#|| yes - she cannot do much but her spirit is in flames

[stalkcd]

Like in the films, what I love about Laurie: She can push aside her own insecurities and fears when children or people she cares are in danger. She is bold enough to try and fight the threat, if needed to earn more time. She couldn't live with herself, if someone who was terribly afraid or incapable to protect themselves got killed.

I feel this altruism would manifest in the trials too. This almost foolishly daredevil Laurie. If situation required, she might not even wait for the killer, she would try and draw the killer focused after her instead.

Like perk Object of obsession - how it once allowed the killer and her to lock eyes even in distance. A risky way to draw the killer's attention right at you, limiting field of vision. But also, Laurie would be rewarded of their location.

[tgrailwar-zero]

So little guy, where are you from? Do you live here in the city or are you visiting?

LITTLE GUY: "We sleep in by the Port! It's foggy sometimes, but sometimes it's sunny! We were sleeping, but now we're awake!"

LITTLE GUY: "...Mm..? We're... awake?"

LITTLE GUY: "Hm... I dunno! I dunno!"

KUKULKAN: "Not as much as I'd have hoped... we can talk more once we're done."

KUKULKAN: "...Fair enough, hehe. I guess someone has to be the one to tell Rider. I'll go get the boys."

KUKULKAN: "Oh, it's probably fine! But, just in case, we'll save it for later."

LITTLE GUY: "Bye, bye!"

They waved, wandering off down the Archives.

With that decision made, you got to the fun part. Research.

The Heavenly Divinity had been summoned as a warrior during the Lunar Grail War. One of the 129.

She hadn't been summoned in this way before. An old god, in a newer form. A dragon in the form of a fox. A goddess in the form of a mortal.

Her name was T█████=M██████████.

Was. At that moment, it was.

The stories of humans had weaved together a strange tale, it seemed. But that was fine. She was quite fond of weaving, after all. Her identity was fluid, one that shifted like the water, and danced between the gates of shrines.

'Caster', her Master called her. The maiden of the Hirota Jinja Shrine, a 'Caster'. Humans had called her many names over many years, but that was a new one.

While many saw her as a Kitsune, a simple fox-spirit, this Servant was a Shinko-ō. A divine 'dragon-fox'. A daughter of the heavens. Terrifying and beautiful, she was summoned by a hopelessly hopeful master for a hopelessly hopeful cause, and fought for it with every ounce of her being.

And then, the Titan struck.

She watched as the Servants of the Moon did everything they could, and knew it wasn't enough. She had seen this Titan before. Fought this Titan before-- and knew that the boundless strength of Heroic Spirits were not enough for it. And so, as they fought, she readied herself.

The Titan could only be defeated by divinity. Divinity unchained by humanity, and free to run wild and untamed. And so, the single-tailed fox gathered power, power that she had promised to never coalesce again in another life. -

You continued reading, though it felt like you were slipping further and further into a haze.

It felt more like a conversation. Like someone was speaking to you, gently by your side. The voice, delicate and feminine, seemed to whisper in your ear.

"There's something laughable about the idea of a 'lonely god'. Gods should be worshiped. Respected. Beloved. My Master held a deep contempt for humanity. He hated their contradiction, their twisted affairs, their violent nature. But he accepted it as well, knew that their violence would lead to peace. That if there was something truly terrible in the world, their differences would be set aside, and they would be saved. He could calculate, but understanding was out of his reach. And yet in his struggle, in his constant theorizing and thrashing about, he held something beautiful. A spark. A beautiful soul. Perhaps that is why I was summoned at his side. I am your goddess. I am your God. And, my beloved people of the Solar Cell, I selfishly ask of your forgiveness. Selfishly ask for your hope. Selfishly ask for your acceptance. I cannot tell you the reason, but I selfishly ask for your sacrifice as well."

-

You eventually reached a passage that held you tight. You could feel eyes on you. Burning, yet cold. Rushing water accompanied by the sound of crackling flames. Violent, yet calming. A contradiction.

'Amaterasu'. 'A M A T E R A S U'?

That cannot be my True Name. Amaterasu is kind. Gentle. The warm rays of the sun, that satiate those that dance under her gaze.

I am violent.

I am powerful.

I am the Great Fox Spirit. The Konjiki Hakumen. The Lady of Purification. The Goddess of Mukoyama. A mere facet of the Sun.

I create life.

I shine with the heavenly bodies.

The Servant of Amaterasu Ōhirume no Mikoto. The wrath of Tenshō Daijin. The flesh of Sume-Ōmikami. I am her untamed nature made manifest.

The waters of the Lunar Sea bow to me as they purge the world of evil. The flames of the Solar Cell burn for me as they purge the world of fear.

The great Titan will be cast into the Lunar Sea, and all shall be well.

Such is the will of--

-

You heard snapping in front of you, knocking you out of your trance.

ARCHIVIST: "I don't mind you resting your eyes, but the Archives are closing. Best to get a move on, right?"

Looking down, you realized that you had stopped reading at some point, though it was difficult to tell when. The book had been clamped shut, your smoke-like, tendrils (vaguely shaped in the form of hands) clasping it tightly.

[pleiadesnuts]

WIP: Garviel Loken Earned His Wings

A Garviel Loken/f!OC drabble/WIP. Not 100% canon-compliant, but the 63rd were orbiting 63-19 for SOOOO long and I didn’t want to write anything else. I cannot believe how long it’s been since I last posted FIC on this site. Jesus.

Word count: 1421… for now…

Warnings: Gore mentioned, corporal punishment mentioned, parental death, but nothing too far out of left field for the setting. Garviel Loken being slightly weird around women.

The Emperor Protects. 🦅

The aftermath of such an effective speartip campaign was unexpectedly drawn out. Sixty-Three-Nineteen was proving to be more of a pain than anyone aboard the Vengeful Spirit could ever have imagined, save for the Warmaster, especially for a world so similar to their own. It irritated Loken — the men of the Tenth Company were growing restless acting as caretakers and guards for the few civilians aboard while the niceties of conquest took place, if they could even be called niceties. Politics were never his forte, Captain Torgaddon had always been the better speaker, but it didn’t take a pundit to realise that the sudden influx of planetary officials aboard the Gloriana-class flagship was, for whatever reason the Warmaster only knew, a sign of improvement on the surface.

It amused him, in some childlike way, to see baselines escorted by squads of Astartes that towered over them, herded like cattle through the ship to where they needed, or, more likely, where they were permitted to go. Loken paid little attention to them. Perhaps this was to his detriment: a half dozen men from Tenth Company now walked towards him in pairs, boxing in a fragile looking thing in a black dress and with hair like flame. He watched them approach, stomping their way across the debarkation deck with the little woman in the middle, her hair bouncing with each heavy thud of sabatons on plasteel.

“Captain Loken.” Sergeant Anton Ferrick raised his hands to his chest in the sign of the Aquila in introduction.

Loken mirrored his salute. “Sergeant. What do you need?”

Ferrick glanced down for half a moment before looking back up at him, his lips pursed only barely, but enough to raise and warp the scar that ran through them. It’s unlike him to hesitate. Loken followed his eye to meet the almost unsettling gaze of the woman at his feet, unflinching even while surrounded by men almost double her size and immeasurably stronger. “The lady has asked for an introduction, sir,” he answered, hoping the minute strain in his jaw was enough to tell his Captain that this was done begrudgingly, with as much resistance as he could gather.

The message is received. Loken nodded, his own jaw set in silent reply, and Ferrick and the others stepped back. The woman stared up at him, her posture remarkably straight in a practiced, though not at all military way. She stepped forward, her neck craned up to look him in the face, skin so clear and pale he could see the blue veins thump in her throat. Between this false Terran and the remembrancers, Loken comes to the conclusion, somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind that, yes, all women are frail and beautiful.

“I am Elita,” she said, her voice clear even over the background noise of dropship maintenance and passing squads of men who dwarf her, and he waited for a surname that didn’t come. “I have been told you met my father.”

Loken swallowed. His eidetic memory guides him through the assault on the city and the significantly less pleasant experience in the mountains, those four True-Terran months ago, grasping at names and faces to think of anyone he can describe as having met. “You are mistaken,” came his answer. He considered tacking on an honorific — madam, my lady, Lady Elita — and refused to. She dressed herself the way he imagined a noble would, fine silks from head to toe in a deep, empty and unadorned black, the way he had seen illustrated in a book he’d skimmed somewhere out of boredom, but the words fell short. “I have seen many men on the surface, and none bore me enough importance to distinguish them.”

She frowned. Her eyebrows were brown. Loken had never noticed such a discrepancy before — he’d never had any particular reason to, with Euphrati’s being pleasant to look at though unremarkable in this way and Mersadie’s lack of them altogether. He’d have to ask them, eventually. Perhaps this, too, was some kind of dye. “I have it on good authority that you did,” Elita replied, her words aimed to cut in a tone that made the man beside her stiffen. “We have just left the company of a woman named Oliton who told me as much.”

“The…” Ferrick cleared his throat with a performative cough into a closed fist. Loken met his still hesitant eye once he had lifted his own upwards. “The Emperor, sir,” he muttered in explanation. “That is to say, the false one.”

“Ah.” He thought back to the few seconds he’d seen the ‘Emperor’ as he dragged his eyes back down to the stern-faced woman before him. She bore little resemblance to the charred, smoking remains of her father’s bottom half. “You bear him little resemblance. Forgive my ignorance, lady.”

There it is — lady. Lower case, as it would be if he’d written it, her former, false station reduced to so little in his mind that he could never consider capitalising it. He watched her lips bulge and her cheeks hollow when her tongue moved to suck on her teeth behind them, irritated. “Then either your memory isn’t all I’ve been told it’s cracked up to be, or you have lied to your documentarist.”

“Forgive me,” Loken echoed, as he watched the men around her shift on uneasy feet and Ferrick’s good eye close slowly in the edge of his vision, opening to look up at the ceiling with a long, silent sigh. “It was only for a moment.”

Elita let out a sigh of her own. She shifted on her hip, her arms folded tightly around her ribs beneath the thick shawl across her shoulders. Not an inch of flesh below her chin was exposed to the cold, recycled air on deck, and even her hands were gloved to the nail beds. “It is of no consequence,” she answered, rolling her neck. The lithe casualness of the movement made him balk inwardly. Were she under the regulations of the expedition, or the slightest bit aware of just how far above her socially a neophyte of the Legion stood, never mind a Captain, someone not so much harsher than him would have had her whipped for it.

He stared down at her for a long, painstakingly silent moment. “If there is nothing else I can do for you—“

“Here,” she barked, a slender, silk-clad hand jutting out from beneath the shawl in a closed fist. A glimmer of shining metal between her thumb and fingers caught in the fluorescent light of a passing servo skull as it hovered by. “Take it.”

“I will not.”

Elita huffed. “I will not leave this spot until you do.”

Loken looked to Ferrick, both just as confused by this backwater noblewoman as the other. She had been checked over, surely, before being allowed aboard — any hint of her bringing a weapon or an explosive, no matter how well hidden, would have been found and dealt with on the surface, and with extreme prejudice at that. He held out a giant, ceramite covered hand, his palm facing upwards. It dwarfed hers, the same way it had dwarfed Mersadie’s when they met.

With a soft, delicate clink, a piece of wrought gold dropped into his palm, followed by its twin. In a wondrous, serendipitous circumstance, the familiar shape of a two-headed eagle laid spread across the white plate. “The Emperor’s Mark,” she explained, her silvery eyes fixed on the bird’s wing. “A medal, for those honoured enough to meet Him, even if only for a moment.”

“I cannot accept this,” he replied, not as sternly as he’d intended.

