#‘no one is born into this world to be alone’

[sachinteng]

Syntax Error

After years of being asked about it, I thought I'd tell the story of my peculiar name, and explain what this little logogram I started using is about.

I don't look like my name should be Sachin. South Asian folks point it out to me all the time. If you don't know, Sachin is a Sanskrit name, and I am visibly not Desi, so people are often confused. People usually ask if I'm named after Sachin Tendulkar, the famous cricket player. And for a period of time my local Indian restaurant thought I was Indian and would give me free rice! Until they found out I wasn't and stopped. Very sad day.

So why am I named Sachin if I'm not Desi?

The name my parents gave me is 十晴. Specifically my dad. My father insisted on naming me. Spent months obsessing over it. But he never gave me an English name. And on the day I was born my dad was…asleep, didn't answer the phone which rang all day, and missed the entire birth. To this day my mother tells this story whenever I miss a phone call. So, when I was born they had no idea what to put on my birth certificate.

The pinyin translation for 十晴 is Shí Qíng. But my mom didn't know pinyin. The lawyer who drew up the paperwork for my birth certificate was Indian, and when he heard 十晴, he said, 'that sounds like Sachin. I'll just put that!' And my mother, tired and alone in the hospital, in a foreign land called Flushing, Queens, said okay. And who can blame her.

And that's how I got my name. In the most arbitrary, accidental way possible. My dad, after months and months of hyper-focusing on a name, fumbled it all right at the end. I wish I could say my name was meaningful in Hànyǔ at least but, my name is very strange to Hànyǔ speakers as well.

The character 十 means 'ten' as in the number 10. And 晴 means 'clear sunny skies.' It's the kind of word a weather reporter will commonly use in the forecast. Honestly, Ten Sunny Skies sounds like a Wǔxiá character. Like Eight Flying Lotuses or Five Poison Fists, or something. Not gunna lie, I prefer this explanation.

So my dad loves to tell this joke…about how his name is too hard to write. It has so many strokes in it that when he was in school taking tests it took him so long to write his name on tests that when he was finished writing it the other students already finished taking the whole test. So, when he has a child he's going to make sure to give them the easiest name with the fewest strokes possible.

And that's where it comes from. Some dinner party joke he liked to tell friends. Thanks dad.

My name has a different meaning to me now as an adult. Over the years many people have heard my name and said, 'Do you know the story of Hòu Yì 后羿?'

An old folktale says there used to be 10 Suns. They would cycle one at a time, because there can never be more than one sun in the sky at the same time. But, one day the suns got lonely, they wanted to see each other and broke the rules. All 10 suns burned at the same time. To stop the suns from burning the entire world down Hòu Yì, the legendary archer, shot the suns out of the sky and left just one, the sun we have today.

It's a fable about doing too much, not thinking about the consequences, and literally burning out. Something I relate to more than I'd like. I burned out hard a few years ago and recovering was a long, painful journey that I never want to repeat.

In the end, the last Sun loses all their siblings and has to carry the burden alone. But, if they'd just had patience and paced themselves, there would still be 10 suns across 'Ten Sunny Skies 十晴.'

[jjoppees]

I'm Still Yours

pairing: yandere!husband!Caleb x wife!reader

tags: angst, HINTS of fluff, explosions ig, romance, pregnancy, established relationship-married, obsession, I don't even know if I can call this yandere since it's Caleb LMAO, no other descriptions except for pregnant fem reader, no beta we die like Caleb

Based on this post

Caleb’s heartbeat lulled you into a sense of security as you leaned against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, a reassuring rhythm beneath your fingertips. You pressed your palm to his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth wrapped around you.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over the small swell of your belly. “We’re having a baby.”

You roll your eyes as a soft smile tugged at your lips. “You’ve been saying that for months, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Nope, I’ll probably keep saying it until she’s here.” Caleb bent down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet her. My pipsqueak’s going to be a mother.”

Your fingers tightened in his uniform. “And to think the man who accidentally locked and left me in the attic is going to be a father.”

Caleb chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Hey! That was an accident. Besides, I’m going to spoil the little princess rotten, you know that?”

You laughed. “Never doubted it.”

In the blink of an eye, your very world crashed and burned.

One moment, you were laughing from his cheesy dad jokes, the next, he was ripped away from you so soon. That  violent explosion reduced your childhood home into burning rubble. The blast came without warning, its deafening boom swallowed everything in its path. You clutched your belly, your trembling hands desperate to shield the unborn life within you.

Smoke filled the air, searing your throat with every desperate breath. Through tear-filled eyes, you tried to push yourself up, your vision dimming, contrasting the fiery wreckage that had once been your safe haven. You screamed his name, your voice raw and broken, but it was futile.

Your mind refused to accept the truth.

 Your heart almost pounded out of your chest as you clawed at the debris, your hands raw from trying to find any sign of him. The heat charred your skin, and the metallic scent of blood and ash filled your nostrils, but none of it mattered. 

All that mattered was finding him.

You gasped for air, struggling to stay conscious as exhaustion and grief devoured you. Inside of you, Caleb’s permanent reminder stirred, a faint reminder that you were not entirely alone. 

But how could you go on without him? To live in a world that cruelly took him from you? A world that could take your baby too?

Your body trembled as sobs wracked your frame, the realization stabbing you in the heart. 

He was gone. 

The love of your life, the father of your child, the man who had promised to always be by your side—gone in an instant. 

And all you could do was scream his name.

It was suffocating.

Every morning, you woke up reaching for him, only to find the bed cold and empty. The silence of your room was deafening, broken only by the soft whimpers of your newborn baby—Caleb’s daughter. The symbol of the love that the two of you carefully curated over the years.

You were on maternity leave, which meant endless hours spent alone, caring for a child who would never meet her father. A child who had Caleb’s eyes, his hair, his smile. Every time you looked at her, it was a cruel reminder of the very man you had lost.

Some nights, you cried yourself to sleep. Other nights, you sat in the nursery, holding your baby close, whispering stories about her father so She would never forget the man who loved and cherished her before she was even born.

The Farspace Fleet, a name spoken in hushed whispers, an organization so powerful that even the highest-ranking officials answered to their commander—the Fleet Colonel.

No one dared to challenge him. No one questioned his authority.

And now, he was here.

Caleb.

But he was not your Caleb.

He stood before you, his uniform pristine, his expression unreadable and devoid of any emotions. But his eyes—those same eyes you had fallen in love with—burned with something dangerous. Something obsessive.

Your heart pounded. “Caleb…”

His gaze softened as he stepped forward, reaching for you. “Fate can be cruel. In this world, you live. You and our baby.” His lips curled into something akin to relief, but there was a dark edge to it. 

“I won’t lose you again.”

From that moment, he made it his mission to take you back.

He used his power, his influence, his fleet to ensure you and the baby were safe, protected, provided for. But it wasn’t just protection—it was control. Every move you made, every decision, he was there. 

Watching. 

Waiting.

Unfortunately for you, he couldn’t differentiate from protecting you and taking away your freedom.

“I can give you everything,” he murmured one night, standing in the doorway of your quarters. “A life without struggle. Without fear. All you have to do is let me in.”

You swallowed hard. “Caleb, this isn’t right.”

His jaw tightened. “In my universe, I failed. I let you die. Do you know what that did to me?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “I spent every second of my life without you in agony. Don’t you understand, pips? I can’t lose you again. ”

You looked down at your son, sleeping peacefully in your arms. “But I’m not her. And she’s not…”

“She is my daughter. Our little princess, remember?” Caleb’s voice was firm, unwavering. “And you are my wife.”

Tears burned your eyes. “My Caleb is dead.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your face. “We promised to love each other in every universe. The Caleb you knew is still me, and so will the others in every universe. One thing that will never change is the love we have for you.”

You didn’t know how long you could resist him.

He was everywhere. Every time your daughter reached for him, calling him “Dada,” something inside you cracked. Every time he looked at you with that desperate longing.

You felt your resolve wavering.

welp, i tried.

if someone wants to remake this, feel free to do so, just tag me

[hikamuree]

someday, someday . . . wc: 569. a messy draft i wanted to share <3

The doctor and nurse had left two hours ago. You rested on the marital bed, with Arthur stroking your sweaty hair, until you fell asleep. He rose to leave the room, glancing at the wooden cradle and mingling at the tiny clenched fists of your little daughter —another sleeping angel, another girl in his life. He reached over to slide his thumb into the baby's palms and unearth her pristine fingertips from her soft skin. She jerked, letting out a faint whimper, but never opened her little eyes. Arthur shushed her sweetly and left her alone, heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen in complete silence and the peace that only complete well-being brings bathed Arthur in tranquillity. He closed his eyes and slumped into one of the chairs. A hand went up to his eyes. His baby was born healthy, you, his wife, had no complications and were recovering your energy, he managed to hold your hand all the way without fainting from nerves. Everything had turned out the way he never thought he deserved: too well. His hand slid down to his beard, scratching it, sorting his thoughts and holding back the tingle of the booming tears. He had waited for this moment since he left the gang with you. Everything since then had been built up for this wonderful scene —and those to come. Now he imagined your baby's soon-to-be round eyes, a blue copy of his he hoped, innocent and always confused at the stimulations of an unfamiliar world, and the first babbles, vain attempts to copy the language of his elders. On the other hand, he could imagine you with your love-struck eyes in the presence of such a tender creature, laughing softly at the child's frustrated attempts to communicate. Both of you blowed away to the little one who shares your name. Your beautiful name.

And it might be a common agreement among parents to expect a baby boy in the cradle, but Arthur differed from them. He couldn't care less about the sex of his baby, more he prayed for proper breathing, a snuggly blanket, a healthy weight —chubby he preferred, if asked. And most of all, that it would be his to care for. He could already think of all the things he'd teach her and those he wouldn't —like holding a rifle or a shovel, he'd take care of that. You and the little girl wouldn't have to think about surviving, he would keep you safe. He would dedicate all his days, work day and night, put up with tyrannical employers, demand his tired body for a few more coins, hold a smile at home and inhibit his violent instinct, reserving it for when he must protect you. He would build a new world for you, he would rebuild himself for you.

He didn't have his parents around, but his little girl wouldn't go through that. She'd have you, her mother, to school her, him, her father, to take her fishing, teach her to draw, to make good decisions, to defend herself with her mind and to take care of her body. She would be a standout among the other girls, she would be strong and revolutionary. That little girl will blow everyone away, someday.

And he would shout "look at my girl!" and then kiss your temple, thanking you for the amazing child you gave him.

copyright © 2025 by hikamuree. I do not give permission for my writing to be copied and reposted.

[anneapocalypse]

Urianger’s Faith

I think Urianger’s faith is a core part of his character. In fact, I think that most other things about him—his history of secrecy and deception, his lifelong fascination with prophecy, and his growth over a multi-expansion character arc—are better understood in the context of it. So that’s what I want to talk about today!

This essay contains major plot spoilers through Endwalker. It's also really long.

Urianger’s Religion

We should probably talk about what, exactly, Urianger's faith is—or, to start, what his religion is. Like the majority of Eorzeans, and so far as we know, all of the core Scions, Urianger is a Twelve-worshipper. Rites and customs vary widely between the different regions of Eorzea depending upon their patron deity and the local culture, but while the worship of Rhalgr may look very different from the worship of Halone, they all fall under the same pantheon, and their devotees ascribe to a shared mythos regarding these gods and their relations with one another. In brief, there are believed to be Twelve deities, with various familial relationships to one another, who rule over and guide various aspects of the world and life within it. There exist seven hells and seven heavens, created and presided over by the gods, to which mortals will be sent in death according to their deeds in life.

Born in the Sharlayan colony (according to anecdotes about Urianger and Moenbryda in Encyclopedia Eorzea), and presumably raised there until the exodus when he would have returned to the motherland, Urianger’s patron deity is Thaliak, and accordingly when he invokes a singular deity it tends to be the Scholar, as in this rather sarcastic-sounding greeting to Alphinaud in the Heavensward patches:

Why, Master Alphinaud. Would that the Scholar had seen fit to grant me knowledge of thy coming. What bringeth thee and thine here this day?

As in the real world, it’s not uncommon for characters to invoke the names of their gods in casual, humorous, and downright irreverent ways, such as the well-known exclamation of “Thal’s balls!” among Ul’dahns. Similarly, just as an utterance of “Jesus Christ!” does not necessary indicate a profound Christian faith in the real world, characters exclaiming “By the Twelve!” or “Gods be good!” does not alone indicate that they are especially devout.

I think it’s probably safe to say that the followers of Louisoix who comprised the Circle of Knowing are, at the very least, more than nominal adherents of Twelve-worship. As seen in the “End of an Era” video, it is their prayers that summoned primal versions of the Twelve in an attempt to contain Bahamut; they could not have done so were they not possessed of genuine faith.

I think it is possible, however, to single out Urianger as especially religious even relative to his comrades. There are numerous instances in his dialogue that I think demonstrate a singular faith. He regularly interprets good fortune in terms of the favor of the gods to a greater extent that his colleagues. As late as Shadowbringers, for example, when Y’shtola is rescued from the aetherial sea for the second time, he says:

In all of history, there are but few who have returned from a misadventure in the aetherial sea possessed of mind and body both. To have done so twice beggereth belief. 'Tis plain Y'shtola wanteth not for favor among the Twelve.

However, I think it would also be inaccurate and incomplete to say that Urianger’s faith is wholly centered around the Twelve.

Hydaelyn as Mother-Goddess

If you’re going purely by 2.0 onward, I think it’s easy to miss that a broad awareness of Hydaelyn as a personage (as opposed to simply the name of the star) is a fairly new development in Eorzea. Sharlayan, at the forefront of aetherological studies, has been well ahead of the curve on this, with scholars theorizing not only a concentration of aether at the core of the star which they have termed "the Mothercrystal," but possibly even a consciousness, a "will of the star," sometimes also called "the will of Light." This theory was confirmed when the scholars of Sharlayan succeeded in contacting Hydaelyn through the Antitower in the Dravanian colony, granting them knowledge of the Final Days, and directly leading to the exodus from the colony and subsequent preparations for a potential exodus from the star itself. This knowledge was intentionally kept extremely secret, however, even from most Sharlayan citizens, nevermind the rest of Eorzea.

Any conception of Hydaelyn as a deity is a novel concept, and not a part of traditional Twelve worship. We don't generally hear common people invoke Hydaelyn as they would a deity; it's usually one or all of the Twelve. As recently as five years ago, in 1.0, the true nature of the Echo was still widely unknown; Minfilia’s Echo support group was called The Path of the Twelve because the phenomenon was, understandably, believed to be a gift from the gods. The various powers granted by the Echo had been previously documented, but it is only in recent years that they have been hypothesized (Encyclopedia Eorzea specifically uses the word "hypothesized" rather than "believed") to be a gift from Hydaelyn. "Blessing of Light," likewise, is a broad term referring to a variety of phenomena in which Hydaelyn seems to directly communicate with Echo bearers or intervene on their behalf. EE1 tells us that "despite their frequency, little is known about them. However, it is assumed that many of the 'miracles' which appear in myth and legend are actually instances of Hydaelyn bestowing Her blessing upon an individual." Again, this appears to be a recent theory recontextualizing a set of long-documented but poorly-understood phenomena. Any understanding of the struggle between Hydaelyn and Zodiark is also noted here as a recent discovery by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

(As a sidenote, I don't think it's necessary for our purposes here to get too hung up on where the Echo ends and the blessing of Light begins, as at the end of the day both are umbrella terms for a broad set of distinct but overlapping phenomena that come from Hydaelyn.)

It's probably also important to note that this evolving understanding of Hydaelyn is one both spiritual and scientific. By the time we meet them in ARR, it does seem clear that the Scions have already developed a view of Hydaelyn as a mother-goddess figure, but they're also devoted to deepening their understanding of the world through observation and study. They're working closely with the Students of Baldesion from the beginning of ARR (and a couple of Students can be found hanging out in the Waking Sands in the early game). They are willing to modify their beliefs based on new evidence, and indeed, over the course of the next few expansions, a whole lot of new evidence is going to surface. The political leaders who stood with Louisoix at Carteneau—Admiral Merlwyb, General Raubahn, Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna—are also familiar with these novel theories. When the Warrior of Light has their first direct contact with Hydaelyn in the introduction to ARR, thereby receiving a Blessing of Light, it is both their Scion representative and the leader of their starting city who explain to them the meaning of their vision and the crystal of Light they now bear.

