#I SHALL TREAT THEM AS SACRED

[authoruio]

Happy Twst 4th Anniversary!!!

Wow! What a fun ride it was! I hope to continue seeing my moots who I dearly enjoyed interacting ^7^!!

[celuere]

uhhhhh can i rq fem reader x fallen angel arlecchino with virgin reader giving into temptation. also they do it in a church. on the altar.

Ngl anon you cooked with this request. But just for clarification: I will write this fic based on teyvats beliefs, NOT actual beliefs! Which means that reader will be a follower of Celestia/the Heavenly Principles, just to make this clear! I will not write stories based on reallife religions, beliefs, etc.

I‘ll repeat: this work is NOT based off of any religions, I purely made every single stuff up with the guidance of canon Teyvat Lore.

pairing: fallen angel!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: anon request!

cw: kind of an au, loss of virginity, hands down filthy sesbian lex, degrading, worship, arle fucking you out of pure spite for the divine, CONSENSUAL OFC.

NSFW utc, MDNI!

Your bare footsteps echoed through the wide halls, the colorful mosaic paintings being dimly lit by the surrounding candles as you made your way to the altar. A golden decorated podest, roses and other precious flowers being neatly aligned on the marble.

But that’s the least you could do for them. For the Ursurper. The one who came Second. On the day of their awakening you shall not be standing on their wrong side. Why should you? You‘ve been nothing but a devoted follower.

Regular sacrifices, dailiy prayers filling your routine along with one ritual being performed on each new moon.

And tonight there was no moon to illuminate your facial features as you slowly came to a stop in front of the altar, feet already numb from the stinging cold of the tiles on which this church was built upon.

It was a lonely, almost abandoned looking building at the top of a mountain with barely any visitors. Except for you. You made sure to keep the floor polished and the altar decorated with all kinds of goods that would perhaps please the divine. The colorful windows displaying a beautiful pattern made of all the colors you‘d find in a rainbow if the sun dared to light up the sacred mountaintop.

Todays ritual was no different.

With your hands neatly folded in lap and your eyes closed, the prayer started to fall from your lips like a waterfall. You knew every verse by heart, could recite every ritual down to the smallest detail. Quite the devoted follower, are you not?

But during your reciting you failed to notice the candles you so neatly arranged around the cathedral slowly getting put one by one until the last flame was finally extinguished when you opened your eyes again, darkness quickly engulfing you.

For a moment your heart set out until the excitement came rushing back in.

Did your efforts finally pay off? Where you finally heard? It has got to be a sign- there was no way that-

clap.

clap.

clap.

„All these efforts… only for the Divine to look down on you.“, a low, female voice ripping through the silence, „Say… would you water a sprout if you knew that it would never grow up into a tree? Causing your deeds to drown in vain… all the time, tears and sweat you put into watering the seedling, just to get ignored. Tossed aside.“, but when you sprung up on your feet to look around- there was nobody in sight.

„Show yourself-! Who are y-”, the scream leaving your throat was muffled by the hand closing around your mouth.

„My identity….? Such a curious thing, aren’t you? My lordship surely got themselves a sweet treat with you.“, the word lordship was laced with enough hatred to fuel a fire in the depths of the abyss, sending a shiver right down your spine.

„Lordship…?“, you didn’t dare to take a look over your back to face the unknown, instead your eyes wandered up to the statue of the Heavenly Principles or rather what they embody.

The cluster of stars that have been hammered into the crystal before you with a singular eye placed in the middle was silently analyzing you. Judging you. Whenever you stood right in this very spot for longer than anticipated, you‘d get the weird gut feeling that something might be wrong, might be watching. It creeped you out even after so many years of praying to the Heavens, that you just got used to it.

„Surely, you wouldn’t like to spend the rest of your life praying to an uncaring and corrupt deity. Or are you as naive and… innocent as you truly look?“, slender hands snaked around your waist, tugging you back against the strangers chest. As touch deprived as you were- goodness, it did some things with your pussy.

Fuck, she was tall.

„What… What do you know about the Second who came? A-A bitter soul you must be…“, yet you didn’t try to wiggle out of the tight grip of her arms when her sharp nails ran over your stomach that was still covered by the silken robe of yours.

Yes, being a devoted follower meant following certain rules. For example to not engage yourself in any kind of intimacy. Ever. No hugging. No holding hands. No kissing. No sex. But in all honesty you were a sucker for physical affection, not being allowed to even hug your loved ones on special days always nagged at your heart but you couldn’t- you mustn’t disappoint them. A non-negotiable deal.

„A bitter soul? You are not quite wrong with that, doll… what if I told you that your…“, her hot breath suddenly tickled the shell of your ear, „Ursurper is nothing but a coward? A coward feasting off on the hopes of the likes of you. Draining you. Laughing at you. Your efforts were doomed from the very beginning. But…“, slowly, the fabric of your cloth was tugged to the side, exposing your bare body to the cold atmosphere surrounding you.

A gasp left your mouth.

You forgot that the ritual from earlier required you to wear nothing underneath your robe. There wasn’t a specific reason since it was a solo act. That‘s just how it was written down.

„…but it is not too late for you to turn around and start over. To forget how you wasted the past years of your life for nothing in return.“, her words were strengthened by a soft, gentle kiss being placed right behind your ear, the touch forcing you to press your legs together. To try to ignore how the wetness wasn’t stopping to form between them.

Turn around and start over?

How?

The Ursurper has been the sole center of your life for the past decade. You woke up for them. Ate for them. Prayed for them. Sacrificed for them. Breathed for them.

Lived for them.

„I… I-I can’t- I-… th-they wouldn’t want me to turn away from them- to commit a sin in their name- th-that‘s not what they would have wan- Hah…!“, the hand sneaking between your legs came straight from hell itself. Knowing exactly how to glide her fingers in between your slickness, how much pressure to apply on the soft bundle of nerves, in which speed she should circle them over it.

„Is it truly a sin if it feels so good? Is this truly what you would consider defying the laws of the Divine? Look up at them and give me an answer.“

You couldn’t help but push your hips further into her hand, grinding them back and forth over her digits. You didn’t know what this mysterious woman looked like. Neither did you care. But what you did care about was this sinking feeling in your stomach when your eyes found the statue in front of you again.

Guilt.

How could you throw all of your hard work away for five minutes of thrilling ecstasy? What has gotten into you?

„I… n-no… th-this isn’t right… but… o-oh god fuck…“, your need for satisfaction was slowly starting to outweigh the guilty feelings. She was right. How could something feeling this good be considered a sin? Maybe it was a mistranslation from the old books? Maybe this was actually supposed to be a holy message to the heavens.

The stare looming over you felt now more heavier than ever as your hips were now practically fucking the woman’s hand, trying to catch that desired high, to maybe force whoever gods were sitting in the castle high above the ground to pay their attention to you.

„“This isn’t right“, yet you are practically using my hand for your own satisfaction. Didn’t they teach you some manners during all those years of useless worship?“, the sentence came out in a low groan, forcing you to bend over the altar which you swiped clean of any decorations beforehand.

