#And I think most of the peak lords would be the latter.

[phoenixcatch7]

Had a sudden vision of the peak lords playing tennis. Not a modern au, in their full regalia, there's just a modern tennis court spawned into a mountainside, complete with high fences and weird stains in the old tarmac. How would each of them play and how good would they be?

[qeireinier]

I think what Original Luo Binghe did to Shen Jiu parallels what happened between Wei Wuxian and Wen Chao. Let me yap.

Look this might sound stupid to you but I just rewatched MDZS and I JUST saw some similarities with PIDW. After coming out of the Burial Mounds, WWX literally tortured WC before his death. The Burial Mounds is a place of literal torture and WWX went through HELL in it without his golden core. Because of what? Because of WC, he's the one who threw him into there.

It's an eye for an eye. WWX must've gotten his organs rearranged, bones crushed by constant attacks from walking corpses, eaten corpse fingers to survive, and many other horrors MXTX didn't mention. So WC SHOULD feel all of that, as payment for his sins to WWX and all other people he inflicted.

With LBG and SJ, the Endless Abyss is almost no different than Burial Mounds except it's festered with demonic instead of resentful energy (I think they're not really the same type?) and various types of beasts iirc. So even with his golden core, it's still harder for LBH because he barely knew how to avoid or fight them, where their weak spots are, etc. And instead of 3 months, it's 5 YEARS so it's enough time for his hatred for SJ to fester like a fairytale witch's soup. In the very beginning, he must've also gone through hell. Maybe the beasts ripped his limbs apart, stabbed his eyes, pulled his tongue out and only because of his Heavenly Demon blood that he recovered himself back (probably). It's very different from running away from resentful corpses because you KNOW just how to fight them off, even though it's just impossible for their number.

So, seeing LBH making SJ into a human stick doesn't surprise me too much. It's the case of an eye for an eye. No, it's still wrong, I'm not justifying it. I'm just making my analysis. THAT'S why it reminds me so much of WC's death.

Even both of the MCs have a demonic object in their hands, the Stygian Tiger Seal and Xin Mo. Both are untamable and capable of driving their holders insane. What differs our MC however—is that WWX has things to lose, and that's why he's often shown to be holding himself back from a killing spree. Hell, he's even the actual most righteous character in the novel.

While LBH doesn't have anything left to lose. He doesn't have a family, friends, all these wives and servants probably don't mean much on him. Also, his demon blood affects his mindset, giving his brain more "predatory instincts" as I'm gonna call it. Added with the fact that he spent more time in the Endless Abyss and how his mind had been corrupted by Xin Mo, LBH would pull a "No More Mr. Nice Guy, Heh >:)". That makes him not so kind as to give SJ the mercy of death. He probably wanted to keep SJ alive for 5 years or maybe forever til his brain finally decides "yep, that's it, go die or whatever idc anymore". Yeah, until BingggeMei extra happened and we could probably assume SJ's death is never gonna happen, but that's for another story nevermind.

However, it does mean that the latter won't hold himself back. The point where he crosses the line is when he burns down the CQMS, kills the Peak Lords, and even went so far as to merge the demonic and mortal realms. That's what differs him from WWX, so much. It's literally canonically said that he's not the nice kind of protag.

SO in conclusion—when I see people talking about how "SJ didn't deserve all that", I'm between agreeing and disagreeing. What LBG did to SJ is terribly inhumane, but that's to be expected from a demon emperor like him. Hey I'm a SJ stan, it doesn't mean my views are completely biased. Especially considering what LBG possibly went through in the Endless Abyss for five years as a mere disciple without a sword like Xuan Su.

I think this is why PIDW readers rooted for LBG, because the story was from his POV. Tragic MC, thrown into the pits of hell by his cruel master. Our perspective is widened through reading SV and we can see the tragic POV of SJ and so we start to root for him too. No, it doesn't mean that either of these 2 are completely right in their choices, the both of them are very flawed and they're trapped in this cycle of abuse, very harmful to the surroundings. We can't fully fault or justify them. Yes, they need therapists, perchance one hidden behind a very powerful barrier in case any of them decides to attack the poor therapist.

But this realization—the parallels between LBG&SJ and WWX&WC—just kind of amazes me. Okay, ted talk ends, thank you for surviving through, if you don't have any nice words to say please scroll away :(

[zykamiliah]

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think SJ would have ever been happy as a Peak Lord. The only reason he took the job was because of YQY and he thought he’d be able to protect himself better as someone of high status. He never had the right kind of mind or attitude for teaching and never had the social skills to get along with his peers. He’d have been much happier as a wandering cultivator but that wasn’t where YQY was so even then he’d have never been fully satisfied.

oh my god sorry for the late reply

i also think that sj got attached to having status and power because he knows that powerful people can get away with anything, since he knows what that's like thanks to Qiu Jianluo. He definitely didn't want to be on the receiving end of all that power and influence. I think that, even if he wasn't a good teacher, if he had able to deal with his inner demons (literally and metaphorically) he wouldn't have had so much trouble living in CQM. But he hated men to the point of being unable to sleep next to his peers, and when he became a peak lord he turned paranoid, thinking people wanted to undermine him and usurp his place, was envious of anyone with more potential or power than him. and like, not all of that was yqy's "fault", since we see in the qijiu extra's opening scene what he was like as a 12 years old. i love the parallels between qijiu as kids and qijiu as peak lords because the latter is basically a reenactment of their childhood dynamics: sj fighting with others, yqy the protector who always tried to smooth things over and let sj get away with anything, etc. then his dynamic with lbh and nyy is a reenactment of his life with the qius, this time with him as the one abusing his power. it sort of feels like there's something inescapable about their fates, and it goes to show how much work sj needs to achieve a modicum of peace, though of course if he was sure of yqy's love for him that would be a great start.

sorry for rambling. back on topic. why did sj became a peak lord?

“If I said that I wasn’t doing well at Qing Jing Peak, what would you do?” Shen Qingqiu asked, slow and measured. “Would you help me enter Qiong Ding Peak, just as you recommended me for Qing Jing?”

Yue Qingyuan gave it some thought, then said solemnly, “If that’s what you wanted.”

“Clearly I don’t want that,” Shen Qingqiu said with a resolute humph. “I want to be head disciple. Would you be willing to give me your position? Let me become the sect leader?” he asked, forceful and lofty. “For better or worse, Qing Jing Peak ranks second among the Twelve Peaks. I’d rather wait to succeed this one.”

it's clear he wants power and influence, and if he'd had the chance he would have gone for the sect leader post. can you imagine that??

In the past, Qiu Jianluo had forced Shen Jiu to learn how to read and write. Shen Jiu had been unwilling to learn, had detested it to the point of madness, yet now it was only through his abilities in reading and studying—through being smarter than his peers—that he’d been able to earn the Qing Jing Peak Lord’s favor. To make it even more laughable, of the thousands of possible names in this world, the peak lord had just happened to name him “Qingqiu.”

But no matter how laughable, no matter how it made him gnash his teeth, Shen Qingqiu still wanted that name, for this name represented that from now onward, a shining new life was his.

sj is ambitious. that's why i think he' wouldn't be happy with living like a common person. he also likes luxury so i guess he'd detest the life of a wandering cultivator because it would to much like living in the streets, where he spent most of his childhood. he likes quiet and staying inside. he liked the security of being at the top.

so i don't think it would be impossible for him to have a life more suited to him, that wasn't such a consequence of his traumas and how he copes with them, but like i said, it would take a lot of work and healing.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

I am hereby adding my own request into the Spicy spring fling lot💖

Being a notorious Bottom Melkor lover I would very much want to see our dear dark Lord have a lovely first time with his most trusted balrog Gothmog in the times of Utumno before Mairon was seduced💖💖

I possible I'd want to see these prompts/dialogues used: 29&12 from the first time list, "I like being close to you, you're warm"&"Don'tmind me, just enjoying the view" from the vanilla list and lastly number 23 "say my name" from the spicy list.

For the spiciness the hotter the better so bring on the INFERNO!🔥🔥🔥

I brought the inferno. I think.

“Take the reins”

Prompts: "I like being close to you, you're warm" & "Don't mind me, just enjoying the view" & "say my name"

Pairing: Melkor x Gothmog

Themes: Slowburn | Smut | Soft

Warnings: Mentions of prisoners being tortured | Monster fucking (Gothmog in an elf mixed with demon-ish? Fana) | Dom Sub aspects | First time | Bondage (hands)| Impact play (Spanking) | Biting / Marking | Blindfolds | Choking | Dirty talk | Explicit language | Penetrative sex | Cream pie | Oral

Word count: 3k words

Summary: Melkor finally understands the freedom that comes with letting someone else take control. (Or, the one where Bottom Melkor realizes he enjoys being Bottom Melkor.) 

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The stream of silver light rose higher and higher, first cresting over the peaks of nearby mountains before spreading out all over the darkened sky. The silver light belonged to the tree many called Telperion, and the gold light that would come later belonged to the one called Laurelin. Gothmog cared not one whit what the others called either tree. His eyes saw no beauty in them and he decided to leave the ramparts. As High Captain of Utumno, he had other duties to see to.

As he descended deeper into the fortress, the noises from within grew louder. The sounds of artificers hard at work, the roar of furnaces, the shouts of orcs and goblins, and, beneath it all, the screams of new prisoners. Gothmog easily turned a deaf ear to the latter. He thought the Eldar were fools. If they had only recognized Melkor’s authority over them instead of resisting, they would have been among those like him instead of suffering unending torment.

Gothmog’s thoughts went back to the new lights. His lord had been wroth when his attempt to destroy the Lamps resulted in the two Trees. When they told him of the trees and the light they shed, Melkor’s fury had been a fearsome thing to behold. Oh, he had calmed, but only after he had taken his anger out on the first lot of prisoners that had caught his attention. And now he was in his private chambers, brooding as always. This was how Gothmog found him—seated by a table filled with food, staring into his goblet of wine.

They did not need to eat, drink, or even sleep, for that matter. None of the Ainur required such things, but they liked to indulge. Not just food and drink and sleep, but in other, more pleasurable pursuits as well. Oh, Gothmog eagerly partook, but from what he heard from the others, Melkor rarely did.

He found it all very interesting.

"What news?" Melkor continued to stare into his wine. After his attempts to destroy the Lamps only resulted in the creation of the Trees, Melkor found that what little he had indulged in had lost all flavour.

Gothmog stood to attention by the door, lest his lord turns and find him showing any sign of disrespect. "Many and more Ainur are joining your cause, sire. I received word Aulë’s favourite has been listening and is intrigued."

"Mairon. The artificer without peer."

"So they say, sire."

"So they say. What do you say, High Captain?"

Gothmog swallowed and considered his words. Melkor had never sought his counsel in such a manner and he had to tread very carefully. One wrong turn of phrase and he would be joining those rotting in cells deep within the bowels of the fortress.

"He is quite skilled; I have seen some evidence of it myself." He kept standing at attention, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall before him. "As for him being without peer, I would think the firstborn son of Finwë may have something to say about that."

"Fëanor," Melkor spat and slammed his goblet on the table, spilling wine all over. He rose from his chair and started pacing the room like an angry beast. "He shut the door to me, the fucking fool."

He had gone and said the wrong thing. Gothmog thought frantically and settled on playing to Melkor’s ego. "He is, sire," he said quickly, "A fool. You are wise to see it. Truth be told, I think most of them are."

Melkor stopped his pacing and studied his High Captain Keenly. As the leader of the Valaraukar he very much looked the part, all tall and terrifying with those leathery wings and curved horns of his. But there was a strange beauty to him, with his elf-like ears and elegant features. Melkor felt his very fëa stir by the image. He quickly found something else to look at, in case he gave himself away.

"Perhaps you are correct," He did not notice his captain’s jaw drop in absolute shock when he sat back down again. "The Eldar are all fools."

It was the first time Melkor had spoken so casually. Gothmog did not know what to make of it.

"So many burdens," Melkor sighed without even realizing it. "All of them growing heavier by the day. And my foes grow thick like weeds. Every time I rip them out more spring up in their place."

Such an exchange would never have happened before. More at ease, Gothmog felt a strange sense of courage surge through him, making him bolder. "You take too much onto your shoulders, sire."

"Perhaps," Melkor shrugged.

"Perhaps you should let someone else take the reins," Gothmog could not seem to stop himself. Something wicked and daring took root, something that seemed determined to take control of his tongue. "In some capacity at least."

Melkor turned his head. "What did you say?"

"What I meant is," the words stumbled out before Gothmog could even think them through. "It could be very liberating to hand over control to someone else and for you not to have to burden yourself, sire. Even for a little while."

He quickly bit his tongue. Melkor glared, his inky black eyes as cold as the winters that ravaged the region. His countenance was a mask, one that gave nothing away. Oh, but he was thinking, even if he did not wish to show it.

To let someone else take control for once. Melkor would not even dream of relinquishing control of his rule. That would never happen. But to let someone else hold the reins in other aspects...

His High Captain was one of those who partook in as many physical pleasures as possible. He had experience in ways Melkor could not even begin to fathom. 

He looked at the table, at the rich food, and at what was left of his wine. Nothing appealed to him and he was starting to understand why. There had been another hunger within him, one he had neglected for as long as he had existed. It had to be satisfied, he knew that, but he had no inkling of how to do it. His gaze slowly cut to Gothmog again.

It would be very liberating to hand over control to someone else, Gothmog had said. Perhaps this should be put to the test.

"Would you like to do it?" Melkor said lightly, "Take the reins?"

Gothmog turned and stared. "Sire?"

"Take control," Melkor said with a casual air even as anticipation grew. "Not when it comes to the ruling, of course, but in an intimate fashion."

There was that wicked and daring feeling again. This time it had grown stronger and Gothmog caught on to what Melkor was hinting at. Still, he wanted to hear the words spoken out loud. "Take control in what way, sire?"

"The way you said, with me allowing you to take control. Of me." Melkor looked over his shoulder and found Gothmog locking the doors to his chambers. He faced forward again, a rare smile on his face. "What do you think, High Captain? Is this possible?"

"Perhaps," Gothmog made his way towards the table, ready to turn and leave at a moment’s notice. And behave as if their entire exchange never took place. "But that would mean submitting completely. Can you do it?"

Melkor swallowed, feeling oddly bashful for the first time ever. Submitting completely. It may hurt his pride to do so, but the notion of submitting completely to another felt rather enticing at the same time.

"I think I can," he said and pushed his chair back. Melkor rose, not knowing what else to say or do or expect. All of this was completely new to him. "But how?"

"Leave it to me." Gothmog took his lord’s hand, giddy with anticipation. Until they were done he would be the master and Melkor the obedient servant, something he could not have imagined even in his wildest dreams. "Now, show me where the bed is."