And novel though it may be, it is clear that the arrival of the Warrior of Light only strengthens the Scions' belief in Hydaelyn. I think this adds important context to the Scions' reception of the player character and the way they look upon that character as such a beacon of hope. It's not just that the WoL is possessed of great strength and skill, or even that they have the Echo; it's that their experiences are actively confirming the Scions' developing theories about Hydaelyn.

Yet for all their approach to understanding Hydaelyn is of a scientific bent, their relationship to Hydaelyn on a personal level still has a distinctly religious flavor—particularly for Minfilia and Urianger. I'll be bringing up Minfilia a few times here, both because her story is deeply intertwined with Urianger's and because I think in some ways they have a lot in common.

Minfilia herself is an Echo-bearer, though it seems like prior to the end of the ARR patches, she has not experienced the blessing of Light in the way the Warrior of Light has. Nonetheless, as she escapes with the Warrior of Light through the watercourse, it is to her that Hydaelyn speaks—and Minfilia heeds Her call, urging the Warrior of Light onward without her, while she runs back to be caught up in Y'shtola's Flow spell and carried into the aetherial sea.

This much, it seems, was Hydaelyn's doing. But something that I think is often missed about Minfilia is that she does not become the Word of the Mother against her will. Hydaelyn does not pull her into the aetherial sea and simply consume her; with Her power so diminished, she probably couldn’t have done that even had she wanted to. Hydaelyn merely guides Minfilia back toward Y'shtola to be caught in the Flow spell. Whatever Hydaelyn’s intentions (which we can’t know for certain), it’s entirely possible that had Minfilia not made a choice, the Seedseers might have pulled her from the aetherial sea alongside Y'shtola, or she might have eventually materialized malms away in the wilderness like Thancred.

In Minfilia's own words:

There, adrift and alone, Her voice silent once more, I prayed... For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. To Her I would make an offering...

Minfilia gives herself to Hydaelyn. She understands—all the Scions understand—that Hydaelyn is profoundly weakened after protecting the Warrior of Light against the Ultima Weapon. She understands that the only way Hydaelyn might intervene in the present crisis is if She can regain some of her strength, and for that, She would need an offering of aether… and Minfilia, having faith that Hydaelyn will intervene, offers herself.

Though it comes at great cost to her and to the people who love her, Minfilia's faith is rewarded. The Warrior of Light survives. Little by little, Hydaelyn does regain strength, and is finally able to speak to the Warrior of Light again and begin to restore what Midgardsormr stripped from them. The Scions rebuild themselves and continue their work. Through Minfilia, Hydaelyn is able to communicate truths lost to time, to help the Scions better understand the struggles they face. And ultimately, Minfilia goes on to save another reflection and its people from total destruction.

What Minfilia understands, Urianger also understands.

The first time Urianger really caught my attention was in the Warriors of Darkness storyline in the Heavensward patches. I love that whole storyline and what it established about his character, and I love how much it set up threads that will be further explored and paid off later. Shadowbringers was a true delight for me, not just because Urianger is so central to it, or because I love the story in its own right (though those are both true things) but also because it is the resolution of this storyline.

The way Urianger calls upon Hydaelyn after the invocation of the crystals has always stuck in mind:

Mother Hydaelyn, hearken unto Your children's plea! From two worlds do we gather, and from two worlds do we offer a bounty of Light. In this desperate hour, we do beseech Your intercession! We beg an audience with the Word of the Mother─with Your chosen, Minfilia!

Urianger possesses a flair for the dramatic generally, of course. And at the same time, this has always struck me as such an earnest prayer. Even in Her weakened state, he has faith that if they can only invoke the combined power of the crystals of Light—an offering of aether!—She will be both willing and able to work with them to save another shard, which is Her aim as well.

And he’s right. Though it comes at great cost, Urianger’s faith in Hydaelyn is rewarded here.

The Invocation of Saints

While Thaliak may be Urianger's patron deity in the strictest sense, I think his faith rests much more strongly in a figure closer to home: his late master, Louisoix Leveilleur.

All of the core Scions have great respect for Louisoix, even what might be called reverence. I don't think it's a reach to say that the Archons of his Circle of Knowing view him, not only as an expert in prophecy, but as a kind of prophet himself. In an Echo flashback to a time before the Calamity in the introductory questline, you might see Y'shtola saying, "It is as Louisoix foretold…" or Papalymo saying, "…just as Louisoix forewarned," depending on your starting city. Thancred, notably, seems to take a more practical view, saying, "Louisoix will know what to do. We need only trust in his judgment," focusing more on his master's wisdom in the present than foreknowledge of the future. Nevertheless, it is clear that all of them put a profound faith in their mentor. Later in ARR, we see Thancred berate himself for arriving too late to prevent Ifrit from tempering nearby soldiers, saying, "Lousioix would never have allowed this to happen."

For Urianger and Minfilia, this reverence takes on a particular flavor.

Urianger's very first words to the Warrior of Light in 2.0 are: "Dawn may banish even the darkest night…" This is the beginning of a well-known writing of Louisoix, which we later hear in full from the Wandering Minstrel, who has arranged them into verse (though he notes that they were not originally written as poetry):

Dawn may banish even the darkest night, Yet ever shall primal desires burn. Two swords shall vie to lay them low─ A blade born of light and a blade forged of might. Alas, man may entrust his fate unto but one.

I think it's very likely Urianger meant to recite the whole thing, finding it a prescient introduction both to the Scions’ work and what role the Warrior of Light might play in it. However, Minfilia gives him a Look which I think suggests he is losing his audience, and Urianger seemingly course-corrects, saying, "The words of a dear friend. I am glad of our meeting." Nonetheless, it seems clear to me that he holds the words of Louisoix in the same regard he would any canonical prophet, and looks to them for guidance in the man's absence.

In the middle of A Realm Reborn, while the Waking Sands are still bustling with Scions going about their work and new recruits waiting for their first mission, Urianger may be found conversing in a very animated (if perhaps one-sided) fashion with a group of adventurers. If spoken to, he has the following to say:

Knowest thou the import of the broken staff within the solar? It fell from the grasp of Archon Louisoix, the man who, in his abiding love for all Eorzeans, shielded us against the storm of the Calamity.

The way he describes his late master feels almost like a christ figure. Have you heard about our lord and savior Louisoix, who so loved the world that he died to save us?

Both Minfilia and Urianger pray directly to Louisoix at certain points in the story. Furthermore, they both make reference to Louisoix watching over them and even guiding their path forward. Y'shtola, too, seems to hold this view. After the attack on the Waking Sands, she says, "It is as if the benevolent hand of Master Louisoix guides us still. He would not see us undone so easily. Not now, when the need is so great." In an Echo flashback, just before the attack on the Wakings Sands, we see Minfilia look up to the fragments of Tupsimati upon the wall of the Solar and say, "Louisoix, do you see? Your light shines brightly in this one. And in time, it will illuminate the realm once more." In the patches, as the Scions prepare to depart for Mor Dhona, she asks, "Tell me, Louisoix... Would you have done the same?" And in learning that Hydaelyn has been silent to both herself and the Warrior of Light, she says, "Then She speaks to neither one of us. Hydaelyn's silence portends naught but ill, I fear. Louisoix… I pray you yet watch over us…"

And as Urianger brings his plan with the Warriors of Darkness to fruition, just before calling upon the Warrior of Light to invoke the power of their crystals, he utters, "Master Louisoix, guide my hand, I pray you, as fate's thread spinneth upon this most capricious spindle." (Note that as with Hydaelyn, and with Louisoix’s grandchildren, Urianger uses the formal you rather than the informal thou.)

While for other Scions, these invocations largely fall away after ARR, for Urianger they do not. As late as Endwalker, he still prays to his late master and invokes his protection:

'Tis no meager delight to watch Alisaie and Alphinaud grow more resolute in mind and heart. And remarkable though their accomplishments may be, I doubt not that they are destined for still greater things. Grant them thy protection, Master Louisoix. I implore thee���

As the Scions call upon their various allies and prepare to use salvaged Allagan technology to craft a vessel to ferry people to the moon, Urianger has this idle remark:

What serendipitous irony that the remnants of the Seventh Umbral Calamity would become the keys to mankind's salvation. Never more certain have I been that Master Louisoix watcheth over us from the aetherial sea...

In this, it is plain that Urianger's faith is deeply tied not merely to distant gods, but to one particularly trusted mortal leader.

Faith, Science, and Flexibility of Mind

Above, I discussed how the Scions’ understanding of Hydaelyn is both scientific and spiritual. It is also worth noting that this idea of the dead watching over them from the aetherial sea seems somewhat divergent from the standard beliefs of Twelve-worship, the seven heavens and hells to which mortals ascend or descend upon death depending on their deeds. Devout as they may be, the Scions’ beliefs about the afterlife are more aligned with the scientific findings of Sharlayan’s aetherologists. This is evident in 2.3, when Urianger and Minfilia review the principles of aetheric dissipation:

Minfilia: Before discussing our new discoveries, it may benefit us all to recall what we know of aetheric behavior. Minfilia: Let us begin at what some might call the end. When we who dwell in the material realm die, our spirits dissolve into the flow of aether, and are returned to the aetherial realm. Minfilia: In turn, the restless energy which suffuses that plane streams back into our world, giving rise to new life. Urianger: 'Tis as the heavens did decree─the way of all mortal souls. Urianger: 'Twixt this world and the next do the aetherial currents swirl, bearing the very essence of life. Thus doth the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth continue unabated.

I find this exchange particularly interesting, because it does not seem to me that the Scions see any conflict between their faith in the Twelve and their understanding of aetherological phenomena. In fact, Urianger explicitly frames the latter in spiritual terms: “’Tis as the heavens did decree.” Integrating a scientific understanding into his nonetheless devout worldview does not seem to be an issue for him, or for the Scions generally. This seems perfectly in keeping with the Sharlayan ethos to me, but it also seems pretty consistent with who Urianger is as a person, with his love of esoteric texts packed with metaphor and poetic imagination. Even were the tenets of Twelve-worship strictly codified across Eorzea, which I suspect they are not on the whole (Ishgard's strict textual orthodoxy seems to be the exception and not the rule), Urianger is not a literalist. It’s probably not a reach for him to interpret "hells and heavens" as poetic interpretations of observable reality.

Urianger will later say that his studies in prophecies have granted him a “flexibility of mind,” and I think that’s an accurate descriptor.

The Art of Foreknowledge

At the heart of Urianger's faith is his belief in foreknowledge and fate.

We are told that prophetic works have fascinated Urianger from a young age—and at this point, I think we need to take a step back and talk about what, exactly, prophecy is in this world. So far as I know, Final Fantasy XIV doesn’t ever really give us a clear definition, but we can deduce some things from context.

Divination takes a variety of forms in this universe, from the astrology we see in Sharlayan and Ishgardian practice, to tomes of poetic verse which are accepted as having some true bearing on the future or the nature of the world or both. It is the latter which is Urianger’s primary field of expertise, though he does seem to have some background in the theory of astrology, and takes it up in practice later on.

That part about certain texts being widely accepted as prophetic is pretty important. We can guess that among scholars of prophecy there is an accepted canon of sorts—works which are acknowledged by scholarly consensus as bearing prophetic relevance. In the cutscene with Elidibus in the Great Gubal Library, Urianger initially scoffs at the Gerun Oracles as “apocrypha”: non-canon, not accepted in scholarly circles as significant. (Elidibus, of course, refutes this by calling it “a truth long forgotten.”)

Prophecy in fantasy fiction often focuses primarily on predictions of the future, but there is a more nuanced understanding to be had of prophecy as speaking of past, present, andfuture, and of truths fundamental to the nature of reality. This is certainly true of many of the texts we hear Urianger recite. Some offer a more vague sort of wisdom, such as the verse Urianger recites for the Scions upon their departure to the Far East:

Look ye where the sun doth rise, see crimson embers, dark'ning skies... Look ye where the sun doth fall, see azure lost amidst the squall.

There is certainly some meaning to be found in these words with regard to the events of Stormblood: conflict in both east and west, war on both horizons. "Azure lost amidst the squall" might even be interpreted as a poetic reference to Estinien's activities. Still, these words offer no great revelations. Compare this to the Gerun Oracles, which Urianger comes to accept it as not only true, but corroborating the revelations of the Word of the Mother with regard to the Sundering, the Reflections, and their destruction in the Umbral Calamities. Even of this text, Urianger acknowledges, "their copious use of allegory defieth any single interpretation." Prophetic texts, it seems, are rarely straightforward.

So, we return to the question: what is prophecy? Where did these writers gain the insights which they put to verse? Did they even understand their significance at the time of writing? Unfortunately, in this regard we really have only conjecture. I think it's easy enough to come up with plausible theories. The prophets might have been experiencing the Echo; they might have had contact with Ascians; they might have been spoken to by Hydaelyn Herself. The game, alas, does not offer us these answers. Indeed, even of the text most central to Louisoix's journey into Eorzea we know almost nothing.

The Divine Chronicles of Mezaya Thousand-Eyes are a series of prophetic writings that seem to describe each of the first six umbral calamities. This text is so widely-known that even Garleans are familiar with it and the Legatus Nael van Darnus of 1.0 fame also apparently regarded it as prophetic (according to GamerEscape’s 1.0 summary, The Rise and Fall of the White Raven). Of the famed prophetess who penned it, we have almost no information at all. The various fan wikis don't even have pages for her, as there is basically nothing to include there. Her writings, however, seem to be accepted as prophetic. In fact, the six verses of the Chronicles were widely cited as proof that no further Calamities would occur… until a seventh verse was found inscribed on a stone tablet in a cave.

Louisoix Leveilleur, Sharlayan's foremost expert on prophecy, believed this verse pointed to a seventh impending calamity. According the the Unending Codex, it was for this reason that Urianger joined the Circle of Knowing, seeking to understand the truth of this text. And the belief that Eorzea would soon be plunged into another calamity led Louisoix to leave Sharlayan with his followers and venture south into Eorzea to help her city-states prepare for the worst.

In their understanding of this prophetic text, they found purpose. Which leads us to…

Fate and Purpose

I want to return to Urianger's words about Louisoix in the Waking Sands, specifically the latter part of it:

The stars wheel across the heavens, and the skies brighten once more. The survivors gather, and ignite a fiery dawn to burn away the glowering shroud. Ah, but destiny, thou art beautiful...

Destiny, thou art beautiful. This is how Urianger conceptualizes the Scions gathering in the wake of their beloved master's sacrifice. We're still about mid-ARR here, before the Warrior of Light has slain Titan. Compare to Y'shtola's idle dialogue at the same point in MSQ:

As you have doubtless witnessed in your travels, the lands of Eorzea are gasping under the pall of a suffocating darkness. I must wonder if it is this darkness that invites disaster, or simply that disaster has left such gloom in its wake. One thing is for certain: now is not the time to relax our vigilance.

Urianger is hardly unaware of the trials facing the Scions and Eorzea at large, and yet his framing of their present circumstances is distinctly one of hope. Where Y'shtola speaks ominously of "the pall of a suffocating darkness," Urianger speaks almost rapturously of "a fiery dawn to burn away the glowering shroud."

Keep in mind, too, that these words about the beauty of destiny follow directly from Urianger speaking of Louisoix's death. This sentiment will be echoed later when, upon the death of his oldest and dearest friend, Urianger declares, "The moon sinketh, taking her leave of the heavens. Yet her passing heraldeth the coming of a new day. Moenbryda hath fulfilled her destiny, hath she not?"

This is Urianger's response to loss. He affirms his belief in fate—not simply in predestination, in a future that may be foreseen, but in a brighter future that will give purpose to such sacrifices.