She didn’t seem to care either way. “In His place, I, the Grand Duchess Elita, Lady Royal of Kaentz and Empress-Exile Regent, bestow upon you, Garviel Loken, Captain of the Tenth Company of the Sixteenth Astartes Legion, the Luna Wolves, this holy relic.” The words come quickly, rehearsed almost to the point of sounding bored, and she drew her hand sharply back into herself before he could force the trinkets back into it. “The second I give for you to offer your Lord Warmaster.”

Loken’s lip twitches upward, and he knew that Ferrick, at least, noticed, because he nearly swallowed his own. “You will not honour the Warmaster, lady?” he asked, the amusement in his voice well disguised.

“No, I will not,” came her stalwart reply, her eyes refusing to meet his. “You can give the tyrant his prize yourself.”

[sensitiveuser]

Posterity of Louise Michel, from 1905 to the present day

(1) Global history

"The history of the Commune is rich in beautiful and noble figures. The one who, in this remarkable gallery, has remained the most popular is that of our dear Louise Michel. Is it because, at the very heart of this deeply moving drama, she took part in all the scenes which together constitute a true tragedy? Is it because she always knew how to remain in the militant ranks with the most obscure and fought with the most heroic? Is it because, devoured by an inner flame of exceptional incandescence, she had the gift of warming with her own ardour all those around her? Is it because, as a woman, she rivalled in intrepidity with the most valiant? Is it because, until the supreme hour of defeat, she did not allow herself to be overcome by discouragement for a moment? Is it because, before her judges, she stood in solidarity with the federates whom a savage repression had condemned to the death penalty, magnificently demanded a responsibility equal to theirs and demanded for herself, alongside them, the execution post? Is it, finally, because more and better than anyone else she embodied the spirit of the Commune and the demands of the suburbs and their working population. It would be difficult to say and I imagine that the halo that enveloped this admirable head in a resplendent circle is made of all that. " (Sébastien Faure, Le Libertaire, May 24, 1935)

"I do not want to defend myself, I do not want to be defended; I belong entirely to the social revolution and I declare that I accept responsibility for all my actions; I accept it without restriction. You accuse me of having participated in the execution of the generals; To that I will answer: they wanted to shoot the people, I would not have hesitated to shoot those who gave similar orders. As for the fire in Paris, yes, I participated in it, I wanted to oppose a barrier of flames to the invaders of Versailles; I have no accomplices, I acted on my own initiative. The rapporteur Dailly demands the death penalty. Louise Michel: - What I demand from you who affirm a council of war, who present yourselves as my judges, but who do not hide yourselves like the commission of pardons, is the field of Satory where our brothers have already fallen; I must be cut off from society, you were told to do so. Well! The Commissioner of the Republic is right. Since it seems that any heart that beats for freedom is only entitled to a little lead, I demand my share. If you let me live, I will never stop crying for vengeance, and I will ask for vengeance from my brothers, the assassins of the pardon commission. The President. - I cannot let you speak. Louise Michel. - I have finished! If you are not cowards, kill me. They did not have the courage to kill her all at once. She was condemned to deportation in a fortified enclosure. Louise Michel was not unique in this genre. Many others, among whom we must mention Madame Lemel, Augustine Chiffon, showed the people of Versailles what terrible women Parisians are, even in chains." (Louise Michel, La Commune, 1898). In this excerpt, Louise Michel takes up the scene of her trial (December 16, 1871) transcribed by Lissagaray (Histoire de la Commune, 1871). She stands up to the 6th Council of War, which finally condemns her to deportation to the penal colony of Kanaky (I prefer to say "Kanaky" rather than New Caledonia, for obvious reasons :)).

The construction of Louise Michel as a symbolic figure of the Commune took shape from her trial. She is the incarnation of these "petroleuses", who arouse so much passion and hatred for the memory of Versailles; Indeed, the "petroleuse" is one of the strongest images of the Commune, and, according to Eric Fournier, "perhaps the most resistant of its black legend". In the memory of Versailles, the figure of the "petroleuse" is not assimilated to the militant or the barricader, the latter being very real figures.

In 1880, Louise Michel returned to Paris, acclaimed by 20,000 people... As a militant who was now an anarchist, determined and tireless, and then she gave a series of conferences. In 1883, she took part in the demonstration of the "workers without work" at the Invalides, and brandished the famous black flag for the first time; she stated in her Memoirs "No more red flag wet with the blood of our soldiers. I will fly the black flag, mourning our dead and our illusions".

This is how pneumonia took her, in January 1905, in Marseille. 120,000 people attended his funeral on January 9, 1905, in Levallois-Perret. Thousands of red flags were seen. No black flags, because they were banned by these liberticidal and reactionary villainous laws. Of course, the faithful were escorted by a large pack of police officers mobilized by Lépine. After the funeral, a gathering of 1,500 people took place at the Bourse du travail in Levallois-Perret. Speeches were given by Sébastien Faure, Charles Malato, Séverine, Pierre Monatte, Georges Yvetot (CGT unionist, general secretary of the Fédération des Bourses – succeeding Fernand Pelloutier). At that time, the different tendencies of French socialism put aside their ideological differences...

However, until the 1920s, the commemoration of Louise Michel's death did not manage to take hold over time. The annual demonstrations near her grave, from January 1906 to January 1914, brought together only a few dozen people, mainly anarchists. In 1906, Emile Derré, a sculptor close to anarchist circles and Jean Grave's Temps nouveaux, decided to sculpt a bust of Louise Michel. It was not until the early 1920s that this sculpture was placed in Levallois-Perret.

Following the Tours Congress, the memory of the Paris Commune was expressed intensely in the Communist Party. The Communist Party claimed to be the heir to the Commune. The collective political use of the reference to Louise Michel was truly activated. The memory of Louise Michel appeared to be closely linked to the memory of the Paris Commune. The PC made Louise Michel a "tutelary", exemplary figure. Louise Michel’s writings are also transcribed in the newspaper L’Humanité. That said, the communists’ memorial work gradually “autonomizes” the memory of Louise Michel in relation to the memory of the Commune. From January 1921, the PC inaugurated and ritualized the commemorations of her death, each January. Overall, 3,000 people participated each year. However, the commemorations of 1923, 1927 and 1937 brought together around 10,000 faithful, and around 20,000 in January 1925, and up to 50,000 in 1928.

The interest devoted by the PC to Louise Michel can be explained by the presence of representatives of the left wing: Pierre Monatte, Madeleine Pelletier, Boris Souvarine (until their exclusion in 1924), Fernand Desprès, Ernest Girault. The latter was first an individualist anarchist, then he campaigned in the CGT. From 1919 to 1920, he campaigned in the first communist party (councillist) alongside Raymond Péricat. He joined the PC following the Tours Congress. As a result, he was criticized by the magazine Le Libertaire. The PC leadership called on him to provide the link between the anarchist “tradition” and the communist and Bolshevik perspective. In January 1926, he concluded his speech with “Hail to Lenin! Hail to Louise Michel!”. To accompany these militant uses of commemoration, the PC developed a concept that designated Louise Michel as a martyr of the project of a communist society. Fernand Desprès, a libertarian and anarcho-syndicalist activist who joined the PCF, proclaimed in L’Humanité that Louise Michel was “the saint of the people, a human and pathetic saint, whose existence lacked nothing, neither persecution, nor prison, nor exile.”

From an anarchist point of view, it is illegitimate for the Bolsheviks to appropriate the memory of Louise Michel. In 1935, Le Libertaire recalled that “The good Louise was above all an ANARCHIST. And here, we can only regret the attitude of the communists, in particular, trying to monopolize the one who was against all tyrannies, the one whose heart beat for all freedoms, she who always remained foreign to sordid political concerns” (Le Libertaire, January 1935).

From 1940 to 1945, the memory of the Commune occupied an important place in the imagination of the resistance fighters. The memory of the Commune shared by the PCF (new name of the PC) took on a patriotic dimension.

In December 1945, at the request of the CGT and the PCF, the mayor of Levallois-Perret agreed to move the "remains" of the Louise Michel to the roundabout of remembrance. In January 1946, the activists of the Anarchist Federation, who found it inconceivable to associate the Paris Commune with patriotism, contested the "patriotic" speeches of certain PCF activists. Fernand Plache, one of the first biographers of Louise Michel, introduces his work by noting his opposition to the patriotism of the PCF: "Because she was a communard in 70, people wanted to hear that Louise Michel had been a patriot in 1940. The party of politicians is going to procession to the cemetery of Levallois, to the tomb of Louise Michel (...) Stop there! Do not touch the good Louise. The one who died on a lecture tour where she preached the conscripts' strike has nothing in common with you!" (Fernand Plache, La vie ardente et intrépide de Louise Michel, 1946).

The memorial work around Louise Michel, led by anarchists, is based on the contestation of the "recuperation" of Louise Michel, of her appropriation by the PCF, but also by the SFIO, who appropriate the figure by distorting her for political ends, forgetting the true nature of her commitment. Have the social traitors forgotten this quote: "Power is cursed, that's why I'm an anarchist", and the black flag that we owe to her? In 1971, it was written in Le Monde libertaire "Louise Michel would have successively approved the Moscow trials, de-Stalinization, Prague and the assassination of Polish workers by progressive tanks"; a sign of irony relative to a communist party that believes it has the memorial monopoly of the Commune !

Overall, from 1946 until the 1970s, the memory of Louise Michel is not very present. In 1955, the fiftieth anniversary of his death was celebrated only in the libertarian press, including Le Libertaire, which had become the central organ of the Anarchist Federation.

From 1968 and at the beginning of the 1970s, the libertarian communist forces (the Libertarian Communist Movement of Daniel Guérin and Georges Fontenis), Trotskyists, Maoists, gained visibility. On the electoral terrain, the PCF is retreating. In the 1970s, two dynamics reconfigured the memorial constructions around Louise Michel, and participated in the fragmentation and diversification of the appropriations of this figure: the progressive "deconflictualization" of an official memory of the Paris Commune, and the establishment of a "state feminism" (creation of the Ministry of Women's Rights in 1974).

The contestation of the PCF’s monopoly on the memory of the Commune since the 1920s, the action of historians who seek to create a history detached from the Marxist interpretation (, and the action of memorial associations, contribute to developing different memorial registers. Therefore, there are two memorial conceptions of the Paris Commune: a “pacified” vision, quite consensual, of a Paris Commune integrated into the national narrative, and a conflictual use of the Paris Commune as a symbol of the workers’ movement and an example of current struggles.

The 1970s also saw the development of awareness of Louise Michel's status as a woman (which had been set aside by the communists). Edith Thomas insisted on her moral virtues. It was a question of valuing the charismatic and symbolic dimensions of Louise Michel, more than her political and ideological role.

From 1981, with the appointment of Yvette Roudy (PCF) as Minister for Women's Rights, a certain conception of feminism in the sphere of political power was introduced. This conception was based on an individualized history of women, a history valuing their merit and charisma, as "exceptional women". From March 8, 1982, International Women's Day was officially celebrated in France. On that day, stamps bearing the image of Louise Michel, Clara Zetkin, Flora Tristan, Hubertine Auclert, Danielle Casanova and Pauline Kergomard, were exhibited. Consequently, Louise Michel became a historical figure integrated as a "legitimate republican figure". According to Sidonie Verhaeghe, the access of the socialist party to power contributed to extracting the figure of Louise Michel from the political margins in order to be able to integrate her into the national narrative.

The explosion of references to Louise Michel is due to a transformation of the forms of celebration. We observe a taking over of memorial productions by academic historians, amateurs, novelists, artists, without forgetting far-left activists (the real one, not the anti-liberal left described as far-left by the right-wingers ^^). The role of associations must be highlighted: Les Amis de la Commune de Paris (which inherits the Solidarité des procrits of Henri Champy and then the Société fraternelle des anciens combattant.es de la Commune), the Louise Michel Association located in her native Haute-Marne, the Louise Michel International Association. In Marseille, commemorations take place in January. In Vroncourt, they take place in May in memory of Bloody Week. In Dieppe, it is the return of Louise Michel from her deportation, in November, that is celebrated.