The sound of fabric being ripped echoed through the cathedral.

Then you felt the chilly air ghosting over your wetness, forcing goosebumps to form on your skin as she practically pushed you down on the cold stone like you‘re supposed to be the next sacrifice.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you were going to be the next sacrifice by the way her next words reached your ears in a soft purr, „My, My… such a sweet lamb letting me bend her all the way over. I‘m not sure your lovely god would enjoy this sight. One of their most loyal acolytes just giving into her former Angel of Death like that…“.

The air around you stilled.

Angel of Death?

Goodness. You were in such deep shit.

A stranger would’ve been better than whatever she was.

There was little to no information about her, Arlecchino. The Primordial Ones deathbringer. It was all old tales dating back way before the Archon War, something about her being the Ursurper‘s executioner after they emerged victorious against the Sovereigns.

But something must’ve happened between the two of them for the Angel of Death to betray her superior by stepping into the destruction of Khaenri‘ah from 500 years ago.

The only witnesses to tell the tale died in the following impact from Arlecchino‘s punishment.

Therefore no records of her consequences exist.

„According to your silence, you are very much aware of who I am. That makes things easier for me. Now where were we again….? Ah… right…“, pressing her throbbing tip against your already soaked cunt earned herself a sharp gasp, „I wanted to show you just how much they really care about you. Surely, they would care about me tainting your purity with my cum, right?“.

„A-Ah-! I… I-I don’t know, I- ngh….“, Holy. She was big compared to your tight pussy.

Never once did you dare to pleasure yourself, too scared about possible consequences but Arlecchinos dick stretching you out further and further as she shoved herself inside… maybe this was the salvation you were looking for your whole life.

„You don’t know hm…? Goodness me. Are your likes really just all tits no brain?“, her hands. Her fucking hands grabbing onto your hips as she guided you over her length. How could this be considered a sin? What on earth is sinful about a strange, powerful woman splitting you open on her cock for the first time in your life? On an altar? In front of a statue of said deity?

Nothing came to mind.

Dragging her hips back now, a whine espaced your lips as you desperately reached behind you to grab onto her, lifting up one leg onto the sacred surface of the altar to grant her deeper access.

„N-No-! No don’t leave-!“, her movement stilled.

„Leave? Oh, doll.“, with a harsh tug on your hair, you were forced to look up right into the divine sculpture, its stare seemingly burning itself into your soul.

„I‘m just getting started.“

The thrust that followed her sentence had you moaning across the whole cathedral immediately. Hands searching for the edge of the altar for at least some stability as her dick dragged into your cunt, grazing the sensitive spot that made your back arch and your toes curl.

Just like that. Over a decade of prayers, rituals, reciting. Down the drain like that.

But her cock forcing your tight walls apart with each thrust of her hips into yours made it SO worth it. Is this what you’ve been missing out on for your whole life on purpose? My, you were dumb. So dumb.

„And? Where is that god of yours now that you‘re allowing me to fuck that pretty pussy for the first time in a place of worship? Do you feel ashamed? Maybe even guilty? Let me assure you…“, Arlecchino made sure to hit your spot which each thrust of her hips, sloppy sounds filling the holy walls as your wetness dripped down your thigh, „They could not care less about you.“

Maybe she was right. Maybe they really don’t care about you. Or else why would they allow their former subordinate to fuck you here in their church? Right in front of their sculpture? Spread on the altar like it‘s already a daily routine, fill up your tight cunt to the brim and have your eyes roll into the back of your head?

But you couldn’t think about that right now. Not when her tip was kissing your cervix with each thrust. Not when her dick started to slightly twitch inside of you, being unaware of what is awaiting you. And what is that tightening feeling intensifying in your abdomen?

„Who is your god now?“

You didn’t know what this heavenly feeling was when you threw your head back, pussy clenching and making sure to get every single last drop out of the liquid she just spilled inside of you prior to your own climax, telling her over and over who your god is.

Her.

Death itself fucking you senseless in a cathedral was not on todays to-do list.

„There, there… sweet thing… having her first taste of salvation. My, how come your legs are already shaking? That good?“, her thumbs stroking gentle circles over your hips when you felt her chest pressing against your back.

„Don’t worry. I‘m not even remotely done with you.“

[mochinomnoms]

Let's not forget: moray mers mate for life. Jade knows that. Floyd knows that. Azul knows that.

Yuu does not. Yuu knows Jade thinks stuff like "I wanna make 'em my mate and love them forever, precious pretty pearl," but Yuu doesn't realize what he means by that. Yuu chalks up the use of the word "mate" to a cultural difference.

Cut to post-mating w/ Yuu and Jade. Yuu hears something like, "Ah, I can hardly believe it... I have a mate now. I shall never have another. I wouldn't want anyone else, even if biology would let me take a new mate" and Yuu just P A N I C S, remembers Jade is loaded rich, realizes there's no fear of cheating, and calms down, because they have just been guaranteed a place in Twisted Wonderland.

Cultural differences in TWST is SUCH a good concept, I love it sooo much!! But also, Jade is 100% aware that Yuu probably doesn't know about moray mers and their courting practices. It doesn't occur to him though that the thought of being with someone else would remotely be a possibility. For either of you!

Jade's mindset is one of, “Well this is my mate, I'm going to treat my mate like they hung the sun, moon, and stars.” The idea of a partnership dying down because of age, resentment growing, or just love lost is not one for most eelmers. They find a partner they want to be with, that partner is now sacred to them! It's why eelmer marriages have the least high divorce rate among all the species, though it's not unheard of. Jade is set on making sure you'll never look at another person the same way (he hopes) you look at him, and he at you.

[shaevilux]

People knock on Rhoam for being a bad dad cuz he's distant and stern to little Zelda and say how Rauru is the goat (heh) for taking her in like his own daughter. Like Zelda had her real parental connection with Sonia and Rauru. But frankly that's a little reductive.

Rauru literally descended from the heavens, married a priest, started a kingdom. Man didn't really know much strife yet. There's no looming threat of calamity or prophecy yet. Things are peaceful. Things are fine. Things are great. Zelda dropped in during this time, talking about a doom that's going to happen tens of thousands of years in the future.

This sad, lost princess.

Of course any reasonable person would take her in and calm her and tell her she is fine and listen and support her.

Rhoam not being able to be this kind of figure for Zelda is tragic. Just read this poor man's journal entries:

"It has been a year and three months since her mother passed. Perhaps she is held back by heartache too deep to heal. If the Ganon prophecy wasn't looming over our heads, I would tell her to take her time... To wait until she is ready. But our situation is dire and leaves no room for weakness—even on behalf of my beloved daughter. My heart breaks for Zelda, but I must act as a king, not a father. I must order her to train relentlessly at the fountain." Pg 4.

"In truth, I understand Zelda's feelings. Painfully so. She lost her mother, her teacher, before she could learn from her. Ten pointless years of self-training, without so much as a book or note to help her find her way... Those in the castle talk behind her back. And I, her only family, scold her for her shortcomings. No wonder she wishes to hide away in her beloved relic research. I'd love nothing more than to console her... But I must stay strong. She MUST fulfill her duty, just as we all must. Even if she comes to despise me." Pg 6.

