the magical dimension originally had five suns that then became four after the end of the fairy-witch wars (long story short: one exploded).

the main suns are the ones you can see in the center, called the dragon's head and the dragon's tail, the biggest and the second biggest (in that order), called this way after the great dragon. then there's the elf sun, the third biggest, whose name comes from the people of graynor. and then the smallest one, called the phoenix sun, after the shadow phoenix.

the fifth one used to be the second smallest one, called the leviathan sun. it used to be right in the center of oroz, fallat and rot (now the forbidden ring).

● THE RINGS ●

there are eight rings in the magical dimension, each one with their own unique planets with similar (but different) characteristics. think culturally about them as a continent! the forbidden ring is the only one thats unhabitated, as its conditions are unlivable and the absence of a sun makes it impossibile for life to return.

🡲 light ring

the light ring is "8" shaped and goes around the tail and head suns, and it intersects with the magix ring and the harmonic ring. the name is for obvious reasons: lots of suns and lots of light!

the planets in the light ring are:

solaria: known as the planet of stars, suns, moons, and celestial bodies in general. not pictured: the moons celeste and lumenia and a third, smaller sun in its orbit, called radius.

domino: the abandoned planet of the great dragon, of its fire. its population and royal family were wiped out not long ago by an unknown evil power, and its once beautiful deserts and cities are now icy wastelands. not pictured: its moon pyros, known for its dragon population, which migrated from domino during its fall.

koria: known for being the headquarters of the order of the paladins and its school, the malacoy academy. not pictured: its other two orbiting suns, ramiel and samael, and moons, uriel and zephon.

🡲 the nature ring

the nature ring orbits around the elf sun and intersects with the steel ring. the name comes from the nature based power of (most of) the people of the planets, and their incredibile, lush, and lively natural wonders.

the planets in the nature ring are:

lynphea: known for its tall trees on which its people live, its giant animals and insects, and the enormous forests. not pictured: its second sun helianthus and its moon ipomea.

andros: covered 90% by salt water, it's the planet where merpeople live, along with a human population spread over small islands and archipelagos. it's connected through a magical space waterfall to its orbiting nano-planet, au haru (not pictured here). not pictured: its moon seantis.

romulea: the planet of oasis, deserts, savannahs, and jungles. and extremely dangerous animals too. not pictured: its other two suns mawu and magec, and its moon oko.

altaduna: the planet of mountains and rivers, there are basically no plains and hills. not pictured: its moon zorya.

dolona: its people are known for living on floating islands above large, deep and unexplored canyons. not pictured: its moon devana.

graynor: where the race of the elves live and thrive, born of the ancient magical tree known as the rainbow oak.

🡲 the magix ring

the magix ring orbits around the tail sun and intersects with the light ring. it has only one planet, magix, from which it gets its name.

magix is the current modern cultural melting pot of the magical dimension, and the planet most similar to our planet earth in terms of size and sun cycles. it's famous for having been the ground on which some of the most important historical events of the magical dimension have happened, as well as being where the three most famous schools for fairies, witches, and knights are (alfea, cloudtower, and redfountain, respectively). it's also where the high council of the magical dimension meets to discuss interplanetary matters. not pictured: its moon sen.

🡲 the harmonic ring

the harmonic ring orbits around the head sun and intersects with the steel ring, the light ring and the white ring. the people of its planets have always been known for their devotion to the arts, culture and harmony of the soul, hence the name.

a rare magical and space occurrence called the harmonic nebula, an agglomerate of cosmic dust, is fixed on the orbit. when a planet passes through the harmonic nebula, its sky becomes a swirly light red and deep purple.

the planets in the harmonic ring are:

melody: the planet of the arts. here is where music, cinema, photography, architecture, painting, poetry, dancing and more grow, evolve, and are part of the planet's magic. because the majority of the industries on the planet dominate the market, melody has the most influx of immigrants, who are mostly artists from other planets who want to find their luck here. not pictured: its moon symphony.

oppositus: the magic of this planet bases itself on opposites and the balance between them.

espero: the home planet of most of the famous philosophers, writers, and greatest thinkers of the magical dimension. for many, it's seen as a place of spiritual retreat (and the locals don't really like that). not pictured: its moon ohm.

eros: planet of love and emotions, known for having the best therapy and psychology schools of the magical dimension.

🡲 the steel ring

the steel ring orbits around the head and tail suns with an oval shape, and it intersects with the harmonic and nature rings. the name comes from the abundance of underground materials of its planets, as well as their deep cavernous systems and the warrior reputation of their people.

the planets in the steel ring are:

eraklyon: planet of iron, carbon, zinc, and more. its people are known for being powerful and fierce warriors with a great military history. lately it has been caught up in stopping an independentist war carried out by its orbiting nano-planets of charùnda, berg and cleddyf (not pictured here), which eraklyon claims as "its colonies". not pictured: its moon rhod.

hoggar: planet of the great forges and legendary blacksmiths. not pictured: its moon hors.

thordal: their people live in underground cavern systems, filled with precious gems and metals. they claim to be direct descendants of the people of downland, a mystical and ancient population that lives underground in the planet of magix.

🡲 the white ring

the white ring orbits around the phoenix sun, and it intersects with the harmonic and the night ring. its name comes from the harsh, snowy winters and cold climate of its planets.

the planets of the white ring are:

zenith: the planet of technomagic, where more than 80% of the magical dimension's tech and innovation come from. an extremely economically powerful planet and kingdom, zenith is also where most of the capital is made. not pictured: its moons manna and gateway-0001. the second is an artificial creation.

callisto: the planet of storms, harsh winds, and thunder. its people live under domes of special glass that protect them from the constant bad weather. its orbiting nano-planet, serenia (not pictured), is known for constantly rotating between extreme climate conditions and seasons even in a day.

stalax: the planet of snow and icebergs. not pictured: its moons hjuki and bil.

dyamond: a once flourishing planet of crystals and gems, it was wiped out centuries ago in a manner similar to domino. nobody knows what really happened to it. zenith has been colonizing most of it for resources.

🡲 the night ring

the night ring orbits around the phoenix sun, and intersects only with the white ring. its name comes from the (not total) lack of light on its planets, as well as the reputation of the majority of its people - witches. only wysperia is currently being inhabited.

the planets of the night ring are:

wysperia: once an empty planet, a small handful of witches, tired of their reputation in the magical dimension, colonized the grounds and created their own kingdom, which grew and thrived. it only has been recently given a seat in the high council. it's where the wysperian crystals (magical ampoules used in witch rituals and spells) are made and kept. not pictured: its moons hecate, medea and circe. they move all in a row of three and are called the "triple goddesses" by wysperi.

prometia: a planet covered in hot springs and gysers. it's currently being contested by wysperia and zenith, the first wanting to create a new witch colony and the second wanting to harvest its resources.

🡲 the forbidden ring

the forbidden ring was once called another name and probably intersected with either the harmonic ring or the steel ring. its name has been lost to time, as well as the people that lived on its planets. its sun was destroyed during the fairy-witch wars by the one and only mad king of domino.

the planets of the forbidden ring are orez, rot and fallat.

● THE GALACTIC DEPHTS ●

there are many other planets and unexplored corners of space in the magical dimension. although exploration is currently ongoing, there are two planets beyond the borders of the magical dimension that are known.

🡲 omega

omega is a planet 200 light years away from the magic dimension, covered in ice and deep canyons in which natural tunnels have formed. it's currently being used (and has been for centuries) as a prison for the worst criminals of the magic dimension.

it's accessible either through a one-of-a-kind (now sealed) portal on andros or light-speed space travel, the latter being reserved only to authorities and authorized personnel.

some internal sources say budding communities have formed for survival among the prisoners, but it has never been been confirmed by any public authority.

🡲 obsidian

another prison planet, obsidian was created to keep a great evil sealed behind its portal, hoping for it to never return. it has mostly become a legend by now, although its existence is very real. all the people who touched its grounds never came back, making it impossible to know how it looks.

#winx club #winx #winx rewrite #winx club rewrite #winx club au #winx au #magical dimension worldbuilding tag #au: so much for fairy dust #this all works for both #DO SEND ME ASKS ABT IT IF U WANNA EHEH #gael originals

[deathlessathanasia]

Why do I almost exclusively hear about Ixion when the topic of people who were interested in Hera is brought up? Here is a more comprehensive list:

Ixion - the first kinslayer among mortals, purified by Zeus and brought to Olympos, where he proceeded to show his gratitude by trying to sleep with Hera: „For although he received a sweet life among the gracious children of Cronus, he did not abide his prosperity for long, when in his madness of spirit he desired Hera, who was allotted to the joyful bed of Zeus. But his arrogance drove him to extreme delusion; and soon the man suffered a suitable exquisite punishment. Both of his crimes brought him toil in the end. First, he was the hero who, not without guile, was the first to stain mortal men with kindred blood; second, in the vast recesses of that bridal chamber he once made an attempt on the wife of Zeus. … the man in his ignorance chased a sweet fake and lay with a cloud, for its form was like the supreme celestial goddess, the daughter of Cronus. The hands of Zeus set it as a trap for him, a beautiful misery. Ixion brought upon himself the four-spoked fetter, his own ruin.” (Pindar, Pythian 2)

Endymion - Famous for being Selene's sleeping lover, but according to a fragment from the Hesiodic Corpus he was brought to Olympos and fell in love with Hera, slept with a cloud shaped like her just as Ixion, and was sent down into Hades: „In the 'Great Eoiae' it is said that Endymion was transported by Zeus into heaven, but when he fell in love with Hera, was befooled with a shape of cloud, and was cast out and went down into Hades.” Epimenides of Crete has a slightly different account: „Endymion in heaven fell in love with Hera, and Zeus condemned him to eternal sleep”.