It was not far, and it was surprisingly elegant. Gothmog expected something sparse and rather somber, but the large bed with its silk sheets, the polished stood floor and the exquisite furniture were all unexpected. And that bed gave him ideas.

"Your garments are too much," Gothmog said. "Relieve yourself of them."

Melkor complied. It was all oddly thrilling, letting someone else issue the orders and him obeying in return. His armour had to be undone, then his clothes, his boots. When his fana was fully exposed he found himself flushing.

"What now?" He mumbled under his breath.

"In bed." Having already gotten a taste for commanding his superior, Gothmog fully intended on making the most of it. Besides, he had to admit that Melkor was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He almost felt bad about the notion of wanting to ruin that beauty a little. Almost. That feeling went away quickly when he came up with his next order. "And keep your hands over your head."

The urge to submit grew easier now and made his very fana tingle. Melkor did as he was bid, watching Gothmog strip.

His second-in-command had skin like beaten copper. Eyes that were afire. Silky black hair that gleamed and his nails... Melkor found himself aching to feel those nails rake over his skin. When Gothmog came over, it was with his whip in hand. Melkor obediently lifted his arms and watched once more while his hands were bound at the wrists before they were secured to a bedpost. He tried to move them and found that he could not. It made him feel vulnerable. He loved it. When he looked around, he found Gothmog by the side of the bed again, his sash in hand.

"Do not mind me," his second-in-command said in a voice that had already gone rough. "I am just enjoying the view. Now. Keep still."

Melkor nodded, wondering what he was up to. Gothmog surprised him by coming over and blindfolding him with the same sash. It was soft and thick. Melkor could not see anything, could not anticipate what was going to happen next. It excited him even more. "What happens now?"

"You no longer get to ask such things of me," Gothmog was very much the one in charge now. "Not until I am done with you. Until then, you must obey."

Obey. Melkor never had it in him to obey. His every instinct was to go against the urge. "I cannot do it," he whined despite himself, all eager thoughts of submission forgotten. "Not complete..."

A slap stung his thigh, and he gasped. A second quickly followed on the heels of the first. "You do not speak unless you are spoken to." Gothmog's words had a steely edge to them. It made Melkor hard. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," Melkor whimpered weakly, even as he gave in to Gothmog's authority.

"Will you obey?"

"Yes."

"Fucking pathetic," Gothmog grinned wickedly, eyeing Melkor like a predator sizing up its prey. The greatest of them all was yielding to him, a mere Maia, and he could not get enough of it. "The greatest amongst the Ainur yielding so easily."

Bound and unable to leave the bed, Melkor could do nothing but agree. Truth be told, he liked being degraded in such a manner.

Another slap stung his thigh and Melkor moaned. Gothmog eyed his whip, feeling sorry that he had to use it to bind Melkor’s hands. It did not matter. There were other things he could do. Melkor, on the other hand, could do nothing but wait. His restraints and lack of sight meant he had to rely on what remained to him—touch, sound, and scent mostly. And the scent of iron and flames and the chill from the world outside clung to Gothmog’s skin like perfume. He wanted to say something about it, about how good it was, but then he remembered the role he undertook.

He had to submit. And obey. And only speak when spoken to, lest he ruin everything. With a frustrated groan, he bit his tongue.

Gothmog heard it and grinned. He got in bed, his large frame making the bedding sink even more from the weight. Melkor took a deep breath, readying himself for what could happen next. Gothmog said nothing and gave nothing away. He moved between Melkor’s legs and spread them apart. His hands were hot, not that Melkor felt any discomfort in them. His fana could tolerate far more than that.

A fourth slap made him moan Gothmog’s name. The sound was like sweet music to the Balrog’s ears.

"Say my name," he commanded before making Melkor’s thigh sting again. "Say it!"

The pain and pleasure and heat that came from the flat of Gothmog’s hand rendered him lightheaded and dizzy and willing to do anything. His High Captain’s name fell off his lips repeatedly, and Gothmog laughed triumphantly.

"Listen to you," he growled. "Crying out for me like a needy little slut already. I should make you do it more often."

He dipped his head to taste, running his lips over the insides of Melkor’s thighs and belly, his sharp teeth leaving bruises wherever they marked, his growls muffled against Melkor’s skin. Melkor writhed beneath him as Gothmog kissed and marked his way higher and higher, stopping at the crook of his neck.

"Kiss me," he craved one desperately and was willing to go against their rules to beg for it if need be. "Please." 

Gothmog’s growl was low in his throat. Once, he decided. He would indulge Melkor’s request just once. His kiss was demanding, hungry, and far from tender. He gripped Melkor’s face with his hand while they kissed, his teeth leaving his lord’s lips swollen and bruised, his nails digging into soft flesh. When his tongue slipped past Melkor’s lips the latter nearly sobbed.

How could a being that dealt out death and torment arouse such a fiery need? One that grew only stronger with each passing moment? Melkor did not know the answer. All he did know was that he was going to look forward to more of such encounters.

Nails started to rake down his torso, his thighs, making him arch his back. "By the time you walk out of these chambers," Gothmog hissed in his ear, "Everyone will know who you belong to."

"Yes," Melkor could not help but agree. Gothmog's nipping at his throat and making him moan with pleasure rendered him unable to do anything else. "All will see."

The spikes that went down the length of his spine right up to the tip of his tail grew heated; their veins of fiery red, yellow, orange, and gold slowly sparked to life, the air around them smoldering. Gothmog felt his wings shake and his need for more grow. He spread Melkor’s legs further apart, his hand gripping at his lord hip and lifting his back off the mattress. Melkor braced himself.

A slick finger penetrated his hole, slowly opening him up with careful thrusts. "Such an obedient slut you are," Gothmog groaned deeply when Melkor rolled his hips. "Taking me without complaint."

"Yes," Melkor responded eagerly as jolts of pleasure washed all over him. "I am an obedient slut."

"My slut, yes?"

"Yes!" Melkor’s back arched as a second finger joined the first. "Your slut!"

Gothmog growled again, his entire fana trembling when he pulled out and held onto Melkor’s hip tight this time. Holding his erection with his free hand he entered Melkor again, carefully, hesitantly, before finally pushing through. He was in him, felt him, all of him. He barely heard his name come out in half-moan, half-whimper.

His name. Just his. Gothmog savoured it and kept still for a moment, letting Melkor get used to having his cock inside him. He ran his hands over Melkor’s thighs, his flesh now scorching against Melkor’s own. Greed and lust soon became too much to bear and he started to move. Melkor felt his fana being pushed higher up the bed repeatedly. He could see nothing, all he could do was feel.

And he felt so much, from the heat radiating from Gothmog’s body, to hips slapping against the insides of his thighs, the nails that marred his fana every time they raked over his skin. The sensations that came with it all—the pain and the pleasure, especially the pleasure—were unlike anything Melkor had ever experienced. He thought he could easily become intoxicated by this.

Gothmog moved his hand over Melkor’s throat, applying gentle pressure every time he pushed back in. His grip would tighten and release, tighten and release. His own thrusts grew erratic, his fana tensing like bowstring, his moans matching Melkor’s. Soon. It was going to happen soon. His fana shivered and jolted. One last thrust was all it took. One last thrust, one deep, satisfying grunt as his orgasm ripped through him. His nails dug into Melkor’s silver-grey skin, leaving little gouges as he spilled his seed.

The weight in the bed shifted as Gothmog slowly pulled away. Melkor was still bound, his own needs unmet. "Please," he begged. "Do not make me wait any longer."

If not for the blindfold Melkor could have easily seen Gothmog’s wolfish grin. "I like you begging," he said. "Do it again."

Melkor pleaded without shame. "Please, please, please. Just finish me off. Make me come. Please."

"Needy sluts should not be rewarded so easily," Gothmog dipped his head and ran his tongue up Melkor’s shaft. The moan that followed was the most guttural he had ever heard. "But I suppose I can give you what you desire so desperately."

Melkor struggled against his restraints when Gothmog took all of him into his wet mouth. He groaned when Gothmog lay a hand over his stomach, to stop him from moving so much. It did not take very long; Melkor could not hold on for much longer. His fana shuddered violently as he climaxed, his warmth filling Gothmog’s mouth.

The haze he found himself in slowly lifted when Gothmog undid his whip and removed the blindfold. Melkor blinked his eyes as clarity slowly came to him.

Words could not describe what happened or how Gothmog made him feel. Words would not be enough, and he was unsure how he could even begin explaining. He looked up at his captain, utterly satisfied, and came up with one final request.

"Stay with me. I like being close to you, you are warm."

Tags: @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays

[noxmachinimafr]

Sneak peaks featuring Mei-Phang (left) and Tho-tzen (right).

Mei and Tho know each others since their childhood. Later, they became lovers, and enjoyed a trustful relationship. They knew each other's deepest secrets and wounds, they even healed some of them during the years they had spent together.

They trained together with Lord Han-zhu, who befriended both of them. Tho-tzen and Han-zhu both became powerful and skillful fighters, while Mei reached the top of the elite healers. Yet, when one day, Tho-tzen chose a path of revenge and destruction, and Mei-Phang had no choice but stopping him. He hence joined Lord Han-zhu in a last attempt to defeat Tho-tzen.

I love their story so much! Although, this is quite heartbreaking to see them torn apart in this scene. Despite the violence of the fight, we can see that their love is not over. It needs time to heal, just like all of them.

Along the machinima, we will be able to see them hanging out together again. But, their time together remains especially furtive and barely on the foreground. Multiple times, we will see Mei following Tho in-town, most of the time in a disguise. And Tho just briefly looking back with a smile. For instance, in the Scene 2, Mei-Phang can be seen as a waitress in a tavern. So he can see Tho and make sure to cut his consumption of sake, when needed. Mei usually hates dressing up as a girl, and, even worse, looking like a girl again. He does that only to look after Tho, and the latter knows what it strongly means, and makes sure no one in this rough place would ever think about annoying his loved one.

[reedreadsgreek]

1 Corinthians 7:36–38

36 Εἰ δέ τις ἀσχημονεῖν ἐπὶ τὴν παρθένον αὐτοῦ νομίζει, ἐὰν ᾖ ὑπέρακμος καὶ οὕτως ὀφείλει γίνεσθαι, ὃ θέλει ποιείτω, οὐχ ἁμαρτάνει, γαμείτωσαν. 37 ὃς δὲ ἕστηκεν ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτοῦ ἑδραῖος μὴ ἔχων ἀνάγκην, ἐξουσίαν δὲ ἔχει περὶ τοῦ ἰδίου θελήματος καὶ τοῦτο κέκρικεν ἐν τῇ ἰδίᾳ καρδίᾳ, τηρεῖν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ παρθένον, καλῶς ποιήσει. 38 ὥστε καὶ ὁ γαμίζων τὴν ἑαυτοῦ παρθένον καλῶς ποιεῖ καὶ ὁ μὴ γαμίζων κρεῖσσον ποιήσει.

My translation:

36 And if anyone considers himself to be unseemly to his virgin, if she might be over her peak and it ought to be thus, he must do that which he desires, he sins not, he must marry. 37 But he who stands set in his heart not having need, but has authority concerning his own desire and has judged this in his own heart, to guard his own virgin, he will do well. 38 So then, both the one marrying his own virgin does well and the one not marrying will do better.

Notes:

7:36 

δέ is adversative, contrasting what Paul sees in singleness as “undistracted devotion to the Lord” (v. 35) with the permission to marry (v. 36). 

εἰ introduces the protasis of a first-class conditional statement. Fee says that Paul’s use of εἰ rather than ἐὰν suggests that he knew of such a particular situation in Corinth. 

The indefinite pronoun τις is the subject of the present νομίζει (from νομίζω “I think, believe, consider”; see note on v. 26). 

ἀσχημονέω (2x) is “I behave disgracefully, dishonorably, indecently”, from ἀσχήμων (1x) “unseemly, indecent”, itself from α negation + ��ό σχῆμα “appearance, form”, literally “without [proper] appearance”, referring to doing what is unseemly, publically unpresentable; quite literally, as in colloquial English, “poor form”. It is the opposite idea from εὐσχήμων in verse 35. The present infinitive ἀσχημονεῖν expresses indirect discourse after verb of cognition νομίζω above. The prepositional phrase ἐπὶ τὴν παρθένον modifies the infinitive; ἐπὶ is often used with verbs of emotion, indicating the direction of the feelings (BDAG). αὐτοῦ is a genitive of relationship, but it is unclear if the referent is the virgin’s father (so most church fathers, ICC, CGT) or the virgin’s betrothed (so most modern commentators, Fee, NIGTC). Either way, “himself” is the unexpressed subject of the infinitive. If the virgin’s father in in view, the “unseemly” behavior has to do with preventing her from marrying. If the virgin’s fiancée is in view, then it would seem to refer to pressure from the Corinthian ascetic party who viewed marriage itself as unseemly (Fee). 

A second, embedded conditional statement, introduced by ἐὰν + subjunctive, explains the “unseemly” behavior. 

The hapax legomenon ὑπέρακμος comes from ὑπέρ + ἄκρον “tip, peak”, thus, “past one’s prime”, i.e., “past marriageable age” (BDAG). Alternatively, BDAG says the term could mean, ‘at one’s [sexual] peak’, i.e., “having strong passions”. Unfortunately, the ambiguity regarding the identity of τις above (whether virgin daughter or virgin betrothed) is still unresolved, given the two meanings of this term; with the former sense, a virgin daughter is in view, who is the unexpressed subject of the present subjunctive ᾖ (from εἰμί) with ὑπέρακμος predicate (so NASB: “But if any man thinks that he is acting unbecomingly toward his virgin daughter, if she is past her youth”; sim. NET, HCSB). With the latter sense, a virgin betrothed is in view and her male fiancée is the unexpressed subject of the verb (so NIV: “If anyone is worried that he might not be acting honorably toward the virgin he is engaged to, and if his passions are too strong”; sim. NRSV). This change of subject mid-sentence is awkward, lending credence to the former view. ὑπέρακμος is a two-terminiation adjective (the masc. and fem. have the same forms) so either interpretation is possible. NIGTC translates “if it is a matter of undue strain” to communicate either idea. 

The adverb οὕτως modifies the present infinitive γίνεσθαι (from γίνομαι) which is complementary with the present ὀφείλει (from ὀφείλω “I ought”), literally, “It out to be so.” The context of οὕτως is the marriage taking place (NIV: “if ... he feels he ought to marry”). 

In the apodosis of the first-class condition, the relative pronoun ὃ is its own antecedent (“that which”) and the direct object of the present θέλει (from θέλω). The clause ὃ θέλει functions as the direct object of the 3s present imperative ποιείτω (from ποιέω). The imperative here is permissive (“Let him do what he wants”). The unexpressed subject of the verbs is the same party as τις above. 