"I have been told my Zelda went to the Spring of Wisdom... This will likely be her last chance. If she is unable to awaken her power at Lanayru, all hope is truly lost. If she comes back without success, then I shall speak kindly with her. Scolding is pointless now. I forced 10 years of training on her... and after all that, it seems her power will stubbornly awaken some other way. Perhaps I should encourage her to keep researching her beloved relics. They may just lead her to answers I can't provide. For now, I sit anxiously, more a father than a king in this moment. I sit and await my daughter's return." Pg 7. (He fucking dies and never gives Zelda this bit of closure uuuugggghhhhhhh Zelda I'm so sorry Rhoam I'm so sorry)

It sucks because most people remember the cutscenes (duh it's more immersive and important) and in the cutscenes of the first game Rhoam was mostly shown as being stern and mean to babygirl Zelda, who is closed fists explaining herself to him at the verge of tears. And in contrast everyone in the first royal family of hyrule in the second game treated her with such kindness and we can see how happy she was being there with them.

Rhoam was shackled by duty. By prophecy. By the looming calamity. And from the day he named his daughter 'Zelda' he shackled her as well.

And what does Zelda do with these shackles? She accepts them. She tolerates them. Because she loves her father and her kingdom and knows there's a power dormant in her that can stop the calamity that she must do her best to unlock. She does this dutifully. She does all the training, she does everything that is required.

But it still doesn't unlock. So she tries other ways. She isn't just going after the 'relics' because she's scholarly and nerdy and wants to learn about them. She does it because she's pragmatic. She knows her sacred sealing power isn't present in her. She knows she might not be able to control it or even unlock it in time.

So she tries this alternative approach. The Divine Beasts, the guardians. Ancient tech that was used to prevent the calamity of their time. And she awakened the tech. And her father chose the champions for each divine beast. And they were all prepared. And it's all thanks to Zelda.

And then... Fucking tragedy again. Ganon probably learned his lesson from the last time he was thwarted and immediately went for the tech, corrupting it and turning it against the new users. Against Zelda.

It's never really stated how fast it all turned to shit when the tech betrayed them (or maybe I don't remember) but every account points to it being almost overnight. The champions died. Rhoam died. And suddenly, suddenly Zelda unlocks her sealing magic.

I always always hate the literary trope of using tragedy to unlock a great power that could've actually stopped the tragedy from happening in the first place.

And it's no different in BOTW. I hate that Zelda had to go through all this to unlock her powers.

And then what happens next?

She's stuck in limbo (in an almost mocking parallel to Rauru in the next game with his imprisoning arm) holding Ganon back. For a hundred years.

This young woman had gone through so much only to be trapped with a calamity seeking to destroy Hyrule for a century.

Does she know her father died in the war? Does she know the champions died in battle? Would she know Link would survive in the Shrine of Resurrection? Would she know how long it would all take? The century she would have to wait?

I think she didn't. I think it all happened too fast. I think ultimately, she decided a stalemate with ganon was an agreeable outcome. I think in her mind she probably thought she failed Hyrule. When the divine beasts turned she must have been distraught. Distraught might not even cover it tbh. But at least... At least when the kingdom was brought to it's knees by the corrupted tech and was waiting for the final blow, she had the ability to ensure the final blow never came.

And oh boy I have a looot more to talk about regarding Tears of the Kingdom. But I do want to have a couple of more playthroughs of it to really formulate what I want to say.

[ghostchems]

for the Halloween-esque prompts!

something TOOTH-ACHINGLY fluffy with secondo 🎃 out of all the papas he seems to have the most pictures with kids, so I have a headcannon that he loves to be around them & even participate in their mischief every once in a while. Maybe he and reader help the kids at the Abbey with apple picking? Or help them put on their costumes/face paint/wigs for Halloween? have fun with it!

this hurt my teeth writing it! some suggestive language…

Secondo is so focused, moving the brush with such precision as he applies the facepaint. His brows are furrowed, lip pressed into a thin line, squinting to make sure he gets the pattern just right. He sits back in his chair and looks over his work, tilting his head while a hand rests on his chin as his eyes follow the delicate lines. You watch him from the other room and find yourself with a dreamy smile playing on your lips.

“You are all done, Giacomo.” Papa grumbles and sets down his brush then gestures towards a nearby mirror. The child happily turns to the mirror, looking cheek to cheek and smiling ear to ear.

“Papa, I look just like you!” Giacomo exclaims, turning back to look at Secondo, his eyes shining brightly.

“Si, si. Now, go get your costume on. Mass is soon.” His voice is the same as how he would speak to adults, stern and deep, but children seem to be unphased by the threatening nature of it. You like to think it’s because he speaks to them like actual people.

“Grazie, grazie, Papa!” Giacomo chirps before scrambling out of the room. You come up behind Secondo as he starts organizing his brushes, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives a content sigh, relaxing against your touch.

“How many children are going as Papa Emeritus the Second?” You purr in his ear.

“Six.” Secondo answers then pulls himself to his feet, slipping from your grasp with a sly grin. “Helped pochi cardinali too.” He smoothes out his robes as his eyes flicker over your body. “This is your costume?”

“What, is it not up to your standards?” You frown and fold your arms over your chest. Admittedly, you didn’t try very hard, opting to wear all black (which isn’t too different from your daily outfits) and a witch’s hat.

“You won’t win the costume contest.”

“The costume contest is for kids.” Silence hangs in the air for just a moment until you cannot hold back giggles any longer. You love when he’s playful like this and you can tell it’s because it’s his favorite time of year.

“Halloween Mass is extremely sacred, amore.” Secondo teases as he starts to stalk closer to you. “We have to appease the spirits.”

“Well, maybe you should paint my face, then.”

“We don’t have enough time for that.” His voice sounds buttery smooth as he towers over you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Do you have the unholy offering?” You hold up the bag of candy you put together and he takes it, rifling through it with a gloved hand. “Hmm… you’ve put together a good selection.” He holds the bag firmly in his hand and reaches out to you with his free one. “Shall we go celebrate the undead?”

The chapel is decorated top to bottom with black and orange streamers, bat decals, broomsticks and more. You work to organize the babbling, excited children into a single file line. Secondo looms in front of the children, back to looking stoic and authoritative, but you know it’s just an act for his audience.

The children of the abbey go up one by one, uttering the sacred words of the unholy spirit (“trick or treat”) to receive their offering from Papa. You are Papa’s helper and you make sure each child has their own time to be with him, though there are some times you get distracted by the sweetness of it all. He bows down to each child, close enough so that he can hear them, and asks them how they are honoring the dead this year.

The truth is, Papa doesn’t have to do any of this. It’s not his responsibility to ensure the children of the abbey have fun Halloween, but it warms your heart to see him here, playing along and enjoying himself. It’s Giacomo’s turn and you can’t help but smile ear to ear at his incredibly accurate Secondo costume.