Eurymedon - One of the Gigantes, he either raped the young Hera or was her lover before Zeus married her, whereupon both Eurymedon and the son Hera bore to him, Prometheus, were punished. The story is attributed to Euphorion and is quoted in the Iliad scholia: „Hera, while she was being nurtured by her parents, was raped by one of the Gigantes, Eurymedon, and she became pregnant and bore Prometheus. Zeus, after marrying his sister and learning of the event, punished Eurymedon by throwing him into Tartarus, and Prometheus, under the pretext of fire, was bound in chains.” (Schol. ad Il. 14.295); „Some say that Hera, when she was a maiden, fell in love with Eurymedon, one of the Gigantes, and by him bore Prometheus. Zeus, knowing this, hurled Eurymedon into Tartarus, and on the pretext of the stolen fire, chained up Prometheus.” (Schol. T ad Il. 14.296)

Ephialtes - One of the two Aloadai, the gigantic sons of Poseidon who attempted to make war on the gods. According to the Library of Apollodoros, „Ephialtes paid amorous attention to Hera, as did Otos to Artemis.”

Typhoeus - Zeus's greatest adversary, for whose birth Hera is sometimes responsible. In the Dionysiaca of Nonnos, he plans to take Hera as his wife after his defeat of Zeus: „Kronion also shall lift the spinning heavens of Atlas, and bear the load on weary shoulders – there shall he stand, and hear the song at my wedding, and hide his jealousy when I shall be Hera’s bridegroom.”

#hera #ixion #endymion #eurymedon #ephialtes #typhoeus #typhon #zeus #greek mythology #ramblings #I'm not adding Porphyrion to the list because Zeus was the one who made him lust after and assault Hera

[ecoamerica]

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[thomashewittmybeloved]

Whispers Among Ruins

or "Faramir's Three Confessions"

pairing : Faramir X G/N reader

Summary : Faramir has been deeply in love with you for what feels like decades and, he decided it's finally time he does something about it. But, sadly for him, the universe has decided to make this mission a challenge.

Warnings : war/fighting, mention of injuries, he calls the reader "dear" and "my love" but other than that, just cute fluff + some strong angst<3

A/N : I love this man more than life itself. But this app clearly doesn't have enough fanfics with him so this is my contribution!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

Day One : The Library

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a soft glow across the city of Minas Tirith. Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, paced nervously in the grand library, clutching a worn parchment in his hand. His heart raced as he rehearsed the words he longed to say to you, a person who had captured his attention and stirred emotions within him like the gentlest of melodies. Faramir had chosen this moment, thinking he would find solace amidst the books and knowledge that adorned the walls. He spent his whole evening, night and morning torturing his poor mind about how he should do it, if he even should do it

As he turned a corner, he spotted you, your eyes twinkling in the candlelight as you lost herself in a tome. He took a deep breath, ready to confess his feelings at last.

"You..." he began, his voice catching in his throat. "Dear, I... I have something I must tell you."

You looked up, frowning ever so lightly before smiling at him brightly, making him forget who and where he was for more than a second. With the golden light of your candle illuminating your face ever so lightly, your hair in a mess and your beautiful hands gently holding a page of your book, he couldn't help but think how beautiful you are. And that thought alone made him question everything, so much that he stood there, silent, simply looking at you. Before Faramir could continue, right after he took control of himself again, the doors of the library creaked open, and a servant entered with quick feet towards him, interrupting their intimate moment.

"My lord, urgent news has arrived. The council demands your immediate presence." The servant announced, bowing deeply.

Faramir's heart sank, his confession hanging unspoken in the air. He turned to you, frustration etching lines upon his brow. "Forgive me, my dear. Duty calls. We shall speak later."

With a heavy sigh, Faramir reluctantly departed, following the servant, leaving you with unanswered questions and a longing that mirrored his own.

Day two : The Garden of Stars

Weeks had passed since your interrupted encounter in the library, and Faramir had finally found the perfect setting to reveal his heart to you. The Garden of Stars, as you liked to call it; a secluded oasis within Minas Tirith, offered a breathtaking view of the night sky, twinkling with celestial wonders.

Faramir stood at the garden's entrance, a bouquet of delicate flowers clutched tightly in his hand. His heart pounded with anticipation, his nerves threatening to betray his intentions once more. This time, he was determined to let his feelings be known. As he stepped forward, a gust of wind swept through the garden, rustling the leaves and petals around him. The moment his eyes landed on your form, it was like the wind couldn't touch him as he didn't feel it's freezing breeze. He approached you with hurried steps, taking his cloak off the moment he saw you shivering. Gently, as to not startle you, he puts the warm fabric on your shaking shoulders, making you turn around to face him. The moment your eyes met his, a large smile appeared on your face, making him feel so warm that suddenly, it felt like there was a blazing sun in the starry night sky.

"Faramir !" You exclaimed, making yourself comfortable in his cloak. "Finally you arrived, I was starting to freeze..."

"My deepest apologies. It wasn't my attention." He whispered, embarrassed with himself.

You smiled gently, slowly taking his shaking cold hand in yours, making him look up with wide eyes, his face reddening in an instant.

"You are a busy man, do not be sorry." You squeezed his hand with both of yours, trying to warm it up. "No matter how long, I will always wait for you, even if I have to freeze !"

You laughed after saying that, but Faramir was so touched by what you said that he felt his whole body react to it; from the deep tingles in the lower part of his belly to his heart fluttering rapidly and even his eyes becoming suddenly blurry with tears. He steeled himself, ready to finally pour out his soul to the person who held his heart captive with a tight grip. But the heavens seemed to conspire against him. Raindrops began to fall, turning the Garden of Stars into a shimmering sanctuary drenched in a melancholic mist. He hesitated, defeated, but seeing you looking at him with such love in your eyes, that small smile that you only offered to him playing on your lips, your hands grasping tighter around his the moment the drops started to hit you, all that while laughing at how drenched you were, made him decide that he couldn't let you go again, that he couldn't live a second longer without letting his feelings flow.

"You, my dear." Faramir began, his voice steady. "I have loved you from the moment our paths crossed. Every smile, every word shared, has only deepened my affection. I cannot contain it any longer."

But just as Faramir reached out to grasp, with his free hand yours, he noticed your furrowed brows before you bursted out laughing, making his heart sink at the bottom of his stomach. Suddenly, you took his hand before yelling.

"I DIDN'T HEAR A THING ! " You smiled, your eyes closing. "LET'S GET INSIDE !"

That when he realised, he's heartfelt confession dissolved amidst the downpour, his words fading into the symphony of nature's interference. He forced a smile, letting himself be dragged by you, cursing at the weather. He could only have a regretful smile as the rain poured down, looking at the back of your head as you ran, the weight of his unheard desires echoing in the damp silence.

Day 3 : The Battle's Interruption

Amidst the chaos of war, Faramir's heart remained steadfast in its resolve. He knew he had to seize any opportunity to confess his love to you, even in the midst of the darkest of times. Especially in the midst of the darkest times, for those can be the last...

As the clash of swords reverberated around him, Faramir spotted you, your sword dancing with grace and determination. He knows how strong you are, how hard you train to be able to defend yourself and others, but he cannot help worry for you, no matter how skilled you get. As he watched you from afar, a draining thought dawn's him;

"It could be mine or hers last moment alive. One, if not both of us, could get..."

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he dashed toward you, his armor clanking with each stride, every enemy coming his way being slashed without a second glance.

"You, my dear !" Faramir shouted, his voice cutting through the cacophony of battle. You whipped your head around, eyes widened with panic at the desperate sound of his voice only for your gaze to soften once your eyes caught his.

"My heart yearns to tell you that you are the beacon of hope in my darkest days !" He yells at the top of his lungs, his eyes watering. "The love I hold for you has only grown stronger amidst the turmoil and uncertainty !"

You get a dagger out of your boot, shorting it straight between the eyes of an orc who was getting close to Faramir. His gaze didn't even falter, staying fixed into yours, as if you were the only one standing here, amongst this chaos.

"My love for you cannot be contained in me anymore !" He puts a hand on his heart, clutching his chest. "It needs to be free or I will spiral into madness !"

Just as Faramir reached for you, a sudden surge of enemies appeared, threatening to overwhelm both of you. Swords clashed, arrows flew, and the ground trembled beneath your feet. Faramir fought valiantly, his eyes never leaving your form, who matched his every move with unwavering bravery. Even through the ear deafening battle sounds, your voice and his calling each other's names was the only thing that could be heard, so powerful it overpowered the sound of flesh being cut open. In the midst of the chaos, Faramir stumbled, a deep wound searing through his side. Pain seeped into his every fiber, but his determination remained unyielding. He fought through the agony, his eyes filled with a fervent resolve, his voice breaking one last time while calling out your name. But that's when he felt it, your burning touch, suddenly grabbing with a surprising force his shaking and bloodied hand. Yet, before he could find the opportunity to finally speak the words that burned within his heart, a cacophonous blast resonated through the battlefield. The ground shook violently, throwing Faramir off his feet and separating him again from you. As he struggled to rise, the smoke cleared, revealing a new threat: a massive siege engine, armed and ready to unleash its destructive power. Faramir's heart sank as he realized the imminent danger it posed but it sank the moment he realised he lost you. His duty compelled him to protect his people, but his heart yearned for one last chance to express his love. His father's face suddenly appeared, the disgust and disappointment visible even with his blurry vision. He had to be a good Captain, a good son and a good soldier. His duty called him. With a heavy heart, he turned away from where you once stood, not even daring to look at the many bodies laying on the floor fearing to see yours, leaving his confession lost amidst the clamor of battle.