Encyclopedia Eorzea Volume 3 tells us that Urianger’s parents rarely had time for him as a child, occupied as they were with their own research. I think this likely impressed upon him from a young age that there was always something more important than him. And when his parents effectively abandoned him with the neighbors and departed for “parts unknown,” never to return, that idea would only have been solidified.

For a child already fascinated by prophecy and the idea of fate, I imagine it could have offered some kind of comfort to believe that the pain of his abandonment was all for a higher purpose, a greater good.

I can imagine how this belief, so ingrained in him as a child, could lead him to go along with his mentor even when Louisoix declared that Moenbryda must stay behind, and offered her no explanation as to why. It's clear that Urianger felt some guilt in the wake of this decision, specifically his choice not to explain Lousioix's intentions, believing their master wanted Moenbryda to come to that understanding on her own. As he laments after his friend's death, "Knowingly did I deny my friend the comfort she craved." Yet he did all of this, undoubtedly, not only out of faith in his mentor's judgment, but because he believed it to be in service of a greater good. And in fact, he seems to take Moenbryda's final words as affirmation that Louisoix was, in fact, correct. "The realization hath set her free. She may now find the peace which hath for so long eluded her."

So in the end, to his thinking, it all worked out as it was meant to.

I don't think Urianger believes that the future is set in stone. If that were the case, then personal choice would be meaningless; there would have been no reason to intervene in the first place, to warn the Eorzean nations of the Calamity, if the future would play out the same regardless. Indeed, Urianger speaks frequently of choice, and agonizes over the difficult choices he holds himself responsible for making.

What he does believe for a long time, I think, is that in the face of an impending and forewarned crisis, there is often only one path forward to avert it. The role of the one who would heed the warnings of the prophets is to make the necessary choices no matter how painful, to take the necessary actions, to make what sacrifices must be made.

When he overhears his oldest and dearest friend about to sacrifice herself to destroy an Ascian, he does not intervene to stop her. He speaks of her having "fulfilled her destiny," even as he will torment himself for this decision for a long time to come.

And as the Scions face mounting challenges for which they are increasingly unprepared, Urianger increasingly decides that his role is to take those burdens upon himself.

Changing Roles

I did not get to experience 1.0 for myself, and so what I know of Urianger's role in it is sadly limited to what has been preserved by other fans. To the best of my understanding, his role was as a kind of doomsayer, traveling from settlement to settlement and sharing prophecies of the Calamities in an attention-getting manner. Though his approach was off-putting to many, his performance ultimately succeeded in its aim: serving as a diversion for the Garlean Empire, leading Legatus Nael van Darnus to fixate on apprehending him, while in the meantime Louisoix and his fellow archons were able to rally the Grand Companies to face the coming crisis. (@mirkemenagerie has a great post about that.)

By the time ARR begins, this performance is no longer needed, and Urianger has taken on a much different role in the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization formed from the merger of Louisoix's Circle of Knowing and Minfilia's Path of the Twelve. He is now the keeper of the Waking Sands, and the Scions' primary adviser on primal lore, and only rarely ventures out in the field with his fellow Archons.

And I think that initially, Urianger seems happy enough with this role. Though he may not get out as much as he once did, the Waking Sands are lively with new recruits. Urianger can be seen at various points during ARR having spirited conversations with other NPCs. In one bit of idle dialogue, he says, "As the primals fall, so do our spirits soar. Though mine aid be but modest, I nonetheless am heartened in my duties."

Urianger is happy here. Though the Scions face many mounting trials, he is surrounded by a community united in purpose with a leader in whom he may place his trust, and his duty is clear.

It's not until the ARR patches, when things really go awry for the Scions, that we begin to see the seeds of doubt in our steadfast arcanist.

The Seeds of Doubt

The defeat of the Ultima Weapon fundamentally alters the Scions' path and their role in Eorzea. While they have always been in communication with Eorzea's leaders and called upon for aid, now they are thrust into the public eye in an unprecedented way. 2.1 opens with Minfilia reflecting upon the myriad support from various parties suddenly on offer—and the price that inevitably comes with it. Urianger seems to share her ambivalence:

'Tis the lot of the powerful to attract the covetous as well as the needy. Thus doth prudence dictate that those with power proffer aid with one hand whilst the other resteth ever on their hilt. Alas, we have not the luxury of time to decipher our petitioners' machinations─nay, not while the beast tribes do labor unseen, defiant in defeat, to raise up their fallen primals once more. Doubt not that they shall return─stronger and bolder both─nor that we shall be the ones to meet them. This sacred charge shall ever be ours. 'Tis but a pity we are so few, and our fortune so finite...

By this point, tragedy has already altered Urianger's surrounds irrevocably. The Garlean attack on the Waking Sands has left dead many of the people with whom he once socialized on a daily basis, leaving the Scions' headquarters a much quieter and more somber place. Urianger himself, fortunate enough to be one of those spared, endured capture and imprisonment.

And further change threatens to unsettle the place and the people amongst whom he has found a home. Despite Minfilia's reticence, we see her increasingly bow to the vision Alphinaud has for the Scions—what he sees as continuing the work his grandfather began. Repeatedly, we see the two of them clash over what is best for the Scions—and each time, we see Minfilia cede ground.

Urianger is not without his own concerns about the Scions’ new direction, though he refrains from clashing directly with either Alphinaud or Minfilia, likely out of his deep respect for both of them. Nonetheless, he chooses to stay behind in the Waking Sands and continue his research there. "I had thought to relinquish the property," Minfilia explains, "but he was quite adamant, and I had not the heart to disagree."

As the Scions prepare to depart for Mor Dhona, Urianger confides in the Warrior of Light:

Thou art ever welcome, [Forename], but I require no assistance. Pray take thy leave unburdened by concern for my well-being. Verily, thy countenance bespeaks a desire to quit this place without further delay. Hm. Mayhap thou thinkest this chapter of our tale concluded─that these halls should rightly be consigned to the annals of history...? In man's eagerness to seize the future, how readily he doth set down the past. Full many a proud pioneer hath bravely stridden into the great unknown, only to find there the banner of his ancestor, faded by the eons. And still man glorieth in his discoveries. 'Tis through his pride that wisdom doth ever give way to ignorance, while they who lurk in shadow remain hidden, lost no sooner than they are found. <sigh> Be not offended, [Forename]. Thy conduct hath ever been beyond reproach. Despite thy surpassing strength, and all thy many victories, thou hast never been so convinced of thine own greatness as to imagine thyself above the failings of thy forebears. Mayhap it is the Echo which hath opened thine eyes to the lessons of history. Would that the same could be said of─

(At which point he is cut off by Minfilia's scream as she is accosted by Elidibus.)

It is not difficult to imagine that in the midst of so much upheaval, Urianger's remaining in the Waking Sands might be his way of clinging to one familiar thing, a place he feels at home, even if it cannot be for him what it once was. That said, he clearly has very real concerns about the Scions' direction on the world stage, and worries that his trusted leader is failing to heed the lessons of history.

I have no doubt that Urianger has great love and respect for Minfilia, but I do think this is when his faith in her as a leader begins to waver a little. Whether he meant to name her or Alphinaud before he was cut off is ultimately irrelevant, as Minfilia has capitulated to Alphinaud's vision for the Scions. (And I don't mean to pick on Minfilia here; she's another one of my favorite characters, and I think she does the best she can with the circumstances in which she finds herself and largely does manage to rise to the challenge of leading the Scions in Louisoix's absence. Through no fault of her own, she's simply ill-equipped to handle the increasing visibility and political volatility of the Scions' position, and the deference with which all the Archons seem to feel they should treat Louisoix's grandchildren only further complicates an already messy situation.)

And the hits just keep coming. Up until now, the Scions have worked closely with the Students of Baldesion, receiving substantial support from the Sharlayan organization and frequently consulting them for their research. They've barely arrived at Revenant's Toll when Urianger brings the news that he is unable to contact the Students, and fears the worst. Not long after, contacts in Sharlayan confirm the shocking news that entire Isle of Val, where the Students had had their base, has vanished. Once again, these likely include colleagues and friends, people with whom Urianger once communicated regularly for a common purpose. Now missing under terrifying circumstances, and feared dead.

It is in the midst of such turmoil that Urianger makes a rare trek out into the field to observe a primal firsthand—feeling, perhaps, that in the absence of the allies who had once provided valuable insights, it is his duty to observe all he can, even if it's quite a departure from his usual domain of written lore. And not long after that, faced with the puzzle of tracking down Lady Iceheart's hidden aetheryte, he calls upon Moenbryda.

In the light of all that has come before, this is such an interesting choice. Moenbryda’s expertise in aetherology is certainly invaluable to their present crisis, but there’s no doubt that it would have been valuable at many points prior. Louisoix Leveilleur has been dead for five years. Only now, after the Scions have suffered major losses at the hands of the Garleans and lost even more with the disappearance of the Students of Baldesion, does Urianger contravene the will of his late mentor, and ask Moenbryda to come to Eorzea.

So far as we know, this might be the only time he’s ever done that.

I bring all this up because it is here, in the ARR patches, where we see Urianger begin in subtle ways to question the wisdom of his trusted leaders. I don’t think this means that he in any way doubts the intentions of Louisoix or of Minfilia, or their principles in the broad strokes. His reverence for Louisoix persists all the way to Endwalker, and he continues to behave with great deference toward Minfilia, as well as toward the twins. There’s just a subtle shift here from Urianger simply doing as he’s told, to Urianger acting out of his own sense of duty to do what he believes necessary.

I didn't realize until the conversation in Endwalker that the implication of Urianger’s “I heard all” is meant to be that he was there just offscreen listening when Moenbryda died, not simply that he heard the others discussing her death after the fact. Though he clearly did not overhear her words about understanding Louisoix’s sacrifice (as the Warrior of Light has to tell him), his Endwalker dialogue makes it clear that he could have called out to her and begged her to live—and he did not. Knowingly, he allowed her to sacrifice herself to destroy an Ascian—for the greater good.

Moenbryda hath fulfilled her destiny, hath she not? Thus does Urianger justify her sacrifice, as well as his own part in it, and thus does her death serve to reinforce his existing beliefs, even as it torments him with undeniable regret.

A Creed Sacrosanct

At the end of the ARR patches leading into Heavensward, the Urianger approached by Elidibus has seen nearly every person and institution in which he placed his faith crumble and vanish. Louisoix is dead, the Students of Baldesion missing and presumed dead, many other friends and colleagues lost, Minfilia missing, the remaining Scions scattered to the winds, the Waking Sands near-empty. Beyond what he may contribute to the search for the missing, coordinated by Tataru from distant Ishgard, Urianger is rudderless and leaderless both.

What remains is his faith in a greater good, in a higher purpose. And this time, when duty calls, he will choose to place that burden on none but himself.

The way Elidibus speaks to Urianger, I don’t doubt that he’s been observing the Archon for some time, because he seems to know exactly what buttons to push. For one thing, he approaches Urianger just when he is at his most vulnerable and alone. The Warriors of Darkness don’t actually come on the scene until post-Heavensward; Elidibus didn’t strictly need Urianger yet and doesn’t seem to have had him doing anything throughout Heavensward, but nonetheless, this is when he chooses to make contact. Upon their first meeting, he says, “I would speak of fate, Archon. Yours, mine—the fate of this very star.”

Later in 3.1, when we see them in the Great Gubal library and Urianger scoffs at the Gerun Oracles as apocryphal, Elidibus replies:

It is a truth long forgotten─a tale of the beginning, and of the path we have been set upon. Our fates were ordained long ago, Archon. The Garleans are no exception. Nor the Triad. You know what must be done.

We have only a few brief scenes of their interactions, and yet in these few words it’s made plain how Elidibus gained Urianger’s faith, not in his intentions, but in the truth of his words. As Urianger says later:

‘Twas in the hope of opening mine eyes to said revelation that they first came unto me, imagining it sufficient to secure mine allegiance. Nor would they have been mistaken─were my heart a temple to truth alone. But as a devoted follower of Master Louisoix's teachings, and for the love I bear him and his, I hearkened not to their words.

Elidibus is able to persuade Urianger of the truth of the Sundering, the Reflections, and the Rejoinings. Where he miscalculates is in missing Urianger’s core belief, his faith in the core of his mentor’s teachings, their entire purpose in coming to Eorzea: To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom—it is indolence.

By the time his friends are found and the Scions begin to rebuild, Urianger is already in the weeds with Elidibus and the Warriors of Darkness, and that secret in itself serves to further isolate him from his friends—though clearly not without misgivings. After pushing Arbert to confront the Warrior of Light, we see Urianger in a private moment of doubt, saying to himself:

What good a creed one cannot uphold? What hurts soothed, what lives saved... O hapless fool, what hast thou wrought by thine own hands? Minfilia, my friends─I shall not now beg your forgiveness. Full deeply though it paineth me to walk it, I shall not stray from my chosen path. As Moenbryda remained steadfast, so too shall I...

And once again, Urianger places the greater good, those who may yet be saved, before all else. Once again he accepts, as a necessary sacrifice, the loss of a trusted leader and a dear friend—though in this case, it is worth noting, Minfilia is for all practical purposes already lost to her friends, having offered herself to Hydaelyn. It is impossible to say whether she could or would ever have returned to mortal life, given that she has made effectively the same sacrifice the Warriors of Darkness made; nonetheless, her willing journey to the First does, in the eyes of her friends, all but eliminate that possibility. Urianger does not send her to the First, despite what Alphinaud says in an emotional moment; he couldn’t have forced her to go, especially had it gone against Hydaelyn’s will. What he does is functionally what Elidibus did to him: he tells the truth, and offers a choice. As Urianger chose to act, as Moenbryda chose to act, so too does Minfilia.

Nonetheless, he accepts that his friends will hold him responsible, for her loss and for the deception both. This he considers an acceptable sacrifice for the salvation of a distant star. He accepts the burden of this responsibility—and ultimately, he sees his faith in Hydaelyn and in Minfilia rewarded. The First is saved from absolute destruction by Minfilia’s intervention.

It’s no wonder, then, that it takes Urianger so long to change direction. Every sacrifice up to this point has been devastating, but still seemed ultimately necessary. Louisoix. Moenbryda. Minfilia.

It’s no wonder that, upon arriving in the First and seeing what his actions have wrought, he agrees to go along with the Exarch’s plan.

The Point of Failure

Once again, Urianger accepts a temporary deception and a permanent sacrifice as necessary in the service of the greater good.

Though Elidibus and the Exarch have very different motives, I think there are some striking similarities in the way they approach Urianger. Both, it’s safe to say, have observed him and his personality, and deemed him the best choice of accomplice. Both persuade him by getting him alone, and once persuaded, keeping their secrets will further isolate him from his friends. When the Warrior of Light arrives in the First, the Scions are scattered and distant, each pursuing their goals alone, and I think it’s safe to say that the secrecy has contributed to that—particularly for Y’shtola, who seems to have realized early on both that the Exarch was hiding something and that Urianger’s vision didn’t pass the smell test.

Once again, we see Urianger having clear reservations about the path he’s chosen. He appears anguished in the Echo flashback with the Exarch, asking whether this is truly the Exarch’s wish before he agrees. When Y’shtola expresses her concern for the Warrior of Light, and questions him about the veracity of his “vision,” his eyes drop to the floor as if in shame. Still, as before, Urianger accepts that he will face condemnation for what he has been party to. Once again, he has faith that it will all be worth it. The Warrior of Light and the First will be saved, his faith will be rewarded, and he will accept the responsibility for what it cost.

It’s not without cost even for the Warrior of Light, who is kept in the dark about what’s happening to them as they slay the Lightwardens, and clearly suffers considerable pain from the accumulation of Light once it reaches a critical mass. Urianger bears witness to this, and I don’t doubt that he feels remorse for it, even as he is committed to his path.

There’s this beautiful moment after the defeat of the Rak'tika Lightwarden where Y'shtola asks Urianger to describe the night sky to her. He describes it thus:

A sea of shimmering stars. Diamonds strewn across a raven gown, boundless and beautiful. 'Tis an exquisite sight not unlike that of the Source. Calm and gentle... and forgiving...