At present, the republican integration of the figure of Louise Michel is not a consensus. In 2013, the proposal to have her entered the Pantheon gave rise to different visions of the homage: the defense of institutional recognition for feminist activists of social-democrat tendency (Osez le féminisme), or a categorical refusal of republican honors among anarchist activists who claim a direct lineage with the positions adopted by Louise Michel.

[fancy-plans]

I know that no one follows me for final fantasy stuff, but I need to write out my thoughts/interpretation the Final Fantasy XVI ending, and tumblr allows for good spoiler protection, so forgive my indulgence.

SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU'VE BEAT FFXVI

Okay. Now, as much as I hate it, I think Dion is definitely dead, or meant to have died. While there's no question in my mind that this is the game's intent, the fate of any of the three who faced Ultima can be easily amended with enough will (hehe) or copium. We only see Dion falling, we don't see him actually die, so why can't Dion be to FFXVI what Shepard is to Mass Effect 3? Joshua (if he lived), or Terence, or Medicine Girl, can be there searching for him in the rubble, find him, heal him. But yes, for me personally this is a pure copium interpretation none-the-less.

As for Clive, I also think he is definitely dead. He states that Ultima's power was too much for his vessel body in the end, and we see the curse taking him on the beach, spreading from his fingertips to his entire hand within seconds. We also see Metia fading, which indicates Clive's death.

The main argument I see for Clive's survival is that in the final Jill quest, she says that no matter how bad the night is, the dawn will always come, as will Clive. And then when Jill is crying, she sees the dawn come, and stops crying. However, I think that's just her finding hope in the darkness, and through her grief, taking comfort in the knowledge that Clive did indeed save the world so that a new dawn would always come.

This also fits with the lyrics of the song that play at the end, My Star, which go:

For your flame still burns inside me deep within my heart Showing me, a new tomorrow, never too far And when I cannot bear the pain, I look up to the sky and pray And though our night is over you shall always remain, forever, my treasure, my star

Yeah, those lyrics definitely say "Clive is dead" to me, sadly. I think Clive's fate is of course debatable, and I see a lot of people convinced that he survived. But, for me, as much as I wish he did, I just don't think he lived.

Now, finally, to Joshua, the most complicated one. The biggest piece of evidence for Joshua's survival is THE BOOK. Final Fantasy, written by Joshua Rosfield. A lot of people think that Clive wrote the book under Joshua's name due to the quill that Harpocrates gave to him, but... why? That makes no sense to me. If they wanted to show that Clive survived and wrote the book, the book would have just had Clive's byline. Let's not forget that Harpocrates also said that Joshua is a gifted writer, so Harpocrates' crumbs don't lead only to Clive as the author.

There's also the interpretation that Clive/Jill had a son named Joshua who wrote the book. While more plausible to me and also a sweet interpretation, it still seems like quite a big reach. Or, perhaps Joshua had already been writing the book while he was alive, and Clive finished/published it? But when Harpocrates tells Clive that Joshua would be a good writer (which he also says to Clive to keep us all confused, lulz), it's implied that there really isn't time for anyone to be writing, but maybe after Ultima's defeat it's the pen they could turn to.

So, of all the explanations for the book, I think that Joshua surviving and writing it is the most likely, and the reason for that being shown at the end when it easily didn't have to be shown at all. And let's also not forget that the name Joshua derives from Yeshua, the Hebrew name for Jesus. Jesus and the Phoenix, these are both figures who rise again.

But, that of course begets the problem of how, actually, did he survive when he was most definitely dead? Joshua even explicitly says in an earlier scene that the Phoenix can mend flesh, but not restore a spirit. Yet, the difference from then and the end is that when Clive healed Joshua, he was using the power he absorbed from Ultima, the power of a God. We know this because after Clive heals Joshua, he states that his body wasn't enough to be able to handle Ultima's power after all. And if Ultima's power wasn't important narratively, then Clive could have healed Joshua's flesh once he absorbed the Phoenix's power, rather than this act occurring after. Besides, whatever he did to Joshua must have utilized a great deal of power, not just the power of simple healing/mending flesh, to have been too much for his vessel body. And while the powers of the Phoenix can't restore a spirit on their own, we really don't know what they would be capable of in conjunction with Ultima's power.

Even before this, we know that Joshua's power earlier went to bounds that it should not have been able to when he reached Clive, who was trapped in Ultima's nightmare realm. Ultima says something like, "You shouldn't have the power to do this. How is this possible? This is the power of creation," (paraphrase). I think that Joshua and Clive's powers, when fueled by their will, determination, and brotherly love, are capable of stretching beyond any normal bounds. There's no telling what they'd be capable of when combined with Ultima's power. Therefore, as Clive cycles through the memories of his brother and burns with the will for the power to heal him, Clive was able to actually revive Joshua at the end.

My last though on Joshua surviving is not based on any actual game events/lore/evidence, so might perhaps be more copium fueled, but I think it also makes more sense for Clive's story arc. The game begins with him (nearly) killing his brother, and a full loop would end with him saving him. Final Fantasy XVI is after all, more than anything, a story of brotherly love. For Clive's final act to be to save his brother and fulfill his duty as Joshua's shield, is a much more satisfying and complete story and character arc imo.

Anyway, those are just my thoughts. Like I said, it's really up to interpretation which, if any of those three, might have survived. The only thing that would change that would be if we got a post-game DLC that confirmed things one way or another. But, for now, this is what makes the most sense to me, for better or worse.

[thornfield13713]

4, 15 and 27 for Rosie!

What would your Tav’s romance scenes look like? How many would they have?

Hmm...I lean to her being one of the more content-heavy romances, just because the Urge would play into them so heavily, and at least one would have to be her waking you up to tell you that her evil butler has just demanded she kill her lover and she needs to be stopped now. As for what they'd look like...slow, cautious, constantly dancing around the issue of her Urge and the fact that she cannot trust herself to be safe. Rosie is, always, entering into a relationship against her better judgement, and always feels like she's asking too much of a partner. Honestly, it might look quite a lot like the Anders romance in Dragon Age 2, with the constant 'this is too much, this is a bad idea, you shouldn't be with me, you should run for your own good' warnings. Except in this case there is an actual evil force in her body, and not a Spirit of Justice who is the realest paladin that series has to offer who deserved better treatment from the wri- Ahem. I'm getting off topic.

But, yeah, the biggest issue with Rosie's early romance is her lack of trust in herself, her absolute terror of her own impulses and desires, but those elements would co-exist with the fact that she is a lot more of a romantic than she first appears, and expresses that in some very classic knightly ways - pining, doing great deeds for her lover, keeping tokens...all those classic chaste courtly devotion things, but not being quite able to trust herself to get closer. There would probably also have to be an element of gently persuading her that you want more than just the outward shell of Perfect Paladin, which- yes, the knight-in-shining-armour thing is a big part of her personality, but you'd probably get good responses for encouraging her to open up and show things like her dark sense of humour, enjoyment of ghost stories, and various other quirks that don't quite fit with that exterior.

Is your Tav more likely to fight/flight/freeze/fawn?

In her own mind, Rosie tends to react to things by freezing first- she's so used to reining in her own impulses that it's become an automatic response. She'll fight when her pride is pricked, or when she's forced into it, but her first responses tend to be very much 'lock down on whatever horrible thing I would do if left to my own devices'. When the Urge takes over, it's all fighting all the time, because the Urge is- in many ways, the part of Rosie most determined to keep her alive, it's tied up with a lot of her most primal instincts, and it kind of shows - most notably in her killing of the Flaming Fist officer whose face her Guardian has co-opted.

What is the worst thing they’ve ever done/said to someone they love?

Um...consciously or unconsciously? Because it's kind of hard to top the brutal murders of her entire family while still a child, but that wasn't really her. Or- it was, the Urge is a part of her, but it was committed in the same sort of fugue as Alfira, which makes culpability tricky. Consciously...again, it's hard to define 'worst' during her time with the cult, because after a certain point it's hard to figure out atrocities, and she certainly committed a lot of very violent against people she loved in that time - Orin and Sceleritas being the standouts, though Sceleritas came in for more of it than Orin, just because he would always come back, whereas Orin's fate if she died was...more dubious. I do wonder if she might've killed Orin at some point, and then Bhaal brought Orin back because, at that time, he had need of two potential Chosen, competing with each other to serve him and pushing each other to greater heights in that competition. And- I can't help but notice the parallels between some of Orin's behaviour and the behaviour of a Dark Urge who becomes Bhaal's chosen, but destroys the Elder Brain - the way they move, they even speak in a similar way to Orin, the combined adjectives and very sensory description of murder and violence. All of which sounds horribly familiar, and sort of suggests that Orin is in a similar position, though clearly not as extreme, as she can still plan and think and come up with ideas of her own in a way that the protagonist doesn't seem to be able to in that version of the epilogue.

If I end up going with this one, the next order of business after she, Wyll and Karlach get out of Avernus is probably going to involve finding out how the Bhaalspawn protagonist of the first two games managed to resurrect Sarevok without his divine essence (quite how he got that back between games I truly wish I knew) and then doing that for Orin, because- well, Rosie owes her a debt either way, but it gets so much worse if this is the case, and it's monstrously unfair that her sister, the person responsible for her second chance, was denied that chance for herself.

[rainwingmarvel7]

For the Heraldry questions, with your HOTD characters!~ 💚🖤🩶💜

Green: 4

Black: 2

Gold: 2

Purple: 2

Thanks so much for the ask!

Green 4: Does your OC believe in the importance of fidelity in romantic relationships? Or does it not worry them so long as a lover or spouse never discovers their peccadillos in this regard? Conversely do they worry or obsess over the loyalty of their partner or partners?

Kaleb: This is a bit of an interesting question for Kaleb. In theory, yes he believes in the importance of fidelity in romantic relationships, especially once he’s officially with Rhaenyra. However, he himself has often been in the position of “the other man”, so he is more understanding of it, in particular with Rhaenyra and Alicent and their lovers. That being said, he does worry about Rhaenyra’s loyalty on multiple occasions, especially after what happens with Mysaria, but Rhaenyra’s ultimate assurance that he is the man that she truly loves dissuades that fear.

Black 2: Has your OC always been fundamentally the same person? Or would someone from their past struggle to recognise the person they have become?

Therese: By the end of her life, Therese is not the same person as the young, innocent Northern girl she once was. Her failed marriage to Aegon brought bitterness to her heart, which only grew throughout the Dance. The deaths of her brothers, Lucerys and Tristan, left her deep in grief, and it was only made worse with the demise of her husband, Jacaerys. At that point, she had fallen into a grief-filled madness, anything soft and sweet about her turned cold and hard as stone and as burning and raging as a flame.

Gold 2: Does your OC have any wishes or desires of which they are ashamed or otherwise wish to keep secret? Or do they loudly proclaim their every wish to those around them?

Tristan: This question has multiple layers for Tristan, I think. At the most obvious level, Tristan secretly desires for Helaena’s love, which he has, and wishes to be with her as more than just a forbidden lover. More than this, and much more buried, Tristan wishes to be with his mother and father, despite his allegiance to the Greens through Helaena. His true loyalty is to his mother and the Blacks, but he knows that to express that sentiment would mean having to flee King’s Landing and abandon Helaena, which he cannot bear to do (although he ends up having to anyway, and it does not end well).

Purple 2: Is your OC comfortable in the higher echelons of society, such as aristocratic functions or assemblies of the rich and powerful? Or do they prefer to avoid these events if possible?