Despite the chaos, Faramir fought with all his might, leading his troops to victory and ensuring the safety of the city. Yet, amidst the celebrations that followed, a deep sorrow lingered within him. The chance to confess his love had slipped through his grasp once again, the weight of missed opportunities weighing heavily on his soul. The battle had been fierce, leaving scars upon the land and hearts alike. As the dust settled and the sun began its descent, Faramir stood upon the remnants of the battlefield, his eyes searching the faces of the fallen, a heavy weight upon his soul. With each fallen comrade he recognized, his heart sank deeper into despair. But amidst the sea of fallen warriors, his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the distance, a figure that ignited a spark of hope within him. It was you, battered and bruised, but unmistakably alive, your chest rising and falling with shaking breaths. Faramir's legs moved of their own accord, carrying him swiftly toward you, his lips whispering your name again and again, like a mad man. The emotions that had been buried within him surged forward, overpowering any remnants of fear or doubt. His heart swelled with both relief and a newfound determination. It wasn't too late. When he finally reached your wounded body, his blue eyes met yours, a mixture of disbelief, joy and pure relief crossed your face. You reached out a trembling bloody hand, your voice a mere whisper.

"Faramir... I thought... I thought you were lost." Her fingertips layed weakly on his bearded cheek, staining them with blood. "I...waited for you...I promised..."

Faramir took your hand into his own, nuzzling his face in your palm, ignoring the metallic scent coming from it, his grip firm and unwavering. "And I thought I had lost you, my love. But the Valar have granted us another chance, another opportunity to be together."

A mix of tears and laughter danced in your eyes as she took in Faramir's words. "I never... stopped loving you, Faramir, even in... even in the darkest moments..."

Faramir's voice trembled with raw emotion as he gazed into your unfocused eyes. "Nor did I, my dear. From the very depths of my soul, my heart has always belonged to you." He said gently, his shaking voice making it hard to speak clearly.

With that, Faramir drew you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go. The battlefield faded away, and in that moment, there was only the two of you, bound by a love that had withstood the test of time and tribulation. Amidst the ruins, you both stood, sharing a timeless embrace. And finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, your breathe evening out Faramir found the strength to confess his deepest emotions, his voice filled with a resolute certainty.

"My dear, my love, I have longed to say these words to you. No duty or rain, not even Death herself will stop me." He took your chin into his fingers. "I love you with a love that surpasses the trials we have endured. You are my light, my hope, and my salvation. Will you walk this path with me, forever?"

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you whispered.

"Yes, Faramir. My heart...has always belonged to you, too. Together, we shall face whatever... lie ahead."

And in that moment, Faramir's heart soared, finally unburdened by the weight of unspoken words. After all this time, all this longing and hardship, finally both your hearts were shared as one.

And to keep his beating, he needed yours to do the same.

#faramir x reader #faramir #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #lotr #x reader #imagine

[warsofasoiaf]

Its been a while since you've done a character essay so might I recommend Godfrey or Radagon, whichever of the first two Elden Lords interests you more?

:)

Of the two Elden Lords, Radagon is the more interesting of the two because of the question of what his nature is in regards to Marika. It's one of the great enduring mysteries of Elden Ring and one that has a lot of resonance for anyone who has studied religious theology, Jungian psychology, or alchemy. Rather than lead up to the reveal, it's important to understand the great secret Radagon keeps first - he is Marika. When Marika falls from her crucifixion in the game, it's Radagon who stands and grabs her hammer to fight the Tarnished. The debate on exactly what is Radagon and Marika's dual nature is one of the least-understood but most important mysteries of the entire setting.

Radagon is first introduced in the timeline as a champion, the "leal hound" of the Golden Order, leading a golden host into battle against Carians of Liurnia. There are two great wars between Leyendell and Liurnia. The first we know little about, only that Radagon "earns glory as bright as his hair." This might be the war in which Caria Manor was besieged and the Cuckoos lost their lives, but we don't know. The description of burning glory is interesting however, because Radagon is noted to have despised his red hair. Red hair in game is symbolized as the domain of the Fire Giants, and of the Fire Monks who guard the Flame of Ruin that the giants worshipped. This could mean that Radagon bears some relation to either giants or the Order. Alternatively, the Fire Giants were said to have cursed Marika, and this curse might be a manifestation of the touch of the Fire Giants. To have Radagon hate his red hair yet earn glories with it suggests that red hair did not come to be seen as a curse in the era after Radahn, or it was a back-handed compliment.

The second war is much better known, because the ending comes with a diplomatic ending - Radagon and Rennala marry, joining the Golden Order and the Academy of Raya Luceria together in alliance. Radagon repents his aggression, according to Muriel, and cleanses himself with Celestial Dew to atone for his sins. The two kingdoms are joined, Rennala remains Queen of Liurnia, and the two have three children. Two of them, Radahn and Rykard, are eventually given positions of great prominence in the Golden Order, though we are unsure when this occurs. Renalla gifted Radagon with the Dark Moon Greatsword, a tradition of the Carians, and taught him sorceries. Radagon brought his golden sewing kit, wherein he altered the Masks of the Carian Preceptors to keep affairs a secret. What is kept secret is unknown, but the Goldmask questline tells us that Radagon is keeping a very big secret of his own. This suggests that even as early as the marriage to Rennala, Radagon was Marika in one form or another.

After Godfrey the First Elden Lord lost the guidance of Grace and left the Lands Between, Radagon left Rennala and married Marika, a truly unusual event as Radagon was a mere champion. This betrayal broke Rennala, and even Radagon's parting gift of the egg carrying the Great Rune of the Unborn could not console her. This egg is fascinating, because Great Runes are part of the Elden Ring, and only Marika has shown the power to modify the Ring when she removed Destined Death. The Carian nobility rebelled and shut her in the Academy's tower where she obsesses over her lost husband and constantly seeks to rebirth the world to run away from her pain. Oddly, we don't see Radagon, the guy who actually broke the oath, experiencing divine consequences for his transgression. He comes back to Marika and the two have two children, the twin prodigies Miquella and Malenia, and both were afflicted with horrible curses. Going through Leyendell and using the Law of Regression, which is described as a key fundamental in the Golden Order that all things yearn to converge, we learn the true convergence - Radagon and Marika are one. This convergence is not only important to the nature of the divine Marika, but to Radagon personally. Radagon developed Golden Order fundamentalism, which merges both sorcereries (from Rennala) and incantations (from Marika) and uses both intelligence and faith.

However, despite Radagon and Marika being one, they did not possess one mind or one will. Marika even says to Radagon: "Thou art not yet a god," and "Let us be shattered both." When Marika tries to shatter the Elden Ring, Radagon attempts to repair it, a dual nature directly in conflict. Marika is attempting to break the Order, something that a "leal hound" would not countenance. For her insolence, Marika is crucified upon the ring, broken and shattered, and Radagon with her. After defeating Radagon, he is taken by the Elden Beast and molded into a weapon, and Radagon ends as a mere tool for a beast that punished him despite his loyalty and saw him as nothing more than a tool. His own boss fight displays this - unlike all the other bosses, Radagon never speaks and is filled with the Ring. It's entirely possible that this half-hollow husk is not Radagon at all, and that he has been completely subsumed by the Elden Ring, the Elden Beast, or even the Greater Will. After he falls, the Greater Will must rely upon the Elden Beast itself, the purest living incarnation of Order.

The real question is, what exactly is Radagon, and how does he relate to Marika? Were they always one part of a dual nature? Was Radagon a disguise, like Morgott and Margit or Miquella and St. Trina? Was Radagon a splinter of Marika that grew independent? Was Radagon an expression of Marika's that was later subsumed into her, like many Christological schisms? Was Radagon a projection of Marika the way Melina is hinted to be projecting from a "burned body." Was Radagon an artificial construction of Marika, some form of homunculus to advance her own plans?

The most compelling theory, to me, is that Radagon is a result of Marika attempting to create the alchemical magnum opus and is a rebis, the union of male and female and the living incarnation of the philosopher's stone. The magnum opus describes the creation of the philosopher's stone through distinct alchemical processes, the most common division being nigredo (blackening), albedo (whitening), citrinitas (yellowing), and rubedo (reddening). This process has been used by Jung to describe the individuation process, the gradual means by which awareness is expanded and contradictory elements integrated within the self, including unconscious female and male pieces of the self known as the anima and animus.

The nigredo is the first stage of alchemy, where the prima materia is enclosed within an egg-shaped flask and burned to uniform consistency, similar to putrefaction of a dead body. For Marika, this was the curse of the fire giants, where she was burned by dying gasp using the power of the flame of ruin. This curse could not be reconciled with the perfection of Marika, the one true god of the Golden Order, and so it was burnt out until it began to separate. This was the birth of Radagon, who was born out of the inconsistency of Marika the perfect goddess being subject of a curse from a supposedly false god. Here we see the alchemical concepts of the Red King and the White Queen. The Red King is masculine, active, and fiery, and in Radagon's case, literally colored red. The White Queen is passive, material, and interestingly, there are two White Queens. The first represents Rennala, the most passive boss in the game, who is pale and represents lunar light. Marika (clothed in white) represents the White Queen with perfection and her fixed nature. The curse manifested itself in his red hair and his hatred was the self-loathing of the contradiction, a key hallmark of Jungian psychology where refusal to accept flaws as they are creates a personal limitation on growth by not engaging to overcome them. Radagon devoted himself to the Golden Order to purge this curse, and his failures showed that he was unable to conquer Liurnia via force of arms. This realization led to a reflection, growth, and ultimately, success in marrying Rennala, purging himself of the rot of failure and progressing upon his journey.