The unexpressed subject of the negated present οὐχ ἁμαρτάνει (from ἁμαρτάνω “I sin”) is τις above. 

The unexpressed subject of the 3p aorist imperative γαμείτωσαν (from γαμέω “I marry”) is the two paramours in question. The imperative here is permissive (“Let them marry”). 

7:37 

δὲ is adversative, contrasting the person who wants to marry for whatever reason (v. 36), versus one who is committed to singleness (v. 37). 

The relative pronoun ὃς is its own antecedent (“He who”) and the subject of the perfect ἕστηκεν (from ἵστημι). 

The adjective ἑδραῖος (3x) is, “firm, steadfast” (BDAG) (cf. 15:58). The root is from the same as καθέδρα (3x) “chair, seat” and literally means, “seated” (cf. καθέδρα cathedral, the seat of a bishop). ἑδραῖος is predicate after ἵστημι above. Although the phrase “He who stands seated” may seam oxymoronic, the idea is one of firmness, immovability. NASB, HCSB: “he who stands firm”; NIV: “the man who has settled the matter”. The locative prepositional phrase ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτοῦ modifies ἵστημι; NET: “... firm in his commitment”; NRSV: “... resolve”; NIV: “... mind”. The “commitment/resolve” in question would apparently be to singleness. 

In verse 26 ἡ ἀνάγκη meant something like, “distress”; here it means “pressure, necessity”. NASB: “under no constraint”; NIV, HCSB: “... no compulsion”. ἀνάγκην is the direct object of the negated present imperative μὴ ἔχων (from ἔχω). The participle is circumstantial with ἵστημι above. 

Most translations take δὲ to be adversative, coordinating the indicative ἔχει below with the participle ἔχων above (e.g., NIV: “is under no necessity but has control over his will”). However, it is better to coordinate indicatives, so δὲ is probably copulative, connecting ἔχει below with ἕστηκεν above. 

ἐξουσίαν is the direct object of the present ἔχει (from ἔχω) whose subject is ὃς above. ἐξουσία (“authority, power”) here means something more like “control” (so most translations). The prepositional phrase περὶ τοῦ ἰδίου θελήματος (lit. “concerning his own will”) modifies the verb. 

The near-demonstrative pronoun τοῦτο is the direct object of the perfect κέκρικεν (from κρίνω). Here κρίνω takes its more primitive sense of, “decide” (so NASB, NET, HCSB; NRSV: “determined”). The unexpressed subject of the verb is the same party as ὃς above. τοῦτο is cataphoric to the infinitive τηρεῖν below. Most translations omit τοῦτο for the sake of conciseness. The verb is modified by the locative prepositional phrase ἐν τῇ ἰδίᾳ καρδίᾳ (NIV: “made up his own mind”). 

The direct object of the present infinitive τηρεῖν (from τηρέω) is τὴν ... παρθένον, which is modified by attributive reflexive pronoun ἑαυτοῦ which here is possessive. The infinitive is epexegetical of τοῦτο above. The phrase is awkward, regardless of one’s view of this passage (Fee). If the context refers to one’s fiancée, then τηρέω is elliptical for, “keep her untouched from sexual contact” (NIGTC: “to respect her virginity”). If the context is one’s virgin daughter, then τηρέω simply means to keep her in his household rather than give her in marriage (ICC: “he keeps his daughter free”). 

ὃς above is the subject of the future ποιήσει (from ποιέω) which is modified by adverb καλῶς (“well”). 

7:38

ὥστε introducing an independent clause means, “So then, ...”. 

The καὶ ... καὶ construction is, “both ... and”. 

γαμίζω (7x) is, “I give [my daughter] in marriage” (cf. γαμέω “I receive in marriage”). The use of this verb would lend credence to the interpretation that a virgin daughter is in view in this passage (so ICC). However, BDAG believes that this context more likely refers to one’s betrothed, and says that γαμίζω here = γαμέω. The change of verb may simply be for stylistic variation. Fee observes that elsewhere in this chapter γαμέω takes no object; Paul may simply be using γαμίζω as the transitive form. The articular present participle ὁ γαμίζων is substantival and the subject of the present ποιεῖ (from ποιέω). τὴν ... παρθένον, modified by reflexive/possessive pronoun ἑαυτοῦ, is the direct object of the participle. The adverb καλῶς (“well”) modifies ποιέω. 

The articular negated present participle ὁ μὴ γαμίζων (from γαμίζω; see above) is substantival and the subject of the future ποιήσει (from ποιέω). 

κρείσσων (4x; Attic spelling: κρείττων) is technically the comparative form of κρατύς “strong” (not in NT), but functions as comparative of ἀγαθός: “better”. The neuter accusative κρεῖσσον functions adverbially with ποιέω above.

[westerosxwhispers]

Rhea nodded and smiled as the king asked if the journey had been kind to her. "A bit slow at times, but the winds favored us for most of it," she said. "Nowhere near as fast as a dragon, but enough to not quite lose sight of one if it were flying ahead."

He was so different from his brother– already, and despite not having gotten to meet him much before —once at her wedding to Daemon and rarely ever since—, she could tell there was a stark difference between the king and the prince. If they weren't so alike in appearance, that stark difference in personality would have made her believe they weren't at all related.

"I must disagree, your highness," she said. "As I doubt that a place with these many books can be in any way boring."

Her gaze went down to the book. "The title peaked my curiosity," she confessed. "My grandmother strongly believed in prophecies and such. I guess it makes sense, given my family lords over Runestone. It made her paranoid though." the memory made her snort. "She had my wedding to your brother delayed twice, because she said the runes showed unfavorable circumstances for a wedding."

She wondered if that third time, the runes had shown favorable circumstances for their union, or if her grandmother had simply grown as tired of waiting as the rest of the family. If Rhea had to guess, she would say it was the latter. She doubted that anything, runes or otherwise, would have said anything favorable about her wedding to Daemon and if it did, then they weren't trustworthy sources of information.

"I trust my husband has NOT passed on my invitations to you," Rhea said, knowing that making excuses for Daemon was probably unnecessary, given this was his brother– who certainly knew the man's temper and behaviors better than anyone. "If you enjoy this sort of reading, your grace, you might enjoy the sights of Runestone. It is believed that if one looks at the runes at certain times of day, they can make predictions." Daemon would not be happy about his brother being invited to visit, but that only encouraged Rhea to do so– anything to keep the man away from home longer, to keep her peace. "While I try to forge my own future, it can be amusing. One time, I visited runehill during the dawn to ask about my future husband, and my rune turned out to be the fire chariot. I think it fits Caraxes well enough so... perhaps there is some truth to it."

Dark grey beneath garnish, chisel marks akin to human scars spoke of use and age and so did strong, rustic spines edged by the raw bark. Dust such as this was well-praised across Valyria, for the royal library held many values locked inside.

The visit of his brother's wife was surprising but not unwelcome. Good grief, it really has been that long?! An almost decade-long separation made detached consanguinity all more interesting. A shame it took that long -- if one asked Viserys; it was a part of his philosophy that boundaries should be strengthened in defiance of distance. The Young King upon ascension never had quite a chance to converse with Rhea and his knowledge about the strain of conflict between her and Daemon was built on the smallest amount of scrubs ( had he known the extension of it earlier he'd find it rightfully troublesome ) but because the Lady of Runestone was now among circle of his kindred spirits, he had full intention to treat her as a part of his family which she was and no less. But now, upon his arrival where he found a member of House Royce there, the King's attitude pleasant and open-handed as renown greeted her presence with a friendly and familial embrace.

" Ah, Rhea! You're not overstepping in the slightest for your presence is cherished in the Red Keep, I hope you journeyed well? And I see you have found a place of greater comfort than beauty, quiet, boring, but my favorite; The Hand navigated you well. " The way directing recommendation fell from Otto's side was not surprising, the man had keens in advocating mercurial scholarships and in fact, the place has had its chants; a sanctuary arcing like the end of a cat's tail, taking one from solitude to soulful bay of inky treasures.

His vision comes across the title Divination and Other Higher Mysteries. Old opalite with engraved integrity ... scratched carving a bit paled where it had been dinged. " Good piece, " ringed finger pointed with tonal emphasis at the one in her hold, " that one. If you're driven by curiosities the North section also holds archived records of both Essos and Westeros. " Gathering skeletal fractals in supporting knowledge is more peripheral to one's central passions.

'' I would ask how come, but I also strongly agree with what you just mentioned. Divination brings ideas of destiny and even a rock radiates back energy after sunny day. Perhaps we shouldn't forget that the future is also something we can create in the present time. ''

@westerosxwhispers || cont.

[halfblood-princes-crown]

I don't think Dumbledore ever expected the kid who hated him more than anything in the world that he sacrificed to the Dark Side in order to keep the blind trust of his "Champions" to be the only person he would trust the most on his last years alive (because i believe that if justice had been done that day Severus wouldn't have spiraled as fucking hard as he did, in his mind there was no Light side, only two Dark Lords and that's a whole ass rant for another day )

I believe that he may have realized that he made a mistake letting him fall through the cracks to keep the Marauders when the latter crashed and burned as soon as they got out of School (as many peaked in highschool kids do). I think that he might had wanted to use them as " Symbols" of trust, inclusion, camaraderie and friendship to set an example of hope and courage to the rest and keep the morale up (i mean in theory it does sounds nice : A Pureblood from an evil family who chose different, a werewolf who fights for justice, another Pureblood who rejects old norms and fights for others, and your everyday person showing that everyone can make a change ; but that's another whole different rant and this one is long enough)

And while doing that he might have overlooked too hard their negative attributes and let himself be swept (like everyone else irl) for the idea of a selfless group of friends who belongs to the Light and fought for good and the less fortunate

I also believe that when the Incident happened he was forced to open his eyes a little, he got a reminder that Sirius still was a Black, that Remus was still a Werewolf that not everything would go as smoothly as he had hoped. Nonetheless he was faced by a choice.

He had one (1) poor genius dark arts obsessed halfblood Severus Snape on one side who was under Malfoy's influence and whose probable only anchor to the Light side was the friendship he was steadily loosing with Lily Evans

and the Marauders.

I'm sure he realized that he couldn't do anything for Snape without loosing the Marauders. Sirius would never forgive him for not taking his side even if he was in the wrong. He would start to question him and if Sirius trust in him wavered that meant no James and no James meant no Marauders, no Marauders meant everything that he overlooked during all their years would have been in vain, everyone he allowed them to hurt would have been wronged in vain

I theorize that before the incident his plan with Severus was to try and keep him in a neutral grey area through Lily Evans (since he would never truly form part of the Light if the Light contained the Marauders) because he recognized that what a powerful asset and enemy he could be for either side and if he couldn't have him on his he at least would try to avoid Voldemort having that advantage (because come on this kid was a complete genius and i doubt things like that slipped past him, not anymore, not since Tom)

But when the Incident happened he had to choose between one of them. He weighted on one hand his Champions and in the other maybe what could be the one biggest threat in Voldemort's ranks. He was already too far in with the Marauders to back down now and he trusted that they would be able to handle him once they inevitably face each other in battle.

He knew he was dooming Severus Snape to the Dark Side, he basically took the Light away from him and in a way gave permission to the Marauders to keep tormenting him. This was the gravest thing they could have done and there was no consequence, that meant there was no limit and now they know it.

He knew Severus would never forgive him, he knew he was making a life long commitment to the Marauders now, he knew he was gaining 4 allies who would follow him blindly thinking he would always back them up (and now he had to) and one enemy who had every reason to want to destroy him, he knew he just handed Voldemort a powerful ally in a silver platter and he knew that he might regret that decision

He just didn't know how much he would regret it later though

Fuckin wow…🤯🤯🤯

You basically just put the thoughts of majority of them snapedom into words, Anon…that’s amazing

I was so mad at Dumbledore while reading this😭 like he really put 200% of his faith in four teenage bullies… pls ✋🏽

He allowed all of that to happen…out of naivety

Because he thought they were gonna be the knights of the light side…but in reality he was tormenting the one that was gonna save them all

Damn.

Thank you for this amazing rant, Anon 🙏🏽

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

Tamed Seas - Poseidon x Reader

(A/N)

This is the very first post I’m making on this equally new account and also the very first time I am ever using a second person POV for the reader. Let me know your thoughts!

The following story is just for shits and giggles. I do not own any of the characters, they are the property of Shinya Umemura and Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

Warning: Swearing from my disclaimer.

Tamed Seas

Poseidon x Reader

They were never allowed to stare.

If Poseidon never looked anyone in the eye, deeming them unworthy of even a simple gaze, then anyone other than himself were equally unworthy in looking at his wife.

Just before the meeting had started about a decision to be made on humanity’s fate, Poseidon had entered in his full regalia, his wife walking alongside him. Of course, such a prestigious couple deserved such a special entrance, as Hermes, per Zeus’ request too, played his violin most ceremoniously, a proud smirk on his face upon seeing the royal feet step perfectly on the red carpet he had immediately placed upon knowing of their arrival. Zeus’ older brother held a record of never attending meetings, much more any simple get-togethers unless they were of real utmost importance such as this one.

Shiva’s eyes grew at the sight of the couple. Even though Poseidon’s wife had originally been a mortal who had ascended to godhood, you were glowing and looked as ethereal as Aphrodite. Was he seeing things? He blinked and leaned forward in his seat. The last time he saw you was at the announcement of your wedding, then after the ceremony he never caught a glimpse of you ever again and only heard stories of your new and impressive conquests. Were you always this godlike?

As if reading his thoughts, he gulped upon finding himself at the receiving end of Poseidon’s cold and stoic stare. He shrugged his shoulders. Man, he had heard rumors of his sudden protectiveness towards his wife, but he never expected him to be this overly protective. He was merely trying to figure out if his wife was always glowing like this or not. Both figuratively and literally.

Alright, maybe he was checking you out a little bit.

Unlike the god of the seas, his wife greeted Zeus, and all the familiar gods with a warm smile. It had been ages since you had seen them all together, and the sight brought a sense of nostalgia to the days where you had first earned their favor, then their respect, and then their friendship. Although your story might not be as mighty (and as physically taxing) as Hercules’ was, you considered those ‘young’ days to also be one of your best apart from getting married to the man god who you had given your heart for and will continue to love and cherish for the rest of your life. Since you became Poseidon’s wife, you had not had much time to do leisure outside the palace, and correspondingly after heralding the title of ‘queen of the seas,’ you had taken it upon yourself to help your husband in matters concerning his own kingdom and the vast seas themselves.

“Master Zeus—” Zeus threw you a knowing look. “My apologies, Zeus, it’s such a pleasure to see you again!”