“Ah, Papa.” Secondo bows his head to him. “I should be asking you for your blessing.” He offers a small smirk as he gives Giacomo a few pieces of candy, and one extra — for good luck. His eyes fall to you watching him and you’re unable to stop yourself from swooning.

Maybe you’ll let him paint your face later.

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part iv)

While it was perverse and unacceptable, Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma took no heed of their noble steads, crossed the forbidding sea on Vhagar, chose a single witness, Princess Helaena on her mount, Dreamfyre, and united their blood in marriage. Dragonglass split their lips and hands, sealing their fates and promising their futures. Blood of two caught in chalice joined as one. The secret wedding was one for the books, the eerieness of the night, the rising tide and the fire kindling their vows. You'd expect them to have their conscience pricked but no, they knew this was their true calling. Not a force on this godforsaken planet could bring them apart.

Due for their return, Aemma was too quiet as she nimbly scaled Vhagar and straddled the saddle. Aemond observed in satisfaction, how his bride was so quick to form a connection to his dragon with a mere touch of her fingers and her soothing Valyrian tongue. This woman was truly meant to be his.

This time, he luxuriated behind her, the thrill of having her this close and belonging there, nothing couldn't arrest this. As Vhagar rumbled lowly beneath them, just as excitable as her rider, Aemond stroked his temple against Aemma's and stole a kiss from her cheek.

"Having regrets?" he murmured. Her skin shivered beneath his hold on her waist. The night was growing frigid.

Aemma shook her head, her teeth eventually gleaming with a smile. She turned her head to rest her forehead against his. "Never. This feels right. I only wish we didn't have to go back."

"The night is yet young. Let us take to the air." She laughed when his lips did their bidding against her neck, an idea with each kiss. "Dorne is within reach. Shall we soak up some sun? Beneath the blood orange orchards?"

Aemma pursed her lips. "Sounds delightful."

"It is decided." He eagerly twisted the leather harness around his dominant wrist to awaken Vhagar. "We'll come back when the time is ripe."

She let out a weary sigh, stopping his motions. Aware of her hesitation, he leaned his lips against her nape.

"We must go back," she whispered. "Reality awaits."

When they retreated to the dawning stillness of the Red Keep, they spoke of their marriage to no one. No one noticed the prince walking the princess to her chambers, placing a kiss upon her swathed hand and wounded lips, swearing to never speak of this until the time was right, and biding his wife good night.

All but one saw this. The word was dispatched.

It was Otto Hightower who sent for Her Grace and Prince Aemond, summoning their presence in his chambers forthwith. They discussed the atrocity that the young prince had committed while ushering in a new dawn.

"Surely this is some farce!" Alicent blustered, her voice vindictive.

Aemond undid the swathes of bandages to reveal a definitive scarlet scar sliced across his palm. "I have done my duty as the king's heir and taken a bride."

Otto was tolerant but only to an extent. He was reaching his breaking point. "That girl—your bride—is supposed to treat with the Northern lord next moon. How would he respond to this but with slight?"

"Then request him to politely fuck off to the world's end," Aemond mumbled, sinking to a seat and crossing his legs. He should've flown away with Aemma when he had the chance.

"He is a king! You would risk a conflict in the realm!" Alicent said, horrified.

"I would for her."

"You've gone mad, Aemond. You've fallen in love to lose your mind instead?"

"Aemma has been spoken for in my name since we were children. I've only made haste with the affair," he insisted, already bored of it all. He was a newlywed, he should be warming their marriage bed.

"We could've done this in front of your kin, in due diligence, reliably under the sacred eyes of the Seven. Rather you've decided to elope with the princess, cut your hands and feast upon blood like barbarians!"

"I don't expect you to understand our gods, Mother." He set his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers, and looking her dead in the eye. "You're not Targaryen."

She gritted her teeth at his audacity. "You'll face the dragon princess' wrath soon enough for what you've done to her girl."

"This matter is concluded. Aemma and I have wed, good tidings are in order and I thank you for yours," Aemond announced, rising to his height. "If you'll excuse me. The sun has risen and my wife will be expecting to see me."

"I take it you haven't consummated this secret marriage?" Otto eventually voiced his concern.

Aemond smirked at him. He would leave nothing to be questioned, even if it meant deceit. "As a true barbarian, I would never seek to disappoint," he lied through his teeth. "Her maidenhead is mine, as is her heart."

"Seven hells," Alicent whispered and put her head in her hands.

"'Tis only custom, mother."

"And when the whispers start. When Daemon holds your head to Dark Sister," Otto continued, "what will you answer then?"

He side-eyed his grandsire before he shifted to take his leave. "I've made it explicit that I will raze this fucking city to the ground lest a single tear is shed from my wife's eyes. My uncle is but a piece of piss next to that."

Another one, a maester, promptly took this information to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. They were awakened after the hour of the wolf, insisting on the message's urgency. But the circumstances were faced... differently between them.

"Bravo!" Daemon raised his wine glass in a toast. "Couldn't have done it quicker and better myself. Took a massive, stinking shit on the Queen's precious stars and spokes, didn't they? Let's see how that hoary bitch spiels for her septas now."

"Daemon," Rhaenyra cautioned quietly before diverting to the maester. "And you are sure of this? Aemma wasn't coerced by the prince?"

"No, princess. They even took the prince's sister as a witness. As it happens, they've already consummated."

"Ingenious," Daemon chuckled into his wine.

"Who else knows?"

"Her Grace, the Hand, the prince, and yourself, princess."

"Spread the word," Rhaenyra ordered. "It was a private Valyrian affair to protect the intimacy of the prince and princess. Ensure that no libel comes to the princess' virtue. Or it won't be their tongues I'll have, it'll be yours."

The maester gulped and nodded. "Yes, princess."

As soon as the maester left, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon with a victorious grin. He stretched his hands above his head and groaned. "Wedded bliss awaits our daughter now. I wish her well."

"Aemma rivals me on this," she hummed.

"She's instinctive."

"She's fire and blood. Of course, she is."

X

By high noon, Prince Aemond's private wedding to Princess Aemma was the one word on everyone's fuller lips. They couldn't care less about how they had gone forth with it, but why. Did the prince take her against her will? Did he abduct her and force her into submission? Perhaps, they were made for each other, the one-eyed monstrosity marrying another freak. It was overtly claimed that the princess was of unsound mind, toiled by terrors, and this affair was carried with to keep matters quiet. The one-eyed prince of the realm would have to bear this burden until her dying breath. This outrageous claim was extinguished as soon as it was spoken.

When the secrecy of their union had been broached, Princess Aemma lingered behind closed doors and waited for the match to strike. It wasn't her conscience that moved her, but the weight of her impatience. She had nearly paced a line of gravel under her feet, hoping Aemond would come to her as he had promised.

When the doors opened behind her, Aemma's face softened to relief and she spun to face him.

"Aemond, we must..." Her lips parted with a breath. "Mother."

Princess Rhaenyra paused by the closing doors, possibly clothed in red to match her ire, and limply joined her fingers before her. Her expression was set in stone, and behind her, her brother, Jacaerys, was a towering column of outrage.