The next stage is albedo, the whitening, which often represents itself via lunar light (which is seen as distinctly inferior to solar light). In this process, Radagon learns and transforms via his marriage to Rennala. He learns sorcery and bathes in Rennala's distinctly lunar light. In alchemy, this whitening is a purification, often done through the solve coagula process, where the mixture is heated to a gas then condensed into a vapor. Jung believed that things must be broken to make space for the new, and here we see the new being made. The new demigods, the new union, the new sorceries, the new kingdom. Citrinitas comes next, the baptism of solar light. This stage is marked specifically by the lunar stage no longer being necessary. Radagon leaves Rennala, no longer needing the light of the enchanting moon, to be immersed in the Golden Order. Here is where I believe that Marika attempted to transform Radagon into an aspect of her godly nature, in the idea that the union of a godly Red King and White Queen would produce the rebis, and thus perfection itself.

Yet the rubedo never appeared, and instead, curses wracked the union of the Red King and White Queen as Malenia is chosen of Rot and Miquella is eternally young. Being born of a single god left them vulnerable and imperfect, not the philsopher's stone. This can be for a number of reasons, from the betrayal of the Golden Order's tenets of regression as things were left behind and not brought into convergence, in this case being Rennala. I'd argue that this failure is what causes Marika to begin plotting against the Order, that this contradiction is what causes Marika's own nigredo. She is pierced through the side for her betrayal, while the demigods fights in the Shattering over their own strength of vision. Radagon attempts to stop her, and it's a good question why. Did he resent being incorporated into her? Did the contradictions manifest themselves through him? Or did he resent having to leave Rennala behind, and not bring things into convergence as a true Golden Order fundamentalist would?

All good question, sadly with no answers.

Thanks for the question, BM.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#elden ring #elden ring radagon #radagon of the golden order #character analysis

[boundinparchment]

Deus In Absentia - X [END]

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap.

Within a few days’ time, the world as you knew it was thrown into chaos.

Celestia wanted its control over Teyvat and the Sustainer would do anything to keep it.  Even if it meant the deaths of every single living creature that stood in their path.

At first, you kept close to Dottore’s side, using your Delusion to the best of your ability.  There hadn’t been time to properly learn but you took his warning to heart: use it too often, too quickly, especially without the mask to regulate exposure to the Mist Grass, and you would burn out before the battle was over.  You held your own and even got a few good shots in that gave the Harbinger a window of opportunity.  Everything seemed to be going according to the battle strategy set by Pierro and the Tsaritsa.

You weren’t thrilled to have the Traveler on your side, standing with the rest of the Fatui against Celestia.  You were even less enthused to see that there were a fair number of Abyss creatures standing alongside the skirmishers and sharpshooters defending their homeland.

But it had to be done.

The Panopticon wouldn’t topple without a united front.

And then, at some point, the tides shifted.  Other Harbingers fell.  When a messenger brought news that the last line of defense before the Tsaritsa was broken, a difficult choice was laid at the feet of the scientist whose very technology was giving them a fighting chance.

You knew his mind was made up when he looked at you, when he hesitated for a fraction of a second, before he withdrew his Ruin machines and set orders for the throne room.  With an ungloved hand to your wind burnt cheek and a stoic expression, he ordered you to stay behind. 

“But—”

“It is unlikely the route here will be of any use now.  Nothing but stragglers will remain.  You will be safe here.”

Since when had safety mattered to begin with, you wanted to scream.  The man who took it upon himself to learn the technology of a long-lost civilization, to make augmented humans, was citing safety as a priority?

Your eyes burned with fury and scorn but you were too tired for anything close to tears.  Tears were useless here.

“And what of your safety, Lord Harbinger?”

“I am more than mere flesh, Archivist.  I’ll be fine.  Celestia will fall.  And it will be my greatest accomplishment.”

He left you with enough resources, manpower, and machinery, and placed command of them into your hands.  You, who, before this crucial time, had never touched a Delusion; you, who only knew the concept of war, its price and its consequences, in black and white text.

Hours later, as high evening crested and the Celestial Nail hovered overhead, you could still feel the warmth from his hand against your cheek.  Shifts rotated and from incoming intelligence reports, it was clear the tides had changed and not for the better.  One Nail already struck an important grain silo and the largest farm that served the main city.  Without another source, stores would be depleted long before winter was out.  A Sneznhayan winter was hard enough as it was.  You did your best but it was impossible to ignore the ghosts of flat expressions behind masks and the lack of conviction against the stragglers that dared to come this way.  Morale was shit.  Dottore would have ruled with fear but that wouldn’t have been all that effective, either.

So instead, you tried to get their stories.  You recorded what you could, as was your duty.  Those fighting around you were people fighting for a cause they believed in, regardless of anything else.  Their words deserved to be remembered, you rationalized, even if you were the last person to ever hear them.

_______________________

By the next evening, you and your remaining men and machines were relocated to the grand foyer to defend the throne room.  You found yourself fighting alongside an Abyss Herald and a Knight of Favonius and tried not to think about how perfectly in sync you were with the Harbinger now probably sealed inside the room you were set to defend.  It felt off to be pairing attack after attack with two individuals who fought so differently than the Fatui.  Although…the way Childe used his blades was remarkably similar to the Herald…

For a time, the enemy forces halted.  It felt as you imagined it might sitting in the eye of the storm while stuck at sea, the waves finally calm and the rain passing with a momentary respite of sunlight and warmth.

Temporary.

Fleeting.

The blitz was over before you truly knew what was happening.  A burst of cubes, pulsating in a color that would make hellfire envious, unrelenting and overwhelming.  You recalled a figure with white hair floating through the palace, hands glowing crimson, a flowing dress made of blood-red stars billowing behind her.  

Asmoday.  Sustainer of Heavenly Principles.

Her powers heeded her with a mere flick of a wrist.  Everything, everyone, consumed in the name of control, of keeping the pawns on the chess board.

You caught a glimpse of the doors to the throne room breaking open before you, too, were swallowed and contained.

_______________________

Days later, when the Veil fell and the stars were bright and vibrant, you were one of the first to awake and investigate.

Actually, when you took a count, you were one of the first and only ones alive.

The throne room was devastated, the Sustainer impaled on a large ice crystal.  The Tsaritsa survived, her Archon markings like cracks in the ice caps to the far north, fractures crawling up her arms and neck.  By her side, the Traveler, cradling their long-lost sibling.  The twins were the only ones with anything close to a smile on their faces.  Envy churned deep in your gut.  How nice it must be to see the one they cared for, safe…alive…

Nearby, Pierro, bruised and bloodied, along with Columbina, a limp Arlecchino in her lap.  You spotted familiar boots or scarves or weapons, all unmoving.  

You looked at the Tsaritsa again, unable to keep the desperation at bay, a silent plea on your face.   

Her silence spoke every word she couldn’t.  The Sustainer was gone, Celestia had fallen.  Sacrifices were made.

Dazed, you looked around, your eyes unable to focus as you took in rubble, shattered windows, singed banners.  The once-vaulted ceiling covered in a fresco was gone, the brilliant and real stars above sharing space with a dusting of snow.  Nearby, the Little Dove began singing, her voice weak but her will resolute.  It took you a moment to realize that the Ruin Guard nearby was not Sandrone’s, but another’s…

Your feet moved of their own accord, steps heavy.  Pain darted through your legs with every step but you needed to know, needed to…

As you drew closer, you caught sight of a familiar mask, knocked off.  Numbly, you picked it up, and finally reached the collapsed Ruin Guard.  Near it, a familiar white shoe…and then long swatches of gray, and then pink, and then…

The figure coughed and you almost dropped the mask in your hands from the jolt of shock.  You stumbled forward to catch it and crimson eyes, glazed over and unfocused in their moments, settled on you.  

No, no, no, no…

Your body screamed in protest as you fell to your knees near the figure, throat squeezing in agony.  

“See?  I was right.  You’re safe.”

Even at the precipice of life, about to fall over into the leylines, he needed to have the last word.  

He made no attempt to move, other than his head and one arm to raise a hand to lay on you, and it wasn’t until you looked again that you understood why .

Flashes of silver, splashed with blood, caught your eye over and over.  Reinforced joints, circuitry alongside muscle, parts easily replaced, enhanced.  He’d managed to keep it from you all this time but then again, barring the one moment before the War, you never really asked, did you?

But if so much of his body was machinery, didn’t that mean…

Through tears, you realized that no, that wasn’t going to be an option.  The connections were too delicate, important pieces looked to be all but obliterated.  He couldn’t be moved and no one was even fucking alive to be able to…

“And we achieved perfection, Archivist.  We are free.”

Dottore’s gaze fell from your face and up to the sky.  You’d seen pure wonder on his face once, and only once, and you marveled not at the stars above, but the softness that came over him.  You expected it to fade but instead, the hand on your lap fell limp, powerless and without a live nervous system.  

Your screams pierced through the last notes of Columbina’s song as pain swallowed you whole again.

_______________________

The Age of Archons had passed.  And with it, the shackles of the floating island in the sky.  Despite the stars and clouds and possibilities, it felt…empty.  Worthless.  

You were given right and authority over Haeresys by the Tsartisa’s authority.  You didn’t know what to do with the space, not when it felt as if your blood was made of ice and you wondered if maybe, maybe , you should just…

But every time those thoughts occurred, your hands were busy again and you were distracted just long enough to forget them.  The Palace and the surrounding town needed to be rebuilt, leadership re-established, the people taken care of (especially the children, barefoot and without a family to care for them).  You recorded the sights and the people but what good was collecting such stories if they were told?  Stories existed to be told…it was why you ended up owning a bookstore to begin with…

That felt like another life.  In a way, it was.