“Same here, little lady! Judging by the frequent calmness of the Atlantic Ocean, I trust you and my brother are faring along quite well?” The father of all gods chuckled, then wiggled his gray eyebrows. “Why, I must say, me and most of the other Olympians have been waiting for some new gods and goddesses to rule alongside us, if you know what I mean! Ehe he~”

Characteristic of your husband, Poseidon simply scoffed before muttering how gods such as themselves need not gossip. Blue eyes never left the Hindu god however, and unbeknownst to his wife, he lingered closer to you than usual whenever the both of you were in public.

This time, Shiva had had enough. He was sure he only looked at the direction of Poseidon’s wife only once, and admired you only once as well, yet he was being skewered by the god’s gaze for longer than what he had intentionally allowed. As if he had openly claimed you as his! He was the god of destruction for heaven’s sake, and would not allow this sacrilegious act, regardless of whoever he had to settle the score with. If it was with another prominent deity, then it would be a lot more fun. Golden eyes narrowed daringly, an equally challenging aura oozing from his form and startling the nearby gods.

“Lord Shiva, are you okay—”

“(Name). How many times do I have to repeat myself? You have no need to refer to other gods with honorifics.” Your attention whipped to your husband, who to your surprise, held a familiar, challenging stance. Unbeknownst to you but the other gods especially Aphrodite, Poseidon simply matched the challenge of the Hindu god. “You are the wife of the seas. All the other gods are beneath you, as they are beneath me as well.”

Upon hearing this, Shiva gripped his concrete armrests too greatly and it crumbled to dust under his strength. Pumped at where this interaction seemed to be heading−the thought of fighting, he stood up, arms on the ready to cause destruction. Despite being in the middle of the crowd and quite far away from the center of the stadium where the couple stood, he caught glimpse of the famous trident he would never be caught dead wielding. Now this was getting interesting!

“My rules are simple: you disrespect me, you die,” He pointed at Poseidon, which the latter found disgusting enough to scrunch up his nose.

“Should we put a stop to this, Lord Zeus?” Hermes asked behind a white gloved hand. Not exceeding any expectations, Zeus laughed after a stroke of his beard and clapped. He always was one to find entertainment in alike situations, especially after the fact that this was the only time, he and all the other gods had really felt Poseidon riled up. The expression on the god of the seas’ face remained calm but it was betrayed by the suffocating, dominating presence he emitted from where he stood.

“And after you die, your wife would become firsthand witness of realizing how your title betrays your strength,” Shiva stretched, but halfway through noticed Poseidon’s quick work of his trident. He took a stance and prepared for the parrying move.

Amidst the unexpected battle that was soon to happen, to everyone’s surprise, a whistling sound echoed along the tension-filled stadium. It was a tune most foreign to the gods, all except one. From your lips, a beautiful melody poured out as a soft gentle breeze seemed to have begun to blow. It was an old tune you had learned from one of your many lifetimes in the mortal world,

And the very same one you had sung to Poseidon that had sustained him in trying moments.

Poseidon came to a full stop, his muscles unmoving as he listened and slowly, put his trident down. What was he thinking? He should not have been swayed by a foolish taunt committed by a foolish god. He was perfection incarnate. His wife would never fall for a foolish antic, so why did he? Now he was both angry and confused with himself. How could he have allowed himself for even a moment, for others to see him angry over this? What even was this?

Without the need to look at you, relishing in your fine tunes reminded him of the initial catalyst to his reaction and an answer to his question. Whenever matters concerned his wife, his emotions, which he learned were out of his control, seemed to defy all rational logic, which, even at the very beginning of your courtship, bypassed his ego. Of course, despite these strong feelings, the one thing Poseidon had control over were his actions. Therefore, he had always had a grip on how he presented himself. Although it was still a slow progress to figuring out this foreign feeling with his wife, the only other being he deemed truly worthy to allow into his life, anyone else will never have a chance of being privy to this side of him−a sentiment that thankfully, his wife shared. Though he never admitted it, he was confused and left mulling over for some time when you had also told him before that you had meant a different thing.

“…Foolish. Gods have no need for wars, we are perfect beings ourselves. You are not the reason for my presence here and are not worthy of my time and attention.” Another long silence fell, finally broken by Poseidon, ignoring the mix of surprised and fearful stares. His legs started carrying him towards the direction of one of the high stage boxes in the stadium. “Come, (Name).”

Shiva, who had his fists out and ready to fight, blinked twice in confusion before grunting, scratching the back of his ear violently in frustration. “You Greek gods have always been boring! And here I thought I’d finally be able to cause some destruction again, this time in Valhalla…”

Other than the Hindu god himself, none would ever understand if he had riled up the Greek god on purpose for the sake of his own entertainment or, perhaps, for something more personal. Zeus, meanwhile, followed the sight of his older brother walking quietly alongside his wife. Aphrodite nodded her head in his direction, affirming his suspicions. He would never fully understand the concept of love, but hey, he did get the message that all would be damned if so much as a single hair went missing on (Name)’s hair. And it seems he was not alone in this thought, as despite Shiva’s aggressive taunting, he also managed to peak into the gravity of the god of seas’ feelings towards his wife.

After Shiva had been calmed down and more gods piled in along with the Valkyries, Zeus set his meeting in motion. From the stands, Poseidon and his wife occupied the two seats that closely resembled their thrones. Eagerly sitting beside the god, (Name) grinned. Every day she had to sit close to her husband or even at times on his lap, she always felt like her body fit snugly against his.

Blue eyes stared uninterested at the spectacle.

“Dearest?” Poseidon turned his head and met your gaze. Any dark smudges had disappeared beneath his eyes, and his mouth that was carved into a seemingly permanent frown softened. His lips went from a thin line to a gentle curve.

“Thank you.”

No more words needed to be said. Poseidon knew what you were thanking him for, and he responded by closing his eyes as though he was swallowing every ounce of serenity that emitted from you. And the taste was sweet…

Above the angry retaliation of the gods regarding the verdict of Ragnarok, Poseidon enjoyed an elusive peace. Even if it was just a simple moment like this, he set his features in calm lines and his shoulders sank−a truly rare sight, a special secret between himself and his wife.

“I don’t care about this. I am eager to go home.” Poseidon whispered under his breath.

A chuckle left his wife’s lips. “We’re going home soon, don’t fret.”

[liushen-stan]

Misunderstandings

A Liushen fanfic

Summary: Liu Qingge was a loyal man. Shen Qingqiu had lost his loyalty when he'd tried to murder him, but after getting to know the Shen Qingqiu post qi-deviation, Liu Qingge began to doubt his many assumptions about the man were true.

And so, he begins to investigate.

Chapter 1: Murder Attempt

Liu Qingge has been described as many things. Strong, prideful, bad with words, hard working...

If one asked, Liu Qingge would say that, after his strength, his loyalty is his biggest trait.

And he would be right, because Liu Qingge's loyalty is the category of myths. One one gains it, he would have his sword and strength at their side forever, no matter how the man personally thinks of you.

It was true, once, for Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge despised his fellow disciple, but they were martial siblings, belonged to the same sect. Liu Qingge would never hesitate to fight for anyone in his sect, even Shen Qingqiu.

Until the man tried to kill him in the most cowardly way possible.

Liu Qingge's loyalty is strong. But so is his enmity. That act made Shen Qingqiu lose the former, and gain the latter. So when rumors began to spread about the despicable disciple turned peak lord, Liu Qingge did nothing. He even spread a few of his own, believing nothing but the worst of someone who would betray a fellow martial sibling.

And its not like Qingqiu was a helpless victim. Oh no, the man gave as good as he got, and so the enmity between the Bai Zhan and Qing Jing peak lords became something widely known.

Something nothing and no one could change.

Only, that was wrong.

Shen Qingqiu had a qi deviation and, suddenly, Liu Qingge's hated enemy seemed to disappear, only to be replaced with a pale imitation. This Shen Qingqiu still acted cold and aloof, but the bite and venom in most of his actions and words had disappeared. This Shen Qingqiu smiled more, laughed more, expressed himself more.

This Shen Qingqiu saved his life.

Liu Qingge couldn't understand. A qi deviation shouldn't change a person so fundamentally. But after this Shen Qingqiu passed every test the other peak lords did with flying colors, tests against demonic possesion or magic influence, there seemed to be no other explanation.

Shen Qingqiu had lost part of his memories.

Whatever in his past that made the man so spiteful was gone, and so this man... this man was the real Shen Qingqiu. And the more Liu Qingge got to know him, the more disconnection he found between the Shen Qingqiu he'd known and this one.

Liu Qingge was loyal. He was also a man able to admit his mistakes and seek to right them. It had never felt right to him to be so spiteful to his shixion, but a traitor deserved nothing less in his books. Still, something seemed to be wrong, and so Liu Qingge began to investiagte the rumors that surrounded the man. Just in case, he told himself. He'd never bothered to see if they were right, after all, so maybe...

He would just have to see.

He started with the one that, for him, was the most urgent: the murder attempt. It was the one that broke his trust, the one that started everything. And luckily, the was another witness there.

"Oh, Liu-shidi! How can I help-"

"Did Shen Qingqiu try to kill me?"

Shan Qinghua startled.

"Wha-"

"That mission, when we were disciples. Did Shen Qingqiu attempt to stab me while my back was turned?"

"Ah..." Shan Qinghua's eyes lightneed with understanding before the man took a nervous step back. "I don't think Shen-shixion wpukd like me to-"

"Tell me," Liu Qingge demanded in a forceful tone. "I need to know."

Shan Qinghua's eyes widened at the desperation in his tone.

"Wha- why are you asking this now?"

'After all these years?' Was the unspoken addition.

"Shen Qingqiu... the actual Shen Qingqiu would never do that," Liu Qingge said, helplessly and frustrated beyond reason. "He wouldn't... I need to know. Tell me."

He beares with Shang Qinghua's stare as patiently as he could until the other peak lord sighed.

"Okay, okay, I..." He fell briefly silent. "There’s no easy way to say this so I'll just be blunt. You remember the ghosts you were fighting?" Liu Qingge nodded, his heart starting to pick up speed as he intuitively knew what Shang Qinghua was going to say just from those words. "Well, one of them was going to attack you while you were distracted by another. Shen-shixion attacked it before it could do anything, but when you turned around the ghost was already gone."

It wasn't cold in An Ding, but Liu Qingge felt he was in the middle of a snowstorm. Everything seemed distant, even his own voice when a weak 'I see' escaped his lips.

He didn't know how he managed to get to his own peak, but given the state on his body he suspected he ran. That made sense, physical activity was one of the few things that managed to calm him down... though this time, he would need more. Way more.

'A misunderstanding. It was a misunderstanding.' Those thoughts looped in his head as he stood up in his home, staring blankly at a wall.

Why did Shen Qingqiu never say anything? Why did he never defended himself?

'Why should he defend himself from a martial sibling?' A small voice in his mind asked. 'Why should he, when they should have his back?'

Had Liu Qingge really believed his fellow peak lord tried to kill him without trying to think up an explanation? To look further and question why? Was he really that ready to believe the worst of someone just because he didn't like him?

He never thought he could be like that. Wasn't his loyalty one of the things he was proud of about himself?

Where was his loyalty in this situation?

Liu Qingge agonized about this for a few minutes before his usual pragmatism managed to free him.

'This is in the past. I will carry the guilt, but now it's time to make amends.'

He had been wrong. And not only him, the other peak lords believed the worst about Shen Qingqiu, too. That had to change.

What better amends could be than to disprove the rumors he himself helped create? And if this also helped quiet the silent voice that doubted every rumor about the man was false, well... Liu Qingge would carry that, too.

His second objective: the brothel.

[sugarcherriess]

Requested here

Strangers to Lovers with Chanhee:

cw - fluff, mc and chanhee instantly trust each other way too much considering they’re strangers, flirting with a cafe worker on duty (don’t unless you know them and they’re okay with it. They don’t get paid enough to spend their time like this)

Your favourite spot in the entire city (or the places you’ve explored in the city) has always been a quaint little cafe downtown

It’s always the perfect balance between packed and deserted

The business booms yet there’s never an out-of-hand rush going on

Your favourite seat is the one near the far off window which allows you to see the view outside the cafe as well as all the workings inside

It also keeps you far away from any noise that may disturb your work or peace– whatever you’re there for on the particular day.

One thing you’re consistently there for is that one cute staff member with the pretty smile who always has something pink on him

Whether that be an accessory or a part of his outfit

His damn smile is so contagious that you could be fourteen feet away from him and still smile watching him interact with the customers

You can’t even hear what he’s saying

And it’s a shame really that you never get him to attend to you. Ever.

You spent days, weeks, months, sighing in sadness because he seemed to get every table in the cafe BUT yours.

Maybe it was because you were a regular? They already had you attached to the business so they didn’t feel the need to waste their charming point on you to get you interested?

Or maybe it was where you were sat. Perhaps your area didn’t get covered by the pretty staff person’s domain?

You chose to believe the latter

And promptly decided to work on it

Today you sat smack in the middle of the cafe

Right in the adorable server’s line of sight

Who was wearing the softest looking cream sweater today,

His hair the shade of the emerging winter's clouds

And his pretty hands–

Oh god his hands

Were the actually sparkling or was it just your eyes deceiving you–

“Hello, I’m Chanhee! What can I get started for you today?”

He starts with the most cheerful tone you’ve heard all week.

Maybe your entire life.

“Chanhee…”

Your tongue makes itself comfortable with the rolling of his name in your mouth

Good lord

“I would tell you our house specials your reputation tells me I don’t really have to,” he giggles

“My… reputation?”

Honestly, you’re too mesmerised by his captivating eyes to pay attention to any implications his sentence has

“Um… I think I worded that wrong,”

His nervous laugh is even more sweet than his actual one

“I meant since you’re a known regular, you must already know all the house specials,”

“What if i want you to tell me all of them anyway?”

“Why would you wanna hear something you already know,”

“Why wouldn’t anybody wanna keep a pretty boy like you busy with them for as long as possible?”

“I-“

Chanhee stammers for the first time in his carreer

“Are you flirting with the staff?”

“I don’t know. Is the staff interested?”

Your eyes bore into his like you’re mapping out his entire existence

As if you can everything beyond his physicality

He quickly evades any eye contact

A blush emerging from his neck peaking through his sweater, all the way to his cheeks

“Tell me what you’ll eat and I’ll give you the answer,”

With his hands twiddling with his notepad and pen, he begins to list all the house specials and customer favourites on their menu

All of which, as he assumed, you already knew

And you order the same thing you do every time

“Ah! I knew it–“

He slaps his hand to his mouth

But the damage is done

“Knew what?” You inquire

It takes a tonne of courage from the tall boy in front of you to explain the snippet of what he accidentally exposed

“We uh…”

He cleans his throat to conquer some of the embarrassment

You change your posture to help him feel unscrutinised

Putting your elbows on the table, you intertwine your fingers and rest your chin on them

“Go on,”

You’re not trying to come off as intimidating or anything

Its just that he’s so… interesting. And so pretty to look at

You can’t help but play with him

“Ah! Now you’re embarrassing me!!”