This comes directly after Y'shtola presses him for the second time on telling the Warrior of Light the truth about the Light's corruption.

Once again, the cost weighs upon Urianger. He longs not only for the reassurance of faith rewarded, of a higher purpose served, but for forgiveness.

In his conversation with Ryne, Urianger speaks of life as "a tapestry of fates," and of the difficult decisions that must be made by those who strive to do good. He concludes with this:

Thou needst but have faith. Have faith and all will be well.

And I don't doubt that he means it. Is this not, after all, what he is doing? Continuing to withhold his knowledge and deceive his friends, out of faith that the Exarch's plan will succeed, and all will be well? If the Warrior of Light declares their trust in his plan in Kholusia, he swears to them that that trust is not misplaced. That their faith will be rewarded, that all will be well.

Thing is, in the end, that sentiment is proven wrong.

Faith isn't enough. The Exarch, however well-intentioned, fails to account for Emet-Selch's interference, the plan fails, and now Urianger is forced to confess his deception, not in victory, but to a friend on the brink of death.

After the revelations with the Warriors of Darkness, Urianger speaks frankly to the Warrior of Light, saying, “Speak thy mind. I do not expect thy forgiveness.” He even says later that Alisaie was right to condemn his choices. But he does not quite say he was wrong, and I think that’s apparent in the fact that when confronted with a similar scenario by the Exarch, though it is with obvious reluctance, he makes a similar choice.

And though Urianger even now does not openly beg forgiveness… his posture toward the Warrior of Light is very different. He goes to one knee, bowing his head before them. He says, “I offer no excuse.” He asks to be allowed to join them in setting things right, promising that his talents are at their disposal. He effectively throws himself upon their mercy. If the Warrior of Light forgives him, the look on his face is one of absolute relief, joy, and gratitude. There’s no doubt in my mind that that is the outcome he most desires, though he hardly dares hope for it.

This time, I think he knows he's fucked up. Perhaps it took the Exarch's plan going terribly sidewise for him to reach that point. I think this is a critical turning point for Urianger, one that sets him on the path to genuinely reevaluating his world view.

A Different Path

I've spent a long time pondering the fact that Urianger never has much of a visible crisis of faith upon learning the true nature of Hydaelyn.   

He remarks upon it, of course, following Emet-Selch’s revelations about Hydaelyn and Zodiark in Shadowbringers:

'Tis oft said truth is a matter of perspective. Yet upon this matter, there can be but one truth. I only pray it is not his.

From that moment on, I was honestly waiting for more of a reaction from him, especially after the confirmation in Endwalker by Hydaelyn’s own words that She is, in fact, a primal. You’d sort of expect it, right? More and more, as time has gone on and their understanding of the world has broadened, the faith of the Scions as a whole and Urianger’s devotion in specific has shifted away from the Twelve and toward Hydaelyn as an all-encompassing mother-goddess. To learn now that She is truly a primal—one of the very beings the Scions have sought to eradicate, for their devastating effects on the land and on people… Can they still trust Her guidance? Are the Echo-blessed merely tempered? What does it all mean?

Indeed, I think that these revelations very likely would have triggered a crisis of faith in pre-Shadowbringers Urianger.

But by Endwalker, Urianger is not that person anymore.

In Endwalker, we see the culmination of Urianger’s long character arc in several key scenes. The first of these comes on the moon, after the Loporrits, well-intentioned but anxious for the success of their venture after the lukewarm response to their preparations, have taken him aside and asked him to act as a liaison of sorts—to use his powers of persuasion to convince their collaborators that the moon will be a suitable vessel for the people of Etheirys.

On the surface perhaps, the Loporrits aren’t asking him to tell any really dramatic falsehoods—just talk up the moon, make it sound good, while passing along any information he can on what could improve it. And all in the service of saving a whole world full of people. He’s done far worse for that.

The subtext, however, is that Urianger would be acting to push the evacuation plan—perhaps at the expense of putting his efforts toward a way to halt the Final Days for good. Though this plan might well save the people of the Source, the reflections would be lost—a sacrifice beyond anything that’s been asked of him before. And yet if they fail to stop the Final Days, and exodus proves the only option left… could his powers of persuasion prove the difference in saving who they still can?

It all seems to immediately strike a nerve. “And so fate doth conspire to set my feet upon this path once more...” Moreover, Urianger hones right in on why he has been chosen for this task. “Is it so plain that these strangers could intuit it at a glance? My capacity for silence and secrecy... and duplicity.”

For a moment, it even appears that he might be considering going along with it. Once again, he references fate… but almost immediately, I think, he begins to turn away from that path. Y’shtola even remarks, “Urianger usually puts more effort into concealing his clandestine endeavors.” And when the Warrior of Light catches up to him, Urianger is unsurprised to see them, remarking, “Thine arrival is timely as ever.” It seems that he has already chosen not to move in shadow.

For his experiences in the First have changed him, and in the conversation that follows, he will explain why.

To me, this scene is a truly inspired moment of character development. In the hands of a lesser writer, we might have just gotten a "I don't want to lie and hide things from my friends anymore, because deception is bad" kind of epiphany. And like, sure, but that's never really been the core of it. Urianger doesn't keep secrets because he loves lying and being deceptive. He actually really doesn't. He hates it. Every time he's done it, it's been because he believed it was the only choice that would server the greater good, and the critical bit, as he finally says so candidly, is that he never looked for another way. Just as he didn't intervene to stop Moenbryda from sacrificing herself so that they could find a alternate source of aether to destroy an Ascian, he didn't look for an alternative to going undercover with the Warriors of Darkness alone, and he didn't try to convince the Exarch to look for an alternate solution to the Light problem.

“Dutiful disciple of Louisoix,” he says of himself, “ever looking to the greater good…” But the greater good part has also never actually been his problem. The Scions are all about the greater good, and most of them have been ready and willing to throw themselves on the sword should the greater good require it. The real significance of this description isn’t the greater good, but the dutiful disciple of Louisoix. Louisoix, their master; Louisoix, the prophet of their age.

Louisoix, who himself once asked Urianger to travel the realm alone and act as a diversion, while he himself moved in shadow to prepare Eorzea for the worst.

Urianger may have a natural talent for theatrics and misdirection, but he didn’t learn this from nowhere. He learned it, and performed it, at the behest of his beloved mentor, his prophet, his saint. The man who said, The worst is coming, and laid before them a path to fight it. And in his absence, Urianger has followed the path that Louisoix laid out for him: doom foretold, and one path to avert it, a path marked by, as he says now, subterfuge and sacrifice.

It's only here on the moon, faced with the request that he be the hype man for evacuating the entire star’s population onto a spaceship crewed by rabbits, that he finally says: There must be another way.

Even now, while he hopes to persuade the Loporrits to consider another avenue, he initially thinks to take that burden on himself so the responsibility of failure will be his alone. But when the Warrior of Light approaches, he confides in them, takes their encouragement to heart, and invites them to join him.

Ultimately, Urianger decides to stay on the moon to offer the Loporrits his aid, while his friends continue their work down on the surface. A plan that allows for multiple contingencies, making the best of the Loporrits’ preparations even as they hope not to need them, and most critically, a plan which requires cooperation and communication, not secrecy. Even now, it is possible they will fail. Yet for the first time, Urianger accepts that he need not carry his burdens alone. He has faith that his friends have the strength, and indeed the desire, to bear them alongside him.

This is the shift in Urianger’s faith, and the reason that in Endwalker his resolve is not shaken, but is in fact stronger than ever.

Standing Together

Urianger’s second key scene in Endwalker comes after he has returned with a gaggle of Loporrits eager to see Etheirys for themselves and learn how they can help.

Here is perhaps a good time to recall again that despite the stories of his early childhood, the Urianger we know as an adult has always been a fairly social person in his own way. In his 1.0 role, he might have been off-putting to some, but he was certainly not a recluse, and the work he was doing required its own particular type of charisma. In ARR we see him not hiding away in a corner with his books, but engaged in conversation with fellow Scions. Even in childhood, it seems like he found it difficult to relate to other children thanks to his singular personality and interests, rather than any innate misanthropy, and Moenbryda’s efforts to befriend him were ultimately successful because she made the effort to understand him.

Isolation seems to mark the darker periods of Urianger’s life, the times in which he undertakes the greatest subterfuge. And even then, he is never truly alone. In fact, he seems to succeed in these situations largely thanks to his skill in understanding and relating to those different than himself—a skill learned from his dear Moenbryda, perhaps. He manages to gain the trust of the very jaded and world-weary Warriors of Darkness. He submits himself to exhausting trials to gain the favor of the pixies and becomes practically an expert in the customs of the fae. It’s little wonder that he bonds so quickly and so well with the Loporrits, facilitating a great exchange of information and a much deeper understanding, ultimately getting them involved in the Scions' efforts to defeat Meteion and stop the Final Days.

For all his eccentricities, Urianger thrives in community, perhaps even more so in community with the odd and the unusual.

And thus do Moenbryda’s parents observe with great affection when they are reunited with him in the Sharlayan hamlet:

Wilfsunn: And look at you now. At the center of the crowd─the reason there even is a crowd, having brought these people together. You've no idea how proud we are. Bloewyda: To see the boy our daughter trusted and believed in more than anyone... grow into the man she always knew he could be.

Urianger’s final key scene in Endwalker is in Ultima Thule.

It took me months to fully process the final events of Endwalker after playing through it. It's not that I disliked it—far from it, in fact. It was deeply cathartic to play through, and left me with a lot of lingering emotions. The main thing I had to grapple with was the sacrifice aspect. For the Scions, I think so much of their arc as a group has been moving past the idea that every victory must involve some heroic sacrifice. We have seen the culmination of Urianger's character arc in his understanding that sacrifice is not always necessary, or at least should not be assumed to be the only way. Moreover, Endwalker as a whole is about the need to stand together. We see not only the payoff of the Scions’ relationships, strengthened over the course of several expansions, but the payoff of the many relationships the Warrior of Light has forged in their adventures, all coming together to save the world.

So why does this story then culminate in the Scions sacrificing themselves one by one, so that the Warrior of Light can forge on alone?

I do think we are meant to understand that the Scions are not permanently dead and gone. Even in-universe, the Warrior of Light is given to understand that between the malleability of reality in this dynamis-based place and the power infused into Azem’s crystal, it is possible to bring their friends back. Hydaelyn hints at it, noting that souls were drawn to the WoL in their journey through the aetherial sea. Y’shtola says it outright:

Though my body will soon dissipate, there may be a way to restore it. Azem's magick. So long as our souls remain, you can use it to summon us back. But you mustn't, for it would mean losing our way forward. This, I only reveal so that you can promise not to invoke the magick.

G’raha, too, as he prepares to give himself to open the way forward, asks the Warrior of Light for several promises for the future, all of which indicate faith that they will be reunited.

And this all builds on what the Warrior of Light has seen in their journeys, in particular the understanding of life and death and the aetherial sea which their descent into the Aitiascope recently confirmed: the souls of the dead do not always dissipate immediately into their component aether, but may linger, still conscious of themselves, in the aetherial sea, even for considerable time. In the Aitiascope, we see departed friends come to the side of the Warrior of Light to lend them aid.

When Bloewyda says, “I can see her in you, too. Feel her. She walks with you, wheresoever you go…” and Urianger replies, “I think… I can feel her too,” it may sound like mere sentiment at the time. When the Warrior of Light and Alphinaud see a vision of Haurchefant and Ysayle at their side as they fight to prise the Eyes of Nidhogg from Estinien’s armor and save their friend, we might doubt whether they are literally there, or whether it’s simply their memory that gives our heroes the strength to succeed. But this, I believe, is what we are meant to take from the journey through the Aitiascope: it is not mere sentiment. In this world, the departed can and sometimes do watch over their loved ones from the aetherial sea for a time, even if they cannot intervene in mortal affairs.

And thus, whatever it is precisely that happens to the souls of the Scions as they leave their corporeal forms in Ultima Thule to bend its reality to their will, they are not gone.

Thancred’s intitial sacrifice to save his friends seems to be pure impulse. He has no time to think, only acts on instinct, and bids them live, and in this asserts his will over reality. When the others understand what he has done, however, each in turn are faced with a choice.

And Urianger’s approach to this choice is somewhat different than the rest. He does not simply announce his decision on the spot, but takes the Warrior of Light and G’raha aside to confide in them. (It seems he still harbors some discomfort in revealing his thoughts to the whole group—perhaps not least because he knows how the twins will respond.) In this conversation he reveals not merely his plan, but the thoughts that have led him there, as well as some guidance for their next steps.

In true Urianger form, he speaks of faith, and of fate. Addressing G’raha, he says:

I once placed my faith in thy chosen path, walking at thy side full knowing that we were bound for thy demise. I ask now that thou returnest the favor, and abide in faith as I fulfill mine own destiny.

I think it is important here that Urianger’s belief in fate, in purpose, persists. Moreover, he uses the word destiny in the context in which he has always used it: to offer purpose and hope in the face of loss.

But no longer does he presume that facing his destiny means facing it alone. “Yet even if I must needs go to such lengths,” he says, “I cannot well feign ignorance of the answer I have found within... The answer to the question: in what moment might I stand strongest?”

It’s clear that since their arrival in Ultima Thule and Thancred’s sacrifice, Urianger has been ruminating upon this question. This time, he has the opportunity to consider the choices ahead, not simply make a decision on the spot, and he seizes that opportunity, looking for where he may do the most good.

He does not say outright what answer he found, not yet, but it becomes clear when he steps up to join Y’shtola in opening the way forward.

My resolve hath never been as strong as thine. Full oft have I wavered in my decisions, and afterwards been stricken with regret. In spite of this, I may still stand with my comrades, supporting them as they attempt the greatest of feats. This truth, I have learned in the course of our journey.

And not only does Urianger help to forge a path by bending reality, by his words and his insights he also helps to guide his friends to confront each new despair that bars the way—even after he has vanished from their sight.

Ultima Thule is not truly about sacrifice, but about a tremendous leap of faith. It’s about the strength to keep going even in the face of loneliness and despair, to know that one is not alone no matter how alone one may feel. This Urianger has learned, and the Warrior of Light will in turn as they take those final steps.

By the end of his arc, Urianger has learned that he stands strongest at the side of his friends. And perhaps this is not quite a new revelation for him, but a truth learned and forgotten and learned again and again. Character growth need not be a straight line. In his youth, Urianger was an isolated child who learned to accept Moenbryda’s friendship, and it was by her encouragement that he pursued his own path of learning which eventually led him to join Louisoix and the Circle of Knowing. I point back to the animated, talkative Urianger we see in ARR, who in the face of loss and sacrifice yet looked to the future with hope, with faith in his companions and in the continued guidance of their mentor. I think this is a truth he has known before, but one he lost sight of as his community and support system crumbled around him. We might look at Urianger’s downward spiral following Moenbryda’s death as a dark night of the soul, in which he clings to his belief in fate and ordained purpose all the more tightly, for what he has sacrificed for them, even as his insistence upon carrying the weight of duty alone sets him upon an increasingly dark and lonely path.

I wonder if he sees something of that dark and lonely path in Hydaelyn Herself, when he stands before Her and hears Her words: “There was no kindness nor justice in the tragedy I wrought.”

And as Hydaelyn is unburdened at last in entrusting the future to others… so now has Urianger found peace by placing his faith in his friends.

Conclusions

Faith has always been a core part of Urianger’s character. All his life, he has looked to forces outside himself to guide him to the truth and the right path forward, and to reassure him in the face of loss: to the gods, to prophetic writings, to trusted leaders, to the stars. And he has striven to follow what he believed was the right path, even when it meant great sacrifice and pain—even when it drove a wedge between himself and the people dearest to him.

In the end, Urianger does not lose his faith, but rather the shape of it changes. In this he finds greater peace and purpose both, understanding that he need not walk in shadow, or alone.

Having finally met Hydaelyn face to face and understood Her purpose, I think Urianger understands that this is, in fact, what She would want. In Her death, She entrusts the future to Etheirys’s people. And though we unfortunately do not get to see Urianger (or most of the Scions) react to the true nature of the Twelve and their departure from the world in Myths of the Realm… I think he’d be okay about that now, too. It is in those who stand beside him that he now places his faith, not in distant gods. And Urianger has faith that his friends will happily share in his burdens, forgive him his failings, and celebrate their victories together.