Eventually, the pain dulled into a manageable ache.  It was never easier but it was better.  You held storytime for the little ones previously taken under Arl’s wings, the orphans left behind, when they visited the Palace, taught literacy, did your best to match a child to a book like you used to.  That was difficult now, with all of the destruction and damage.

One morning, you finally brought yourself to brave the part of Haeresys you’d been avoiding: Dottore’s private study.  A layer of dust had accumulated, casting everything in a duller version of itself.  You weren’t sure where to begin.  Did you clean first?  Did you take the papers and books and other paraphernalia that you would need for a more accurate picture?  What of the vials, their experiments long run their course, and their results never quantified?

He’d never told you what to do if this happened.  The bastard expected to live and he’d like you with…

Your eyes scanned the room again and froze as they fell upon a figure with red eyes in the darkened corner of the room.  Power surged through your body as you called upon your Delusion, never far from your side now (and the mask awarded the privacy to hide puffy eyes), but you halted when they stepped into the stream of light cast by the glowing sky outside.  And then they kept going, walking towards you, and you realized your eyes weren’t deceiving you.  Same shoes, same clothes, same mask , hair, earring…

“That’s close enough,” you bit out, holding out a hand, elemental power curbed and waiting to be released.

“Are you the Archivist?”

Archons above, even the voice was the same.

“I don’t understand,” you said at last.  “You’re dead .”

The figure you dubbed Dottore-Not-Dottore frowned, made a few hesitant hand gestures as he opened and closed his mouth to speak, and then held up a finger.  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter, sealed, and then held it out to you.

“I was given this as way of explanation and told to give it to one called the Archivist.  Is that you?”

From here, you could just make out the familiar handwriting, your name scribbled across the envelope.  Not Archivist.  You .

“Yes.”

You took the letter and broke the seal.  The sheets themselves were hefty, meticulously detailed.  A will in all but name.

So he had anticipated this outcome.

When you were finished, you looked again at Dottore-Not-Dottore, and then reached up and unclasped your mask to reveal your face.

“So you’re…what did he call it, a Segment?” you posed.  “You are him but not him?”

“I am a part of him from the Prime of his life, augmented to have my own will, my own power, my own thoughts.  He purged the rest of us but left me here.  Unlike the others, I am…what did he call it…, ah, ‘imperfect’.”

That didn’t make sense.  He would have left perfection behind, or as close to it as he could get.

“Imperfect in the sense that I…am probably the closest thing left to the person he might have been.”

He removed the mask, unveiling the familiar scars you adored so much.  But his teeth were dull, normal, and you didn’t recognize a hint of predatory fascination.  Instead, he seemed…earnest, wanting nothing more than to be useful, to do something, to explore what the world had to offer.  A man yet unbroken by the world.

You very well couldn’t just leave him here.

“Let’s go see the Tsaritsa,” you said at last, sliding your mask back on.  “She could use a bit of good news.”

_______________________

Warmth in Sneznhaya was a rarity.  So rare, it was almost impossible.  

And yet, you were never without it.

With the Tsaritsa’s permission, you handed Haeresys back over to the Segment, who had a better use for laboratory space than you.  Instead, you focused on putting together compendium after compendium, organizing notes and stories and filling in the gaps.  When you weren’t doing that, you were building a makeshift library, something to provide leisure and familiarity to those who remained in town, now that food sources were reestablished.  

Eventually, you returned to your shop, damaged and picked through and in need of so much care.  The Segment made it easier and together you revitalized the place into something resembling its former glory and then beyond it.

Storytimes were brighter, if only because you caught sight of a familiar figure in the back, sticking his head out from the workshop you insisted be available to him.  More frequently, he began making toys, of all things, and handed them out.  The softness in his face was never achievable for the Dottore you knew.  He would have happily terrorized the little ones to amuse himself.

You let yourself ease into a life with him, one filled with moments of excitement at a new creation or realization, of laughter, of light.  It wasn’t the same, of course.

The first kiss was a coincidence.

The second one was a fluke.

But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate.

Or, more likely, a calculated attempt at happiness.

#fic: deus in absentia #dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader

[art-of-love-and-war]

Hey 😋 I love your fics and headcanons so much,! I was wondering if I could request a fluffy scenario for Sasuke X reader, having their first date back in the modern era? Thanks so much :D

Characters: Sasuke Sarutobi x Reader. Rating: General. Word count: 978 words Warning/s: None, just a dork’s inner thoughts. Author note: This is very short, but I swear I put my heart into it, Sasuke is my bias and best boi I just adore him so much but my brain is fried from all the work I’ve been doing for the past months, please forgive me for taking so long to write this!!

First of many

He couldn’t help but keep looking at his phone. 

It was beyond all logic to think that alternating between looking over his phone and his wristwatch could make time move faster. 

You and he had decided it would be fun to try to have the “first date” experience, even if you had what he thought was the “Perfect Falling in Love Story in Sengoku Era”. As two people that had lived most of their lives in the 21st century, having a first date was a must for your relationship to progress according to his perfectly crafted plan for the future you’d share together. 

But back to what was important, Sasuke had arrived half an hour early at the place you agreed on meeting after work. He would have normally covered all his tasks for the day, not minding the extra time spent, but this time he rushed so fast from his workplace everyone was surprised that Mikumo Sasuke had other plans.

He had double—no, triple-checked his messages with you to confirm that he hadn’t gotten the hour wrong or the place. He had checked himself over and over, cleaning his glasses with a cloth, fixing his hair into place, folding his cardigan neatly as it rested now on his arm —in case you didn’t have a sweater and he could offer you his as part of the date experience—. 

Sasuke had to take some time to think, maybe something came up at work and you had to stay for a minute more? No, you’d message him to tell him. Maybe you were stuck in the traffic? No, not at this hour. 

BZZZ! BZZZ!

His phone vibrated in his hand, and he almost jumped, having been pulled out of his deep thoughts. 

Moon of my Life: Look behind you! [3:45 pm] 

Sasuke turned as fast as humanly possible —for a moderately awesome ninja—, only to see you and—he stood dumbfounded for a second, or more, at the sight of you dazzling like the brightest star.  

Dear celestial bodies, everything seemed so bright every time he laid his eyes on you. 

Having the first date experience was worth it even if everything inside him became a mess, the good kind of a mess as you walked toward him, waving your hand to say hi. 

Sasuke had to swallow hard and regain his composure to ensure his perfectly crafted plan was not ruined by his strong desire to just hurry toward you and kiss the air out of your lungs. 

He did walk toward you until you were face to face. 

“I am not late, am I? Work kept me a bit busier than I expected. Sorry if I made you wait.” You smiled apologetically, bowing at your waist. 

“No worries. I arrived just a few minutes ago. We are still quite early from the time we agreed on meeting. How was work today?” 

He didn’t mention the extra 30 minutes he spent waiting in fear of you thinking he might be too intense for a first date —even if you had spent three months together already—. 

“I forgot how boring office meetings can be, there was a moment I tried to imagine I was back at the War Council with the Oda Forces to keep myself focused, but it's never the same without Ieyasu throwing his venom at Mitsunari or Mitsuhide making Hideyoshi steam off his ears.” You sighed dramatically to make a point about how dull your day had been. Or maybe it was that you had too many emotions the last three months that everything else seemed too normal or too calm for your taste. 

Sasuke nodded. “While I enjoy doing lab work, the adrenaline of a new simulation can’t ever compare to the adrenaline of being chased down the hall by Kenshin-sama.” 

You let out a giggle, nodding your head in understanding with a voice heavy with emotion. “I would be lying if I didn’t miss all of them.”

Nope, nope, nope. Sasuke told himself, it was not the time to dive deep into nostalgia and the sadness of leaving your friends 500 years behind. 

He reached to fix a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, allowing himself to smile softly in reassurance, “We’ll go back. Trust me. There’s a 99.97% chance another wormhole will open in a few months.” 

It was a 43.67% chance, but he didn’t want to worry you with his fatal stats about going back to the place you had started to consider your home to make a life together. 

Yet, your smile, trusting and soft made him think that no matter the chances, you were going to make it back safe. 

“Shall we go now?” You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts once more. 

“Ah, yes. Miss?” Sasuke turned to his side and offered you his arm, with a small giggle you linked yours before you started walking toward the path that led to the museum.

First a walk around the art museum you had suggested, then dinner at a fancy café he had wanted to visit but his job had kept him too busy from visiting, and to wrap things up, you’ll stop by the pedestrian bridge to see the stars above, maybe even joke about how the strong artificial lights from the city didn’t allow a clear view of the night sky in comparison of the sights the Sengoku era had gifted you.

He had all his pickup lines prepared for the occasion, some with the intent of making you laugh at how dorky they were.

It might not be your first-first date, but it was the first one you spent on the modern day you had been so accustomed to, so he had wanted to make it special, a day you both could remember once you were hopefully back in time.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #ikemen sengoku x reader #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #cybird #ikesen fanfic #sasuke x reader #sasuke sarutobi #ikesen sasuke #ikemen sasuke #sarutobi sasuke x reader

[theslay3d]

Training with Percy

Requested: nope

Gender:Gender neutral i think lol

Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo!reader

A/N I hope i did right by the amazing personality of Percy Jackson also all characters are 18+! alsooo this is like my first character x reader so it might not be good lol 

You were a child of Apollo. You got to camp after the war with Gaea. You got claimed a week after being there but you kind of already knew you might be Apollos kid as you were amazing at archery and could manipulate sunlight. Your siblings were amazing towards you especially Will and his boyfriend Nico(who you were so in awe of cause have you seen his powers??)

Anyway it's been about 6 months since you've been at camp and you possibly might like Percy Jackson the prophecy child. You didn't mean to start liking him but who couldn't honestly I mean he has an amazing personality plus his sass always makes you laugh. He's also been helping you train as yes you were good at archery but not very good with a sword. That leads us to where we are now training with Percy.