Baelon: Baelon, my sweet porcupine boy! Baelon is relatively comfortable in high society, given that he was born into a noble house. However, his house is a minor one, and he is the son of a second son, so he is also used to being in the background of courtly life. He would prefer not to attend such events, as he has a wild spirit, but he does so without much complaint. When he arrives at Dragonstone and becomes a member of the Blacks, he is eager to prove himself and his house, so he takes part in whatever aristocratic functions that he can. Once he gets in a relationship with Mysaria, that desire only grows, and he becomes much more comfortable, although never entirely.

[ask-richard-jackdaw]

Hi Richard!

I hope you are well! 💕 Have you ever heard of spirit boards? *pulls one out from behind her back*

They were invented after your death, but muggles seem to think they can be used to communicate with ghosts. It’s a board with letters on it, and people are supposed to ask a ghost a question, and the ghost moves this little marker *hold up planchette* over the letters to spell out their answer.

What are your thoughts on these silly little things?

- K 💕

Dear K, 

How wonderful it is to receive a letter from you! Hope this is just the first of many yet to come~

Yes, I have heard of the spirit boards. People who started mass-producing them did not realize that they would mostly be entertaining ghosts and not humans! Ah, the number of tricks I've pulled on muggles since they cannot see ghosts like wizards do! Of course, as a spirit, I could not really touch anything or move the planchette but... I had free rein over everything else that I *could* influence: water, fire, wind, temperature, that kind of stuff. 

Call me a performer if you wish! Was somebody drinking water during a séance? I would splash it in their faces! Is somebody telling a scary story? Float right through them — and all of a sudden everyone wants to turn on all the lights and be done for the night. Most of the people I've haunted used candles, so snuffing them out at an important moment? Check. Moving my hand in the direction of the flame to turn it blue? Check. Sometimes if I wanted all the candles in the room to go blue but the flames were too far away from each other, I had to do crazy gymnastics for the colour change to happen! 

There was this one old house with a portrait of some long long long dead relative that was right above a fireplace. The candles at the table did their magic but the muggles didn't seem to notice the change, the trick going over their heads. So I just used my head instead: I tossed it into the fireplace from where I was floating above the table! I did not anticipate how powerful that throw would be as the fireplace suddenly erupted into blue flames with a petrifying roar before going out completely! People were rattled in their chairs, within seconds it got so cold I could see people's breath, and it was the middle of summer! This whole incident started me as well, for a moment I thought I saw the portrait of the old man above move... Needless to say that both the humans and I were done for the night.

Of course, I do not wish to truly scare or hurt people, I want to have as much fun as they do. And sometimes you stumble upon those situations that would make your heart bleed. I had to deal with a little girl that wanted to talk to her grandmother with the help of a spirit board once but she could not read, and there was nothing I could do for her other than find a way to communicate through the flames. Blue for yes, red for no. Experiences like that really... humble you. A ghost might know what it's like after death, I know what to expect, I've lost people since I was unable to grow old with them. But...

*Richard shakes his head. He needs to take a small break from thinking about such things. It is just like that one saying goes: Don't pity the dead. Pity the living.*

But, overall, my opinion on the spirit boards? They are nothing special. It is all about the people who believe in this kind of stuff. I know I'm not the only ghost that enjoys hanging out with humans, I was literally shooed away once by a ghost because it wasn't my "haunting ground". 

Have a wonderful day, my darling, and do not let any of this spooky stuff get into your head. If the spirits ever bother you — please, come find me instead. No need to summon me through the spirit board, I'll come willingly~

Your dear ghost entertainer,

Richard Jackdaw

[stargazingfordreams]

A court of Night and stars

Hey guys, welcome to my first fanfic. I hope you guys enjoy it. I couldn't get this story out of my head, so here goes. Nyx pov will be up maybe in the following two chapters.

Summary- Random killings have been happening all over Pythian and make its ways to a kingdom in the fae realm known as Mareen. Emrys grieves the loss of her sister and keeps her domain away from war, and she gets help from an unexpected ally.

Pairing- Adu!t Nyx x OC

warnings-None 

Chapter One

Emrys Pov 

Song- The other side by Ruelle

I sat on the dais in the throne room. My mother, the queen, sat on her throne above everyone, looking at her people. She wore all white like my older sister and me. Everyone else in the room wore black.

“ We are here today to honor the death of my eldest child, your future queen,” her voice wavered ever so slightly that no one in the room seemed to notice.

My older sister Sauda was looking down. Her dark ebony skin was pale, and her eyes were tired. I hadn’t slept either. My mother looked over at Sauda and reached out her hand, and she stood and took it. She led her in front to speak to the room.

“My sister Annika was Joyful and loving. Kind and brave. She would have been an amazing queen, and I will lead you all with the same grace she would have.” she walked to Annika's unmoving body on the pyre that was going to be burned. I could feel it panging in my chest as my sister's emotions washed over me. Finally, I pulled myself back, leaving only my sorrow in my body; only my feelings resided again.

“I know you will be watching me, kessa”(kessa-sister), She said and then turned to me. Everyone turns to me because there expect a warrior princess who has trained in combat and fought her enemies, but today that is not me; today, I am a girl who has lost her older sister and does not know what to do without her. Our mother, the blood queen, and the ruler were waiting on me. My mother trained me to fight and lead, but my sister taught me to be more.

I walked up to her Pyre. I fought back the tears, the tightness in my throat, the whelming in my eyes.

“In death, there will be light, this is not the end for you, kessa, and this isn’t goodbye for us. May the spirit of our ancestors guide you; I will see you again in the next life” I let the tears run down my cheeks. My mother will see it as a weakness, but I see it as my love for her. I took the torch from the maester and lit the pyre. It went up in flames but so did her body.

------------------------------------

I walked down the hallway alone. It had been a whole week since the funeral, and I hadn’t seen much of my family since then when I walked into the council room. My mother and sister, council and general were waiting.

“I apologize for my lateness,” I said as I took my seat.

“We will begin now, then as many of you know, Ranthian has been going from courts and kingdoms killing people, and as of recently, he took the life of our late Princess.” Maester Harken spoke.“This cannot go unpunished. So we have agreed to meet with the high lords of Prythian.”

“Will this mean war?” I spoke up and asked; my spine chilled, and my stomach pitted.

“I will not let this go, so if it comes to it, then yes, and that goes for anyone who stands in my way,” My mother said. There was silence in the room. I understood more than anyone what a war would mean, not just for me but for our tropes. But it's for my kessa. My kessa. She wouldn’t want this, but I had to give this to her. I had to do this for her.

“Yes, Of course, we will wait for the word of Queen Kirsi '' Sujeed said. He looked over to me, and with a boyish smirk, he nodded. I simply looked away. I had always ignored his advances, mostly because I knew my mother expected me to marry him. He is the general of our army, and the third princess could not ask for anyone better, and if I do not do so of my own free will, she will arrange it, and he knows it too. However, the night that I found out my sister had died, he found me crying and gave me comfort. I wanted to feel anything other than sadness, and I made the mistake of fucking him not once but twice that night. He wasn’t my first. I would not tell him or my mother that, but he was acting as if we were love-sick youth, and I have been avoiding him.

“So if there is nothing more, then that will be all” we were all dismissed to go. I was the first to leave.

“Emrys'' I heard a hushed whisper, looked down the hall, and saw Leola coming toward me.

“Well?” she asked me.

“We might go to war with our two neighbors if it comes to that,” I said, strolling down the hall toward the gardens. We passed by large floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed so much natural sun. I looked out those windows at the parks and past that was my kingdom, my home that would soon be tainted by the blood of war. No, I won’t let it come to that; I won’t let it come to the shores of my home. Leola gave me a small smile, but I could see the look of sadness and a little fear in her eyes.

“Does this mean you're going to give your lover a proper send-off?” she tried jokingly teasing me to make light of what she was feeling. I scoffed at her remark.

“I didn’t tell you that, so you can use that against me. You know I told you that as My best friend,” I nudged her side playfully, letting out a small laugh.

“Emrys,” I heard a strong voice behind me, only to turn and see my mother standing there with her hands resting in front of her. Leola turned around and gave her a deep bow.

“Your grace,” she said, ensuring she had moved along fast.

“Yes, mother?” I said to her as her ever-obedient daughter. She stalked toward me with grace and power. Not even turning her head in my direction, she says, “walk with me.”

We walked outside into the garden of roses and lilies. She turned to face me, and her brown eyes met mine. I studied my mother like she had taught me to learn an enemy. Her eyes watched my brown. I watched as the sun kissed her chestnut skin like it was kissing mine. I watched as she fixed the sleeve of the maroon-colored dress that I was wearing.  

“We are going into war, crana. Do you know what that means? Do you know what I will expect of us, especially of you?” But, she said to me, There was still hope, still time to stop it.

“Yes, mother, of course. I am to lead the armies with Sujeed if it comes to war. We are to be led into victory. Being captured isn’t an option. Failure isn’t an option,” I said, standing up straight so she would find no fault in me or my answer.

“Good.” she took paused and then sighed. “ Emrys, we are fae. We live long and are hard to kill, but no one and nothing can escape death. I will not always be here, and with us charging into this war, I cannot say that we will all make it.” She looked to the horizon, the sun's pretty colors

“Mother, I-” she cut me off.

“I might die in this war; your sister might as well, and if we do, that will make you the queen of Mareen. You will not disappoint me or this bloodline.” Her eyes held an unreadable expression.

“I won’t, mother, but you and I both know what this is about and who Ranthian is killing. We should be telling the high lords of Prythian,” I pleaded.

“No child If we make it through this war. I will need to plan your sister's wedding and then, of course, yours; I am sure that Sujeed will need some time to heal his battle wounds, but as soon as he’s healed, you both will have a grand wedding. The secret will stay safe with us.” she began walking away with that last statement, most liking avoiding giving away her genuine emotions about what she was feeling. My people have managed to stay away from the business of another fae since the very beginning. We have wanted no part in what Prythian or Hybren had done to their land or the humans who lived on it. We have created peace between the humans who lived here and us, and now we will alter all of it.

----------------------------------

I watched the night sky enjoying it as if it would be my last as a warm breeze flowed in. Midnight my familiar lay at my feet, his bright yellow eyes alert, and his black fur shined in the moonlight. I was at peace petting the spoiled panther before me until I heard a knock at my door.

“Princess?” Sujeed moved his head into my room.

“Yes, General Sujeed,” my voice couldn’t hide my annoyance. I just wanted tonight. I just wanted a minute to process what tomorrow might be like. This will not be my first war. Maureen hadn’t been a place of peace, but after the civil war, I thought that maybe this would be it.

“The watch for tonight will be changing now.” He said with a bow and smirk.

“You’ve never felt the need to tell me you would be standing guard before,”  I said to him.

“Oh no, it won’t be me but rest knowing that I put one of my best to guard for you tonight. I really came in here to talk to you.” He moved further into my room though the door was still open. I shifted in my seat on my window sill.

“I don’t think that we have anything to talk about,” I said to him.

“It’s about tomorrow. I want you to stay close, and if you see danger, please just run. I can protect you.” I scoffed and shook my head.

“You want me to run from a fight when my people are risking their lives,” I said

“I want to keep you safe,” he said. Coming closer. Midnight's eyes were fixed on him.

“Well then, I hate to disappoint you, but I won’t be doing that” I got up from the window sills and moved to my vanity. I picked up some hair oil in a bottle and started putting it in my hair, looking into my mirror and not at the general, who took it upon himself to come further into my room and close the door behind him; I stopped what I was doing to glare in his direction. Still, it seemed as though no matter how much he looked at me, he wasn’t seeing me.