And in this new faith, he has also gained faith in himself. He can accept his own strengths and weaknesses, confide in his friends without fear of judgment, request their aid without shame. We see Urianger look to the future and embrace his duties with far greater confidence and far less doubt and torment, knowing that even in the darkest moments, he can rely on the friends who stand at his side.

Endnotes

A huge thank-you to @eriyu for her searchable transcript of MSQ dialogue at xiv.quest, without which this essay and most of my Urianger research would have been a great deal more difficult.

An additional thank-you to all the fans who have worked to preserve material from FFXIV 1.0 and make it available on YouTube, on fan wikis, and in tumblr posts; I am forever in your debt.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

you are love itself (君は愛そのものだ)

synopsis. his skin is dotted in stardust.

pairing. portgas d. ace x f!reader

word count. 1.3k | masterlist

content warning. reader is coded black (written ambiguously. anyone can read), established relationship, childhood friends, love as worship, love as a choice, reader has established devil fruit powers

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

a repost from another account and a sort of filler post for anybody who wants something not event-related. i love this fic so much i wanted it to be on this blog too. may you get a kick out of reading it if you haven't before!

Everything is made of stardust; the stars that made Ace are simply visible to the eye.

They couldn’t be contained in the depths of his body like the rest of the world’s inhabitants. It’s scattered all across his skin in a beautiful display, matching the skies they fell from. Isn’t that something? You brush a hand against warm skin in awe. It’s all right there. The stars themselves rest upon his skin, how beautiful is that? How could anyone want someone like that dead?

When you were children, Ace told you he would bring you the moon.

What do you need the moon for when you’ve been touching the stars since you were 10?

Straddling his lap, you can’t help laughing as you think you’d been fighting a losing battle from the start. From the beginning, you’d been drawn to Ace and his stars and you wanted to follow where they’d go for the rest of your life.

“What’s so funny?” Ace murmurs into your shoulder.

“I think I was born to love you.” It is the only plausible conclusion for you to reach after 10 years of loving the same person. For the half of your life you’ve known him, you’ve chosen Ace from day one. You will continue to choose him for the rest of the life you have. You chose to chase him all around Mt. Corvo, you chose to be his friend, you chose to join his crew and your heart chose him even if your head had been slow to realize. “We don’t need to find the One Piece,” you murmur as you lead a trail of kisses from his shoulder to Ace’s cheek. “I already have everything the world has to offer right here.”

You feel Ace stiffen beneath you before he laughs sheepishly, “I think you need to have your eyes checked if you think that.”

“Hey,” you lean back so you can see his face. Your brows are furrowed sternly but your eyes sparkle with mischief and your lips stretch into a challenging grin. “I have better eyes than you, I can see the soul.”

Ace snorts but his voice is light and as warm as the smile painting his face, “souls of the dead, yeah.” Smiles suit Ace more than the frowns that were once commonplace when you were younger.

“That still counts,” you protest with a chuckle. He doesn’t have to believe he’s worthy of it, you’ll tell Ace all the same. You cup his face in your hands and enjoy the vibration of his mellifluous laughter under your fingers tips as you squeeze his cheeks. “There’s a lot you can learn about this sort of stuff when you can see the dead.” How the soul carries its wounds even after death. How the soul carries the essence of everything that makes something itself. How love can carry on beyond the grave.

You’ve seen it countless times by now in your truthfully short time of being a power holder.

The spirit of a man who wanted a few berries to leave as a surprise his husband could stumble upon to brighten his day.

An elderly woman dancing in the town square, seemingly alone following the steps she took with her lost love long ago. Unbeknownst to her, however, her love danced with all the same as they did once a long time ago.

Pods of orcas full of members past and present, refusing to part from their birth pod even in death.

How beautiful it is, a love like that.

Even while deceased, they choose to remain by their beloved all the same.

Whenever it is Ace’s time, he’ll take his stars with him and they will rest on his skin just as they did when he was alive. But I’ll make sure you’re so happy you won’t want to stay, you vowed when you partook of the sea’s cursed fruit. You carry this vow even now. Ace will die a happy death but more importantly, he will live a long and mirthful life.

(You can tell for as sure as your eyes are dry; the urge to cry and scream in mourning and warning nonexistent. Still it’s your heart’s desire that you go first so you don’t ever have to risk the day you know death will come for Portgas D. Ace.)

“You know what I think,” you cease your pinching, letting your lax thumbs stroke his face. Dark eyes look up at you like you’re a dream and gold like sunlight rests in your chest. It’s light yet heavy and even if your heart is calm, its rhythmic beating tells you something precious. And he’s so, so precious. “I think that when people move on, they’re reborn as someone else. Then they get to live life all over again. And one day, that’s gonna happen to us.”

Then you’ll cease to be the 'you’ you have been and so will he.

Maybe that time, you’ll be raised in separate seas and there will be no trio of brothers you’ll latch onto. Maybe he’ll be born somewhere in Paradise but I’ll be from the West Blue. Or maybe he’ll be a fishman. Or a giant!

Maybe next time, Ace will be a short girl with firey auburn hair and chocolate brown eyes with the disposition to match. Or he’ll be a scarred and gruff dragon moray eel fishman who is an overt romantic.

Maybe next time his stars will follow him as the marker that ties him to his previous life. Then you’ll recognize him the moment you see him. But even if I don’t, I’ll love you then too. You don’t need reminders of who he was to make you want him again.

Whatever the outcome may be, you will embrace it wholly.

“Whenever that happens, I’m gonna find you and I’m going to love you all over again. You can be a girl or a giant or a fishman.” Or maybe he’ll be the tiny human and you’ll be the giant. It will be nice being taller than Ace for once, you tell him as much with a laugh. There’s a spot of wetness at the corner of his eyes that you wipe away instinctively. “Or… maybe this world runs in one big loop and we get to be us again but that time we get to make different choices. Do the stuff we didn’t do last time. But regardless of all the different things I might end up doing, the one thing that is gonna stay the same is that I’ll choose you all over again.”

There’s a pause before Ace ducks from your gaze with a wet laugh, forehead pressed against your shoulder again. The unmistakeable feel of warm droplets subsequently follow. “Thatch must be cutting onions,” he chuckles weakly. “Sorry.”

“Dummy,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and inhale his scent. There’s a natural sweetness to it you can’t explain; it’s sweet but there is a peppery kick. It’s been that way since the first day you met him. I love him, I love him, I love him. The sentiment echoes throughout your entire being. “it’s okay to cry.”

“Would you really want me again?” His voice is soft and unsure like a young bird who doesn’t know if it can trust its wings.

Who else would I want?

Why would I want anyone else?

I’ve known you for 10 years, Ace. There’s nothing about you I don’t want.

“Over and over again,” you kiss his temple once, twice and then a third time before you lift his head and kiss the corners of his eyes. “It’s you and no one else.”

A noise of surprise escapes you when Ace’s lips press against your own but you relax a beat later, humming tenderly. You relish every sensation, how his arms wrap around you tight and how his fingers gently dig into your back. The taste of salt on your lips is akin to the ocean and your heartbeat reverberates throughout your chest.

Yes, it’s telling you something precious.

[scarfacemarston]

Abigail's gift and sacrifice.

TW for canon child death. I don't think people realize how much of a gift and sacrifice it was for Abigail to agree to a second child with John. Remember that she became pregnant which then John was not supportive of her at any point. She had no family. Miss Grimshaw never liked her and not having another woman to help in such a terrifying time in a pregnant woman's life would be miserable. That leaves her with Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, Bill, Pearson and I would assume Tilly. Realistically, I doubt people like Bill or Pearson or even Dutch would be much help. She was just 18 when Jack was born. Not long after, John took off leaving her completely alone and incredibly dependent on the gang until the events of RDR 2. Remember that Abigail was one of the top earners for the gang. There are numerous audio from Hosea talking about how she was the best actress and con woman he had ever seen and Arthur agrees AND says she's the greatest thief he'd ever seen. Abigail completely loses her status. As time goes on, it's only Hosea, Tilly and Arthur that care for her. Then to go through all the events of RDR 2 and the epilogue would have made Abigail more anxious about bringing another child in the world. How would she know that John would stay with her this time? John was a changed man hence why he asked to begin with, but you and I both know that was always on her mind. She likely was worried sick about it. Additionally, as we can tell by her coughing, she was not always quite the healthiest, either. But the physical trauma and the emotional exhaustion would have been overwhelming for Abigail. She may have John, Uncle and Jack, but she still doesn't have a community or a woman to commiserate with.

She lived in a time where maternal maternity rate was still the number 1 cause of death for women followed closely by tuberculosis. Don't forget how likely post partum depression was, too. It makes it worse to think of all that worry, that time and pain that it was all going to come to the death of her and John's daughter. Imagine going through that pain. People stereotype that people in the past weren't as attached to their children and didn't mourn them the same. I can tell you right now as an academic that studies death and mourning rituals this is absolutely false. Just imagine picking up the pieces after all that. John is clearly torn up by it as well and I fully believe he would do everything in his power to support her through both the pregnancy, caring for their daughter and through mourning. But Abigail tried and that's what mattered, even if the end result was heartbreaking.

I'm thinking about writing an infant mortality/child mortality mourning post following the history and culture of this time period. Let me know if anyone is interested, but I think I'll write it either way since it's a specialty of mine.

[arclundarchivist]

Era’s End

Spoilers for C3E121

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Keyleth knows she will live to see the entire breadth of the age to follow.

She is thankful, at least, that not all of it will be alone.

And while Percy is not wrong that he is nowhere near as long for the world as she is, there is hope that his frowning countenance will continue to see her through the days to come.

She can see him now, resting in his study, Gwen at his side, as she tells him of his latest adventure, a smile on his wane lips.

She thinks he is thankful she convinced him to let the bright girl find her own path.

She… kept it all from them, or well, she tried.

Even as her friends and the other heroes she had made spread across the face of Exandria and beyond, some even beyond her sight, she wondered if any would actively come across the scattered divinities.

The love of her life had searched long and far.

The Prince of the Winds and the Twice Crowned Hunt Rumors of another every chance they can.

Their goals… are quite different.

Pike simply waits, and she is rewarded first.

Keyleth hears, but she does not say.

But Pike and her ever-burning and hopeful faith find their way to a child with a radiant smile and a propensity for helping sick animals.

She can see the Sons of Sea Salt and Clay doing her work as best suits them and sees both of their heads turn as they, too, hear a wail upon the winds.

Another reborn.

That her savior blade vanishes for a handful of days not long after is not lost on her, nor is it when he returns sans his Seedling, wistful in mein, but she keeps her peace.

It becomes almost a habit for her, for she is one, if not the most powerful natural guardian this world has any longer, as she weaves her way through the roots and breadths of Exandria, minding wards and healing tainted wilds, seeking to thread the life of Ruidus and her home together coherently, but a habit of listening.

She seeks no intervention, for that is not her place.

But she watches, and she listens, and she learns.

She sees so much.

The heroes of the Red Solstice age and change, some becoming more akin to threats, others remaining as heroic as ever even as they fade.

New heroes, villains, and monsters emerge, guided by the legacy before them or drawn from the workings of the old. Some are directly inspired, others simply know stories.

Amongst them, she gives wafting witness to the newborn gods.

She can not judge these newborns for what they once were, but when one with a cunning smile and silver tongue crafts his first law, she feels her hackles rise.

She feels the sobs of a mother in Xhorhas, as being hunted by those she would call friends skitters to life in the soul of her daughter.

That… she points towards, not directly, but enough for the hunters to take notice.

But there are so many others.

A moon-faced girl howling at the night on a distant moor.

A keen little farmer with old, old eyes, picking up a staff marked by stars and moons.

A little one turning a blue coin over in her hands plucked from the crystalline bones of her incidental savior vanished into obscurity.

A boy with red eyes gleefully claps as he knocks over his first stack of blocks.

So many could-bes and unknowns and possibilities, even as the youngest catches her gaze, such a sneer for one so young, with an eye of piercing green.

But through it all… she can't find her.

The Matron… can not be found.

But her love never stops searching, and so she does as well, silent as she observes him and his bubbly compatriot set out again and again, chasing rumor or hope or belief.

She does see more miracles than she believes possible in this age after the gods.

Angels rise, demons fall, and former heralds test their bounds.

The Chains Hold.

And in a tiny cottage far from anything of merit, except their mothers, a child of golden mein is born, and Vax remarks that the threads respond so curiously at her arrival… but that is not his Lady.

So… now, Keyleth stares down at her raven-haired daughter, clutched so tightly in her arms. She is not certain, not yet, but there is something so familiar about her as a wintery wind seeps through the windows where none should be.

Her family encroaches at this moment, exalted at her rather abrupt arrival in this world. It is a different and shifted family, formed by the legacy she has lived alongside for so long.

"Waited long enough, huh?" Keyleth murmurs, pressing her lips to the babe's head, and she swears she sees a smirk.

She laughs to herself as her love, the father of her child, bursts through the window, the Remnant Raven and his Harrowing Hare companion a step behind, a wide smile on her face.

"Thank you," she whispers to her baby girl, and so much goes into those two words. She's not certain yet if she reckons truth, mistake, or delirium.

The girl smiles toothlessly, and Vax is there, clutching to her side, with tears on his cheeks and such hope in his eyes.

"Hello, darling," he breathes, and Keyleth allows herself to simply be in a single moment for the first time in an age.

And so closes an Era, with a new one to commence sometime soon, but first, we travel back to the beginning—a Divergence.

[shizuturnspages]

Hello~ are you still taking request? Can I get yandere scaramouche and yandere alhaitham with gn (reader) who comes from another world with their friends, and when they asked where is reader's friend.

Reader just said: "... Teyvat isn't exactly a good place for species like me and my friends. Some of us ended up dying instantly, one of my friend died because he can't breathe. The rest of my friend died in the archon war, getting caught in the crossfire."

Reader: "About me? Oh, I only survive because of one thing, I'm an actual normal human being who just so happened to be born in another world. So when I got here, everything felt just the same"

The Last of Your Kind

Synopsis: Yandere Scaramouche & Alhaitham with an Otherworldly Reader Pairings: Yan! Scaramouche x gn! Reader, Yan! Alhaitham x gn! Reader

Scaramouche – The Possessive Storm

From the moment you spoke those words, a strange feeling settled in Scaramouche’s chest—something more intense than his usual possessiveness.

"You mean to tell me," he says, voice deceptively soft, "that you watched all of your friends die?"

His sharp eyes bore into you, searching for any sign of distress, but you simply nod, unfazed. That unsettles him.

Teyvat has always been cruel, but hearing about entire species dying just by existing here? That piques his interest—and fuels his paranoia.

If something as vast as the Archon War wiped out your kind, what’s stopping something else from taking you away?

The answer is simple: Him.

🔹 Overprotective to the Extreme: Scaramouche already had a tendency to keep his beloved close, but this solidifies it. You’re never walking anywhere alone. You won’t leave his sight.

🔹 Paranoia and Research: He scours every document, every ancient text, trying to understand what your kind was. He needs to know what dangers still exist. If a mere shift in the atmosphere could kill your friends, he needs to ensure that will never happen to you.

🔹 Clingy in His Own Way: He doesn’t say he’s worried, but you’ll notice how his gloved hand always seems to grab yours whenever the wind blows a little too hard. How he clicks his tongue whenever you stumble, grumbling, “Tch. Weak. Just stay close, idiot.”

🔹 A Dangerous Promise: "You survived the Archon War, huh?" His smirk is sharp, but his grip on your wrist is gentle. "Good. That means you’ll survive me."

💀 Worst-Case Scenario: You try to leave? You try to distance yourself? Scaramouche will remind you of what happened to the rest of your kind. He doesn’t need to be the one to harm you—Teyvat is dangerous enough. And without him? You wouldn’t last.

Alhaitham – The Calculated Obsession

Alhaitham listens to your words carefully, his sharp mind processing every detail.