He whines

You immediately chuckle at his behaviour

Consistently adorable

“I’m not trying to I promise,” you reassure him

Chanhee huffs and starts his explanation

One that you find completely endearing

“You were actually one of our very first customers when we started this cafe and then you came every week afterwards. You’re kind of a big deal in our kitchens. We always know you’ve come when we see your order,”

“I always keep and eye on you when you work long nights,”

Oh so this is the reputation he really meant

“Ah, well. It’s my favourite place to be. I love the food and the service,”

You look at him watching you expectantly

“And observing you,”

Chanhee lowers his head and laughs again

“Maybe I should tell everyone else to never feed to anything sweet?”

“Why?”

“Maybe the lack of sugar will control your sweet talk,”

You roll your eyes at his raised brows, the quip making you shake your head

“Regardless, thank you guys for keeping an eye out for me. I appreciate it. Sometimes I do get carried away,”

Chanhee puts a hand on his hip before responding

“Then I guess I should thank everyone for observing me,”

“I never said everyone observed you,” you tease

“And I never said we kept an eye out,” he teases right back

While also inadvertently giving you the answer that you needed

That he would very much like to reciprocate you flirting

Which he is already doing

“Well,” he says clicking his pen shut, “I’ll get your order started,”

“Maybe you can join me? For a little while,”

He’s about to talk before you cut him off

“If you can of course. I don’t want to get you in any trouble,”

You would sheepishly defend your request

“You should be more concerned about whether I want to,” he teases, putting both his palms on the table and leaning towards you

This makes you stammer now, embarrassed about missing that crucial point

“I-I’m sorry I thought-“

Chanhee stands back straight and laughs louder than he did all day

“You’re so easy to scare! And here I thought you were the intimidating one,”

You lean back and cross your arms on your chest

Classic “I’m not doing this anymore” stance

Chanhee laughs even harder at your demeanour

If that was even possible

“C’mon! Don’t be like that!”

You refuse to stop pouting

“Okay, okay, I’m sorryyyy. Please don’t be mad, I’ll get you the best of the house!”

“Fine,” you sigh

Unable to hold you endeared smile

“I’ll be right back!” Chanhee promises

Leaving with a skip in his step.

True to his words he comes back five minutes later with your order and an additional treat

As if he wasn’t a treat enough

You two spend the rest of the evening talking about your lives

You both discuss your childhoods, your happy memories

He shares his interests with you and you tell him what inspires you

You two even exchange your numbers

Time moves by so quickly that before you know, it’s time for them to close

“You know,”

Chanhee interrupts you while you gather your belongings

“The staff at the back was calling this a date,”

“You did skip work to gossip with me all evening,” you sass him

He chuckles but is unable to look at you

“Would you… call it one?”

He shyly asks, looking at you through his lashes

“Depends. If I do will I get a second one?”

He chuckles in relief that he wasn’t reading too much into things

That you also want more than a friendship with him

“I can promise you a second one if you tell me your name,”

And it just clicks then that you never even told him the most important part about yourself

And then–

“If you don’t even know my name, what did you save my number as?”

“I’ll let you know on the third date,”

He giggles at your disbelief

And no matter how much you pester him as he walks you home

He just doesn’t let up

(It’s “future loml💘💘”)

(He’s too embarrassed to say bc it’s cheesy as hell)

(Also he’s a LIAR and doesn’t tell you until you move in together and you call his phone while making dinner together one night)

(Best believe, you never let him live it down)

[hamliet]

Two Dragons Biting Each Other: Case File Compendium’s Alchemy

What’s something most danmei novels, some C-Dramas, Shakespeare’s works, several animes, and western fantasy series like The Witcher and A Song of Ice and Fire all have in common?

They’re all structured around the mythical process of alchemy!

I’ve talked extensively about alchemy in the American anime RWBY, as well as touched on it for other stories. It’s an allusive story structure that is extremely common worldwide yet rarely talked about--Harry Potter’s based on it, as are A Song of Ice and Fire, Lord of the Rings, and The Witcher. Shakespeare used it to write plays like Romeo and Juliet, Cymbeline, and A Winter’s Tale. Manga like BNHA have faint allusions to it, even if alchemy does not form the actual structure, and movies like Titanic also faintly reference it. It’s also very, very much a thing in most danmei novels I’ve read--all three of MXTX’s works use it, though MDZS and TGCF are more explicit about it--and in c-dramas like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty. Which is not really surprising because xianxia in particular is based on Taoism, from which Chinese alchemy also springs.

Meatbun heavily uses alchemy in Erha (literally the name of Sisheng Peak’s hall is Alchemy Heart Hall, Chu Wanning is a literal homonculus, etc; it’s not subtle and someday I’ll do a post on how the main ‘family’ of Sisheng Peak all have explicit imagery indicating they represent different stages in alchemy). This is to say, Meatbun is very clearly aware of what alchemy is and deliberately incorporating it into her works.

She’s also using it fairly heavily in Case File Compendium, which is interesting because alchemy is, well, most commonly used in fantasy stories. CFC has some sci-fi elements, but it’s largely set in a version of the real world, which makes it unusual but all the more interesting.

Western alchemy and Eastern alchemy are pretty similar, though the latter has five elements that interact differently than the west’s four elements. The goal of alchemy in either case is the Philosopher’s Stone, which is understood to be able to do three things: turn base metals into gold, create an elixir of life, and create a homonculus (a person out of something non-living). Chinese alchemy in particular generally focuses more on the elixir than anything else; in fact, it has its roots in Taoist medicine (fitting for Xie Qingcheng’s profession). Eastern alchemy also focuses on purification of the soul, which would influence Jung’s “spiritual” (psychological) alchemy theories, which apply to literary analysis better than they do in real life.

The elixir of life is a substance produced through repeated cycles of solve et coagula: dissolve the substance, coagulate it again, and with each cycle it becomes more and more purified. Through this process, an elixir that can cure any disease and sometimes grant immortality is produced. The process has different “stages” that can vary across works, but the main principle--solve et coagula--remains the same.

So let’s talk the specific symbolism and how it’s used thus far in CFC.

Mind, Heart/Spirit, Body

I talked briefly about this in my review for CFC, but in short, in an alchemical story most couples (romantic or otherwise) are “marked” as heart/spirit, mind/soul, and if there’s a third tagalong, they’re usually body.

So how are characters marked? Colors, traits, and sometimes elements. Mind is associated with white; heart with red. A heart character is almost always your protagonist and is brave to the point of foolishness, emotional, etc.  A mind character is much more reserved. Think about, for example, five couples in danmei, and the colors schemes and traits associated with them:

Shen Qingqiu (white and green; reserved, plotting, struggles with empathy) and Luo Binghe (red and black; overly emotional crybaby)

Wei Wuxian (red and black; self-sacrificial) and Lan Wangji (white and blue, reserved, quiet, doesn’t say what he feels)

Xie Lian (white, self-sacrificial) and Hua Cheng (red; practical and somewhat amoral)

Mo Ran (blue and black; emotional and sacrificial) and Chu Wanning (white, reserved, intellectual)

Shen Zechuan (white, cold, intellectual) and Xiao Chiye (blue and black, hot-blooded, passionate)

As you can see, the markings don’t always align perfectly. Mo Ran’s and Xiao Chiye’s color schemes aren’t typical for heart characters, but for Mo Ran in particular it fits because he doesn’t start the story as a heart character, and for Xiao Chiye it kind of works because QJJ isn’t quuuuite as heavily based in alchemy as the others. Meanwhile, Xie Lian is white and Hua Cheng is red, but Xie Lian better fits as a heart character and Hua Cheng as a mind. The point of these couples all, though, is that each couple complements one another. Alchemy is fundamentally concerned with “the union of opposites”: heart vs. mind, sulphur vs. mercury, sun vs. moon, fire vs water. (Yes, union of opposites is connected to the concepts of yin and yang.)

A body character, when they exist, is often concerned with eating or with lust. (Actually I think you can make a solid argument that Xiao Chiye and Mo Ran are both body as well as heart.) In CFC, we have:

He Yu: passionate, interested in bloodlust, sacrificial, associated with heat and fire

Xie Qingcheng: intellectual, closed off, scientist, associated with cold and water (jellyfish, plus being a doctor; water=healing)

He Yu is clearly a body and heart character, while Xie Qingcheng is the mind character. But the point is that all three attributes are connected to one another and cannot be separated without the death of the others.

He Yu assumes that Xie Qingcheng was there to heal his mind, but in reality Xie Qingcheng was healing his heart when he was a child. He Yu keeps putting all his issues to his mental illness and compulsions, but his head isn’t the problem. Xie Qingcheng tells us this blatantly:

Meanwhile, Xie Qingcheng has been living with extreme restraint as a result of his own mental illness. He doesn’t allow himself to feel anything, not love for another person, not pleasure in sex, nothing at all. What kind of life is that? Well, honestly it’s akin to the life Rose DeWitt-Bukator lived in Titanic before she met Jack: it’s not a life at all. That Xie Qingcheng is mostly ashamed of the pleasure he felt in his body is because he refuses to allow himself to admit he has a body and a heart, and that his body might be alive, but without any feelings or love it’s not much of a life.

I spoke about this in my review, but again, as much as Xie Qingcheng and He Yu would like to think their bodies, hearts, and minds are entirely separate from one another, that’s not how this ish works in real life or in alchemy. Xie Qingcheng hurt He Yu by leaving him--hurt his mind, which he knew was a possibility and which is linked to He Yu’s body because the illness is physiological as well as psychological, and also He Yu’s heart, which he didn’t count on as much. He Yu hurt Xie Qingcheng’s body, but also his heart and his mind (it seems likely the fever was a result of a flareup of Xie Qingcheng’s illness).

Both He Yu and Xie Qingcheng are heartsick, mentally sick, and sick in body as well. Since they are already denying that each of these aspects of them are hopelessly tied together, they need to acknowledge that. If one part of them starts to heal, the other parts will as well.

The Process

There are varying steps to an alchemical process, but the most common appearances in literature are the three color-coded ones:

Black stage (nigredo)

White stage (albedo)

Red stage (rubedo)

(There’s a yellow stage between white and red that is almost always subsumed into red, and a “rainbow” stage/glimpse of a stage between black and white. Sometimes. These are not very common in literature.) The black stage is the “dark night of the soul.” It’s where sh*t gets dark, and there’s a focus on destruction and rotting. The white stage is for the purifying of what’s left from the destroyed matter in the black stage, and the red stage is when things finally combine and become the refined elixir. 

These colored stages are then most often broken down into other steps, the most popular of which have seven or twelve steps (RWBY, for example, is following George Ripley’s twelve steps in his Magnum Opus to the literal letter). However, authors combine and mix steps as it suits a story with fair frequency, and I don’t think Meatbun is following a specific step order like RWBY or The Witcher.

But, most stages do start with 1) calcination, followed by 2) dissolution. Dissolve and coagulate, rinse, repeat. We have some very clear hallmarks of both to start the story: namely, the uses of fire and water. Fire refines, and water rinses away the impurities.

The hallmark of calcination in the black phase is fire. Let’s look at the first near-death encounter of Xie Qingcheng and He Yu: when they confront Lu Yuzhu. (Also pay attention to the colors described--it’s exclusively red, white, and black, with black as the overarching hue of the scene).

The entire building then goes up in flames, and Xie Qingcheng’s past is revealed to everyone.

Notably, this scene parallels the current scene, in that in each scene He Yu uses the near-death encounter to ask Xie Qingcheng something about himself. These scenes parallel each other because they are again examples of the process: coagulate, dissolve, try to get to the refined root of the matter--to the substance that really matters.

Not only does it parallel, but it’s occurring in a more refined manner: He Yu and Xie Qingcheng are alone, and this time Xie Qingcheng is telling He Yu the truth (some of it) on his own, instead of someone spilling it for him.

After the dissolution of He Yu’s image of Xie Qingcheng, we then see them spiritually separated (and physically). While I kind of doubt Meatbun is following Ripley, there is a passage of note in Ripley’s passage on separation:

Fire against nature must do your bodily woe, This is our Dragon as I you tell...

Which burns the body... If you will win our secrets, According to your desire.

Kind of reminds me of the imagery of the Club Scene, because He Yu thinks he’s going against his nature and against nature in general, but it’s actually his own secret desires. Plus, He Yu is a dragon, which... we’ll get to.

Then there’s conjunction, aka the primitive Chemical Wedding.

Chemical Wedding

The first chemical wedding is where the opposites meet and it usually doesn’t end well. It’s often violent and primative; alchemical drawings of this concept often incorporate animal characteristics onto the people involved if they’re drawn as people at all--often they are drawn as animals. Common aspects of a Chemical Wedding include stabbing each other, dismemberment, and the like. It’s not usually a sex scene, but it can be.

Like, here are some of the images of primitive chemical weddings:

Lovely. The last one is the best one, but they are still being compared to animals, so.

In CFC, it clearly is the Club Scene. It’s not a good scene. It’s violent and primative; in fact, to rub the point in, Meatbun has Xie Qingcheng call He Yu a beast numerous times.

Which brings me to our current scene. It seems too early for a final, elevated chemical wedding, but it is certainly another step in the process (and like I said I don’t think Meatbun is directly following a step-by-step process, but more the general gist). Perhaps if the former Club Scene is a chemical wedding to mark  the Black Stage, this is one to mark the White.

Because guess what is also a hallmark of a chemical wedding and of the White Stage?

Being submerged in water together. Sometimes, it’s even specifically bathing together (think Jaime and Brienne in ASOIAF).

That’s why He Yu tries to imitate Xie Qingcheng by submerging himself in baths, but it doesn’t actually make him feel close to Xie Qingcheng, because Xie Qingcheng isn’t there. When they do end up submerged in water together, they’re drowning. So it’s still kind of violent and primative, but.

But, it is a more refined version of not just the calcination-fire sequence, but of the Club Scene. 

While the events of the calcination, our first solve et coagula scene, led to He Yu’s dark night of the soul, the current one seems primed to be a rebirth symbol for He Yu. Enclosed space + water + one tiny opening; it’s hard to get any more obvious than that.

Dragons, Elixirs, and Nihlixirs

So you know how the Organization of Creepiness puts people in tubes? Well, the image of people trapped in flasks is, like, extremely common in alchemy. See:

Notice what’s also present? A monster/dragon.