“I don’t want this to be up for a discussion. Truly it shouldn’t be your safety that is best for all of us. If anything happens to the Kirsi or Sauna, then it will be you to take over the throne, and we can’t have you dead.” A nerve in me was being pushed at. He quickly forgot his place, and then a thought struck me.

“You spoke to my mother, haven't you? What did she tell you?” My tone was deadly, and he was wise to be worried. He straightened his back and took straight at me.

“When all is done, you are to be my wife, I look forward to that, Emrys, but that day won’t come if you are no longer here. So please, for our sake, for the sake of the life we will have, stay away from danger” he took a step forward, but I took one back.

“I think it is time for you to leave.”

“Emrys, please I-“

“No, just leave,” I said, taking a threatening step toward him. Midnight was now up, eyeing him down. A challenge to try if he dared to disobey. He stepped back, took his last bow, and left through the door. When I was again by myself, I finished my hair for the night, went back to the window sill, and looked up at the stars. A million thoughts and emotions ran through my head, but none mattered, not right now, and it was just me and the night sky.

[cr1pt1d-c0r3]

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

lute from hazbin hotel

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

she doesn’t really have one

3) What song describes your OC?

pretty little psycho- idk who

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

moth to the flame - Luluyam

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

nope

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

She is in a modern time in the story my friend and I are making she is an Assasin

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

She would be a rouge

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

she likes to sing and she also designs and makes stuff

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

yes she does

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

murder and she thinks the way she acts is normal

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

Mostly my other oc and my friends oc but other than that different characters

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

She’s friends with @torres-of-the-cesar-variety oc

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

her rival is with her brother and boyfriend there is too much to unpack for how it started 😭

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

Her brother

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

I don’t think so she would die before that probably 😭

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

she killed them ☺️

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

she does not have kids

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

She/her

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

lesbian and her love language is biting

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

guns

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

Family jewels

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

fighter

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

She wouldn’t help you because she’s asleep

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

Sadly no

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

She sings a lot so yeah

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

black dahlia

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

idk honestly

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

goth

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

blood drips, guns, wine glass, lighters, fire, lesbian flag

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

Depends how she likes your oc

Fuck it, OC brain rot won. Get ready for the Secret Ask List

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

3) What song describes your OC?

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for September 19

Morning

“Let your loins be girded about.”

Luke 12:35-48

Luke 12:35

Eastern garments require to be girded up when a man begins to work. The Saviour tells us to be prepared for service towards God, and for testimony before men. We are to get ready, and to keep ready.

Luke 12:36

We are to live in expectation, waiting to hear the knock of our Master at the door. Are we so living? Do we look for the coming of the Lord?

Luke 12:37

This is not according to the manner of men, for what master will wait upon his servants? Yet the condescending love of Jesus promises to us this high honour. Who would not cheerfully obey such a Lord?

Luke 12:38-40

Watch and wait: at any moment Jesus may be here. What manner of persons ought we to be, who live in such an expectation?

Luke 12:41

It had a bearing upon all, but the Lord, in answer to Peters question, proceeded to show its special bearing upon ministers of the gospel.

Luke 12:42

It was anciently the steward’s duty to allot to every member of the family his regular portion, and so are the stewards of Christ to instruct all classes of persons, giving to each the teaching most appropriate.

Luke 12:43-46

The most terrible punishments will be richly deserved by those who, being placed in the responsible position of caring for the souls of others, shall dare to neglect them, and shall even use their power and influence to tyrannise over them and oppress them. May the Lord send us faithful ministers, and keep them faithful.

Luke 12:47 , Luke 12:48

God’s judgments will be exactly according to right, and none shall have cause to complain. The highest degree of punishment will fall to the lot of some of us if we neglect the gospel, for we have much light and knowledge; and therefore, our sin will be the greater.

Ye servants of the Lord,

Each in his office wait,

Observant of his heavenly word,

And watchful at his gate.

Let all your lamps be bright,

And trim the golden flame:

Gird up your loins as in his sight,

For awful is his name.

Watch! ‘tis your Lord’s command;

And while we speak he’s near;

Mark the first signal of his hand,

And ready all appear.

Evening

“Thou art loosed from thine infirmity.”

Luke 13:11-17

We are now about to consider one of our Lord’s miracles, wrought upon a woman who had long been in sorrow. May it comfort any who are spiritually in a like condition.

Luke 13:11

Poor creature, to be so long deformed, so long made to suffer at every step she took! Her condition was very grievous, but she did not stay away from public worship. If she had done so, she would not have been found by Jesus in the synagogue.

Luke 13:12 , Luke 13:13

When souls which have long been bowed down are graciously made upright, they never fail to give praise to God.

Isaiah 49:13-16

There are many persons to be found who are bowed down with despondency of spirit, and cannot lift up themselves to enjoy a comfortable hope. Let such take heart from the case before us; and let them also remember that the Lord does not now forget the sorrowful and broken-hearted. We see this expressly stated in Isaiah 49:13-16.

Hebrews 2:14-18

That he might be able to sympathise with downcast souls, and bear with their infirmities, Jesus himself became a man like ourselves. Troubled hearts should think of this, and be of good cheer. The Holy Spirit speaks of him most sweetly in Hebrews 2:14-18.

Darkness and doubts had veil’d my mind,

And drown’d my eyes in tears,

Till, like the sun, my Saviour’s face,

Dispell’d my gloomy fears.

Oh, what immortal joys I felt,

And raptures all divine,

When Jesus told me I was his,

And my beloved mine!

In vain the tempter frights my soul,

And breaks my peace in vain;

One glimpse, dear Saviour, of thy face

Revives my joys again.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[exsanguinated-doves]

(contemporary) prose poetry bonaganza

ahh..so was supposed to send this out to a writing zine competition and the submissions went wonky, and we all had to resubmit. however, I did not, so I'll be sharing this with tumblr.

infavourable : a thing about queer love, climate change, and cultural christianity,

love is stupid; in the way it appears in all shapes and forms, — In the way that it reveals itself out of nowhere, in the way we find it in our lives at moments where it shouldn’t — the entire concept of it is absurd, and ridiculous. (Let’s just break it into pieces.)

How it is coveted, a prize, to be won and claimed [claimed; a clamp of a cuff on a wrist / the bite of an engagement ring / it holds steadfast and clings /— to be shaped and formed — to be used with excessive force — ] how freeing it is; but, the terrible agony that it comes with, "this agony of marriage!"

‘we see not only a cage, but a trap in itself, for this, it is looked down upon..? “when it is not a cage nor a trap but something one wills to go into;’ [ in the same way a starved man would hunger and yearn for a bit of bread to pass his lips ] and one which is a divine gift [ when a mommy and daddy love each other very much ...] a blessing from the — (no, don’t even say it)

but, behold, my rules for this act of service, it must only be two lest it be a congregation of sin; one must do it in the spirit of the most High, and the man, and woman, must be bonded by the most scared act of marriage (you and your three divorces?) or else; one is nothing but an unclean sacrifice , and will be gnashing their teeth in the sulfur flames for all eternity [in the depths of the inferno; I cannot say which burns hotter, our passion, our desire, or your hatred for us , or global warming]

as a woman, you are bound by the duty, to be of a dutiful wife (or bring everlasting shame to your family and your descendants and everyone else who you have borne with the Prince of Hell) you must love a man; nothing else, and in return he may give you diamonds (and discard you!) and if you are a man, you must love a woman, (show none of your tears; you must have a girl before nightfall) and therefore, you shall procreate , and spread His holy word (hey guys , He said I can’t love women, yeah, sorry - “would He be fooled if I wear pants and you the skirt?” — you know what, let’s give it a try -)

paragons of virtue, you should be, as little girls like you are white and pure and clean (I am the Antichrist and I was borne with no gender ; because I am the devil’s associate. “we’re going as harley and ivy though, right?” - yes, of course - “should your mother think you have dressed as Salome with your sparkling clothes, just tell her it’s for a play” — I think she would prefer I dance for men than you — “you don’t even dance well-“ I mean ballet. I can do that! — “and the real devil after all were those billionaires” — and capitalism — “and mega corporations” — and amazon — “and those fascists” — and that prime minister of yours; — “ah, this is why I love you ..!” )

and I drink the blood of not Christian boys but of my own when I bite my lip a bit too hard when I see her smile

[ her laugh is silvery as water, for her, how could I not? ]

[uselessboss]

Mistakes(2/3)

He was an existence of “nots" and “don'ts".

This appearance, this “disguise" might fool people at first but it wasn't an easily sustainable lie. Spend enough time around him and the farce would easily crumble away. He might look human but couldn't act like one.

He was an unending existence. There was no danger to threaten him nor sustenance required. He didn't need to sleep, eat nor drink so he lacked most of the sensory “motivations" other beings had.

He could not taste, he could not feel the extremes of heat and cold, his sense of smell was very limited and he couldn't experience physical pain derived from a wound as his body could never be harmed.

He couldn't relate. He couldn't share in suffering nor happiness. He couldn't experience life as a human.

Perhaps it was why he admired “them" so much. 

Faust Miller and Crowa Miller. 

They were special and unique even among others of their kind and he didn't mean that just because of their spiritual powers.

(Although that also made them different from others as well)

They were the most empathetic humans he ever met.

He always had viewed himself by his limitations. By what he wasn't, by the differences that separated him from others and could create a rift between them. An outcast that didn't belong anywhere.

‘You might be deprived of some experiences Saramsrein, but that does not mean you are entirely excluded from it'

But they… They always saw him as more than that.

‘See these tarts Saramsrein? What do you think?’

‘I… Cannot taste or eat them Faust'

‘Yes, but you can see its colors right? Look at the artful way the berries were placed and the design of the crust, isn't it pretty?”

‘…Yes. I like it'

‘Taste is nothing more than one of the ways we can perceive and enhance our experiences so even if you are unable to appreciate something in one way there will always be other options available to you’

No question was stupid, no doubt was insignificant and no inquiry went unanswered. Always so gentle, understanding and patient, they extended their hands to him and made him feel welcomed. It was easy and comfortable to be around them.

Maybe he didn’t need to know everything. Perhaps understanding everything did not matter after all. What was important was that Faust and Miller did and that was enough for him.

...He was so naive.

“Saramsrein... Why... WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!”

Miller had found out what he did.

“Why did you spirit away... Why did you kill all these people?!”

“To protect you”

He barely managed to save her the first time. The inferno of fire surrounding her, the injuries her body sustained, the way her heart and mind had been almost broken by the work of the almagamation of vengeful spirits of spiteful humans taking hold of her... It was a miracle she was alive.

And there were people that wanted to snuff out the light of her life. That small flame, just like a candle, that flickered in danger of going out at any moment as she laid defenseless in her bed, so emaciated from everything she went through.

He couldn’t let that flame go out.

“You promised grandfather! Promised that you wouldn’t kill anymore!” her already feeble body started to quake uncontrollably. “How could you break your promise so easily? To him of all people?”

“He wouldn’t have thought that if it was to save his granddaughter” He tried to justify. “They were going to hurt you Miller. I NEEDED to do that”

“...Needed?” Her voice faltered

...No matter how difficult it was, no matter what kind of question he had, no matter what mistakes he did Miller had always explained him everything. She always taught him what he did wrong and how to fix his blunders.

But not this time.

Miller took a step back. Mutely, petrified, her eyes were unfocused, as if she couldn’t see him, as if she couldn’t RECOGNIZE him.

Rejection.

He felt shame creep up inside him.

Of what, he didn’t know.

He didn’t understand what he did wrong but knew that he DID do something wrong. He had messed up. Badly. He hurt her and didn’t know how to apologize, how to make up for it.

“Mi-” He reached out.

She strumbled backwards, hitting the wall and then slid to the floor, curling into a ball, voice incoherent and frantic, shoulders quaking as she sobbed pitifully.