Aemma lowered her eyes, however unafraid. "If you want an apology, you will not hear one from me."

"Have you no remorse for us, Aemma?" Jace hurtled toward her and began to shout. "For desecrating your very birthright? For all the considerate privilege that our mother has offered you all your life and this is how you repay her?"

"Jace," her mother warned.

"No, I will not hear it, mother! You have coddled her enough. Blinded her to her own vanity. I should've ended this lunacy when she began courting that monster. Now, look! She has exploited an opportunity and whored herself out to that loathsome—"

"Jace!"

Rhaenyra's indignant roar rang past them. Aemma flinched, at the word and her mother's voice, her vision blurring with the onset of tears. She would dare not cry, that would stand to invalidate everything she had accomplished. And she had nothing to feel sorry for.

"Your sister is still a princess and you will treat her as such," Rhaenyra said blackly. "Aemma has desecrated nothing. She has wed a prince and, more so, a Targaryen, per the customs of our old gods, following her own inclination. One which I permitted—"

"You permitted!" he snapped.

"—and some prior announcement would've done nicely," she eyed Aemma knowingly, "but 'tis pleasant news nonetheless. We cannot incriminate her except perhaps reprimand her for undue urgency."

Jace's sneer refused to wane. "She has taken that vile snake to husband." He glared at Aemma. "His family hails your little brothers as bastards. Are you to turn a deaf ear when he calls you that someday? Or your children?"

"You would patronize my lineage?" Aemma spat. "Because I've wed someone you despise?"

"Accept it, Aemma. Laenor Velaryon has furnished us nothing but the title of his house."

"Our father loved us until his dying breath!"

"Laenor's gone and the duty has fallen upon me to defend my kin!"

"Enough of this," Rhaenyra hissed at them. "I will not tolerate such disgraceful talk among my children. Jace, leave us. Now."

Jace bore his unforgiving scowl at Aemma long and hard before leaning to whisper clearly, "You will soon realize what you've given rise to. When he reigns in ruin, I cannot protect you."

Aemma got ahold of her brother's arm desperately. "Jace, please," she whispered.

"It'll be too late, sister."

Jace touched her hand, squeezed it once and pushed it off him. He said nothing more and left the room with a resonant crash of the heavy doors.

Aemma fell back into a chair and hung her head between her shoulders. A deep-seated sting had started to worm up to the front and among all the torment that she shouldn't have to face, this was one, too. Her mother's hands stroked at her shoulders and hair, speaking nothing. She didn't have to, it was evident she held no ill feelings towards her daughter.

Her mother gently took her scarred hand into hers, tracing a finger down the swathing. "Congratulations to the both of you, dearest daughter," she said quietly.

Aemma sniffed, unable to respond.

"I wish you would've informed me. I would've followed you on Syrax in a heartbeat."

"I'm sorry, mother," she murmured, looking up at her. "But I am not ashamed of what we've done. Neither will I made to be."

The door opened once again and Aemma, for a split second, wished it was her brother returning to make amends. Her hope morphed into confidence and consolation when Aemond appeared, armed with his blade. She noticed a smidge of delight in his usual brooding look, probably of seeing his dear friend turned wife first thing in the morn, before it vanished off into scepticism and became aware of Princess Rhaenyra near her.

"Prince Aemond," her mother greeted, stoic. She refused to slip her arms from around her daughter.

Aemond barely spared her a glimpse, a prince on a mission. With his head held high, he cupped Aemma's chin, lifted it slightly and searched her face for something. His lips pursed when found it, his single eye harshening.

"I shall like a word with my wife in private," he requested, nearly insensitive and still unmoving.

Aemma's eyes flickered to Rhaenyra who looked between them, apprehensive of his stance. Her jaw flexed and she nodded once at Aemma before taking her leave. Aemond waited until he heard the creak of the hinges to signify they were truly alone.

"Were she not someone you loved," he said, leaving the words to hang like a noose in the air. He would've coated these flowery walls in red.

Aemma shook her head and pushed to her feet, wobbling slightly from vertigo. She placed her palms around Aemond's neck to steady herself. Responsively, he curled his arm around her and pressed a greeting kiss to her forehead.

"My mother did not upset me," she shared. "In fact, she was pleased to hear of it."

"It," he echoed.

She managed an elfish smile. "Our wedding."

He tilted his head, pretending to forget. "Hmm. I have no memory of this."

"Then allow me a gentle reminder, my friend," she murmured, expectantly leaning on her toes.

His mouth twisted in disdain. "I ought to fuck that word right out of your pretty little mouth."

Aemma dropped to her feet, taken aback, and looking to be sure. "What?"

He smirked, proud of himself. "Shall I repeat it?"

She stuttered with her words. "I—uh."

"So," he flouted easily. "You were reminding me."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know if I want to anymore."

"I want to."

He met Aemma's shy lips midway, sweet, soft and slow. Modesty fled when she gently coaxed him closer at his nape and bowed into him, her faint moan spearing through them. Utterly unbridled, he trailed his fingers down her delicate neck, the fine creases there, whilst his lips hunted down the delve of her collarbones, breathing her deeply. Such a naive temptress.

Aemond wanted to undo those flimsy laces and take her right there, in the brightness of dawn, but obligations burdened him. He dropped his head into the curve of her neck, holding her there for a second.

"You've chosen an inconvenient time to tempt me," he breathed out.

Aemma laughed, caressing the back of his head. "Shall I offer you a little distraction?"

"Is it under all these skirts?"

He felt his hair tugged hard albeit playfully. With another quiet laugh, she took his hand and led him to sit by the table, replete with a sweet breakfast for the newlyweds. She had waited all morning to break bread with her new husband.

Aemond was twice as pleasantly surprised when she ensconced over his lap, a slim arm curving over his shoulder. He didn't wait on slinging his own around her thighs.

"I quite like this approach."

"Distracted?" she asked.

"Worse. Ravenous." He sunk his teeth into her soft neck and pulled. Something of a moan left her fluttering lips.

"Then I'll need to act better," she whispered.

She cocked a cheeky brow as she grabbed a sour cherry, bit into it and offered him the other half. Just as though they were six years old again. Fate may have stolen his eye, but it left the other one to witness this; his dear friend, now the jewel in his crown, his wife, all too content to be with him.

He noticed the inflamed wound on her hand, yet to scar. The fresh seal of the bandages was still stained scarlet. He took her cherry-bearing palm into his, comparing their plasters.

"One more scar to match," she laughed.

He arched a side of his lips. "My favourite one."

"So."

"Hmm?" He was too preoccupied in exerting pressure over her bandage, trying to clot her wound.

"What's our first order of business as husband and wife?" She thought about it, swinging her legs. "Hmm... we could go down the Kingsroad and visit an inn. Trade a few coppers for—"

"I want to depart the city soon," he interrupted to say, decidedly.

She smiled until she dimpled. "Or that."