Dragons are probably the number one animal associated with alchemy. They can be symbolic of the entire process (ouroboros eating its tale) and as such  the dragon is associated with being dual-natured, which is pretty fitting for He Yu. He is at once willing to sacrifice his life for Xie Qingcheng, and then hurts him in an absolutely horrific way. 

Dragons are also symbolic of of the prima materia, the material you start out with that will eventually turn into the elixir of life even if it’s rough going at first. It makes a ton of sense, then, for Meatbun to compare He Yu to a dragon. Lyndy Abraham writes that:

…the dragon is the lower, earthly self which the soul must learn to subdue and train, so that the higher self…may at last reign.

Which is kinda sorta exactly what Xie Qingcheng tells He Yu he must do, which makes Xie Qingcheng not only part of He Yu’s process but also his alchemist. Good luck dude.

Additionally, the union of two opposites (a chemical wedding) is referred to as “a most violent and bloody copulation in which two dragons kill each other.” According to Nicholas Flamel  (the real one whom the Harry Potter character was based on) in his Heiroglyphs the two dragons are respectively defined by “heat and driness” and “cold and moisture.” In other words, He Yu and Xie Qingcheng, who is himself also a dragon... which the recent reveal about his own psychological ebola tells us. 

But there’s more with the dragon symbolism. Flamel notes that these dragons “being united, and afterward changed into a quintessence... may overcome every thing Metallic, how solid hard and strong, soever it be.” This Quintessence is of course the elixir of life, and Lyndy Abraham notes that “this [quintessence] is called ‘dragon’s blood,’” which is relevant given the... exceeding focus on Xie Qingcheng and He Yu biting each other and blood being a part of that (not my thing but you do you boys), and also on He Yu’s blood toxin power. 

So, essentially, Xie Qingcheng and He Yu’s love will somehow be used to give life not only to themselves but to everyone around them (final step in all processes is multiplication + projection aka it spreads beyond just one person or couple). Thus, they will together form the elixir of life.

But, there’s also sometimes a nihilixir. Instead of something that undergoes a process to become more and more refined and lifegiving, you can have something that induces someone(s) to descend into chaos and primitive instincts. For example, the One Ring in Lord of the Rings is a nihilixir. I think we have a pretty clear nihilixir present in CFC: RN-13. The number 13 kinda says it all, and in order for life to come, Xie Qingcheng and He Yu will have to destroy that drug and probably the Organization with it. 

[fayesdiary]

10, 17, 21

10) A character you find underrated?

I really like Valbar! He's a really wholesome man despite his initial motivation being revenge, is absolutely busted if you reclass him, is definitely the second dad of Celica's Pligrimage along with Saber and the implication he might have been the third lord alongside Alm and Celica in some early draft of Gaiden makes me really curious about what his role would have been👀

17) How did you get into Fire Emblem?

Ok, this is a long story.

While the first time I saw an FE character was Marth and Ike in SSBB, I didn't pay much attention to them.

My first actual experience with Fire Emblem was watching this italian Let's Play of Path of Radiance by Letal, back when I was in middle school, and boy I had a blast.

I became obsessed with the game, the story, the world of Tellius, the charcters (especially because the let's play gave characters funny comments while they were in battle and other small funny edits, like Makalov having this theme from Punch-Out Wii whenever he entered a fight because he gave him a Russian accent)

Needless to say, I wanted more.

So eventually I got a totally legit copy of Radiant Dawn and played it on my definitely not modified Wii, and while it took a long time to finish I was even more hooked.

Some really fond memories I have are losing my shit over how much the battle animations had improved, internally screaming when the Greil Mercenaries showed up and getting torn apart in the latter half of Part 3!

Don't remember much of what happened after, but eventually I wound up on the Fire Emblem subreddit, some time after Fates was released.

I wouldn't play the 3DS games until last year, but I still lurked on the place, looked at the fanart and listened at what people had to say.

...which most of the time in hindsight was constant nitpicking, arguing over which era of FE is the best, and of course, the "Fates bad" circlejerk that never really stopped but was at its peak in this era. (And while I kinda passively joined the circlejerk at the time, at the same time the game and the world couldn't stop grabbing my curiosity and I'd constantly read and see more about it)

I did play FE8 and FE7(i think?) during this period though. Didn't hook me as much as the Tellius games did, though. In general, my interest in the series was fading a bit.

But then, Heroes came out and I started playing it, and that rekindled my love for the series, not to mention introduce me to a lot of characters I had no idea they existed! (and yes, I was on the FEH subreddit too, but 99% lurking)

It sparked my curiosity enough to even get me to play FE4, especially since it was one of the games most praised by the community!

Oh, and then a certain game came out on the 3DS. I actually wound up playing it some months after it released because my friend let me borrow her 3DS, and it became my biggest FE obsession surpassing even Tellius!

The game's title, of course, was Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, and it's still my favorite FE game and one of my favorite games in general.

Eventually I'd quit Heroes forever, at first because I needed the time to prepare for my high school finals and that game was really starting to take too much of it and then permanently when I realized just how little fun the game was getting for me.

Likewise, I ended up quitting the FE subreddits too. At first it was just because Three Houses was coming out and I didn't want to get spoiled, but then eventually that too became a permanent leave, mostly because as I said before, the main FE subreddit was getting a bit too obnoxious for my taste and I hadn't played FEH in a long time.

Heck, eventually I wound up deleting my Reddit account outright because I realized I was going there just to deliberately get angry to avoid getting bored.

And then... there are the last few years.

While I already was on Tumblr for a few years on my main blog (again, passively), was following a few FE blogs and even contributed to one of them by writing some supports... one day, I had the idea for this blog. And eventually, I decided to go for it and it became a thing.

Originally it was just meant to be a place where I discussed FE and posted my theories, analysis and writings, but then it turned into.. whatever this is😅 Don't regret a thing, though. This is the best place I made for myself as an online community in general, let alone FE! It's like my own well-decorated corner of a wall!

In this past year, now that I had a 3DS I totally didn't modify as well, I finally played Awakening and Fates for myself!

...And Shadow Dragon too, I guess.

I still have a lot of games left I want to play (and that's just from the mainline series, don't even get me started on the Kaga emblemlikes, hacks or other fangames), so this story is far from over!

21) Any rarepairs/crack ships you have?

The main two involve Faye, and are Faye/Celica and Faye/Rinea!

I love both pairings a very normal amount *lying* Even wrote a fic for the latter!

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

I wanted to get this ‘Valentine’s Day’ piece out, even though it’s massively, supremely late. 😭It’s part of a longer piece (because I couldn’t stop writing it😶) and I’m still not sure whether or not it’s not terrible.😖

prompt list

-------

This couldn't be right.

Damian almost did a double take, his cool smirk withering when he glanced up, transfixed by the sleek storefront at the cross streets where he stood. Why on earth would Raven be in a place like this?

The building towered above the tottering sea of gray, black and blue below. And the mannequins in the display lorded over their dominion, propped loftily on their perches, arms and legs of impractical proportions, stilted at absurd angles.

And why would she summon him here?

His trousers began to buzz audibly and the shifting crowd of passersby jostled him closer to the glass. Damian delivered the faceless caricatures of the female form a final foreboding glare, before he reached down to free the device vibrating in his pocket. New Message. Raven. Apparently, it was urgent. He tapped the speech bubble icon with a fingertip and his jaw went slack.

I Need You.

The three words seemed etched into the surface of the screen. And they were more than enough to get him to take a deep breath and grasp the curved door handle, his jaw set, and wingtips marching determinedly onward.

The atmosphere inside the store was even more unexpected than the outside. When translated, the pounding music and low lighting read as more nightclub than boutique. It was completely impractical in Damian's view—how could anyone locate a price tag, let alone see the item they were intending to purchase? Although, after a few minutes of skulking around in the dark, he could see how the implementation of such a design was advantageous. With stealthiness like his, he wasn't in danger of being accosted by overly helpful employees hungry for commissions, before he located the heading of a dramatic script that read Dressing Rooms, and turned underneath it.

Down the row each stall had a flood light stationed above it, but only one appeared to be presently occupied: the corner room at the farthest end of the hall. And as he got closer he noticed it also appeared to be the largest. Damian glanced behind him and rapped on the door with a knuckle. And just as he began to wonder if he'd needed some sort of special knock or password prepared, the lock glowed black and unlatched itself.

"I'm here." The door creaked open and the floor groaned under his solid weight. Damian turned swiftly to shut it, growing steadily concerned.

"So what is it? What's the—big emergency..." He started, but his tongue began to feel heavy and leaden inside his rapidly drying mouth. And his eardrums began to beat violently until they matched the thumping of his maddened heart.

Red.

Blood red.

Burning. Blinding. Blazing.

In the carpet, the walls, the curtains, the chandelier.

It was everywhere—even in the deafening pounding hammering away at his head.

Thundering images suspended before him, going in and out of focus. They were searing his eyes, blearing his vision. In sinful shapes marred over pale flesh, it was red repeating over and over. Criss-crossing crimson. Damian had to dig his fingernails into his palms to ground himself with the tangibility of a familiar sensation.

And suddenly he realized that all the times before were incomparable, this was what it meant to be blindsided by a breath-taking blow. This was what it meant to receive a rush of blood to the head…

…or a rush of blood to the—

"I'm glad you came so quickly."

And the silhouette of Raven turned where she sat on a velvet ottoman, leaning forward in a way that was guaranteed to diffuse away the rest of his brain's processing ability. It was all he could do not to goggle at her like some cartoon character. Tawdry and tactless. Damian inwardly cursed the merciless Goddess above as he took in the cleavage created by cups, a series of straps and bows and elastic and he didn't know what. Only that he shouldn't have been so disarmed by it—by Raven's breasts pushed up to high-heaven. Like they weren't perky enough or distracting enough in their usual sheath of simple black cotton.

His wide emerald eyes strayed downward in spite of themselves and onto shapely, stocking clad legs folded one over the other, with a lace-up heel tapping out the bass of the synth pop bleeding into the background. Raven slid to her feet seamlessly, swaying slightly to the song. She took a single step, allowing the shadows to part for her as she did so.

There was a muted click, clack, click of her heels on the carpet as she drew near. He'd never seen her in stilettos, and he stared at them through slits.

Gods, they had to be four inches at least. Their impressive height only seemed to serve to make her look even more powerful. Just about as powerful as the force rooting him to the spot.

The deep panging in Damian's chest carried on, a racehorse charging from the starting gate, galloping faster and faster, as she grew closer and closer.

Suddenly he'd become aware of the fact that it was far too warm in here for the dead of winter. Or was it simply that Raven radiated such an intense heat?

Most definitely the latter.

The garnet colored lace gracing Raven's skin was a perfect match to her chakra stone. The semi-sheer fabric of her bra offered up a playful glimpse of the darker skin of her nipples beneath. When his gaze wound down her tapering waist, it appeared that the lack of opaqueness carried over to the front of her panties. He could just make out a little shadow—a promise laying underneath a tempting, well-kept diamond shape in plum wine. And last, but certainly not least were the thigh highs trimmed by garnet lacings and affixed to a red and black garter.

Damian's throat had somehow gone even drier. He tried to swallow with great difficulty, then tugged at his turtleneck for a reprieve.

However, there would be no such alleviation for his trousers.

"There's no emergency, Damian..." Raven assured him with a tilt of her head, lilac tendrils skating across a valley between pale peaks. "You'll have to forgive me, but I had to get you here. I had to know..." She paused, folding her arms as she prepared to pose a question to him. "Tell me... what do you think...of my outfit?"

Damian froze, fingers mid-tug and blinked several times as if he'd been struck dumb.

What?

That wasn't...

There was no way...

Was that a serious request?

She was being facetious—she had to be. It was the only explanation, unless Raven was somehow messing with his mind and Damian sincerely doubted that. But how could she ask him this with such bold-faced sincerity? Even if the wooden arch behind her housed a funhouse mirror and had been reflecting distorted proportions back at her. Or was there actually some warped reality in which they weren't looking at the same picture?

Although...

If he could muster up a voice to speak he would have asked, what outfit?

Lackadaisically, she trailed a hand down her body, tugging at the cups spilled over with supple skin. "The bra—do you like the pattern?" Raven traced the gorge between the swell of her breasts. "It's tulle and...French lace," she confirmed, squeezing the scant, semi-sheer embroidery molded to her chest. And Damian grimaced as though in physical pain.

"No?" she assessed, seemingly marking off boxes on a mental checklist. Raven smoothed her hands over her hips for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. She paced slowly, revolving a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to pause with her back to him.

"And what about..." She swept a purple curtain over the nape of her neck to glance over her shoulder and he saw—of all things—a bow below the dimples on her back, nestled into the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "My panties...?"

Damian gritted his teeth, though not before letting a sound escape, like a hiss coupled with a wince.

"Are these okay?" The soft profile of her lips pressed.

Gods, it was almost as if she were seeking to offer all of this up to him. And who needed to clarify anything when she was all wrapped up and presented? Covered in the finest cardstock wrappings in gold-flecked marble, then laced up with champagne silk ribbon to await her unravelling.

Though his own would be more likely.

Right now, he'd forsake all his names, both Wayne and Al Ghul to get her to stop. Stop slinking closer, stop speaking in that sweet, scratchy undertone, and stop directing his focus to her various attributes, more than it already was.

It would only make his growing pain more pronounced.

A pale hand dangled down and spread across a smooth, silken thigh. "My stockings, then?" Raven hummed.

Though, Damian didn't speak. He wasn't entirely certain he was still breathing. Somehow, he'd managed to remain motionless and drag his unwilling eyes toward the floor. All his carefully constructed control was necessary to keep himself calm and centered in this moment. He could do this—he had to do this. Otherwise, what was the point of all those long years of training he'd endured?

Shiny purple strands bobbed; she'd started to shake her head slowly at the stony silence from the stoic cashmere wall standing before her, as if she expected as much.

"I bet you're still wondering why I called you here." Damian heard her voice go up in the middle, which it did whenever she was apprehensive or unsure. "I wanted you here to find out what you like—exactly what you like." When he arrived, Raven was blushing a delicious pink, so by now it had to be a violent red. "I wanted to get it right because...you're the first person, or only person I've ever been intimate with in any world, dimension, or universe..." She lingered.

And once again, Damian said nothing, and she resumed speaking.

"I do know that this is something that one does traditionally." Raven paused to worry her already cherry-red bottom lip. "That couples do... Buying underwear for your significant other is supposed to be something special, particularly for this holiday."

He was a mountain, immobile, unwavering...

"Oh, I see..." Her mouth set into a line. "Perhaps, it's the fit—or is it the color...?" Raven's large amethyst eyes swept over the room and landed on her reflection. "I thought dark red was classic. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Donna. I should have gotten something in black." She dragged a distraught hand through dark purple. "It's too much...or maybe it's not enough..."