He let his hand drop.

“I... I am sorry” He uselessly apologized.

He disappeared. Out of her life. Out of the world. Not a trace of his existence left in her reality.

It would be the last time they would ever see each other again.

...Is what he thought.

“Saram... Saramsrein, I need your help”

She had called for him. Once again.

For a perpetual being like him time usually meant nothing. If he had to compare numbers, the time they had not seen each other wasn’t that long as the inumerous lifetimes he had to wait to see her grandfather, Faust, again.

Yet that felt like the longest time ever.

He didn’t know what happened, but even he could tell that Miller went through a lot during the time they hadn’t see each other.

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

She filled him in on everything. About the new role she had undertaken for the sake of protecting people, how hard it had been to deal with the scorn, distrust and envy from others and the heavy responsabilites that have been placed on her.

About the people that gave her strength during this time, her expression going soft at the mention of certain names, “Hunter” and “Johannes” being mentioned a lot, specially the later as she described how he lost his life when he got involved in a supernatural event and how she was unable to save him. The loss, sadness and grief still palpable in her voice.

She talked about lot of things.

...Except what happened prior to all those events. She didn’t aknowledge nor seemed to want to talk about what transpired between them back then.

Nor did he.

She made arrangements to introduce him to the people she trusted, the people that had been supporting her all this time and that were pivotal in assuring that new tragedies won’t happen again.

He recognized one of them.

“After we met that day you stopped visiting her”

He flinched. His face scowling in pain and regret.

Oh. He said something bad. He hurt him.

“... After a series of missing cases that happened around the time Miller was in the hospital I was put under arrest on the suspicion of being the responsible for it”

He felt something drop in the pit of his insides.

“... Does Miller knows that?”

“No, or at the very least I didn’t tell anything to her” he shook his head. “I didn’t want to burden her any further”

The feeling of dread crystalized as a horrifying realization hit him.

The consequence of his actions. Because of what he did Miller was driven apart from the only person that could be there for her.

And he had abandoned her. Out of cowardice. At her weakest, when she needed help the most. Left with no one else, Miller was forced to pull herself up together on her own accord and keep struggling with no respite. All alone.

Even if it was for the sake of saving lives, to reach for him despite everything he did was a testament of her strength of heart.

No. It was not because she was stronger, but because she BECAME stronger.

He could only guess that it was thanks to those two.

She didn’t look lonely anymore.

Miller... She seemed genuinely happy when with those two.

He didn’t want to ruin the happiness she fought so hard to achieve.

So he avoided being anywhere around them, to Miller, as much as possible. To only manifest when Miller called to help solve cases but otherwise sticking straight to the boundaries of the home Miller provided to him or not being in the human realm at all.

Speaking of his “home”, it was still a mystery the reasoning behind why she would ever do that.

Didn’t he disgust her? Didn’t she seem him as a monster? Hate him?

He... Didn’t understand. Everything was so confusing.

Too much happened to be simply brushed off and for them to go back to how things were before his screw up. It was hard to say if they were even in “good terms”. Miller might not have show open hostility to him but he could see her troubled and complicated expression whenever they interacted.

It made him sad. To know that things could never be the same again.

He thought he accepted that, that he deserved it, but as he kept watching the strong bonds between her and the other two, how close they were, it made a small and persistent thought form in his head.

Maybe he couldn’t go back to how things were before but perhaps he could make new bonds of his own?

But he didn’t know the first thing about making friends, let alone how to connect with people that weren’t Miller or Faust for that matter.

“Miller, how did you became close with those two?”

“You mean Hunter and Andrews? Let me see...” She tapped her chin in deep thought. “I guess you could say it was a matter of “respect””

“Respect?”

“Yes” She nooded. “It might come off as a surprise but I didn’t start in good terms with either Andrews nor Hunter. In fact, they disliked me quite a lot when we first met”

“Huh? Really?”

“Really” Miller chuckled as she recalled their first meeting. “It was a long process. To learn to trust each other, see past our own prejudices and the good inside ourselves”

“And how does “respect” plays into it?”

“Our actions, our decisions are reflections of what we are. Make sloppy choices and it will lead to unreliable and flawed results” she explains. "...On the other hand, if you do things with care, dedication, integrity and commitment then the results will be far more positive. It will be something that you can take pride on and that can instill respect on others. A respect that can turn into admiration and appreciation”

United by a sense of “purpose”.

He didn’t really have something like that.

But maybe, just maybe he could replicate it by “coping” her? 

Her two closest confidants were her colleagues after all.

Safir was the first human he approached of his own accord after Faust and Miller.

He knew not all humans were the same but it still surprised him how Safir was nothing like “them”.

Faust and Miller stood tall, wise, strong, confident while Safir was meek, shy and insecure. His body looked so small, delicate and thin that it made you think he was made of glass and could shatter easily as one.

And yet appearences could be misleading.

Safir was far more resilient and braver than he looked.

He might doubted himself a lot. He might have been scared of reprisals and cowered under the mental scars of the abuses he went through but he still pressed on to try his best regardless of his fears.

If anything HE was the one that have been struggling the most here.

He winced as he remembered their first day together. How he had pushed him too far, how unattentive and careless he was with his needs, leading to Safir collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

“No matter how thoroughly we are there’s always a risk of one measure not being covered because there are too many of them for us to remember. It’s something that could easily fly under our radar so you might run in a situation where you lack this vital information in no fault of yours”

He was wholly unprepared and lacking in more ways than one.

Despite how their first meeting went, how apprehensive Safir had been, he had quickly warmed up to Miller and often looked up to her for guidance.

It was only logical after all.

Miller knew everything. She was wise, mindful and nurturing. She knew how to play around weakness and bring out your strengths. Just like her grandfather before her Miller was someone that inspired the “admiration and respect” she talked about.

Meanwhile he was a screw up. A total failure. Overlooking so many important things, commiting so many careless mistakes.

It made him wonder if perhaps it wouldn’t be better if Miller directly took Safir under her wing. If she became his “real boss”.

It made him wonder why she didn’t speak against him being it. Why she left Safir under his care. Why, despite fixing and covering for his inumerous blunders and mistakes, that she hadn’t called him out at all.

He needed to talk to Miller.

“Thank you for coming and sorry for calling you so suddenly like that”

“It's alright, after all you seem to want to talk about something important isn’t that right?”

“... Miller why didn’t you bring attention to my mistakes? The inumerous things I have been doing wrong, things that could have jeopardized Safir’s safety?”

“Because I was waiting for you to reach me”

“What?” He blinked, owlish.

“Both me and grandfather have coddled you too much” Miller sighed “We readily explained everything to you, sometimes unprompted and that had a... Detrimental effect on you.”

“I... Don’t understand”

“Exactly” she stated. “And that’s the problem. We didn’t even give you a chance to try and figure things out by yourself, to develop critical thinking, to determine what your own set of morals and values were”

Her gaze softened.

“To find out what your wants and needs are”

“But I don’t require anything”

“I’m not talking about survival needs Saram” she shook her head. “Sometimes you face shortcomings and you require the means to overcome them. It’s also a “need” just as much as basic instincts are”

“...”

“The reason to why you are not improving from your failures is because you lack focus Saram, you don’t know what you want to do nor what you are aiming for”

“Our work...”

“You are not doing it because you want to save humans nor care about stopping supernatural activity. You are doing it simply because I asked you”

He flinches.

“Don’t get me wrong Saram, I’m not demanding you to see things this or that way, in any case, I’m still grateful for your help”

“Then... What should I do?”

“I don’t know. But I think you are beginning to have an idea of what YOU want”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you sought my help” Miller smiled “You identified that something wasn’t right and tried to find a solution for it. On your own accord, because you judged it was the right thing to do”

“But...”

He was still not very convinced.

Even more when all he had to show for his attempts are disastrous results.

“I... I can’t do it. I’m not like you or Faust. I can only hurt others. I don’t know how to do the right thing or know what it’s even supposed to be like”

“No one is perfect and exempt from failures Saram. Not me, grandfather or anyone else for that matter”

Her voice was filled with sadness and regret.

“I... Did so many mistakes, hurt so many people with my words and actions. Bystanders, friends, people dear to me” Miller looks him in the eye. “Including you”

She was talking about their fight.

“The words you had spoken were similar to “theirs”” Miller confessed. “The words they used to justify the torture, the massacre, the bloodshed they forced me to do”

A horrible nightmare that still haunted her to this day. An unending horror that had gripped her heart in captivity even after her physical body was free and her wounds closed.

“The way they betrayed... Used me shook me to the core. So when you tried to justify your own actions I thought... For a moment I couldn’t see anything else but you being the same as “them”“

So that was what had happened.

“I wanted to apologize for hurting you, for treating you like a monster, but I couldn’t shake my trauma away, even after that horrible nightmare came to an end. I coudn’t stop the tremors, the fear, the weakness in my heart”

That explained the complicated look on her face. 

It wasn’t a disguised feeling of hatred or ressentment. 

It was a feeling of guilty.

“It took me a while, but thanks to everyone’s patience and kindness, thanks to Andrews, Hunter and even you I could finally overcome some of that fear”

“Me?”

“You sought to interact and bond with other humans of your own volition, with no prompting from my part. The way you became more aware, more mindful of someone else’s needs and tried to provide for them and make up for your shortcomings... It was reassuring. You were nothing like those things.”

“You are doing much better than you think. You are capable of figuring things out by yourself Saram”

“...But what if there’s something I can’t understand? What if I try my hardest and that’s still not enough?”

“Then you can seek help. It’s not something you need to do alone. Find your questions and keep trying. If you lack the tools to find your answers then we can provide it to you, but the answer you create, the conclusion you reach I want it to be your own”

“I... I will try. I will try to do my best”

“And that’s all I ask of you”

“Miller?” He asks, shyly, as he buries his head on her shoulder.

“Yes Saram?”

“Are we... Are we still friends?”

“Yes. We are. Always, Saram”

[celevrian]

Who says you cannot be brave... his words paused her thoughts, and she realized she did not have an answer. Ever the shadow of her mother, faded into a barely noticed existence, she had always looked at those around her and believed them braver than she. Her books and scrolls were her interest and refuge, and she preferred her ability to disappear in the minds of others-- prided herself even at times. She was barely noticed, outshone by the brilliance of her mother, well beloved. But perhaps it was the fact that it was through her mother that she was so often seen that made her compare things like bravery. She had her mother's eyes, her ability to perceive, and far too many expected her to be Galadriel when she simply was not.

Even so there was much Celebrian was not sure she could have faced. Her parents had fought death, lived through horrors and trials, and come out the better for it. All things against which she was, as yet, untested. Her survival at Ost-in-edhil was perhaps a key, a sign that she was capable. But she didn't feel it yet.

Who said she could not be brave? She supposed she did. A silly thought now that she allowed it to be. But one she could dwell upon later. "A refuge of the spirit and the mind, yes." She answered, taking the seat which was offered and looking over Gil-Galad in concern. Was he injured?

She looked upon the falling towers, eyes seeking the roof of the Hall of Lore, her haven in that city. "There was so little I could save, I tried to save more, but I did not have the time to think and plan. I barely had the time to leave." He spoke knowledge lost, and she once more was dragged into a type of grief. "I am sorry I could not have done more. I who knew--" she stopped short. Within her mind there was a small voice which reminded her of her first day in Eregion. An image she had seen the moment she had crossed the threshold of the gate. Fire and smoke, death and shadow. She had greeted the smiling face of Celebrimbor, all while in her vision he had been bloodied, dying, smiling at her still.

She had tried to warn him, but he had not listened. Had not listened to her pleas. After all, even she did not know when or how it all would come to be. Those she saw usually didn't hear her, or could not do anything about it.