“You're getting better” Percy panted out as he blocked the strike of your celestial bronze sword with Riptide. “Still not good enough to beat you” You said as you backed away to a starting position. “Let's take a break ok? Were both exhausted” Percy asked as he started to walk to a bench nearby. You groaned while throwing your head back “Do we have to? I want to continue to get better”

“You won't get better if you tire yourself out, come sit” Percy said as he patted the seat next to him. You set your sword leaning against something as you walked to where Percy was sitting. You sat down and Percy handed you a bottle of water “Thanks” you said as you started to drink. You finished drinking and took a deep breath in as you looked around you could see other campers everywhere just mingling and other stuff.

What you didn't see was Percy staring at your side profile. He always thought you were so attractive but didn't want to ruin your friendship by saying he liked you. So he just sat by you, training you practically doing everything with you just so he could see you every day.

He didn't notice that you looked back and saw him staring until you snapped your fingers in front of his face and said “Hello Percy??”

“Sorry” Percy said as he looked down to his shoes as a blush spread through his cheeks. You thought something might be wrong with him usually Percy never blushes. “Are you ok?” You asked as you tapped his shoulder. “Yeah I'm fine! Let's continue training” Percy replied as he got up and started to walk back to where you were training.

“If you're sure” You said as you narrowed your eyes at him while getting up and walking toward him. You both got into starting positions and started blocking and striking with your swords. You did that for another fifteen minutes until Percy found a weak spot in your stance and knocked you off your feet and to the ground.

You groaned as your back hit the ground super hard. “Oh my god I’m so sorry” Percy said as he quickly helped you up to your feet. “It's alright” You replied back as you stood straight up. You didn't notice how close your faces were until you turned to look at him. “Oh” you whispered as his heavy breaths hit your face. You had to look up to see him as he was a few inches taller than you.

Percy slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to yours softly as if scared. You froze for a few seconds until you slowly reciprocated the kiss. It lasted for a few more seconds until you both broke apart a little out of breath. “Well that was-” “Good it was good” You interrupted Percy as a blush hit you cheeks making you look down to the ground. Percy chuckled a little as he saw your blush.

“We should do that again sometime” You stuttered out as you slowly backed away almost tripping over nothing until you were out of sight for Percy. Percy smiled to himself at the thought of kissing you again and slowly turned around with a happy look on his face.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #will solace #nico di angelo #percy jackson fanfiction #im in love with percy #slay percy #annabeth chase #oneshot #percy jackon and the olympians #heros of olympus #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #hazel levesque #frank zhang

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Now that we know the Not-Mayor is celestial, I doubt he has truly and permanently been Brought Down to Normal. His title before working for White Bone Spirit was “Chief of War”, so he must have been pretty powerful even without assistance from her Spooky Ghost Nonsense.

WBS probably wanted to keep him dependent on her, so whenever he needed power she’d have him draw from her reserves instead of his own. This caused his own reserves to atrophy like an unused muscle, such that he’d be too weak to betray her should he have second thoughts or should she, y’know, no longer consider him useful and yank her Spooky Ghost Nonsense out of him to implant into someone else.

It’s curious that he’s still loyal to her- is he just brainwashed, from being under her control for so long? Or did she never actually control him? Did he genuinely serve her of his own free will?

As the Chief of War, he was probably giving orders far more often than he was actually fighting- and he may have been in the Celestial Realm guarding the Emperor far more often than that.

The man has a second form clearly for the express purpose of Extreme Violence. I imagine being only rarely able to commit Extreme Violence frustrated him.

Ivory Lady took notice of his ability and frustration, deciding to "persuade” him to work for her. When she found an opportunity to speak with him alone, she started on her whole “imperfect world” spiel, trying to put doubt in his mind so he would be easier to control. But before she even got the chance to do any Spooky Ghost Nonsense, he was like “YES I am tired of being nice, YES I just want to go ape shitt, YES I want to destroy everything, can we start with the Emperor? I fucking hate that guy.”

How fortunate! She wouldn’t have to expend energy keeping him under control if he was already in agreement with her. Pleased that they were on the same page, she tested him by giving him a sliver of her power- and with his murder of the Emperor, he passed with flying colors.

His “loyalty” to her came later as she gave him more and more bits of her power, worming her way deeper and deeper into his brain. Now that she’s gone, it will likely fade over time- though I’m not sure he’ll start to have negative feelings towards her. If he truly was Evil All Along, he might be like “yeah, gradually messing with my head over time was a clever way to keep me from getting bored and leaving whenever she didn’t have anyone for me to kill at the moment. And de-powering me in exchange for controlling Sun Wukong was a solid strategy, I would have done the same thing.”

He may well be furious at the heroes, however! He had a good thing going and they ruined it. I doubt he’ll just sit around and sulk, so I propose that the Not-Mayor will be the main threat of either Season 4 or 5.

Season 4 seems most likely; as the former right hand of someone who’s already been defeated, he’s “old news”. Since Season 4 will probably only hint at the next arc threat, it’s the Not-Mayor’s best shot at relevancy.

On the other hand, Spider Queen was a one-episode threat in Season 1 and got upgraded to a season threat in Season 2, the same happened with Macaque in Seasons 1 and 2 before getting upgraded in Season 3. Perhaps the Not-Mayor needs some time to regain his strength and will wait until Season 5 to start Causing Serious Problems.

I have some ideas for what that might entail... but I’ll save them for my next post.

#monkie kid #monkie kid theory #lmk theory #lmk mayor #the not-mayor #BLESE tungle put this in the tags

[gremoria411]

Today is the day we acknowledge that “I heard the moon was damaged in the calamity war” is just an absolutely wild thing to say. In context and out of context.

First off, You Heard? As in, this is some rumour that you’re not actually sure about? I know they’re on Mars, and haven’t had much/any of an education, but I would think that the fate of Earth’s primary celestial body would be fairly well known. But this is just like “oh yeah, apparently the moon’s busted”.

Second, “Damaged in the Calamity War”. I don’t know why but damaged is the word I focus on here. Damage implies it’s still functioning. Damage implies that it took the hit but wasn’t destroyed. Damaged is such an odd way to talk about something like the moon.

Like, it really sells the Calamity War as this, well, Calamitous thing. You can really understand why it was such an upheaval that necessitated gjallarhorn’s formation, why the dating process is “post disaster”. And really, why a lot of the setting is how it is.

Why gjallarhorn’s mostly Earth based, why Mars is a backwater with poverty and pmc’s. Why Jupiter can essentially be run by Teiwaz (well, they at least have a lotta influence there). It’s just one example of what happened to this world.

I know we’re probably never gonna fully know what happened in the Calamity War, since that’d ruin the mystique, but…

Just imagine what it must’ve been like.

Gundams battling mobile armours for the fate of the moon.

And behind them, Earth.

#gundam #gundam iron blooded orphans #ramblings #gundam ibo

[vampirecatprince]

I'm having feelings about Lucy in my gameverse and I just.... Ugh-

Like, imagine you're young and dumb and the the second highest ranking celestial being in a Very, Very strict hierarchy. You love the one who created you like a father, but you're basically the equivalent of a roudy teenager with godlike powers and you're questioning the strictness and the harsh rules.

So, you have an equivalent of a rebellious teenage moment. You question your strict Father, along with friends you brought along for support, only for all of you to be immediately violently thrown away for daring to step out of line. You're replaced. Your friends, who were supporting you, are also damned- simply by association. So you violently lash out, instinctively trying to protect yourself and your friends and new family, because that all you know and all you've been taught. You've been nothing but a weapon since the day you were made, after all.

You were your father's right hand man, his trusted companion. His favorite.

How DARE he throw you away at the first sign of questioning him?

And then you discover what his punishment really is. You're a demiurge now, responsable for the souls that didn't obey his rules. You're given instructions to punish those who are just like you. Other creations of his that questioned his rules or fought against him.

And something in you just..... Breaks.

He... never actually loved you, did he? You were his favorite simply because you were the strongest and the most beautiful. He didn't love you. He was only proud how well he made you. You're pissed. You're angry. You're more than just good craftsmanship, you're a living fucking being. So you keep lashing out and hurting the souls sent to you in your anger.

And the centuries wear on and eventually all that anger and indignity just slowly..... Burns out. It does in all of the ones who were cast out with you. And you all look at what you've done and the little pocket world you've been given and decide, maybe all this constant hate and pain and punishment and torture isn't.... Good?

Why are we doing this? What do we even get from treating our human denizens like this? Why are we copying the behaviors of our abuser? Why are we still spreading this pain?

So you and your trusted second-in-command decide to try to fix things. And it's slow and it's not easy, but you slowly turn this first pit of despair into a place that those who made simple errors in life can at least rest... mostly peacefully. You still punish those who were truly heinous, but instead of marking them as 'permanently tainted' you make it a goal to rehabilitate them the best you can.

And the whole time you're turning your supposed punishment on its head, everyone is terrified that He's going to notice. Your Father is going to come swinging in and with the same violent furvor as before ruin all your hard work.

But it never comes.

And you realize.... No one's heard from Father in.... centuries.

And you realize with a sinking feeling in your gut- that maybe he just got bored and.... Left this whole project of his, with millions of living souls, on autopilot. And now... You're the most powerful one left. And you never wanted all this, but fuck. You're mad again, but not at yourself. Not at your situation. No, you're mad at him.