“So, you were not only an outsider to Teyvat but also one of the last survivors of your kind?”

He leans back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "How fascinating."

Unlike Scaramouche, he doesn’t react emotionally. Instead, he’s intrigued.

🔹 Information Hoarder: Alhaitham makes it his mission to know everything about you. Your physiology, your past, your world—he wants to understand it all.

🔹 Subtle Possessiveness: He doesn’t trap you physically, but through logic. He’ll make you believe that being with him is the only rational choice. After all, the world already took everything else from you. Why risk losing more?

🔹 Manipulation Disguised as Care: “You’re unique, you know that?” His voice is steady, his touch feather-light. "There’s no one else like you left in Teyvat. That makes you a prime target." A smirk. "Fortunately for you, I happen to be quite good at keeping valuable things safe."

🔹 Veiled Threats Disguised as Comfort: "You said your friends died in the Archon War." He tilts his head. "And yet, you survived. Interesting.” His fingers brush against your wrist, barely touching. "Wouldn’t it be tragic if history repeated itself?"

💀 Worst-Case Scenario: If you ever try to leave, Alhaitham won’t stop you. Not immediately, at least. But every path you take leads to a dead end. Every attempt is calculated. And when you come back—because you will—he’s waiting with that infuriatingly smug look.

"Ah, back already? I told you, there’s no place safer than here."

[maxdibert]

Okay ill go with what you say and admit they did bad things but whys all thst class stuff relevant like okay you like to use that division but its..not everything its all about?

Talking about the relationship between James and Severus without addressing the issue of class is a mistake that perpetuates a partial and distorted view of their conflict. Too often, the bullying that James inflicted on Severus is minimized under the idea of a simple "rivalry," when in reality, the power structure between them was tainted from the start by the material and symbolic inequality that separated them. James Potter, the son of a wealthy pureblood family, raised in an environment of privilege and without economic worries, exercised violence over Severus Snape, a working-class child, abused at home, with evident economic hardships and no social capital to support him. This is not a simple fight between equals, but a clear example of how class structure influences dynamics of abuse and exclusion.

Bullying does not occur in a social vacuum; it responds to the same power structures that govern the adult world. Authors like Bourdieu have developed the concept of capital in its multiple forms: economic, social, and cultural. James Potter had access to all of them. Coming from a wealthy family, he possessed economic capital, which translated into a life without deprivation, new clothes, access to goods and resources, and the certainty that any misstep would not compromise his future. His social capital was even more decisive: he was the son of a respected family in the magical community, with a strong support network and a position of prestige at Hogwarts that protected him from any real consequences for his actions. His cultural capital, reinforced by his pureblood lineage and upbringing in an elitist environment, allowed him to navigate power spaces within the school with ease. None of this was available to Severus Snape.

Severus was a working-class child, the son of an abusive man and an impoverished witch. His patched-up clothing and unkempt appearance were not a choice but the result of his material position. He grew up in a depressing industrial neighborhood, a space marked by precariousness and lack of opportunities. Within the Marxist framework, Snape represented the exploited class: without his own resources, without a support network, and without access to the benefits of the upper class, he could only survive through his intelligence and individual effort. His mixed-blood lineage also placed him in an intermediate position within the magical world, always inferior to the purebloods who dominated Hogwarts' social sphere. This is why talking about a "rivalry" between James and Severus is a misrepresentation of the facts: there was no equality of conditions, no level playing field. What existed was a rich boy using his social and economic power to humiliate a poor boy who had no tools to defend himself.

James Potter's classism is reflected in the way he chooses his victim. He does not harass other students of his same social class; instead, he preys on Severus, who is in an absolute position of inferiority. James exercises his abuse in public spaces, under the gaze of other students, aware that his status protects him from any retaliation. It is no coincidence that he is always the one initiating the harassment and that he does so accompanied by his friends, while Snape is alone. This is a classic manifestation of violence exercised from a position of power: it is based on impunity, on the certainty that the system will not intervene in favor of the victim because the aggressor is a legitimized subject within the social structure. James, like any child born into the upper class, learned from an early age that he could do whatever he wanted without real consequences because the world was designed to favor him.

Goffman speaks of stigma as a social marker that defines who is accepted and who is marginalized in a community. Snape embodies the stigma of poverty, domestic violence, and lack of resources. In the Hogwarts imagination, he is someone who does not fit the model of success and prestige represented by children like James Potter. This is key to understanding their relationship: James' aggression is not just personal but structural. Severus is not just Severus; he is the poor boy, the dirty boy, the boy who has no allies, the boy who will never be part of the winners' circle. In this sense, the violence he receives is not an isolated phenomenon but the manifestation of a hierarchy that placed him at the bottom even before he set foot in Hogwarts.

The argument that James "matured" and "changed" over time does not nullify the fact that his youthful violence was possible thanks to his privileged position. Within the meritocratic logic often applied to his story, we are told that James became a better person and that, therefore, his past should be excused. But this ignores that the underlying problem was never just his attitude, but the system that allowed his abuse to occur without consequences. When James finally "grows up," he has already enjoyed years of prestige, power, and acceptance. His change is not the result of a struggle against the system but a smooth transition within the same structure that always benefited him. Meanwhile, Severus remains trapped in the logic of the dispossessed: still alone, still marginalized, still without the resources to rewrite his story.

From a Marxist perspective, the story of James and Severus is not just a story of two children in conflict. It is the story of how social class defines who has the right to dignity and who must fight for it every day. It is the story of how the violence of the privileged is treated as "youthful pranks" while the anger of the oppressed is seen as a threat. It is the story of how the impunity of power allows the victors to write history and how those who have been humiliated are the ones who must bear the weight of their own suffering.

For this reason, no, there can be no talk of rivalry between James Potter and Severus Snape. Not when one had everything and the other had nothing. Not when one could exercise violence without fear and the other had to endure it without hope for justice. Not when the story of one is remembered as that of a reformed hero and the other as that of a resentful man without redemption. Because history, as always, is written by the victors. And in the world of Harry Potter, as in our own, the victors are almost always those born with privilege.

[sensitivepluto]

I Do

Short & Sweet - Day 6: Arranged Marriage

Gojo Satoru x Femme! Reader // angst/semi-fluff

[CW]: arranged marriage, past abuse mention (not detailed), a lil angsty, femme presenting reader, pet names

This is @thewritingstar's prompt list - here's the link to the post!

You always thought that when you finally got married, it would be for love. There would finally be a day that you would be able to run away from the family you were bound to with blood. Many days of your childhood were spent dreaming of some strong knight whisking away from this house littered with chaos and hatred.

Unfortunately for you, born into a household meant to carry a male sorcerer, you were a female. The last born female at that. You pitied your poor brother who was all but left behind when it came to that he had no cursed abilities, not even able to see the curses that plagued the world. Your second sibling, another boy, carried the same ill fate.

When you were born, it was nothing short of the worst luck for your family. And when you were finally old enough to discover your talents, shame arose to your family's name. What good was another sorcerer if you couldn't even carry on your family's legacy? What a shame to have two perfectly good sons, but for talent to be bestowed upon the girl.

Your childhood was rough, to say in the least. So you spent a lot of your time hidden away as to not fan the flames of wrath coming from your parents. You read stories of fairytale maidens saved by heroes and loved by all. It was your dream to finally feel that compassion from another. It had to happen.

On your eighteenth birthday you had no celebration, just like every other year. Your parents sat you down and slapped a thick binder in front of you. When you looked up to the with question you were met with harsh eyes and even harsher scowls.

"A contract." Your father explained after many moments of silence. "This is an arranged contract for your marriage to the newly sworn head to the Gojo clan. Satoru Gojo." It made no sense to you. Why the hell would they be trying to arrange a marriage like this? And why does this clan want anything to do with your family?

"Don't look so glum." Your mother almost growled at you. "This way you're not as useless to us. Our family will prosper from this, do you understand." All you could do was nod. However, inside you screamed in agony. The one thing you thought you'd have control over was ripped from you in an instant. And thus began the preparations for your big happy day...

It was only a few weeks from that date when you were all but dragged to a chapel in the richest part of town. The days of being fitted into a dress with no input from you, set dressing with flowers and candles, and being dragged around like a puppet being repaired for a show were finally over.

You sat in a back room alone. Sat on a plush chair in your big white wedding dress. Tears threatened to stream down your face, and it took everything in you not to let them fall. After all, if you ruined your makeup they would have your head.

The door to your chamber creaked open and your mother waltzed in dressed in her finest garments. A bit gaudy for her status, but nevertheless she pranced like the peacock she so desperately desired to be. In her hands she held a piece of translucent fabric.

"We're hoping the groom doesn't think too ghastly of your...countenance." Your mother sighed, unraveling the fabric to reveal a very long veil. She motioned for you to sit up before pinning the veil into your carefully done hair. When covered, you could barely see your face and consequently you could barely see in front of you. "All better. Now come, it's time!" Your mother smiled. She smiled...

As she lead you through the chapel you wondered when the last time you saw her smile was. Had you ever seen her smile? The thought distracted you until you stood in front of giant wooden doors. Inside you heard the sound of hushed murmuring and piano filling the room.

You barely had time to compose yourself before the doors opened. The murmuring stopped, the music paused, and all eyes were turned toward you. You stood there, stunned for a moment. The veil helped conceal your nerves, but you could barely see anyone around you. Your mother gently pushed you forward, so you knew you had to start walking.

Slowly, you stepped forward. One step at a time. Maybe if you just focused on your feet you'd make it to the alter. One step...one step...almost there...How on earth can this aisle be so long. One step...come on you can tota-

Your feet snagged on your impossibly poofy dress and fell to the ground disgracefully. The wind nearly knocked out of you and gasps filled the room. Shame and terror filled your veins while you tried to fix yourself and get up, but the veil tangled around your arms and you still couldn't see. Panic started to settle in. They would have your head for this you knew it.

A hand found your back, gently; though you flinched nonetheless. You prepared yourself for whatever agony was awaiting you when a voice filled your ears.

"Are you alright?" It was a male's voice you certainly didn't recognize. Maybe a family member of the groom's? Surely he was still sat at the alter waiting for his stupid, clumsy bride to stop making a fool of him.

"I-I'm okay." You mumbled. The same hand on your back moved to help lift you onto your feet. You couldn't help but grab onto this person for guidance, and you heard a tongue click.

"They really have you walking an aisle not able to see, huh?" The mysterious stranger chuckled. "Let's get this off of you, shall we? Can't have my wife all damaged on the first day." Wife? The man moved before you could process his words. He hastily unclipped your veil and pulled it away, throwing it haphazardly to the people sitting in the pews.

You blinked your eyes and adjusted to the setting around you. Many people were sat in the pews gawking at the two of you. Your parents were sat in front with eyes that would cut you in two if you could. Yet your eyes were locked on the man in front of you. He was so tall. His snowy white hair was combed neatly and his eyes...His eyes were this icy blue that held your gaze infinitely. This was your husband-to-be? This was Satoru Gojo?

"Better?" Satoru questioned. You nodded, still mesmerized with his easygoing appearance. "Good. Come on we'll walk up together so you don't fall again." He smiled sweetly at you, holding his elbow out for you to hold onto. You quietly followed his instruction and let him lead you to the alter.

The two of you stood at the alter, and his grasped your hands in his. He still held the same easygoing expression. The priest, after giving the two of you quick glances, began the matrimonial ceremony....

You honestly don't remember much of the ceremony. Every action of yours felt robotic and forced. The kiss between you and your newly wed husband was short and sweet, and it was over before you knew it. When the reception came, held in a banquet room in the same chapel, it felt cold. Eyes were glued to you, though no one tried to speak with you. You heard gossip talking about how plain you looked. Others judged your family quietly.

"Would you like to dance?" The voice came softly. Satoru bent to speak into your ear. It startled you a little, but you nodded obediently. There was a glint of some kind in his eyes. Whether it was pity or simple embarrassment you did not know. Either way, he led you to the middle of the floor. "Follow my lead." He instructed quietly.

And so you did. You followed him step by step in an easy waltz between the two of you. The people around you watching intently, probably waiting for you to fall again. However the man holding you had you firmly against him, so there was no risk of that again.

After your dance the man bowed down to you again. "Nice to know you don't actually have two left feet." He jested. You smiled in faint amusement, but stayed silent. The same glint appeared in his eyes, and he looked around at all the people before eyeing you down again.

Everyone was settled into their niche little groups, drinking and muttering quietly amongst each other. It was a rigid and stiff atmosphere. The sight almost made you sad. There has not been an ounce of joy in this night you'd dreamed of for so long.

"Hey," your husband tried again, pulling you from your thoughts. "This is kinda boring, ya think?" You looked up at him with question, but nodded silently. He smiled mischievously. "I think you and I should blow this place, yeah?" He didn't wait for your answer. Quickly he grabbed you by the arm and ran.

You both dashed by the people around you and out into the parking lot. A few disgruntled family members tried shouting after you, but Satoru paid no mind to them as he helped you into a black sports car and sped off once he was buckled in himself.

Once you were freely on the road, he finally slowed down and let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "That was so much fun!" He cackled. When he spared a glance at you, though, he sighed and smiled softly. "I'm sorry about that."

"What?" you asked. Your eyebrows furrowed and your heart beat rapidly.

"Well I know this isn't exactly an ideal circumstance for you." His voice lowered. The crazed look in his eye suddenly overcome with a much calmer and serious expression.

"Me?!" You yelped, exasperated. "You're the one forced to marry lower." It wasn't false. The research you'd done on your husband further solidified it in your head that you were completely and utterly useless and unwanted. Yet the look on his face showed none of that. He glanced at you and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I wasn't going to have a choice either way, you know. You're the one who's being forced." It didn't make any sense to you. How could someone like him possibly not have the choice of anyone he wanted. Did it have something to do with sorcery? Lineage? You opened your mouth to ask, but he interrupted before you could.

"Don't think to much on it, sweetheart. Either way you and I are already married so it doesn't matter too much the reason. We'll have a long time to learn each other's dark secrets." The smile reappeared on his face while he reassured you. All you could do was nod timidly.

"This isn't how I thought I'd get married." You finally sighed out. It was the first time you'd said the thought aloud. Part of you wondered if, much like your family, he'd punish you for such rude thoughts. Instead, however, he hummed quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry for that. But I'll do whatever I can to make sure your safe and happy..." Satoru trailed off, glancing once again. "I promise you that." You sat there for a moment, pondering what that promise meant. Whatever it meant, you knew you felt safer than you had in a long long time.

"Thank you."

A/N - might be inclined do a Pt. 2. We'll have to see!!