The same sort of visions she saw now as she turned to look at Gil-Galad. Reality bent and her newfound hope fell to pieces at her feet as she saw him, upon a hill of black, held by his neck with a hand of flame. He was burning, burning before her very eyes, and she longed to stop the one who held him--Then he was there again, whole and before her. Alive. She breathed a shuddering breath and like a child she wrapped her arms around his arm and laid her head upon his armored shoulder. Silently, she allowed tears to slide down her cheeks, heart throbbing with her newfound knowledge.

He was too good to die so horrifically. He was too noble, too loving of his people, too willing to sacrifice himself in more than body. As he'd said: there were griefs that only he bore. Griefs she wished for his sake he could share, for no one should bear them alone.

"An equal..." she answered him at last, and swallowed back her emotion and closed her eyes. "For they address you as their lord, that is not the same. Advisors serve a purpose, but what of a friend? Someone to whom you can set aside your crown a little while and simply be yourself."

The image returned to her mind unbidden and she banished it, locking it within a dungeon of her mental realm along with countless others whom she'd seen tragedy befall in waking dreams. She held him tighter, not noticing at first until she'd finally put the lock upon the vision, and when she did she loosened her hold with a look of worry. "Forgive me. I hope I did not hurt you. I saw you wince---earlier I mean. Are you injured?"

The fumes rising from the ravaged city would taint the skies for days to come, an ever present reminder of everything they had yet to face. Gil-galad tried to focus on Celebrían and her words, but inside, his heart wept and his mind was already tackling all the issues they would have to face even before reaching the vales at the feet of the Hithaeglir.

The armies awaited his word as they regrouped on the secured area just north of Ost-in-Edhil, where the mountain winds carried away the stench of death and blood and fire that lingered with them.

“If only that were so,” he mused, eyes lost on the ground beneath. “The wounds of the past are aching scars on a day like this; it is when all is safe that they open and threaten to fester.”

He had suffered that before, and still Gil-galad dreaded the moment when the weariness of the last weeks would settle in, when the fears he'd kept locked under key would come to him. When he would wonder whether he'd done enough, and whether he deserved his post after losing so many lives under his command.

“Who says you cannot be brave?” he offered softly, sitting on a low boulder and setting his helm between his feet. Aeglos rested by his side, its blade dull under the smoke-laden skies. He was not quite at ease —who would be in a place like this?— but Gil-galad allowed himself the luxury of resting the back of his head against the rock, eyes fixed on the clouds. “A refuge of sorts, one of the mental kind?”

A quiet hum left his throat; it was not a bad idea. The stars knew they would need to tend to their wounds, not only those of a more physical kind, for years to come. Having places where their people could gather to share their experiences and grow strong together was the kind of thing he would sign with no second thoughts.

“I did expect you to gather all the knowledge that can still be salvaged from these poor lands,” Gil-galad added quietly, his gaze shifting to Celebrían. “Oblivion will claim far too more than it deserves, and that is a sure way to plunge us deeper into the shadows.”

They had lost enough in the War of Wrath —an entire continent worth of places where they'd lived and loved, and all its memories, and most of the trinkets from a life that felt too far away.

The smile that graced Gil-galad's features was sad and fleeting, and his eyes closed for a few moments.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” he said in a low voice. “There is a share of grief that is only mine to carry, Celebrían, but I will not deny that your words have eased my mind today.” The High King winced, then moved to a side of his rock to make room for her. “I suppose I have my advisors, yes; even Círdan and Elrond. But I gather that is not what you are asking at all, are you not?”

[angelsndragons]

*sing* it's been ~a while~

and i have been watching vm vs the nein a lot so let's talk about it. as always with me, this is a very long word vomit.

i said over on my mechanics post that the vm playbook requires urgency while the nein's playbook requires setup. here's what i mean. if the nein can make it to round 3-4 intact, that is if all of them are up, they are going to win. period. the nein simply have too many ways to steal turns from their enemies or to maximize their own effectiveness for things to go any other way.

if you want to see this in action even with a reduced roster, go watch the fire elemental fight in episode 129 and count the rounds. between caduceus' mass cure wounds and spirit guardians, caleb's slow, veth's sneak attacks, and jester's guiding bolts, the nein were able to scrape out a win thanks more to their bag of tricks than the damage output. veth only got sneak attack because of guiding bolt's secondary effects, slow kept veth safe from an opportunity attack and jester from a multi-attack, mass cure wounds gave caleb that round to cast slow, and the spirit guardians passively whittled down the enemies into KO range. the accumulated secondary effects were too much for the enemies to withstand and they fell hard. notice how everything built on one another here. that's what cockroach parties learn to do well. it was sloppier than a normal nein fight but they did it with a reduced roster AND with nearly all of their high level spell slots spent before the fight. yeah, they're fucking scary.

vm, however, is a whole different kind of scary. this team can put you down before you even know what's happening. it's harder to target the group's biggest damage dealers because you have a hulking barbarian and often an elemental up front locking down combatants. the dagger rogue can teleport and fly. oh, and give himself an extra action each round. the ranger and the gunslinger can stand back and just go to town. the freaking bear can maul you. the bard can make your life a living joke in your final moments. the cleric is a wildcard because the group is built to fight without her; if she's around, good luck because that's another round of attacks you have to take and an extra round vm can take. their DCs are ridiculous, as are their overall ACs.

but the thing to know about vm is that they have to put you down fast. they don't have the hit points for longer fights and they definitely don't have the utility for longer fights. their druid is offensively oriented, their cleric is often absent, and their bard is mostly support. he's often the only one running that bag of tricks. he can and will fuck up an opposing team given the chance and bolster his own, the problem is that he has almost no backup here. it's a giant hole that is begging to be exploited. it's an even bigger hole when that bard can only cast one spell per round.

so, going into the battle royale, the vm side had to down one member of the nein as fast as possible preferably in two rounds or fewer. it almost doesn't matter who, because if you down beau or fjord, that forces jester or fjord to spend their action or spell getting the downed member back up. if jester goes down, fjord has to do something about it. well, i say it almost doesn't matter but beau's deflect missiles makes her the worst target of the trio and yes, i'm including fjord's half-orc bounce back in that calculation. that gives you one round where the person healing isn't fucking up your team. vm's secondary objective was to monitor and control beau. her movement is nothing to compared to a hasted vax but her stunning strike is the most lethal weapon the nein brought into this fight. vm overall is not a melee group to begin with and their con saves are all garbage. vm has to find a way to keep her off their tails if they want a chance. we also know that vm's plan was to try to take out jester first so throw that objective into the mix as well.

all the nein have to do is survive the first couple rounds, monitor scanlan and pike, and get into position. that's basically it. the nein can absolutely withstand vax and percy's damage output for the first two rounds. pike and scanlan's damage output can be scary but pike in particular has to decide whether she wants to hold high level slots for healing. and she would need those higher level slots to get close to percy and vax's damage output. the nein know from experience that the support caster is where the real trouble will begin.

but before we kick things off, remember that matt specifically designed this battlefield to take turns away from the teams. the chests are an action to search and are located far out of the way in the field. the gem requires an action to activate, which basically means sacrificing your action for someone else's, and shifts between six designated points on the field. matt, who has a deep understanding of how both teams operate, decided to play on the nein's insecurities that they were at a severe item disadvantage and see if he could get them to bite. high risk, high reward. granted, this is me speculating but it does look like matt saw the fight very differently from the players and readjusted the field accordingly.

so we kick off and immediately scanlan proves why he is the top priority on the nein's list. he gets the gem, gets fjord prone on the ground, and comes within a hair's breadth of turning the fight into a five on two potential slaughter. travis brilliantly responds to these circumstances in the best of ways. see, fjord isn't the nein's utility magician for this fight; fjord's the bait. travis makes a very big spectacle of himself and fjord's predicament. and vm buys it hook, line, and sinker. ashley tries to continue with the original plan of gunning for jester only to discover that jester is who knows where.

vax, percy and scanlan? immediately take their shots at fjord. but fjord's on the ground which puts percy's awful misfire mechanic into reasonable play. so fjord gets lucky and doesn't take anywhere near the amount of damage he could have from percy. scanlan, after percy is removed from the field, decides he's better off trying to finish fjord but only hits a 3rd level thunder wave instead of a higher level one, which sam was probably saving for some counterspells or such. i don't think a higher level would have made that much of a difference but it is important to note.

more importantly, vax gets greedy. he got two good hits on fjord with his two actions, he could have left and hidden for the next turn. yes, vm has to down fjord as fast as possible. however that haste is going to be more effective over the long term if vax can keep it. but fjord's easy prey and he thinks vm can down him before jester can get over there to do anything about it. so he goes for the bonus action attack. pike eventually joins this mad dash scramble and like scanlan, she absolutely needed to throw something huge at fjord to get past his half-orc racial trait to have a prayer at downing him. but she did not because ashley seems to have been saving all her high levels for healing so fjord survives the round in honestly a very good position. vax can't target him from range with the cloud up, scanlan now has bigger problems than fjord with molly right up on him, and pike ran, taking damage and healing fjord in the process.

meanwhile, the nein's ladies are free to run and play the field as they see fit. jester has a big opening round flame strike. beau decides she can hold off on her round 2 blitz run to vm in favor of bringing molly onto the field. remember kids, never let a monk with 55ft of movement have the run of the place, it's bad for business. jester then makes a great play with her dispel magic at vax's haste. hashtag thanks, fjord. remember, kids, cockroach parties excel at taking turns and actions away from their opponents. in round 2 alone, the nein successfully remove percy from the field and remove vax's extra attack. that's both big damage dealers hobbled in one round. they also gave themselves an extra turn, adding molly onto the field. and oh boy, molly.

here we see the utility martial fighter molly could have been. sam's confused by the low damage that molly's doing his first round but the damage isn't really the point of the attacks. that brand of tethering is far more important, as are taliesin keeping an eye on which reactions will support the nein and molly's second attack wasting scanlan's reaction. counterspell is off the table for the back half of round 2-beginning of round 3, which is important if fjord wants to get the heck out of dodge.

in case it wasn't obvious earlier in the match that the nein are absolutely gunning for scanlan, round 3 begins with beau's blitz against scanlan. fjord's luck against the dominate person balances out with scanlan's save against the stun and beau missing one attack. here, vm starts to get distracted. they chose their focus fire target, fjord, but now do not, arguably cannot, follow through on it. we'll never know what could have happened had vm said to hell with beau and molly in our faces, we have to finish fjord.

vax tries to retaliate against beau but here's where the cockroach starts to come into play. molly blood curses vax, which saves beau a full sneak attack+ worth of damage. it also utterly wastes vax's turn. fjord manages to escape (and damage pike while he's at it) and regroup where it's safe. scanlan tries to dimension door but fails due to the brand. literally any other move scanlan could try on the pair of them had a better chance of success. instead, another vm turn is lost. taliesin recognizes the importance of getting beau advantage and supports her at the cost of two of his attacks missing, but not before scanlan is forced to cutting words one of them. another potential counterspell and cutting words lost. neither jester or pike contribute significantly to this round; the nein have done so much damage to pike in three rounds that she is forced to heal herself while jester chooses to dimension door herself to the gem and only a low damage roll lets it evade her.

beau takes molly's setup and gets the critical scanlan stun. he loses his full round. fjord takes the opportunity molly provided him to polymorph into a t-rex, bringing him fully back into the fight. vm is really going to have a time and a half trying to finish him now unless they can put up a big single damage attack. jester builds on beau's setup by casting flame strike, whose dex save scanlan automatically fails. he goes down. if you're the nein, this is exactly where you want pike focused, on her team and not on yours. she has access to most of the same spells that jester has and the more you pressure her to focus on her team, the better. it's not wasting her turn, precisely, but it is controlling what she can reasonably do with it.