And then this knowledge, alongside new human innovations and weapons slowly trickling into the afterlife, triggers a civil war. Most of the people in charge, your friends, scatter or go into hiding or are killed and you lose so much. Again. But you refuse to become bitter again. Because, you still have a few old friends after all. So you rebuild again. Make new friends. Fall in love for the first time. You find a form that feels.... Comfortable for the first time. It's been less then a century since it all ended last and you almost feel.... Happy?

But- you're gonna do anything you can to prevent from becoming like your Father again.

#its feelings about my Lady Lucifer hours #(i do consider myself a little bit of a Satanist ngl and this is very much why) #(Plasma deals with his daddy issues via The Devil: Part 37352838) #my OCs #my writing #Lucy (Asmo)

[prrism]

–Hello my [platonic] beloved Pri! ❄ is about to give an alternate route of Wanderer! Special thanks to the almighty bathtime [Lmao]

Brothers!Disc Duo with Sister!Reader and Drista!

×Little Explanation×

Dream, Reader, Drista, and Tommy belong to a rare hybrid mutation species called "Celestials", which are similar to The Starborne Origins except for a few details that differentiate them from the rest and why they are called mutated. Celestials are also known as "Children of Chaos/Void" due to the mysterious and ethereal essence the Void offers, it's even said that Celestials came from the Primodial Mother Chaos [Yes Chaos is actually a Demigirl].

Dream is still an Owl Hybrid, however his Celestial mutation takes when it's night or in complete darkness. His wings turn black and is now littered with stars.

Reader is a Phantom Hybrid, but she don't take much damage from the sun like their Origins [Since the Sun is practically a star in science means]. She still retains her Hybrid Abilities albeit a bit more powerful at night.

Drista is a Void Shifter, basically a nocturnal version of a Shapeshifter. The power of her abilities depends on the moon cycle, she is at the strongest every New Moon and weakest at Full Moon, and how close the Void is, more closer determines the power she has.

Tommy is a Demon [I'm a big fan of Horned-Innit okay–] but his Horns are pitch black with small rings full of celestial debris and stuff surrounding it.

They can all appear and dissapear their hybrid features at will [Exception of Drista since she's she's a shapeshifter and it ain't entirely obvious] and stop aging at 25, living for centuries.

×Backstory and Plot×

Celestials are pretty rare and deal a lot of market value, so the four siblings travel a lot. However, a group of hunters found them and decided to capture/sell them to the Black Market.

Dream, being the eldest, decided to be a distraction, though that'll cost his wings getting ripped, while Reader, second eldest, hid Drista, third and was a child, and Tommy, youngest and was a baby at that time, in seperate locations to grow normally and out of danger.

Dream managed to escape with his wings still intact but now wears a mask to prevent recognition whilst Reader continues traveling and making sure she doesn't get in to trouble or contact [Obviously].

The four grow up away from each other due to the dangers of their mutations but Dream had enough and devised a plan to meet up with his siblings after for so long, aka the SMP. Tommy and Drista are well aware of their bloodline and know they have siblings, siblings who risked their lives to make sure theirs were stable. The lore goes on in canon, except Dream shows subtle favoritism on Tommy and Tommy seems alright with Dream's presence.

Until Jschlatt appeared. Dream knows him very well, as he was one of the hunters who tried to kill them.

Pogtopia time, Reader comes with Drista, both observing from the shadows. Reader approaches Dream with the information that almost everyone, save for Techno, Phil, Wilbur, Ranboo, Connor, and Niki, have direct connections from the hunters who tried to ruin them, that includes Tubbo. Reader and Dream make a plan to bring Tommy to their side and isolate themselves from to SMP to further avoid problems. Canon goes until Tommy Exile, then we go to divergence.

Dream still manipulates Tommy, albeit no abuse or torture, with the intention for Tommy to join him and their sisters to go wander together, away from the SMP's Problems. Then they have healthy Disc Duo bonding time until Reader and Drista comes along to join them, and to warn about the upcoming war. Since the past is revealed and Tommy no longer is associated with Tubbo, sadly, they are not joining Techno and set off to leave the SMP. The Celestials went off to live in peace for a while, they don't really bother themselves in war anymore since the family is now complete and that's all they can ask for.

×Facts if needed [You don't necessarily have to add them, I just thought it'll be nice]×

× In this AU, Dream, Reader, Drista, and Tommy are all Chaotic Neutral/Neutral Evil.

× Wilbur is still alive since they managed to kill Jschlatt and no TNT were set off.

× Jschlatt was tortured by Dream for revenge, before Dream finished him.

× Events after Tommy's exile were altered because Disc Duo weren't present, and Final Confrotation didn't exist.

× All of The SMP members are now Neutral to Tommy and Dream.

× Chaos Trio [Dream, Techno, Wilbur] are now Chaos Squad, since Reader joined.

Hoooooooo boi! ❄️ my dear, there is so much to unpack here (I mean this in the best of ways) and after many unsatisfying attempts I realized that because there’s so much I couldn’t fit it all into one story so I will be splitting this into another part. I defiantly strayed from what the ask originally was but the core idea is still there. Enjoy!

Celestial Convergence

Summary: After being separated at a young age, Dream decides now was the time to get his family back together again…

Characters: Disc Duo & Drista x Reader

Relationships: platonic/familial

Pronouns: she/her/they/them (you did say sister specifically sooo…)

“Are you insane!” You whisper-yell at your brother, the idea he proposed sounding outrageously risky.

“Maybe a little, but can you really blame me? This could be your only chance to escape.” He reasons.

“What about you though? I-I can’t just let you get yourself killed.”

“(Y/n), please. Don’t just throw away our only chance at freedom for me, we have to do this so they can grow up safely.” Dream urges, nodding towards a sleeping Tommy and half-asleep Drista. You stare at the two for a while before taking a shaky breath.

“Okay, let’s do this.” You give a look of determination. He beams at you and gives you a hug, you’re more then happy to return it. Dream steps away from you and stares down at the iron bars that kept you locked in this cage, he grips them tightly, his knuckles almost turning white at the force. It always amazes you whenever you get to watch his wings unfurl, the feathers shifting from their usual barred owl colours to a black canvas, mirroring the starry night sky itself. With a harsh tug he manages to bend the bars, now it was your turn to act quickly scooping Drista and Tommy up into your arms and cling to them while you focus on making not just yourself but the two of them disappear with you, another harsh tug and there’s just enough space to squeeze out of the cage.

“What was that?” “The celestials are escaping!” “Well don’t just stand there! Get them you idiots!” The voices of the hunters ring out around the area, you move as fast as your legs can carry you to the nearest grouping of trees for cover. “Oi! I found one!” You paused for a moment and dared yourself to look back, seeing the hunters give chase to Dream. You wanted to help him but the squirming toddler and stirring baby reminded you otherwise, you continue forward into the surrounding forest and keep running until the shouts and clashing of weapons fades from your ears…

How long have you been traveling? A while, that’s all you were able to decipher. After the first night of your escape you hadn’t really stopped moving, not like you were unused to that but the two little ones in your arms certainly needed somewhere much safer to stay, luckily you had finally made it to a town you were familiar with by night 3. You keep yourself invisible and have a look around, the night offered such calming ambiance but now was no time to rest. You walk up to one of the houses and have a peek inside, it was simple enough, but that wasn’t what you were looking for. Moving to the next house you have another peek, nothing there either. The third house was about the same as the previous two, it wasn’t until the eighth house that you found what you were looking for. It wasn’t a person in particular but a sigil, one that indicates protection and refuge, they’ve been used to help celestials like yourself many times in the past, a symbol of hope for you. Still though, with everything going on you couldn’t just let both your siblings stay here, it’d be too suspicious. You carefully place Drista down, she lets out a soft whine having gone from your comforting grip to the hard ground.

“Shhhh, I know it’s difficult but you’ll be much safer here on your own… just don’t try to shapeshift too much.” You say quietly. Making yourself visible for a moment you use your now free arm to give a few knocks to the door and take a step back, returning to the shadows. A sheep woman opens the door after a bit looking around until she sees Drista sitting there looking up at her innocently, the woman picks her up and carry’s her inside, taking one last look around before shutting the door.

“Looks like it’s just you and me until I find somewhere else for you to stay.” You sigh, looking down at Tommy who just yawns and cuddles into your grip…

Another few days had passed and the terrain was becoming much colder, you’d made the mistake of dropping your invisibility cover for a rest seeing as it drains your energy after a while. However the mistake was you did so in a semi-public area meaning people saw you, and while most went about doing nothing a few alerted some hunters in the area. You made a mad dash in the only direction they weren’t blocking, gripping tightly to the baby in your arms to not drop him.

You wrap your cloak around Tommy, doing what you could to keep him warm, you were part phantom so the cold didn’t bother you as much thankfully. You dash through a forest and the second you’re far enough away you focus and make the two of you invisible again, staying as still as possible while you hear the approach and retreat of the hunters footsteps. You let out a sigh once the coast is clear and continue trekking your way through the snowy tundra, it wasn’t until nightfall that you see a small light in the distance, a glimmer of hope sparking in you. Hurrying yourself forward you see a house take shape, then you pause… what if this was a trap, could you really trust this? Staring back down at the squirmy baby in your arms a soft smile dances across your lips and you knew you had to try, for him. Stealing yourself you continue forward, drawing closer to the building, once close enough you peek inside the window just catching two boys close to your age dash down a hallway. Your eyes scan the interior of the home, when they land on the sigil you prayed to see you physically in relief.

“Don’t you worry, you’re going to be taken real good care of here. You’ll even have older brothers to play with.” You reassure, though you’re not sure if it’s for Tommy or yourself. You go to place him down by the door when Tommy starts whining, managing to shuffle his arms free of the cloak around him and reach them towards you, he makes a grabbing motion with his hands as another whine leaves him. “Shhhh. Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ll be alright, but I can’t stay here, it’s too risky. I promise one day I’ll come back and we can be a family again. For now you be good to these people, okay?” Small sobs and more whines are your response, it broke your heart that you had to do this but there wasn’t any other option that would be safer. “I know what can help.” You mutter as you bundle him up again nice and cozy. You start singing a soft lullaby.