Masterlist

[dulcet-aurora]

video games . jason todd x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ they say that the world was built for two. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ after half a decade of years of therapy, tears, and the seemingly never-ending loop of the five stages of grief, you've finally been able to claw your way past the death of your best friend. but one wish on a burning candle on a lonely, rainy night changes everything.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. mentions of blood, angst, dogshit writing. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚. @di-lucss. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.7k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. please make this pull a jason and blow up 🙏🙏 also take note that there's like three different years that jason was born in order for me to determine when he died so i had to spin around in the dark and throw a dart and a random year. said year was 1990 so he died in 2005. reader has a february birthday for plot reasons. don't like it? don't read.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"𝒘ithout music, life would be a blank to me. you're my music. happy sweet sixteen." read the inside of your old, worn copy of jane austen's emma. scrawled in black pen was a little, poorly drawn but albeit sweet doodle of toad and toadette from mario kart sitting on opposite ends of a cake. you'd dubbed him as toad when you were little due to his last name. underneath, in smaller script, "for my favorite parasite. enjoy. love, jason."

your eyes glistened with tears as you looked at the date— february 7th, 2005. when you had turned sixteen, you'd tackled your best friend so hard in a hug that he fell over and landed on the grass. his sixteenth wouldn't come until august, but you already had a book chosen out. what you didn't know is that that same book would still be lodged among your collection of books in four years, because in just over two months, he'd be beaten half to death and let an exploding warehouse finish the job.

jason always liked to go out with a bang.

of course, you hadn't known that. you hadn't known that he'd gone on patrol as batman's sidekick, like he had for years without you knowing. it wasn't until an older gentleman approached you at the funeral and pressed a sharp ended pin shaped like an 'R' into your palm.

you'd renovated after he died. in this economy, you couldn't afford a new apartment other than the one you lived in when you were younger. with your father out of the picture and your mother sent to rehab just barely a year after jason's death, you'd doubled down and redid the entire thing yourself, erasing every trace of your teenaged self from every nook, cranny, and crevice. there were too many memories of jason in the walls— the two broken coat hangers where he'd tried to do a pull-up, the two handprints in red and blue paint on the wall after your first playdate in second grade, and that old guitar with two missing strings that he carved your initials into. gone, gone, gone.

you'd never forgiven him. for lying. for being so reckless. for leaving you. leaving you alone underneath that weeping willow wondering why he hadn't showed.

you brushed your fingers against jason's five year old handwriting, the last trace you had of him. the warm glow of your candle stabbed into your cupcake illuminated the pages. today marked your fourth birthday without jason, four years of that fifty dollar, leather bound copy of pride and prejudice, the one that you spent five months of allowance saving up for. you've never read it, never touched a copy of pride and prejudice again because all you could hear was his voice reading the words.

i wish you were here, jay, you thought to yourself as a puff of air left your lips as you blew out the candle. wisps of smoke curled off the wick and brushed over the first pages of emma. tears brimmed in your eyes as you caught a glimpse of his messy script again. i miss you.

you curled your legs up to your chest and rested your chin on your knees. you let yourself cry, tears trickling down your cheeks.

just then, you heard the window open and your plate beneath your cupcake vibrated as heavy footsteps hit the floor. the groan of a man echoed through your apartment and the sound of something large hitting your wall.

you flinched, your palms pressed against the table. your lights were off and your candle was out, the spark on the wick fading quickly. you inhaled sharply then clamped a hand over your mouth. you stood up and grabbed the quickest weapon you could find— your old, faulty lighter. you walked silently towards the sound.

you heard another rustle and the sound of bottles knocking against each other. the sound was hollow and echoed through your apartment— it was the sound of metal bouncing off tile. your bathroom. your socks quieted your steps as you made your way there. the door is ajar, and you can hear labored breathing slipping through crack in the door. the noise and the bright alabaster light made it look like god himself was speaking to you in tongues.

you nudge the door with your lighter, the harsh light making your vision go fuzzy for a moment before your eyes adjust. your hand goes slack.

"oh my god."

there's blood on your bathtub, your first aid kit is scattered all over the place, and there are muddy boot prints all over your tiled floor a masked head looks up at you and you make dead eye contact with none other than red hood sitting on the edge of your bathtub, a hand stained as red as his suit clamped over his abdomen.

"hey," red hood said, entirely too calm for the fact that a) he had just broken into your home, and b) there was a hole in his stomach.

"hello," you blurted out.

a beat of silence passes, "i'm bleeding," the masked man offered.

"i... can see that," you said. you slowly reached for a bottle of hairspray, your trembling fingers clutching around the bottle as you subtly angled the end of the lighter to the nozzle of the hairspray can.

"please don't set me on fire," red hood said gruffly. you lowered your lighter slowly.

"why are you here?" you asked, voice thick with the disbelief that was still choking you. "how did you even—" you cut yourself off, your eyes shifting nervously to the window, the glass still open. your apartment was on the third floor. he had a stab wound. how had he gotten in?

"i'm really not in the mood for twenty questions," he muttered, sucking in a sharp breath as he shifted his weight.

in reality, jason remembered your exact address from his old life, his old life with you in it, where he would scramble up the rusted ladder and run along the ledges to reach your bathroom window. it was muscle memory for him to go to your apartment, he hadn't even considered that maybe other people lived hear or they'd taken down that old ladder because it was a hazard.

"can you just... do the thing where you help me before i bleed out all over your bathroom?" he asked, and you blinked.

"i... i'm not qualified," you said.

"of course you're not," he grumbled, and you stiffened. red hood motioned to his wound still gushing blood in between his fingers. "look, do i look qualified? no. am i still patching myself up? yes."

"i could care less if you lived or died," you said coldly.

he went silent. you couldn't see, but he bit his cheek and forced down the lump in his throat. he knew that you didn't know that he had died, that he was the one person that you cared about. the singular organism on this planet with a beating heart and flowing blood and breathing lungs that had let those three things shut down and allowed himself to leave you forever.

you cared about jason todd. not red hood. and the only thing for your birthday was for him to stumble through your window like he used to, his clothes smelling like nicotine and his monster energy breath wafting through your tiny apartment. something had climbed through your window that night, but it wasn't your best friend, your jason, your toad. because he was gone and no matter how hard you wished, he wasn't coming back.

"clean up," you quipped, motioning at the mixture of crimson blood and mud caking onto your tile. "grab some food and go be on your merry way."

red hood gave you a thumbs up and you turned on your heel and went back to the kitchen table. your candle had melted. there was wax in your icing.

tears welled up in your eyes. you furiously wiped them away, the sleeve of your sweater burning the puffy skin around your eyes but you didn't care. while you didn't give two shits about red hood, he was still a dangerous individual and was bleeding out in your bathroom. you didn't want him thinking you were weak or see you crying over a copy of emma and potentially digging up things on your personal life.

you put your head down and feels like hours have passed before red hood comes out of the bathroom. you heard the refrigerator open and the sound of containers being rustled around before the door shut and you heard your window slide open.

words danced on the tip of jason's tongue, trapped between his lips and the mask. words like i'm sorry or it's me, jason or any of the thousand inside jokes that had been trapped in his mind and guarded by the lazarus pit that had been sure to engrave it in his brain. his memories of you were still muddled but were all the same, like the layers of a 3d movie or the text on the rosetta stone.

he noticed the cupcake. and the book. that book. emma.

the scent of smoke lingered in the air, slipping between the sweat building up in his hood and the scent of gasoline that clung to his uniform. "happy birthday," he said, one leg hanging out the window.

silence. "how'd you know?" you asked after a moment, your voice hollow.

"you wanted something, and didn't get it," he guessed. jason recognized your flushed cheeks and moodiness when something went wrong. when you were little, you'd throw tantrums.

"i'm not four." you retorted.

"yeah, so live a little," he said. "how often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!"

you'd heard that line before. "wait, did you just—"

the rest of your words came out as a breath as you looked behind you to see red hood gone, the only trace of his presence being the lingering scent of nicotine. your lips parted, hoping the rest of your sentence would spill out, but it didn't.

jane austen wrote that surprises are foolish things. the pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. as you cleaned your floor of red hood's boot prints and had to make an extra grocery run for the amount of food that he'd taken, you might've agreed with it.

but the red annotation on page 182 and the note on your bulletin board reminding you to do something spontaneous said otherwise.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[deaddaygal]

Rook and Hawke Head Canon because I like crying.

Spoilers Ahead

Before I get started here are some other head canons that inform this one.

Varric and Hawke had an intimate moment after Hawke arrived at Skyhold and this….exchange….resulted in a pregnancy.

Hawke didn’t suspect pregnancy since after the Arishok fight where she had been impaled (a few times, I’m bad at video games), she believed it wasn’t possible for her.

There is no time technically in the Fade, no day or night. Lucanis doesn’t sleep because he worries about Spite, but I suspect that everyone has trouble sleeping at the Lighthouse. Aging gets a little slower, those with periods’ cycles are either messed up or have stopped. Do you know where I’m going with this?

Hawke survived the Fade and has been there for over a decade. This is basically confirmed with that armor drop the devs did a few months ago.

Hawke finds her way through the Fade and is eventually found by Rook and the gang. She’s too late. Varric is gone. She wants to be angry with Rook, but what she finds is a person as equally devastated by his loss, although in a different way.

Hawke is fragile and ashamed in a way that makes her uncomfortable. She had hoped going into the Fade and “sacrificing” herself would absolve her of her own guilt for “failing” Kirkwall, among others.

But she lived. She was trapped, tempted and terrified but she was still alive. The only solace had been that maybe one day she’d find a way back to him.

She missed her chance.

Now, the realization of a pregnancy in stasis feels like a miracle and a slap in the face all at once. She’s afraid to go it alone, her friends and brother far away.

Maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s a sense of responsibility for what happened to Varric, or maybe it just feels right, Rook steps up to help. In doing so, the two of them realize how much they have in common. The regrets, the sense of duty, the anger. They know what it’s like to lose everything. They share stories of the pitfalls of leadership, the hassles of being a mage in a world still skeptical and the joys of their time with Varric.

Emmrich finds that Rook is happier, that they are healing in a way he hadn’t expected with Hawke around. When the child is born, a red haired thief of the heart, Rook and Emmrich are made godparents. It feels natural when they all decide to live together.

Hawke helps Rook through their own pregnancy. Their children grow up as siblings practically. Hawke’s daughter looks so much like her father and is twice as stubborn.

As they watch their strange family grow, they’re sure Varric would have been proud.

[tyrantisterror]

Wife Goals: Hexadecimal

Hey fuckers. It's February, my Seasonal Affective Disorder is at its peak, and romance is on my mind whether I like it or not. So I'm going to ramble/gush about some of my favorite female characters in fiction, in a painfully honest and deeply cringe way, because fuck you that's why. We live in a post-Muncher society, you can't fucking stop me.

We're beginning with Hexadecimal from the 90's early CGI cartoon Reboot. I feel like most of tumblr's userbase was too young to watch that show. A lot of you were probably born after it aired. God I'm old. I'm so old and alone. Fuck.

Anyway, the premise of Reboot was that there was an entire world within your computer, with every program and file being people who lived inside the big city that makes up the computer itself. The city everything takes place in is called Mainframe, the main character was a security program, most of the citizens were shaped like 1's and 0's (binary code, get it?), everyone talked about things taking nanoseconds because one of the other conceits is that the people inside the computer experience time differently than humans, etc.

The villains of Reboot, at least initially, were computer viruses. One, the primary antagonist, was Megabyte, an evil overlord who wanted to take control of Mainframe by force - sort of the picture of a Lawful Evil villain, in D&D terms. The other, his sister, was Hexadecimal, the self-professed Queen of Chaos, who is more of a wicked witch (get it? Hex-adecimal!) that existed to cause mischief and mayhem for the sake of it. The Chaotic Evil to Megabyte's Lawful Evil, if you will - though as the series went on, calling Hex "evil" became more and more inaccurate.

Reboot was one of the first fully CGI cartoons, and it used the limitations of that early technology as a jumping off point to get creative with its setting and character concepts. Hexadecimal is very much a case in point for that - rigging face animations, especially on a humanoid face, is complicated and time-consuming, which is why there were very few humanoid characters in the first season of Reboot (and hence most of the case being made of 1's and 0's). For Hex, they decided to get around this by giving her a gimmick: Hexadecimal doesn't have a true face of her own, but rather dozens upon dozens of masks that she switches between with a wave of her hand. The result is that 1. the animators didn't need to work on in-between frames for her change in facial expression, saving a good bit of time and money and 2. Hexadecimal's mood changes are really, REALLY weird and unsettling to witness, selling her as some sort of supernatural monstrosity. She is magical in a dark, spooky way, even when just expressing feelings, and the result is a visual that really sticks with you - one that never would have been done if not for the limitations of that early CGI.

Of course, one of the other reasons Hexadecimal might have stuck out is that she was, uh... well, sexualized qutie a bit. Look, I'm not going to mince terms, there were some horny bastards working at Mainframe Entertainment (the company that made Reboot). These are the same animators who reportedly based Blackarachnia's design in Beast Wars after a stripper they saw while going out after work one night. In the first season of this show Hexadecimal full-figured and prone to walking in a very sultry way. When the show got dropped by ABC and picked up by another network, they put her in a full-on dominatrix outfit. Hex was always intended to be sexy.

And, like, ten-year old me didn't fully understand that when watching this show. But I do think that it was at least part of why my pre-adolescent brain because very obsessed with Hexadecimal, moreso than any of the other Reboot characters. She was interesting, for a lot of reasons, some of which I understood (funny scary monster villain lady) and some that I didn't understand but, like, vibed with intensely in ways that were formative and probably life-ruining.

Thankfully Hexadecimal was also just a very well-written character, perhaps the best in all of Reboot. Her first episode establishes the base components of her characterization that the rest of the show would build upon. Hex unleashes a computer bug using code from a paint program, which turns everyone who encounters it to stone. She specifically unleashes it by hiding it in a package and pretending to guard it, which makes her brother/rival villain, Megabyte, think it's some important mcguffin that he should steal. He does, and ends up the first victim of the medusa bug, which then spreads through all his minions, and then through all the different ways he has to sneak into the heart of Mainframe city, eventually infecting almost every citizen.

Already we establish several things about Hex: first, her schemes aren't about conquering people, but causing mayhem and havoc for the sake of it. Second, despite her chaotic nature, she's smart enough to make proper evil schemes. Third, she's a good judge of character in her way, as she figured the easiest way to get Megabyte to take the bait was to pretend she had something valuable for him to steal. Fourth, despite also being "evil," she's not on good terms with her brother/rival villain, and in fact wants to take him out first before anyone else. Fifth, holy shit she is SO much more powerful than the main bad guy, it's her first episode and she already almost won!

Almost. Of course, Bob, our hero security program, goes to Hexadecimal to try and stop her, at which point we find out Hex has something of a manic crush on Bob (as she articulates later in the series, "Oh Bob, I don't know whether to kiss you OR KILL YOU!"), and is actually willing to hear him out when he comes in doing his hero routine. Luckily, Bob is clever too, and decides to beat Hex the same way she beat Megabyte - he tells her that she should be proud of how orderly she made Mainframe. After all, with everyone turned to stone, nothing will change - it'll all be the same forever, quiet, calm, peaceful, and boring. Hexadecimal, the self-professed Queen of Chaos, immediately realizes she's made a nightmare for herself, and undoes her evil scheme with a wave of her hand before letting Bob go out of gratitude for keeping her from making a horrible mistake.

Which is the most important thing we've learned about Hexadecimal in her debut: she values freedom. Oh, she calls it chaos, yes, but Hexadecimal's biggest belief is that people should have the freedom to make their own choices, no matter how violent and destructive they may be. She's an anarchist first and foremost, and she values freedom so much that she'd gladly admit she was wrong and undo a successful scheme if someone correctly points out that said scheme goes against her ideals.

Especially if that someone is the guy she likes.

Hexadecimal is a supremely powerful villain who can't really be overpowered, but can be reached and defeated emotionally. As the show goes on, dealing with Hex increasingly becomes focused on building a relationship with her, and for most of the runtime Bob is the only person who is both brave and compassionate enough to try and give it a shot. While he doesn't share Hexadecimal's romantic feelings, he nonetheless feels there is something good buried deep beneath her mania, and that she is worth reaching out to.

And we in turn see that is is 100% correct. For all her supervillain antics, her ranting and raving, her violent outbursts and maniacal schemes, Hexadecimal is at her core an intensely lonely person, someone who craves affection but drives off almost everyone who gets close because of her psychological instability. She deeply wants people to love - she dotes on her little cat-like follower, Scuzzy, and she's also kind to nulls, creatures made from broken programs in the computer world that most people regard as vermin. And there are so many times when Hexadecimal's latest scheme is something Bob just... talks her out of.

Given the nature of serialized storytelling, Hexadecimal's vast strength did not stay insurmountable, and there were several times where she was humbled to show how great the new threat in the story was. Perhaps the most important was when Megabyte finally managed to get one over on her, literally shackling her with a control collar like she was a rabid dog and forcing her to be a living power source for his weaponry. Eventually Hex broke free (as she says, "Chaos will always triumph over order! It is the way of things!"), but at the cost of breaking herself further, which is visually represented by a crack forming on her mask. Bob, who'd been away for some time at this point (watch the show to know why), finds her and helps her fix her map - and this act of kindness, of care, of healing allows Hex to express emotions without swapping her mask for the first time, and, in the process, express herself with more self control. The children's cartoon show equivalent of finally getting this poor woman the meds she needs.