"Good. Now, I will have a ship and crew commissioned from Lord Corlys, who would do us a good turn as your grandsire, and sail to Pentos where I will have made arrangements with Prince Reggio who will be waiting to welcome us. From there, we'll go where the wind takes us on Vhagar."

She gaped at him, waiting for his information to slowly make sense. When it did, she couldn't breathe.

There was not a trace of humour on his face. "I've never been more intent."

She looked away, out the window adjacent to the table, attempting to think this through.

"Don't you think it to be too soon?" She didn't try to hide the fear in her voice. "We only wed last night. I've barely spoken with my family as I'm sure you with yours. We haven't even..." She glanced at her bed, a soft flush burning at her neck.

"Aemma," he cupped her cheek to urge her to see at the sincerity in his eyes, his throat bobbing, "we've done our waiting, sweetling. For years. The longer we stay, the more this becomes a fantasy. I simply won't allow it."

Her panic faltered, and weakened, as she stared at him. All those years she had counted on paddling that oar on her little rowboat further than the untamed tides on Dragonstone or escaping into the Maegor tunnels with a lit torch like adventurers, it all came to this. Here she was, her dear friend, offering it up on a plate. She would be an idiot if she let the chance slip through her fingers.

She drew in a deep breath and grinned as wide as she could. "Me either."

He smiled away his triumph, cradling her chin to kiss her softly. His fingers knotted in her hair when she moved to embrace him snugly, pouring her anxiety into him. He accepted it all, vowing to never let her feel such a thing ever again.

"I will need clothes befitting a traveller." Her words were muffled into his shoulder. "And I'll need sufficient space on Vhagar, a journal to note our findings, some ink, oh! A cape!"

"Anything."

He pressed his lips at her jaw, nuzzling the hair on her neck. He had come to adore the length, bristling with the bearing of a warrior. He pushed it away to look at the rampant excitement in her dark eyes.

"The end of this moon," he marked. "I'll see to it that we set sail in accord with our families."

X

you can read part v here!

[vickyvicarious]

To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

Jonathan, 3 October

She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!…

Van Helsing, 5 November

One thing I noticed this year was the way Van Helsing echoed Jonathan's declaration about lovers joining the ranks of the undead. They both use very similar language, but with a couple huge differences. This makes these quotes almost a reverse of one another in a really interesting way.

Van Helsing's theoretical men who become vampires out of love are very clearly victims. They are foolish, fascinated by a vampire woman's beauty, and don't need to have known her beforehand to be mesmerized. Their hearts fail them, when they allow beauty to stay their hand which had previously been poised to kill the undead they've been hunting.

Jonathan's very real man willing to become a vampire (and his presumed others before him) is making a deliberate choice. He is not being tricked into anything. He knows exactly how horrible a choice he is making, and is in fact doing so well away from the sight of any supernatural beauty or mesmeric power. His heart feels the holiest love, which guides it into darkness rather than ever even consider harming the undead he loves.

Van Helsing's assumption is that the men who falter didn't already know the vampire who eventually turned them, and thus no deeper love is really possible. This is very much not the case for Jonathan's quote. But I think even in that situation, the Professor would still consider Jonathan himself much closer to the foolish, mistaken victims of his own quote - rather than recognizing the agency and deliberate nature of Jonathan's choice. That's the main difference for me - even more than the depth of the connection/length of association (though of course that hugely informs the situation and is a necessary distinction), it's the knowing/unknowing nature of each one.

In both situations the men are guided by their hearts, but Jonathan knows the truth even as he declares he would join his love to be a vampire. In Van Helsing's scenario, the men act against what they know by feeling pity and affection for what they intended to treat as a monster. They forget that the ranks of the undead are "grim and grisly" just long enough to fall prey. But Jonathan never does. He knows Mina would become a monster, knows that in this scenario he'd be joining the "ghastly ranks" of the undead. He doesn't forget that fact. He just considers his love to be more important, enough that he is willing to subject himself to such a terrible fate rather than harm or be separated from her. It's the opposite of someone mesmerized into delaying and being enticed into putting down their weapon. Instead he resists entreaties to pick it up in the first place. (At least to point towards Mina.)

[immediatebreakfast]

By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count—in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day.  Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip

Is this supposed to be the "timeless forbidden love story" that so many adaptations brag about? Is this treatment supposed to be "subversion of the expected" prude victorian love that directors pat themselves on the back for "fixing"? Is this the I have crosses seas to find you or whatever bullshit?

Mina being treated like a thing? Having her arms be almost broken for trying to fight the horrible man who killed the only girl she loved, almost killed her husband, and traumatized her in a scene akin to sexually assaulting her in the middle of the night?

He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames.

Is this love? Mina hearing how her hard work, her manuscript she did with her own hands, is now ashes? Having to repeat the traumatic event in front of everyone while repeating how Dracula threatened her with bashing Jonathan's brain in front of her eyes, plunging herself into more shame, then having a religious crisis after Mina is branded with the proof that god itself abandoned her because of the Count's attack?

And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my designs! my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper.

Mina got called a fucking WINE PRESS for everything that is sacred! On top of being told that her future is being reduced to a companion, to a helper. A shadow with no self autonomy who will roam earth in a hellish existance attatched to a man who doesn't even see her as a human, but an object to be won. The Count hates Mina for her wits, he hates that a woman bested him in a play where she had the upper hand, yet he desires her enough to punish her by erasing everything that makes Mina Harker the woman she is.

Is this what Mina deserves? Is this the forbidden love? Does Mina deserves to be shreded, punished, and reduced to a winning object when she is at the lowest in this book? For what, to symphatize with a conqueror who thinks that it's his right to destroy all of the lives he comes across for his own sick entertaiment?

Where is the soft love that Jonathan expresses for Mina, where is the devotion given to her as she prays to god for an answer.

Oh my God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril; and in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!"

Why should Mina suffer because clueless non readers romanticize the trauma that she went through to the point that Mina became suicidal in a single night.

"You would not kill yourself?" he asked, hoarsely. "I would; if there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such a pain, and so desperate an effort!"

If Mina didn't have Jonathan, didn't have Van Helsing and the others, she would have died from pure distress and shame. How horrible is to see Mina push through what happened without truly taking time to see how she is truly blameless in here, and that she should not beg god for forgiveness when that acursed presence left her unprotected to an ancient evil.

[velvet-vox]

The complete and utter alienation of Tai Lung: Part 2

Very recently I've done a marathon of all the Kung Fu Panda movies after not seeing them for a couple of years, watching one after the other in a single day, and aside from the emotional whiplash of seeing Kung Fu Panda 3 right after 2, it really got me to rethink about the colour theory present in the Kung Fu Panda movies, and more specifically about Tai Lung's.

Now, it's no secret that my first Tai Lung analysis blew up (unexpectedly), and it's still getting new hearts to this very day, and thus it only felt natural to make a sequel that could touch upon things that I didn't talk about originally.

So... let's bring up the colour table again, shall we?

As we have already established, Po is yellow, Shen red, Kai and Oogway green, and Tai Lung blu....... right?