“It always seems more quiet, in the dark, it always feels so stark~ How silence grows under the moon, constellations gone so soon~ I used to think that I was bold, I used to think love would be fun~ Now all my stories have been told except for one…~” You pause a second to look down at the nodding off baby, a melancholic smile on your face as you continue. “As the stars start to align I hope you take it as a sign that you’ll be okay. Everything will be okay~ And if the seven rings collapse, although the day could be my last, you will be okay. When I’m gone you’ll be okay~ And when creation goes to die you can find me in the sky. Upon the last day, and you will be okay~” With that you gently set his sleeping figure down before making yourself visible enough to place three loud knocks on the door before disappearing from view once more.

“Hello?” A blonde haired man answers the door, this couldn’t be more perfect, he looked like he could genuinely be Tommy’s father, no one would know any better. When the man spots said sleeping child he carefully picks Tommy up and scans the area with a concerned look, completely unaware of your presents now a few feet away. With one more sweep across the area the man finally retreats into his home with a saddened sigh.

“Be good to him. Please.” You quietly plead, disappearing into the night…

It’s been… years since the last time you’d seen anyone from your family, you couldn’t say for how long. Time has always been something you didn’t bother yourself much with preferring to focus on the now, and right now you were following a lead you got from one of the villages you commonly did trades with. Someone had mentioned an SMP that had arose awhile ago and in the time it’s been around there’s already been a war and the potential for a second to arise, needless to say curiosity got the better of you. Still you didn’t wish to waltz right in, after all you were never safe from hunters and the odds of some residing in such a place was extremely likely, not to mention with the mild translucency to your skin it wasn’t hard to pick you out of a crowd. Having finally made it to the border of said SMP you take a second to evaluate your surroundings, readjusting the hood of your coat over your head you continue forward.

There wasn’t much going on, maybe a few common mobs, but to be fair you did wander into a more forested area. Soon enough faint voices can be heard in the distance, too far for you to make out what they were saying, but it was defiantly people. Invisibility has always been your best friend throughout the years, although it can be exhausting if used for too long on sunny days like today, still you needed to approach with caution and find out if whoever was talking would be friend or foe. You edge closer and closer until three people are visible, one wore an odd pair of glasses? Goggles? Hard to say for sure. Another wore a t-shirt with a flame logo on it, and a matching white bandana. The last of the three wore a smiling mask, making it impossible to see any facial features, and yet something felt oddly familiar about him. While examining the three you slip up and crack a branch under your feet, these three had fast reflexes, they all pull out bows and shoot in your general direction. One of the arrows manages to catch your arm making you lose focus and tumble into view, completely visible.

“And who are you supposed to be, a spy?” The bandana one questions, glaring daggers at you. You stare at the arrow in your arm, that sadly won’t be coming out anytime soon, then up at the three. “Well? You gonna say something?” More of a threat then a question seeing as he raises his weapon in your direction. Moving quickly you kick out the guys legs and make yourself invisible once more, fighting past the pain to push off the ground and make a dash back into the forest. Even with the arrow still visible you weren’t an easy target to see as you weave through the trees, listening for the trio chasing after you. Taking a moment to catch your breath you duck into some bushes, watching as two of the men run by while the one with the mask pauses and tilts his head in an odd way, as if listening for something. You take in a sharp, pained breath when you accidentally nudge the arrow against the foliage, immediately the masked man turns and stares in your direction, you cover your mouth to avoid making any more sudden breaths but as if still able to hear you he approaches your hiding spot. Hoping to make a quick getaway you use your more mobile hand to grab some loose dirt, throw it at the man to distract him and make a mad dash in the opposite direction.

“Wait, stop!” You hear him yell, as if you’d listen. You’ve come so far on your own and you were not about to give up and let yourself be captured now, although the blaring sunshine mixed with your exhaustion and injury certainly weren’t helping you any. As you push forward you can feel the pain in your arm getting worse, losing your focus and no longer able to keep yourself invisible any longer you stumble to the ground. You have to scream into your arm to muffle yourself as the impact with the ground causes the arrow to once again shift, you needed to remove this thing, now. However, as luck would like to have it the masked man appears again, you pull your crossbow out and take as best of aim as you can with one arm, if you were going down here you’d do so fighting.

“You’d best stay away if you know what’s good for you.” You threaten, trying desperately to hide the waver in your voice.

“Easy there (y/n), I’m going to hurt you, I promise.” You’re taken aback at this but don’t drop your guard.

“How-how do you know my name? Who even are you?” Honestly you felt more scared of what could happen if you were left alive, was he a hunter that you’ve encountered in the past? What did he want with you? Your thoughts felt so jumbled together but abruptly stop when you see two wings unfurl from his back as he takes off the mask. You’re speechless, tears welling in your eyes when you finally get to see who’s behind the mask.

“Hey sis.” You wanted to leap from the ground and hug him but the growing pain prevented you from doing so, noticing this Dream hurries to your side. “Here, let’s get you somewhere safer and take care of that wound.” He places your good arm over his shoulder and before you’re able to stand on your own feet he lifts you into his arms and takes flight.

“What are you doing!? You’re gonna get us noticed.” You say alarmed.

“Relax, I already sent the others away, and this is the fastest mode of travel I can give.” He says unbothered. You try to relax as much as possible, distracting your mind by watching the landscape pass by below…

You must’ve passed out, either from pain or blood loss because the next thing you know you’re waking up on a bed, your arm nicely patched up. You flex your arm around to make sure it still had mobility in it, it was a bit stiff but nowhere near as bad as earlier.

“Oh thank Prime you’re alright.” You look over and see Dream staring back relieved. “You passed out about halfway through our journey here, you looked pretty pale, I mean you always look pale, but you looked… paler then usual.”

“It’s good to see you too…” You huff out, more out of breath then you thought. You stabilize yourself to stand and walk over to him, seems the both of you had the same idea as once you’re close enough Dream pulls you into a very long awaited hug. The two of you take a minute to just relish in your reunion, once you feel satisfied you abruptly shove him.

“You shot at me!” You say, now realizing you were partially in this situation because of him.

“Okay, to be fair, in my defence I didn’t know it was you at first.” He quickly defends, holding his hands up in fake surrender.

“You don’t know who a person is so your first instinct is to shoot them? Real welcoming, truly.” You roll your eyes sarcastically.

“You’re the one who decided to make a break for it.”

“Well in my defence, I thought you were all hunters.” It’s silent between the two of you for a while.

“I sorry.” Dream breaks the silence again, taking in a long breath. “It’s been a lot over the years, I had to hide and change a lot of myself to keep people off my trail. I guess we both just acted out of instinct.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m still in one piece and we managed to find each other again after so long, so it’s not all bad.” You reassure, earning a soft chuckle from Dream.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right.”

“If only the others were here too, then everything would be perfect.” You hum, Dream brightens up at this.

“Well, actually…” He trails off. Dream then explains to you all that’s happened before your arrival, including how both Tommy and Drista had found their way to the SMP but since you had to part with them at such young ages they didn’t fully remember everything, just bits a pieces.

“Okay, and I guess with this new war on the horizon it hasn’t been easy for you.” You fill in the blanks, Dream nods. “Well then what are we waiting for?” You walk over and grab his mask, handing it to him with a determined look in your eyes. “Just tell me what I can do to help…”

I know, I’ve been gone for like a month, honestly thought I’d get this out sooner but life just has a way of not being in my favour as of recent. I’ll be fine, and thank you all for your patience ❤️❤️

#dream smp #dream smp x reader #dream smp x platonic reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp x platonic reader #dsmp dream #dream x reader #tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #dsmp drista #❄️ anon

[lilyandthegenshinbrainrot]

"After perusing the Starlog by the great sage of Tabari, I finally realized whether it be the war of gods or downfall of ancient empires, it was all a microcosm of the celestial movements."

This is a quote from the message board in Sumeru City; from one of the students.

What a curious observation from someone without a name, and I thought about it for a minute because its phrasing sounded really familiar before rereading the Byakuyakoku Collection.

"Phanes, the Primordial One, used the eggshell to separate the "universe" and the "microcosm of the world."

This passage had spoke about how the "true lord of this world", The Primordial One, was born from an egg and used that egg to form Teyvat.

For a student to recognize and make this observation is particularly curious bc it implies that there is a certain knowledge in Sumeru about how Celestia works. And I say that because of their curiosity about Khaenri'ah. The Ruin Golem in the Valley of Dahri.

Afratu, the researcher here says that the academic world, specifically the Vahimana Darshan, used the word Dahri to refer to Khaenri'ah because it's the archaic name. This same word is also mentioned on the wiki for this area as an, and I quote, "Arabic-Persian theological term which refers to an atheist, or an adherent of the doctrine that the universe has no beginnings in time." If someone has better insight for this translation, please take the wheel bc I know the translation teams are often wrong.

Regardless, this is very particular because this tells us two big things. The first is that Sumeru Akademiya is well acquainted enough with the way Celestia views and interacts with the world of Teyvat that even the students are aware of their place under the gods. It is simply a piece of their world, a cell in their body.

The second is that Khaenri'ah was not the name the nation called itself. So where did that name come from ? Who was the first to name it Khaenri'ah and why? If Dainsleif is someone who was there during its reign, when did he start calling his home by the more modern name?

#genshin impact lore #genshin impact theory #genshin impact world building #genshin khaenri'ah #khaenri'ah #sumeru lore #genshin impact