Unfortunately, most of the other characters weren't willing to forgive Hex for her past actions, and she spent the final season regarded with suspicion and coldness by all the other people of Mainframe even as she tried to turn over a new leaf. And while Bob cared about her, he didn't love her, a fact she had trouble accepting. The tragedy of this came to a head when the main threat of the fourth season, a new virus named Daemon whose plot was even more apocalyptic than anything Hex came up with in her villainous prime, unleashed a doomsday infection that could only be stopped by another virus - and even then, that virus would be sacrificing their life to pull it off. Hexadecimal willingly chooses to do it, happily even, with a smile on her face - because while she was going to die, the people she cared about would live, and perhaps think a little better of viruses like her as a result.

I think that is what made Hexadecimal stick with me more than anything - more than the cool mask, the awesome villain antics, or the 90's cartoon age-inappropriate sexy character design. Hexadecimal, more than anything else, is defined by her love for others and her desire for them to be free to live their lives as they choose. That means they can choose not to love her, not to forgive her, not to include her. They're free, that's their choice, just as it's her choice whether or not to love them in spite of it, and her choice to die for their freedom and happiness. She loved so, so deeply, and the thing that sticks with me, the thing that broke my heart as a kid and breaks it now, is that no one ever loved her back.

Yeah, she was creepy and maniacal and almost killed a bunch of people a lot of times, but she was also so full of love, and all she really needed was for it to be reciprocated! She needed people who were willing to care for her, even just a little bit - and she deserved people who cared a lot more than that, because if she was willing to do so much good for so little, imagine what good she could have done if someone loved her as much as she loved them.

Anyway, while I had many precocious crushes before Hexadecimal, I'm pretty sure she's the reason why my "type" seems to be "women who are made entirely out of Red Flags." And maybe that's ok.

...

no it's not ok why am I like this

[g1rlsp1ckins]

𝓕ARMER'S 𝓓AUGHTER 𝓓R     ✶ 𝓘NTRODUCTION

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦.”

꒰ Charlotte Campbell is the golden thread woven through the fabric of Sunny Acres Homestead, a farm cradled by rolling hills and kissed by the sun. With hair like spun wheat and a heart as tender as the morning dew, she moves through the orchard and fields as if she belongs to the land itself. The red barn hums with the echoes of generations past, while horses graze in the amber glow of twilight. Here, amidst the whisper of apple trees and the song of cicadas, Charlotte tends to the soul of the farm, her spirit as steadfast as the earth beneath her feet. Sunny Acres is more than her home—it is her poetry, her purpose, and the place where her roots run deep. ꒱

︶֪︶︶֪︶ ིྀ ︶︶֪︶ ୨ৎ︶֪︶︶֪︶ ིྀ ︶︶֪︶

꒰ She is the heart and soul of Sunny Acres Homestead, a sprawling farm nestled in the rolling hills of her hometown. Born to James and Clara Campbell, Charlotte has grown up surrounded by golden fields of wheat, lush orchards, and the hum of hard work. As the only child of the Campbells, she’s taken on the unofficial title of “the farmer’s daughter,” a role she wears with quiet pride.

Her days are a mix of simplicity and diligence. Charlotte rises before the sun to feed the animals, gather eggs, and check on the crops. Her favorite part of the day is tending to the orchard, where the scent of apples fills the air. She’s often found with her guitar slung across her back, singing softly to herself or to the animals, her voice blending with the symphony of the countryside.

Charlotte has a knack for sewing, crafting lace, and embroidery during the quiet evenings in the cabin she shares with her parents. Her creations are sought after at local fairs, where she trades them for things the farm needs. She also has a deep love for storytelling, filling journals with poetry, sketches, and musings inspired by her life on the homestead.

Despite her contentment on the farm, Charlotte harbors a curiosity about the world beyond Sunny Acres. She dreams of visiting bustling cities and meeting people with stories as rich as her own. Yet, she feels deeply tied to the land, knowing that Sunny Acres isn’t just where she lives—it’s who she is.

Charlotte’s kind spirit and hardworking nature make her beloved by the townsfolk. Many admire her for her loyalty to her family’s way of life, but she’s also known for her fierce independence and her subtle yearning for something more. She wears her mother’s old key on a leather strap around her neck—a reminder of her roots and the doors she hopes to one day unlock. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

꒰ Beckett Dawson is the quiet yet reliable farmhand at Sunny Acres Homestead. Raised on the outskirts of a small ranching town, Beckett grew up knowing the value of hard work but carried the burden of a tumultuous family life. His father, a stern rancher, demanded perfection, while his mother was the soft-spoken anchor who encouraged Beckett to pursue his quiet dreams. When Beckett was 17, his mother passed away unexpectedly, leaving him to navigate the storm of grief and his father's relentless expectations.

Desperate to find his own way, Beckett left home at 20, wandering from one farm to another before finding steady work at Sunny Acres. James Campbell, the owner, saw the boy’s potential and hired him despite his reserved demeanor. Over time, Beckett has proven himself indispensable, always the first to rise and the last to leave. While he prefers to work alone, tending to fences or herding livestock, Beckett’s skill with horses has made him an asset to the homestead.

Though he rarely speaks of his past, Beckett’s silence carries a weight that those around him can feel. He’s a man of few words but countless small gestures—fixing a broken fence before anyone notices, leaving freshly sharpened tools for the other workers, or ensuring the animals are warm on cold nights. Charlotte Campbell, the farmer’s daughter, is one of the few people who’s managed to draw him out of his shell. She often finds him sketching horses in an old notebook during breaks, and their quiet conversations have become a rare source of comfort for Beckett.

Beckett carries a deep fear of abandonment, a scar left by losing his mother, and the emotional distance of his father. This fear drives him to stay rooted at Sunny Acres, the first place that’s ever felt like home. He keeps a photo of his mother tucked into his wallet, a constant reminder of the one person who believed in him unconditionally.

Beneath his stoic exterior, Beckett is a dreamer, yearning for a life where he’s more than just a hired hand. Yet, for now, he’s content to be part of the rhythms of Sunny Acres, finding peace in the quiet moments and solace in the steady work of the farm. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

꒰ Charlotte and Beckett's story began in the small, unspoken moments that only life on a farm could create.

Charlotte had always noticed Beckett’s quiet nature—the way he’d tilt his hat lower when anyone looked his way or the way he’d slip away to the barn to sketch horses when he thought no one was watching. To most people, Beckett was a hard worker and little else, but to Charlotte, he was a mystery she couldn’t help but want to unravel.

One summer evening, as the sun painted the fields in hues of gold, Charlotte found Beckett repairing the fence along the orchard. He was deep in concentration, his hands moving with practiced ease. She approached with a basket of apples, her heart thudding in her chest for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

“You’ve been working hard all day,” she said, offering him an apple. “You should take a break.”

Beckett glanced up, startled, but took the apple with a small nod. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

That was how it started: quiet conversations during breaks, small smiles shared over the chores, and stolen moments in the orchard where their lives seemed to slow down. Charlotte would hum while picking apples, and Beckett would pause his work just to listen, even if he’d never admit it.

One evening, after a long day of work, Charlotte found Beckett sitting by the pond near the edge of the property. The setting sun cast a warm glow over him as he flipped through his notebook. Curious, she sat beside him, close enough to see the sketches—horses, barns, and, to her surprise, a sketch of a woman who looked an awful lot like her.

“You’re really talented,” she said softly, pointing to the drawing.

Beckett froze, his face turning red under his hat. “It’s… it’s nothing,” he stammered, closing the notebook.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted, her voice gentle. “You should show people your work. It’s beautiful.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time, he felt like someone saw him—not just the farmhand or the quiet boy, but Beckett.

“You’re the only person who thinks so,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well,” she said with a teasing smile, “I guess I’ll just have to think it enough for everyone else.”

From that moment on, their connection deepened. Beckett began to open up, sharing stories of his past and dreams he’d long buried. Charlotte, in turn, found herself trusting Beckett with her hopes and fears, knowing he would never judge her.

One autumn night, under a sky full of stars, Beckett finally found the courage to tell Charlotte how he felt. They were sitting on the tailgate of the truck after finishing the day’s work. The air was crisp, and the smell of hay lingered around them.

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began, his hands fidgeting with the brim of his hat, “but you’ve changed everything for me, Charlotte. You make this place feel… brighter.”

Charlotte’s heart swelled, and she reached out, placing her hand over his. “I think you’ve done the same for me, Beckett,” she said softly.

That was all it took. From then on, they were inseparable, their love growing in the quiet strength of their shared moments. Charlotte encouraged Beckett to pursue his art, and Beckett became Charlotte’s steadfast supporter, her anchor in a world that could feel overwhelming.

Together, they found a balance—a love as steady and enduring as the land they both cherished. Sunny Acres Homestead became more than just a farm; it became the backdrop to a love story that grew as naturally as the crops in the fields. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

꒰ Sunny Acres Homestead is a picturesque farm tucked away in a serene valley, surrounded by rolling hills and golden meadows. It has been in the Campbell family for generations, a testament to their hard work and unwavering connection to the land. The homestead exudes charm, from the weathered red barn with its iconic white trim to the cozy farmhouse perched on a slight hill, its wide porch offering sweeping views of the surrounding fields.

The heart of Sunny Acres is its orchard, where rows of apple trees stretch toward the horizon. In the summer, the orchard buzzes with life as bees pollinate the blossoms, and in the fall, the air fills with the sweet scent of ripe apples ready for harvest. Beyond the orchard lies the grazing pasture, home to a small herd of horses that have become as much a part of the farm as the family itself. The horses, a mix of sturdy work breeds and a few rescues, are cared for with love and are often the first thing visitors notice when they arrive.

The farmhouse itself is a blend of rustic and welcoming, with wooden shutters framing lace-draped windows and a wraparound porch adorned with rocking chairs and flower-filled planters. At night, the porch is illuminated by soft, warm lights, making it the perfect spot for storytelling or quiet reflection. Inside, the home is filled with the comforting smells of fresh-baked bread, worn quilts, and a crackling fireplace that keeps the chill at bay during winter.

Sunny Acres is more than a farm; it’s a lifestyle rooted in simplicity and connection. Every corner of the property tells a story, from the weathered swing hanging from the old oak tree to the barn’s loft filled with decades of tools and keepsakes. The Campbells pour their hearts into every aspect of the homestead, from growing their crops to raising livestock and fostering a sense of community among their neighbors.

Season after season, Sunny Acres Homestead thrives as a beacon of resilience and hope, a reminder that some of the greatest joys come from the land and the people who call it home. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

made by @g1rlsp1ckins

[livingasaghost]

here r my spitballed aaron thoughts <3 i wuv him <3

aaron who was probably born with drugs in his system because his mother didn't care. aaron who grows up alone and lonely for years and years. aaron who finds out from a random stranger that he has a brother—because he looks exactly like his brother. because he has a twin brother. aaron who finds out from his mother's own mouth that she gave him and his brother up at birth, that she went back and took aaron home, that she left his brother with someone else. aaron who subsequently became a physical reminder of tilda's failure as a mother, who remains a reminder of his brother's absence and is subjected to his mother's negligence at best and physical abuse at worst. aaron who, immediately after finding out he even has a brother, writes a letter to his twin brother and is horribly rejected. aaron who gets into his mother's drugs to feel better even a little bit because they help her feel better. they should work on him too right? right? aaron who survives and survives and survives—in spite of everything in his life set up to fail him. aaron who tries tries tries and finally meets his brother who won't even look at him, who kills his mother because she has been hurting aaron. (but that’s not why, right? andrew doesn’t kill her for aaron. andrew doesn’t even like aaron. that’s not why that's not why that's not why). aaron who makes a deal with his brother: no friends, no girlfriends. just them. aaron who kills a man for his brother without any reservations or regrets. aaron who was faster than neil. aaron who would do it again if he had to. aaron who just wants to keep his head down and get his degree. aaron who falls for a girl but doesn’t pursue her because he made a promise to his brother. (he’ll go for her after graduation. he just has to wait until graduation, he won’t put her in harm’s way so he will wait until graduation). aaron who sees his brother go back on their deal—all for the guy who keeps putting them all in jeopardy. aaron who, once again, is rejected by his brother. aaron who fights for the one bright spot in his life. aaron who majors in biology and becomes a doctor because he wants to help people. despite everything, he wants to help people. because no one helped him. no one but the brother he thinks doesn’t care for him. aaron who loves a girl enough to fight his brother for her, a girl who becomes a doctor for kids. aaron who gives a safe, happy home to animals because he never had one himself. aaron who keeps going going going surviving surviving surviving even when he has nothing—until he does. aaron who claws through life until it gives him something to cling to. he holds on until he has something to live for, something that makes his world turn, and then he doesn't let go. of course i love him. why should i love him <3

...okay yes i'm starting to see the vision...

[bluesdesk]

Legend's story headcanon

Basically assigning him Echoes of Wisdom too

Long post!!

I headcanon that Legend did Alttp when he was 11, and he's the half brother of Fable (same father) that also happened to be born the same day so they're like half twins. The father (the king) build the house for him near the castle so he could take care of his son from distance. Legend's uncle is his mother's brother, as well as one of the best knights of Hyrule and one of the king's best friends, so he had a good excuse to make "him" a home there where he could live with his nephew.

Then in alttp the rifts to the dark world appeared. But they were small. (substituting the entrances/warps with small rifts). This explains why in the game they said Link was familiar with the rifts. Also when he came back he lost his voice.

When Hyrule was saved and Link's uncle died Impa told the kids the truth but the king still thought they weren'taware of it. As Link couldn't live alone, Impa entrusted him to her brother Lueburry and he got a small house in Suthorn village. He was like 12. This allowed the kids to meet since Impa was often visiting her brother, and brought Fable with her. Impa also thought that living far from the castle and in a happy village would help him recovering his voice. In the dark world Ganon had made a deal with an entity that could grant him more powers in the dark world (Null), and the entity then echoed him once he was defeated and proceeded to continue with what Ganon wasn't able to do. The rifts reappeared but this time they were huge, and the dark world was in pieces. The dark energy turned people into stones and not just animals or monsters. Legend had a moon pearl, luckily.

When he finally went back he decided to rebuild his house on the hill and find a normal job. He was done with being a hero. Fable wanted him to live at the castle with her and Impa but he didn't feel like a prince, it felt overwhelming, and he wanted to stay alone also because of what happened on Koholint. Also, revealing he was the prince would lead to too much attention from everyone and he didn't want that. He was about 15 when he got home from Koholint.

Then Legend was sent to Holodrum and Labrynna and during these adventures the king died for reasons linked to the antagonists of these games, either Onox or Veran ended him when he didn't have a hero to save him. The Impa seen here is a close relative to the old impa, and her "successor" in looking after Fable.

Legend got to know about his father's end (he didn't really know him, but he was still part of his family) and decided to go back home by boat (he wanted to be alone for some time), but he was already distracted and tired and the thunderstorm got him. Link's Awakening happened.

For some time (more than a year?) he worked for the blacksmith and rebuilt his home, grew a orchard like he did with his uncle and visited Impa and Fable (as the hero). He was beginning to feel good and relaxed.

And then Yuga arrived and he got to go to what once was the dark world, now Lorule. The world had changed, with the pieces beginning to merge and creating "islands". The inhabitants were clearly echoes of the ones in Hyrule, but only in appearance. They had their own stories and past. Legend didn't know if those were all made up (since the world had existed for like 6 years?) or the time had flowed differently there (spoiler: it's the second option, they were all reborn and actually lived those experiences, but while the world "rebooted" the time flowed way faster, returning to a normal speed once it was back at present time). Either way those "echoes" were their own people and they were real, so defeating Null hadn't made the disappear but had "freed" them.

After the adventure between worlds Legend decided to visit his sister more often and he also got to meet Ravio again (and Ravio decided to stay with him in Hyrule). The 3 wanted to travel to see the world as tourists, without having to save it, so they put on casual clothing and visited Hytopia, where triforce heroes happened but it wasn't like one of Legend's past adventures, it was more like a trip or playing and he was with the 2 people he loved the most.