"Don't," Damian growled low. His inflection was level and gave nothing away. If Raven was surprised by the outburst, she didn't let on, instead she continued.

"I bet the old string of socialites shuffling in and out of the manor were never caught dead in skivvies that weren't Kiki de Montparnasse or at least Agent Provocateur. But this..." Raven lifted her chin toward the mirror. "It's not your taste though, is it?"

That was far more than enough.

Far more than he could stand to hear and far more than he could stand to bear.

When his eyes flew back to hers at last, they weren't steely anymore, they burned—whittling her retinas down like they were wicks on candlesticks. As if he were all but telling her he dared her to do that again, to say that again.

"It's okay. I'm glad I found out before I bought—"

"I said...don't." Damian placed his hands on her wrists and whisked her right up to his chest. And he closed his eyes. He skimmed his lips along the length of hers like it was something sacred, his mouth trembling as Raven muffled out a note denoting her surprise.

He murmured to her, "you're brilliant, deadly beautiful—an empath...and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I'm your blindspot." Damian sighed resolutely. "But Raven, can't you take pity on me? I'm still a man." One that had been barely keeping it together since he arrived, but... "And you're you, so..."

There was no way in any world, dimension, or universe that he could ever resist.

Purple eyes grew wider as he told her and lifted a finger to her chin. Then it was Damian turning the tables and tipping her mouth towards his own. And though he hungered for her, he took slow and sweet and gentle grazes. It was tortuous, but he should only have a little at a time. This was an excess of an impossibly decadent dessert, an indulgence he was undeserving of. It was like the power in his sub zero freezer had short-circuited and he had no choice but to guzzle down that buried pint of vanilla caramel gelato.

Though who could blame him for being greedy when he had all of this spread out before him? And when her ass in those panties even resembled two round, creamy spoonfuls.

To hell with it then.

Damian lunged, face forward, longing for more of her. In an instant, he was inhaling her pulse, intaking the scent of leather-bound books with aged pages and the nectar from plums she'd probably narrowly avoided dripping on them. He dipped his tongue along the hollow of her collarbone as if he sought to test this.

"Mmm, that's nice."

"Nice?" Damian scoffed, his eyes on hers. "That's not what I was going for. Surely you didn't wear this because you wanted me to be nice." At the present, he wanted nothing more than to rip the tiny pieces of lace into twos, but Raven had selected them specifically for him. So he would continue to be patient and continue to savor this.

Let the pieces of fabric hold up for as long as he could hold out.

"Wait a moment," Raven gasped, quickly clutching his arm. "So your present...?"

"Present? Tch..." Damian's lip curled under his front teeth and he let out a piercing click. "If you're seriously considering getting me a present..." His palms glided down her chest and he gathered a scoop of softness in either hand. "Then these are perfect," he whispered in her ear.

And then Damian's mouth pushed back into hers and he was kissing her in ways that would make it impossible to return this lingerie after trying it on. He nipped urgently to gain entrance to her castle, then trapped her lip between his teeth like it was a drawbridge, at last releasing her tongue to collide with his own. All the while, his thumbs were sliding over her nipples, which puckered and pointed at his touch. He pushed up the cups of her bra for better access, head inclined towards his goal, soon to be met by a full mouth.

Each brush of his lips on Raven's chest made her fingers clench further and further into his shirt like it was a life preserver, and she was in danger of losing herself to the depths.

And after all, wasn't this the answer that she'd wanted from this—that she needed from him?

A chance to lose herself.

To stand in a dressing room in his arms, moaning his name like a breathy spell, her body bending until her back was arched under the avid swipes of tongue. He tugged her nipples between his teeth and they reddened, their response a glowing rave.

Yes.

Raven's eyelids squeezed, her pink face contorting in pleasure while Damian enjoyed the full weight of her breasts in his hands. He continued polishing the plush, pink rings. Left then right—until they were glistening.

"Gods, Damian..." Raven groaned. "Just—"

Just as sudden, there was a wet noise, a slip of suction. Damian had released a rosy nipple, taking note of Raven's expression. Hungry and dazed, and all his doing. Whether unconsciously or not, she pressed her legs together, clenching them as she watched Damian slip off the left sleeve of his coat and let it crumple to the ground in a heap.

The glaze of her gaze, her diaphragm's continuous rise and fall, her fingers digging into his arm, she needed this.

So why deny her?

"Yes, these are beautiful..." He whispered as he admired his handiwork under the chandelier light. The way the red nips and bites were like Damian Wayne watermarks upon the pale flesh. "But perhaps..." Damian's hands glided freely down the small of her back, just over the hill of her ass and stroked the burgundy bow, like an X marking the spot. "This."

When Damian glanced down at Raven, she was barely biting back another mewl, and moving restlessly in his arms. "I wonder what would happen if I were to pull this bow... Raven what do you think?"

"Damian... We shouldn't..." Raven murmured, sounding somewhat apprehensive and holding the fabric at his back tightly.

"Yes, we should Raven," he rasped darkly. "Right now, I can't seem to think of a reason why not..."

"Well, there's the fact that we're in public—"

"Public," Damian repeated flatly. "What of it? The outside world ceased to exist the second I entered the door of my own little version of Narnia."

Raven's jaw had unhinged in unmasked shock and Damian supposed this was an instance to take her remaining breath away by kissing her. Yes, he'd walked through a door and suddenly he was laying eyes on his half-naked demoness dangerous in dark red. So clearly nothing else in creation mattered.

When he pulled away her lips opened and closed, while her eyes remained shut, like a thirsty traveler prematurely cut off from a longer drink. And even though it seemed her body knew the truth, a darker part of him wanted her to beg for it.

"But, that's not what I asked," he said with a hard smile that wasn't. Damian drummed a divot on her lower back. "I fear I've gotten ahead of myself again. Tell me about the bow, Raven. What happens if I pull it?" His hand jutted out, he made a motion with his fingers, in mimicry of it.

"Why ask when you know the answer?" Raven asked him, her brow rising shakily.

"I could have asked you the same earlier. But..."

"But?"

Raven bit her lip but made no motion to stop his hands from climbing onto the curve of her ass. He taunted her twice, by tugging lightly on the tulle, until at last... The bow in the back came loose, and her panties slid down her legs with ease. She secured one pale thigh tightly over the other to hide herself.

No bottoms and bra half-undone, she was nothing short of delicious.

Though that scrap of fabric had barely covered much of anything, so why bother to tease? Or hadn't that been the sole purpose of this outfit?

A devious smirk sidled onto Damian's face as he realized something: these were the exact kind of underwear that one put on simply to take off.

"I pulled the bow, Raven," he murmured almost mockingly. "Don't I at least get to see the rest of my present?"

She stared up at him through her soot colored lashes and slowly opened her thighs.

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 1)

Hey guys! Welcome to another angsty fic by yours truly, provider of flower husbands pain.

Some things you should know before you jump into this:

1. This is a companion fic to my fic "i know they're losing". You can understand it without having read the other one, since it's the same story from two different POVs but I think the overall experience is better with both!

2. The overall title of each fic is from the mitski song I bet on losing dogs. Chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films.

3. There is a lot of lord of the rings lore in both fics, and I mean a lot. You may be kinda confused if you've never read tolkien's works. It will all be explained eventually, though!

4. With the fact that it's a companion fic and a lot of people came here from Jimmy's POV in mind- this is a lot heavier of a fic. The content warnings are heavier and the angst is more intense. You have been warned.

(Obligatory disclaimer that this is about characters, not ccs, and do not ship real people, as always!)

Chapter Title: to these memories i will hold

Chapter Wordcount: 4000

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, panic attacks, past death, very frank discussion of death. (In general, if suicide or death are triggering topics for you, this is probably not the fic for you. Stay safe and take care of yourself!)

AO3

Actual fic under the cut:

Scott didn’t expect to survive 3rd life. No one did, he thinks, but especially not him. Clever, clever Scott, who knew his fate too well for his own good. He could have chosen his allies carefully, he knows, could have played on their emotions to make them think he was loyal until the moment he turned on them to win. He knew who the strongest factions and warriors were, the most cunning and intelligent participants in this death game they were forced into. Instead, he chose Jimmy. Sweet, dopey Jimmy, who had the personality of a golden retriever and only a handful of braincells at any given time. Jimmy, who was worth more than all the stars in the sky to him. Who made him feel alive . No, Scott didn’t expect to win. Not when it was Jimmy by his side- when it was Jimmy by his side, winning didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jimmy’s blush when Scott pressed a kiss to his cheek, the way his hair looked like gold in the sunlight and his smile lit up Scott’s whole world.

After Jimmy died, Scott stopped wanting to survive 3rd life. What was the point? The stars can shine on without the sun, but all life on Earth would wither and die. The same happened to Scott’s broken, bitter heart, he found. Jimmy was the first person in years to love him truly, wholly, with no strings attached; it was terrifying how quickly Scott fell for the first person to look at him and not expect him to be anything but what he was. Scott’s world, which used to be mountain peaks and endless blue sky, narrowed to warm brown eyes and a grin like sunshine quicker than he could comprehend. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, it all came back to him. What was Scott without Jimmy? The unwanted twin, the unloved child, the un-elven elf. Because who cared if he was a good shot with a bow or good at organizing teams or building pretty little houses? He would always be second-born, second-best.

It was fitting, really, that when Scott died, he died alone. Some might find it ironic that the man who knew enough people to fill the roster of a championship held by a god every month died without a single person to witness it save his enemies, but in the end, it was always going to be like this, Scott knew. He hadn’t been there to see Jimmy die, he hadn’t been able to hold him in his final moments and soothe the agony of death. Maybe this was his punishment. He wouldn’t be surprised; the gods of this world did not smile on him and never would. Why should they, when he had failed the only person who had ever found him good enough?

When he woke up in Rivendell, he was almost disappointed. Almost. He considered ditching the rest of the elves, up and leaving to somewhere that didn’t make it feel like the noose of immortality was slowly tightening around his neck. If nothing else, Noxite would let him crash at the MCC server for a bit until he found somewhere to go. And yet, in the end, Scott’s stubborn sense of duty won out. The elves needed a ruler. Xornoth had disappeared to god knows where, and though they had been braver, wiser, better in every way, Scott was the one who had stayed. Who was willing to take up the crown that weighed so heavily on its bearers. So Scott, who no one ever expected to rule, took up the burden of leadership.

Now, he tries and fails to get out of bed and wonders what the point of that even was. He’s fading, and worse than that, he’s fading over a human. His ancestors are probably rolling in their graves. Rivendell will be leaderless within a decade, and this time there are no heirs to take control. Not even a ‘spare’ like Scott used to be. What a mess.

There are footsteps on the stairs. They’re unfamiliar, meaning they could be a threat, but he’s too tired to bother sitting up. If he dies, well- it’s inevitable, really, in the same way watching the mortals he loves dies is.

The person comes around the corner, and Scott realizes with no joy that he won’t be dying today after all. Katherine looks both curious and concerned, but her voice tilts towards the latter when she asks “Scott?” and then, more hesitantly  “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her, exhausted. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?” She sounds so thrown off by his state that Scott almost feels bad.

Whatever it is, it must be important if she’s come all the way here, though, so he gestures her to a chair. “No, no, stay. I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Nothing about the question is funny in any way, but Scott laughs regardless. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.” He offers it out, knowing the unnatural cold is unsettling no matter if you’re elven or not. Katherine does as he asks, the concern on her face only growing as she grips his icy hand.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott explains. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, a frank reminder of the slow and painful death that awaits him.

Katherine gasps, and Scott knows he’s alarmed her.

He goes on, though. “It usually happens to old elves, world-weary.” Ironic, it’s ironic that he’s saying that as a young elf explaining his own death. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

Her face is nothing short of horrified. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

He has to laugh. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.” Though he feels so much older than that, both in elven terms and in human.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.” He’s so, so exhausted. So sick of having to claw and scrape and struggle for the barest scraps of happiness.

“Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?” Katherine sounds so hopeful that the question seems almost naive even though she’s far more capable of a ruler than he is. Naive in the affairs of elves, maybe, much as she’s intelligent in so many other ways.

Scott tries not to flinch at the innocent inquiry, thinking about the deaths from fading that he’s watched. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.” And again, and again, until there’s nothing to be done but let them die , he finishes in his head.

Katherine nods, a look of determination overtaking the hope. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No. You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.” She sounds so firm that he doesn’t dare disobey, though his exhaustion makes a fair effort at convincing him to. Will this really fix anything? Unlikely. But it’s worth it to try, if only to humor Katherine. At least this way she’ll have the comfort of having tried to save him when he inevitably fades away into nothing

Scott takes her hand, though it brings him little warmth, cold from her trek here. “Alright.” He swallows the bitter grief in his throat before it can seep into his words. “We can try.”

He leads Katherine around Rivendell, taking some pride in the way she oohs over the decor. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s building. While some elven rulers might see it as below themselves to help build houses for their citizens, Scott finds building soothing. It’s one of the few skills he picked up during his time away that people really appreciate; no one wants to live in a shitty house.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

If Scott said that the name Xornoth didn’t make him flinch, he would be lying to himself. It’s not your sibling , he tells himself. It’s just a coincidence .

It’s through the virtue of years of lying that his voice comes out steady. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya-” his heart doesn’t ache when he says Jimmy’s name, it doesn’t- “well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?” Katherine asks.

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer. He won’t- can’t talk about Jimmy, not without remembering how he looked with an arrow through his throat, bright smile gone and face frozen in fear. How does he explain how much Jimmy meant to him? How much he’s now giving up, knowing he’ll have to lose it one way or another?

Katherine drops the topic, seemingly sensing that she’s stumbled on something sensitive. When she has to go home, she leaves with a friendly goodbye and a promise to visit, and Scott believes neither. Who would put the effort into visiting him? He’s not a good friend, he’s not a good king, and god knows he’s not a good husband. In fact, he’s actively avoiding his husband. He may have kept the pufferfish Jimmy gave him, but that doesn’t mean anything. He can’t fall in love with Jimmy again. Loving Jimmy will kill him. (Scott ignores the small voice at the back of his head that whispers that he’s still in love with Jimmy and it’s already killing him just as he always knew it would.)

To his surprise, Katherine does come back next week, and the week after that. He’s ashamed to admit it, but there’s some part of him that’s pathetically grateful when she shows up at his doorstep. It’s a chance to not be alone . Much as he dreads the day when she finally gives up on him, it’s nice that someone cares enough to try and save him from himself.

The third week, Katherine doesn’t show up. Instead, the footsteps on the stairs are familiar in a way that makes Scott’s heart twist painfully.