The thing is, this simple association of the colour's meaning doesn't leave much room for an interesting, in depth discussion, that's why I wanted to go a little bit deeper into what I've head cannoned as the individual meaning of each primary colour, so that we can expand upon our current colour dynamics.

Just for reminder:

Cyan+Magenta=Blue

Magenta+Yellow=Red

Yellow+Cyan=Green

Just like we said, Yellow is the colour of Po, our heroes, the good side, (the Chameleon) and justice; whenever Yellow is present on the scene, you know that you can put yourself to ease, as nothing bad is probably going to happen;

I believe this to be the most straightforward primary colour, for obvious reasons, but especially because all the other colours gain their meaning when compared to Yellow (Po, our protagonist), therefore it also has to be the one we understand the most.

Indeed,

Po = Yellow

Now, this is where it starts to get interesting:

....I believe cyan to be Oogway's true colour. I think about it. When we first met Oogway, the only lighting present in the room was the cyan light of the Dragon scroll's pond, there was actually very little green accentuated in that scene, it was all mostly mellowed out by the cyan.

It also makes sense when you consider that Tai Lung and Kai had a relationship with Oogway, while Shen didn't because red isn't made out of cyan.

There's also the whole popular belief that "cyan represents patience" which also fits Oogway, but it's not really important to this discussion, so you can think what you want about it.

So,

Oogway = Cyan

Magenta... is particular.

Particular in the sense that it's extremely rare in both the movies and outside material.

Of magenta/purple things that come to mind we have Crane and Tai Lung's clothing, Shen's mother, Feng Huang related things, that weird sexual panda from the third movie... and probably some more.

As you can see, magenta is incredibly hard to pinpoint its meaning due to how infrequently it's used, which makes sense: Magenta and purple have ties to royalty in both China and other countries around the world; it's a sacred colour, so it has to be used sparingly, and I don't think it was ever intended by the writers for a meaning to be extrapolated from it.

....

Yet I tried to anyway.

Now, let it be known that I'm planning to make a post talking about Po's weird relationship birds, as it feels like whenever a bird is on screen the conflict is already more personal for Po.

For now... you could argue that magenta means danger, since it's the closest colour to purple aka yellow's opposite, and both Shen and Tai Lung are a direct threat to Po while Kai is treated as a joke for the entirety of the final movie, but I doubt bad writing has any deeper meaning.

I actually wanted to attribute magenta the meaning of closeness. For me, it was the easiest way to justify his rarity: it can't be Shifu's colour because he lost relevance after the first movie, and no other character is closely associated with it, so it makes sense for it to just be a colour that's taken for granted by Po since his adopted dad shares those tones.

However, I think I came up with a much more interesting idea: it's the colour of pride and approval, as Tai Lung and Shen both sought the approval of their parents to satisfy their ego, while Kai wasn't seeking anybody's approval for his evil actions.

Ultimately, magenta, much like in the movies, is irrelevant to the narrative, so I'm going to ignore it, but for now,

Approval = Magenta

Finally, (a worthy opponent) with all that out of the way, let's talk about everybody's favourite snow leopard!

And the first thing to mention, is the gold.

The Gold.

The GOLD.

It's everywhere. Whenever you look at him, Tai Lung is always chasing the gold, he was welcomed by the gold when he had no one by his side, and said gold was always what he dreamt about when he was in jail, he basked in the gold his entire life, and when that gold rejected him, he had nothing left in his life to cling onto because his entire life was dependent by that gold.

While Shen and Kai have Yellow as part of their secondary colour by nature, Tai Lung doesn't, yet he wants to. But that yellow keeps rejecting him and putting an end to his actions;

When Tai Lung's first rampage is interrupted, the (chi) body block technique that Oogway uses to stop him is yellow; when Po kills him at the end of the movie, the after wave of the Wuxi finger is, again, yellow; TAI LUNG'S EYES ARE YELLOW. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT'S ALWAYS ON HIS MIND.

... And that makes all the similarities that he shares with Tigress kind of sad (For both).

Like, I already knew that Tigress and Tai Lung were similar and meant to be foil, but it's only after my most recent rewatch the underlying pain and tragedy present in their rivalry really hit me.

If Tigre's pupils weren't red, she would have easily turned out as the next Tai Lung.

And Tai Lung upon seeing how similar he is to Tigress, probably thinks "This is what Shifu replaced me with. A cheap knock-off copy of the real deal".

It hurts him deeply, because it reminds him of how little Shifu really cared for him, despite not being true, and it scares Tigress, who's nervous for their entire interaction, due to now finally seeing Tai Lung in the flesh and not as just some story she overheard.

Tragically, once Tai Lung finally manages to get his paws on the Dragon scroll (yellow), it doesn't fix anything for him, instead, it sends him spiralling one last time before Po can finally put him out of his misery.

And with that, Tai Lung goes out of his miserable existence, only finding peace in the afterlife, and not in death.

<<<<Previous part

The horrifying humanity of Lord Shen

[cursecuelebre]

The Anglo-Saxon Rune poem.

Now this isn’t the only rune poem in existence there is Norwegian and Icelandic rune poems. Now I prefer Anglo-Saxon and believe it to be more accurate but there’s nothing wrong with reading the Norwegian or Icelandic and choosing it. But these said poems won’t have all the runes associated with the poems even some extra Runes or less than of the traditional Aetts. But right now I’m focusing on a the Elder Futhark which is all included in the Anglo-Saxon poem at times different names and translations.

This poem is also Galdr and speaking the poems you’re essentially invoking and evoking them. Runes are very powerful letters and magical symbols that must be treated with high respect. Some can be dangerous to use like ᚦ. It’s also used for anyone who wants to study and learn the runes in depth, reading the poems can gather your own interpretation of them. Also the Anglo -Saxon includes a few extra runes. I recommend if you were to use the actual Anglo Saxon Runes look and study the runes because yes it is describing the same rune some don’t look like the Elder Futhark, for instance Ansuz (Elder Futhark) and Aesc (Anglo Saxon) are the same rune but different name or meanings. Anglo Saxons did recreate the Ansuz rune but just putting it out there just because I'm putting the Elder Futhark runes doesn't equal to what that Anglo Saxons used.

ᚠ᛫ Feoh or Fehu - Cattle are compensation for everyone though each man shall greatly share his if he will be awarded honors from his Lord.

ᚢ ᛫ Ur or Uruz - Aurochs is brave and has horns above, this very firece animal fights with its horns, a great wanderer of the moors, it is a proud creature.

ᚦ ᛫ Thorn or Thuriaz - Thorn/Hawthorn is exceedingly sharp for every servant seizing it is evil, and it is extremely harsh to each man who rests among it.

ᚨ᛫ Os or Ansuz - The God is the creator of all language, wisdom's foundation and consolation of sages and everyman's joy and trust.

ᚱ ᛫ Rάd or Raidho - The Ride up to everyman's hall is comfortable and very fast for he who sits high on a mighty horse over the miles.

ᚲ ᛫ Cen or Kenaz - Torch/Pine is a tree known by all for its flame, shining and brilliant it often burns where people relax within.