now we come to percy versus beau. i don't want to diminish the insane good luck beau had to take only 26 points of damage from six shots because what matters here is that percy absolutely could not down beau. period. her hit points were too high and after she took almost nothing from the first two shots, it should have been clear that she was going to get her turn and she would absolutely attempt to stun and down pike and scanlan. i'm not going to monday morning quarterback this fight but i will point out that the more rolls travis has to make to maintain concentration, the greater the chance he fails and you get to hit fjord's actual hit point pool and trade fjord for scanlan. and if you can get him before he can get back into the fray, even better.

beau stuns the gnomes and drops scanlan again. her inner cockroach rears its head once more as she negates more than half the damage on vax's critical hit sneak attack. fjord-rex downs scanlan and grapples pike. the stun on pike here really helps negate that high AC of hers. after scanlan's death, it's a long slow death spiral. vax abandons the fight in the next critical round in favor of keeping the gem instead of targeting fjord. percy attacks beau once more instead of fjord due to fjord dangling pike over lava. he starts to focus on fjord only to get distracted by jester. pike goes down but vax gets caught by beau before he can get her back up. and so it goes with vm losing turn after turn after turn until finally the nein poof percy out of existence and bring molly back. a fitting end for the team who started their final boss fight with eight and came out nine.

bottom line here, the vm team played like they had way more time than they actually did. they had to commit to a target and see it dead as fast as possible. they had to control the battlefield quickly and keep it. they didn't so they couldn't. aside from building on damage dealt, they couldn't create advantages or opportunities for each other nearly as effectively as nein did. all of these factors meant that the nein did what they always do: grind their enemies under heel.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Readers: We want Red Xiao x Reader x Green Xiao content PLEASE

Exiled: Well yes but actually no

+

Intermittent

Pairing -> Red/Green Xiao x Reader

Word Count -> 2088

Themes -> Okay, get this: Fluff, Angst, Suggestive scene (but not too bad). It's a trifecta.

Series -> #SojournerSpecials (masterlist)

Credit: @m370N4 for Header

Warnings -> Spoilers, violence, oh gawd there's so many violence

Your lover is going through a phase.

Perhaps you should have expected this much after the things that he's gone through, and the things that he is going through. The Archon War does not pick its victims. Saints and sinners, weak and strong, participants and bystanders; they all have one thing in common, they all can die any day now as the war rages on.

The thought of impending doom puts your heart into great unease as your arms tighten, lips softly pecking the red diamond on the Yaksha's forehead as he sighs in what you hope was relief.

The adepti are strong and aid in this war under the stead of Rex Lapis, but on the forefront of greater danger leads the Yakshas. The fateful battle between Osial and the Geo Archon ended not too long ago to put an end against the Lord's destructive ministrations, but Gods do not die, only slumber; his hatred in great intensities brought forth demonic plague that now haunts the blood bathed lands of Liyue. With his indispensable power and contractual obligation, Xiao became one of the five known Yakshas devoted to conquering those evil.

You were no beast in the battlefield but alongside Cloud Retainer and Ganyu you hold well in ensuring the well-being of mankind, but you only wish there was anything you can do to help the true warriors of the Harbour.

"How are you feeling?" You ran your hands through his chopped hair as his body leans against you, still tense. Xiao produces a strangled groan upon the question, a sound you still have yet to grow accustomed to.

It was a side effect even the glorified Archon did not expect. Yet it was too late to back down from the duties, to turn away from the chaos.

"Still standing, nothing I cannot handle," leaning away from your hold, his honey eyes then sets upon yours in gentle reassurance. Exposed fingers softly brushing against your cheekbone reminiscent of a flutter, so light it sends your heart into a faster pace. "And on your end? I have heard of the mortals establishing a new type of governance, how is it faring?"

Xiao hooks his fingers under your chin in full attention, and the pairing with his tantalizing smile sent your mind melting. "It's going-," your cleared your throat of the strangled pitch you produced and tried again, "Going great! Ganyu made it her duty to oversee it as the secretary."

"That is a fine arrangement." He hums inquisitively but you both know his attention was on somewhere else, what with the way his sharp orbs kept flickering to gaze on your lips. And with how his face was slowly, surely drawing near.

"Indeed, indeed." Breathed you as you closed your eyes, ready to capture his lips for a longing kiss, his other hand rests on your lower back to guide you to his lap—

When the shutter doors slammed open, the interruption causing you to yelp as Xiao embarrassingly hides your head to his exposed chest. That did NOT lessen the warmth of your cheeks.

"Conqueror of Demons! I- I'm sorry to interrupt-"

"Pervases, go on."

"The Yaksha of flames-" A rumbling roar of a scream had all three of you shoot your heads up in alert. And within seconds you had scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the shrine to investigate the commotion. The atmosphere had you choking from the scent of arson, black smoke erupting from the burning grass and natural flora around the area.

But in the middle of the ruins had you almost dispelling the contents of your stomach, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth at the the sight. Besides you Xiao dashes past in a vain attempt to quell the flames— the lick of fire that burned the Pyro Yaksha whole, who screams in both agony and anguish over the deep unknown, skin and clothes turning black and charred.

Xiao's swings barely made a dent to the wall of fire that prevents anyone from coming close to the Yaksha. "Please, leave me alone! Let me go! Stop it!" There was an illusionary sense to her words as she screams at the empty void in front and within her, piercing and aching. You called for her name, shouted, in hopes that she may snap out of it.

Dried up tears came upon her ruby gaze as it flickers over to yours. She heard you. Her lips quivered into those of familiarity and she opens her mouth- only to scream her loudest, one last painful cry, as her body drops as a smoking corpse.

Charred and pure black. Twitching and steaming, but not alive.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the comfort of Xiao's hand wiping at your cheek, his red fingerless gloves catching the dampness as you released your sobs.

You didn't notice the gradual decrease of red in his clothing until you looked at him one day without feeling a pang on your chest. When you looked at him with only curiousity upon him calling your name, he offered a smile as he cups your cheek; it didn't feel like the same traumatic time when the Yaksha died, your cheek leaning on his cerulean palm.

It wasn't red. Maybe that's what drove away your thoughts.

"It looks good on you," you mumbled as you watched his now black and green hair sway from the breeze.

"Thank you."

The clouds of Jueyun Karst brings peace to all that gazes on it. That may be the reason why it was Menogias' favorite place to sit by upon finishing her duties for the day, and at times she invites you over when you are done with your own; 'your presence soothes me, it's unfair that Xiao gets to keep you to himself, even if he is your lover!' you giggle at the verbatim the Hydro Yaksha always spouts everytime she drags you away from the other, with a cute yet teasing pout on her pristine face.

Those moments always has you laughing guiltily as you wave to Xiao, who only dons a gentle smile at you two's dynamic.

But she was beautiful and elegant despite her slaughtering hands, with a mind vivid and witty.

And so you find peace next to her, as both of your hands weave cloth into apparels to calm your minds. She had always been an avid fan of stitching and knitting even her own clothes, the only reason you knew how to weave the needle was because of her incessant teachings. Right now she knits a sleeve of beautiful patterns while you took on the duty to make a wooly scarf. Jueyun Karst is cold.

"How are you faring, dear? I have heard you and Xiao-" your hands paused at the implications, "-were witness to the passing of the Yaksha Indarias. Changes are glaring among that of the Conqueror of Demons, but you are a special case who is not under the influence of the karmic binds."

Her cold blue gaze seem to pierce your soul unintentionally and you couldn't bring yourself to look upon them.

You gulped and ceased on finishing the blanket to look at her own work. It was pretty. Tiring and fearful, not just for yourself, but for her too. And especially Xiao.

She holds you close in a soft embrace as you poured your honest confessions; it felt unfair for them to suffer like this, driven to self-destruction or to eternal agony. Menogias strokes your hair affectionately as she reassures your worries.

After all, they knew their oath would come to this.

And they still honored their duties to protect Liyue, for both the mortals and the realm of the Adepti.

"H-How about you?" You sniffled, looking up at her now gentle gaze. "Have you been feeling well? I don't want you to be destroyed by your own mind too."

The Yaksha's gracious smile parts after a pause to finally reply, when a glint from the side suddenly interrupted your peace-

azure pupils dilated upon recognition;

your body flies back upon her powerful push;

blood spurs from her right thigh as a jagged pillar of rock pierces through;

your back and hitting the cliff's compact ground as your vision swims.

No, no, no, no, you recognize that glow even if it was similar to another. Your body whimpers as you struggle to get up, rolling to your side to see the inevitable— the floating silhouette of the Geo Yaksha raises his arm where an orb glows over it, a single eye glows from his shadow...

The last you saw was the flash of neons and black before the world was engulfed by a blinding light.

The next thing you know you were desperately trying not to puke as you cradled the mawled and still bleeding corpse of Menogias, weakly patting her cheeks as your desperate attempts to wake her- to convince yourself that she was still alive. That the spears of stones impaled through numerous part of her body was nonexistent.

Behind you Xiao flicks his head to the side as his mask disperses. His jade spear dripping with blood as her gentle eyes hardened as it squeezes out the tears.

"(Y/N)," your wails turned into whimpers and hiccups, loose arms wrapping around your waist as Xiao pulls you away from the bloody mess. You didn't have the spirit to protest, your eyes still trained on the deceased Yaksha's face as you wept in your lover's arms.

A familiar censer that wasn't there before hangs by his waist.

And when the pain didn't make you weep anymore, a beautifully woven sleeve of blue and clouds adorn his left arm. Those who live after a millenia would not be aware of a reminiscent and deep scar hidden beneath it.

"I was not aware you were out of your domain," the moment he landed, a firm hand grasps your waist to keep you steady on the balcony's railings. Where you're currently perched on, precariously.

You were still unused to the purple cloth that flows behind him. But it matches the wind that comes with him, and the beautiful clashes of colors that makes up who he is now. He was not reminiscent of the red gentleness that he was 2000 years ago, but a teal shadow that lingers at the edges of your vision as a blur.

"I wanted to thank you for purging the malignant monsters that haunted my domain by the cavern," your gaze falls away from the moon as you swing your legs up and over, turning to face the Inn and him yet still remaining seated on the railing.

His eyes were hostile, not at all indicative of the lightness it had long ago. Chest covered in white, and the many memorabilias that dangle with him. Xiao's hands rests on the railing by your side as your fingertip traces the Vajra hanging by his neck, chunky to pointy; Pervases, the name leaves your lips in a whisper.

A guttural growl leaves him in intensity that had you reeling yet still worried for him. Behind his lidded eyes were pure hurt from the fear you conveyed, but he shook his head at all the thoughts that invades. Xiao lets loose a tired yet mocking laugh, "I just remembered something unpleasant."

Before he can turn back to gaze at your ethereal form, you've thrown your arms around his head to pull him against your chest. Your grip and uneven heartbeat alerted him of your will to not cry at his misfortune; such sympathy is wasted on him, yet he wraps his arms around you close in a gentleness that once again reflects his deepest trait.

"...your blessings, not your flaws."

At the sound of your familiar lyrics, as if with a mind of its own, the tension on his shoulders drop immediately into your warmth.

"You've got it all, you lost your mind in the sound;

There's so much more, you can reclaim your crown;

You're in control, rid of the monsters inside your head;

Put all your faults to bed."

Urged the strokes of your hand on his head, the voices quiet into almost nothingness. The Conqueror of Demons smiles again.

"You can be king again."

To the realm of the Adepti and those who knows even the slightest of him, it was nothing to debate about when it is claimed that you were the real reason that the golden-winged king, the Conqueror of Demons— that Xiao still exists today.

If you recognize the song 🤝 big sad

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