He takes a deep breath. “Hello, Jimmy.”

“How’d you know it was me?” Jimmy asks. Scott can tell he’s startled by the way his voice goes up, almost frightened.

Scott steels himself, taking a deep breath before rolling over to face his ex-husband. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He forces himself to not get distracted staring at Jimmy, instead going on before Jimmy can open his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?” Jimmy’s so curious. So naive, as always.

Scott laughs, bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?”

Scott hears the concern in Jimmy’s words, and he can’t bring himself to break the news. It’s not as if it matters. It’s not as if Jimmy would care; he came here because of Katherine. Maybe he cared at the start of Empires, but Scott’s been nothing but rude to him since. There’s no reason for him to care. (He cares. Scott’s lying, like always. Jimmy cares and Scott knows it.)

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks again, more insistently.

He refuses to say it. He needs Jimmy out, out of his room and out of his life before he does something he’ll regret. “You should go.” To prove his point, he tries to stand, finding himself too dizzy to quite pull it off. Jimmy rushes to catch him, and Scott hates himself just a little for how that still gives him a warm feeling.

“Scott, what is going on?”

He brushes Jimmy off, letting go of his arm and hurrying for the stairs. He can’t let Jimmy work his way into his heart again; Scott won’t be strong enough to let him go this time.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?” Jimmy sounds almost angry, but Scott can hear the distress under it and that’s what breaks him.

“I’m fading, alright?” His voice nearly breaks at the concern on Jimmy’s face when he whirls to face him. “I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy sputters, seemingly caught off guard. “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords-” Scott thinks back to third life- “from arrows through the throat, from grief.” The words come out more raw than he intends, leaving him scrambling to recover his composure. He takes a deep breath in and out, forcing his voice to steady again. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

“You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!” Jimmy calls after him, although Scott can hear his footsteps following as well.

“You did ask, to be fair.” Scott replies. His voice is calm. He’s fine.

“I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Scott starts towards the bridges, intending to show Jimmy the enchanting tower and then the door. He doesn’t care about how fast he’s walking, Jimmy can keep up. He’s taller than Scott and probably has better balance at the moment too. Scott’s struggling not to fall, honestly, but his pride won’t let him go slower.

Jimmy breaks the awkward silence with the question Scott least wants to hear. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?”

“No,” Scott says firmly.

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .” He can’t talk about it.

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

The words strike right at the raw wound of Jimmy’s death, and Scott freezes. Inhales. Exhales. Tries to keep calm.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Scott!” Jimmy cries. He sounds so upset, Scott’s heart aches. “I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott takes a deep breath. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died?” He can’t think straight through the rage clouding his head, the desperate need to prove that Jimmy’s wrong , that Scott loved him so much it’s killing him. “You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy? ” His voice damn near breaks on his husband’s name, and Scott thanks the gods he stopped believing in a long time ago that it doesn’t.

“No,” Jimmy says. His voice is soft, gentle, almost as if Scott is a wounded animal that needs a delicate touch. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

The words punch the air from Scott’s lungs, raw and soft and real. Scott is an excellent liar. Jimmy isn’t. Scott knows that Jimmy is telling the truth. What he doesn’t know is how to handle that level of devotion. He wonders again how Jimmy- sweet, genuine Jimmy who wears his heart on his sleeve and is hopelessly devoted to an elf who can’t be fully his- chose Scott of all people. Scott, who’s as bitter as Jimmy is sweet, who’s sarcastic and snarky and hasn’t been good enough for just about anything in his life. He certainly wasn’t good enough to save Jimmy, Scott thinks bitterly.

He shakes off the thought. “I buried you on the hill above our houses. I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

“Did he?”

Scott almost laughs at the innocent question. “How would I know? Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now?” Jimmy’s tone is uncertain, hesitant and it hurts . “I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott looks away from his earnest gaze, but he can’t stop the truth slipping out. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Jimmy asks, seemingly bewildered. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott doesn’t want to think about this, wants to say it even less. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says wryly, unable to resist a bit of morbid humor at his own expense.

“Scott! That’s not funny!”

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Jimmy sounds genuinely distressed, and Scott drops the wry smile. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.” It’s a simple statement. The truth, as much as he can give.

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy’s outrage is justifiable, but Scott just shrugs.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it?” It really does. “But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

A hand lands on Scott’s arm, and he turns, startled. Jimmy doesn’t give him time to react, throwing his arms around Scott and pulling him close. Scott almost lets out a very undignified squeak at the sudden contact, though he slowly relaxes into Jimmy’s hold.

He should pull away. He shouldn’t give Jimmy false hope like this. But Jimmy is so warm , and Scott is so unbearably cold. Every fiber of his being is screaming that this is what’s right; screw Rivendell and obligations and too-heavy crowns, Jimmy is home to him. He’s warm for the first time in months, and the most heartbreaking part is that it can’t last. He can’t do this again.

He pulls away, ignoring the painful hope on Jimmy’s face. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” For the first time all conversation, his voice well and truly wobbles. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

Scott shakes his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.” The words are like glass in his throat, but he forces them out anyways. They have to be said.

Jimmy’s silent, and it hurts more than if Jimmy had yelled at him.

“Goodbye, Jimmy,” Scott manages, turning away before Jimmy can see the way his face twists in pain. He makes his retreat as quickly as possible, stumbling and nearly taking a tumble just before he reaches the door. Unlike before, there’s no helpful ex-husband there to catch him, to make sure he’s alright and ask a million questions until Scott’s forced to admit that he’s not okay and hasn’t been in a long time.

He fumbles with the latch, hands shaking and vision blurring. Finally, it clicks, and Scott stumbles inside and slams the door shut before sliding to the ground. He won’t cry. He won’t . He doesn’t love Jimmy, he can’t love Jimmy anymore. Jimmy was never meant to be his. They might have carved out a few precious moments, stolen them from the universe and giggled like kids with their hands in the cookie jar as they kissed amongst the flowers, but those brief moments were all they were ever going to be allowed. It was always going to end this way, Scott tells himself. There’s no use crying over a mortal who will be dead in the blink of an eye to an elf. What would his parents say? That this was typical of him, probably. Typical Scott, always wanting what he would never be able to have. Typical, predictable Scott, loving a mortal who shouldn’t be worth anything to him.

He’s crying. There are tears spotting his cyan robes, splashing onto the wood floors he worked so hard on. Scott rubs at his eyes furiously, but that only makes it worse, sobs shuddering through him and leaving him hollow and aching. He’s so cold . The ache in his chest has returned tenfold, stealing away his breath, and he curls further into himself, struggling for air.

He’s going to die. He is going to die , alone on the floor of his house because he fell for someone he couldn’t have. For all that he’s spent every minute since Jimmy’s death in 3rd life wishing for some way out of this cruel world, he’s terrified now that it seems inevitable. He’s scared in a way he hasn’t been in forever, breath coming quick and shallow. He's scared, and he is so, so tired of this ache that haunts him, the chill that he can never get rid of.

“Jimmy,” Scott whispers. There’s no way for the human to hear him, but the name brings him some comfort. “ Jimmy .” He wants his husband. He wants someone to hug him. He doesn’t want to fade away freezing and alone, no one there to hold his hand or reassure him that the pain will be over soon. Internally, he begs for someone, anyone who cares to come looking. To find him, even if they’re too late to save him. Someone. Anyone. Please.

No one comes, and Scott lays on his floor until his breathing steadies out again. His head spins when he forces himself to his feet, and he has to lean against the wall for a few moments. There’s no time for dramatics, he tells himself sternly. He has a kingdom to rule. He cannot afford to break over a mortal he never should have fallen for in the first place. He doesn’t love Jimmy anymore, he can’t .

(He’s lying. But Scott has always been an excellent liar, even when it’s to himself.)

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt2

if you’d like to read part 1, click here! 

thanks so much for reading!! i hope you guys are enjoying it. if you have any ideas/thoughts about how this story should go, message me!! i have a pretty good idea about where i want to go with this but i’m always open to suggestions :) also i apologize for this chapter being shorter! 

Things started to change the summer of her eleventh year. The two families spent yet another summer on Ember Island. Since her family was of a lesser status than Zuko’s, (Y/N’s) summer house was in a completely different section of the island. It was a long walk, but she didn’t mind it. She tended to travel to Zuko’s house rather than the other way around, because Zuko was required to use a palanquin to travel around the island and they both agreed that it was horribly embarrassing. 

---

After Prince Zuko’s birthday celebration, (Y/N) had been invited to the Fire Lord’s Palace much more frequently. While she did not mind being with Zuko and Azula at all, she couldn’t understand it. Her father and mother were not being invited to the palace, so why was she going?

“Perhaps the Fire Lord would like to keep an eye on the future of our nation,” was the only explanation her father had provided. It satisfied her to think that Fire Lord Azulon admired her bending skills that greatly that he would want to keep her close to his own family. 

Throughout the years, every aspect of her life had become entwined with the royal family’s. Their families vacationed together at Ember Island every summer. She even joined Zuko and Azula’s firebending lessons. She did not mind being invited to the palace every day. As she grew older, the tension between herself and her mother amplified, so it was a relief to be able to get away from her family. When she was at the palace, she was treated almost like royalty. Azula and Zuko reminded her of her place occasionally, the former sometimes more harshly than the latter. While she did consider herself to be friends with Azula, and although she would never admit it, (Y/N) preferred to spent her time with Zuko. They had become fast friends since the night of his birthday celebration. When she was not at the palace, they exchanged letters which updated each other on every aspect of their lives. When she was at the palace, she and Zuko were attached at the hip. Where Zuko went, (Y/N) went, and vice versa. 

Things started to change the summer of her eleventh year. The two families spent yet another summer on Ember Island. Since her family was of a lesser status than Zuko’s, (Y/N’s) summer house was in a completely different section of the island. It was a long walk, but she didn’t mind it. She tended to travel to Zuko’s house rather than the other way around, because Zuko was required to use a palanquin to travel around the island and they both agreed that it was horribly embarrassing. 

She walked through the town square and waved to friends that were also there for the summer. Her beach bag bounced against her hip. Zuko promised that they would go swimming today. He wasn’t a big fan of water, but she had won a bet over who could fit the most Fire Flakes into their mouth. 

(Y/N) bounced up to the steps of the royal family’s beach house and knocked. A servant answered the door. “Hello!” She said, a bright smile on her face. “Is Zuko free?” Despite his family being away for the summer, (Y/N) found herself waiting around for Zuko a lot because of his duties. The servant nodded and left silently to alert the twelve-year-old of her presence. 

“Beach day with Zuzu?” She peaked around the corner to see Azula reading a Fire Nation newspaper. The young princess was only ten, but she had more than proven how vicious she could be. (Y/N) didn’t mind. Azula could be a pain sometimes, but she was mostly harmless. She had spent a lot of time with Azula and could see the small acts of kindness the girl was capable of. 

“Yeah! Would you like to join us?” 

“I think I’ll stay home today. I doubt Zuzu would want me to ruin the proposal.” 

(Y/N) blinked at her friend. “I’m sorry?” 

Azula smirked. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. You two have just been spending so much time together that I thought you knew.” 

“Azula, I would really appreciate it if you would stop being so vague.” 

Azula rolled her eyes. “Why do you think Grandfather made you present your firebending at Zuko’s birthday? Or why you’re always at the royal palace? Or why you’re always spending time with us?” 

“I...I don’t know what I thought--” Azula turned back to her newspaper. 

“They’ve been grooming you to marry Zuko. I heard our fathers talking about it before we came here. It’s only a matter of time before the proposal becomes official.” 

Zuko entered the room then, wrapped in a Fire Nation robe. He glared at his sister, but smiled at his friend. “Are you ready to go?” 

Azula giggled but remained quiet. She nodded, unsure of whether or not she could trust her voice. 

The two walked in silence down to the beach, which was very uncommon for them. Usually, she had some sort of story to share about how ridiculous her mother was being, but now she could only think of what Azula had said. It made her feel a bit rotten that the royal family only wanted her around to make sure that she would be a good wife for Zuko. And what did Azula mean, that it was only a matter of time before the proposal becomes official? (Y/N) was eleven! She was far too young to get married and far too young to even consider it! Sure, she had developed a bit of a crush on Zuko over the years, but she just thought he was cute! She definitely wasn’t ready for him to propose to her!

“You’re being quiet today.” Zuko took the towel from underneath her arm and laid it out on the sand. She shrugged and sat on top of it, watching absent-mindedly as he set up their umbrella. “Did your mom say something mean again?” 

She shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip. She did that when she was nervous. Should she bring it up to Zuko? What if he already knew? What if he didn’t? Was he in on it the whole time, or did he genuinely have no clue that this plan had been orchestrated behind their backs since they met. 

She swallowed. Her throat felt dry. Zuko was her best friend. He knew her fears, her hopes, and her dreams. She liked to think that she knew all of his, too. She decided to be honest with him. 

“Azula told me something today.” Zuko frowned. 

“If she said that I cried while eating Fire Gummies, she’s wrong, I had something in my eye and--” 

“No, it’s not that. She said that your father and mine had been planning on arranging our marriage, and that’s why I’m always invited to the palace and why I always hang out with you.” She avoided his gaze by looking out at the water. The waves were calm today and were a brilliant shade of blue. 

Zuko inhaled a deep breath. “(Y/N), Azula always lies. You know that.” 

“Well her lie sounded pretty convincing if you ask me.” She turned to face him, her eyes staring deeply into his. Zuko couldn’t lie to her: they both knew this. It was too easy to tell when he was lying. “Did you know that your family has been basically grooming me to marry you?” 

Zuko stared at her blankly, giving no answer. But that was all the confirmation that she needed. She tossed sand at him. “Hey! What the heck?” 

“You knew and you didn’t say anything?” She demanded. 

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, by the way, our parents agreed that we’d get married to each other once we’re old enough?” 

“You could have said something, at least. Azula told me. Azula! Do you know how embarrassing that is?” 

“I only just found out about it a few weeks ago. I was sworn to secrecy! Please don’t be mad.” 

She crossed her arms and looked away from her friend. On one hand, she did not like having her future decided for her. But on the other hand, she knew she had a duty to her nation. If she married Zuko, both of their parents would be happy. She would be taken care of. And she supposed that marrying her best friend wasn’t the worst thing that could ever happen to her. 

“I don’t think you being the Fire Princess would be so bad,” Zuko continued. “You could get as many Fire Flakes as you wanted, at any time that you wanted.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“I guess I can’t really say no if our fathers already decided for us.” 

“I mean, you could, but you’d still be forced to marry me.” She punched him then stood, extending her hand. 

“It’s gonna take a lot to get married to your stupid face. You’d better get started.” 

read part 3 here