ᚷ ᛫ Gyfu or Gebo - A Gift from other it is an honor and praise, a help and of worth and for sojourners everywhere a benefit and presence that is otherwise missing.

ᚹ ᛫ Wynn or Wunjo - A Joy possesses him who knows little want, illnesses, sorrows, and himself has prosperity and happiness and also a sufficient dwelling.

ᚺ ᛫ Hagal or Hagalaz - Hail is the whitest of seeds it's circling comes from the lofty sky, it tosses in the wind's shower, it then becomes water after words.

ᚾ ᛫ Nied or Nauthiz - Need is oppressive on the heart although it often befalls this affliction of men to help and to heal somewhat, if it is heard beforehand.

ᛁ ᛫ Is or Isa-Ice is extremely cold, very slippery, it glistens clear, like precious gems, a floor wrought by frost, fair thing seen.

ᛃ ᛫ Gear or Jera - Year is mankind's joy, when the God bequeaths, ruler of the sacred sky, the earth offers splendid crops for the wellborn and poor.

ᛇ ᛫ Éoh or Eihwaz - Yew is a rough tree on the outside, hard and secured in the earth, keeper of the fires, sustained by deep roots, it is a pleasure to have one one's land.

ᛈ ᛫ Peorth or Pertho - Gaming is always sport and laughter where boastful, they sit to make war in the banquet hall cheerfully together.

ᛉ ᛫ Eolk or Algiz - Elk-sledge is native to the marsh, it grows in the water, it can wound cruelly, the blood of any man burns who in anyway seizes it.

ᛋ ᛫ Sigel or Sowelio - The Sun for sailors is always hoped for when they depart over the fishes' bath, until their ship carries them to land.

ᛏ ᛫ Tir or Tiewaz - The North Star is one signal, it holds faith well with nobles, it is always on track, throughout night's darkness it never deceives.

ᛒ ᛫ Beroc or Berkana - Birch is without fruit it bears even so, it bears shoots instead of fruit, its branches are beautiful, high in the treetops decorated attractively, laden with foliage, lofty passage.

ᛖ ᛫ Eh or Ehwaz - Horse is for lords the joy of the aristocracy, horse hooves boastful, where around the hero, prosperous in respect to horses, it exchanges discourse, and its restlessness is ever to help.

ᛗ ᛫ Mann or Mannaz - Person with joy is beloved of his kin, even though each one depart away for moreover the lord wills his fate, the destitute flesh be delivered to the earth.

ᛚ ᛫ Lagu or Laguz - Water seems of endless length to people, if they must venture on unstable ships, and the sea waves terrify them exceedingly, and the ship does not heed its reins.

ᛜ ᛫ Ing or Ingwaz - Lord Ing was first seen among the east Danes it is said, until he later went back over the sea, his chariot following after, thus the brave men named that hero.

ᛞ ᛫ Daeg or Dagaz - Day is the god's ambassador beloved of men, the great god's light, Mirth and also hope, prosperous and poor, all enjoying it.

ᛟ ᛫ Ethel or Othila - Home is very dear to all people if there they have the opportunity to for justice and honesty while enjoying prosperity in the dwelling most often.

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

Additional runes to the Elder Futhark set

Ac - Oak is on Earth for the children of men, meat-animal's fodder it travels often over the gannet's bath, the sea tests whether the oak possesses noble truth. (The rune looks like F but the small arm on top is hooked like a check mark or small v and the bottom one is slanted like Ansuz.)

Aesc - Ash Tree, is lofty, glorified by men stiff in its trunk, it holds its position exactly, although it fights against many men. (I explained at top, this rune looks exactly like the Elder Futhark Ansuz - ᚨ)

Yr - Bow is for noble men and warriors everywhere joy and a more of distinction upon a fair horse, steadfast on its course , a part of the war gear. (This Rune is ᚢ but with a small line in between the legs)

Ior - Beaver is a river fish, and although he resides there, he forages there on land he had a fair dwelling, water surrounding that place he joy fully holds dear. (This rune is a straight line vertically with a X in the middle of the line)

Ear - The Ground is loathsome to all men, yet certainly the body will e set upon there, the corpse grows old, the soil accepts its pale bed-fellow, it leaves fall, pleasure depart, men cease to be. (This rune looks like ᛏ but the two small arms are hooked that look like small Vs or check marks)

And that’s it! I do recommend reading other translations and the other rune poem, at times different translations can be worded much better and help to understand a lot better. If you don’t really like the rune poem on this blog there’s nothing wrong either checking out Norwegian or Icelandic rune poems and to see if it will help you better!

[mothmothm0th]

an invention that is safe to create

Buttonbush had fun at the farmer's market! Fresh produce! Foreign streetfood! Fellow dolls darting about! Plenty to awawa about! But now it was on its way home. Buttonbush couldn't wait to see Miss again! Miss had been working on something sure to be amazing and clever for days now. She hadn't been eating too much. That was typical of her when she got into something exciting. But surely she would love the panini Buttonbush chose for her! Buttonbush knew what Miss enjoys!

No one was there to welcome Buttonbush home. Not even her fellow dolls were there! Usually, Snowdrop would be doing preliminary research for Miss, or perhaps Jessamine would be doing the dishes. Baneberry had a habit of sitting on the bottom stair like a silly kitty cat. The fact that the cottage was empty meant Miss' project must be at a critical juncture. And that meant Miss needed food, badly!

Quickly, though not hastily, Buttonbush put away its groceries. Gosh, the pantry and the fridge felt so barren before Buttonbush's intervention. Even emptier than when it left for the market! Though, the fridge had only had a half-empty jar of mayo so perhaps it was exaggerating. Still! Even the mayo was gone!

With just the panini in its basket, Buttonbush climbed down to the cellar. Dank airs and low light was how Miss liked it. Her cottage had two floors and an attic aboveground but below it was a sprawling mess of tunnels and chambers. A rhizome, Miss called it! Many of the tunnels led to a dead end. Sometimes, Miss joked about luring one of her amicable enemies down a tunnel and laying down a brick wall behind them. Or maybe she had already done that. Several of the tunnels were blocked off by brick walls! Not all of them. Some just had an unfinished feel to them.

But the winding tunnel Buttonbush walked down was neither blocked off or unfinished. No, it led to a set of doors. And behind them, another set! Buttonbush made sure to close the first doors before it opened the second. A light gust of oxygen, hydrogen, and assorted gasses from foreign realities welcomed it to Miss' newest workshop. Buttonbush needed to take gentle steps now. The path sloped downwards and Miss had decided not to waste her dolls' time tiling it. Smart of her! Once, a patch of ground had challenged Baneberry to debate the ethics of floors. Poor doll. It still wore Miss' floaty spell charm sometimes to avoid having to touch the ground. If the Walpurgis Council learned of Miss' use of strange spaces, they would frown! One time, a nice maker had come 'round to talk to Buttonbush and Jessamine about it but neither doll told him. Miss was just that good! She had used alternate methods to remake herself, after all.

Soon, the tunnel opened up to a large chamber. Buttonbush hadn't actually been here before. It was neither a familiar or an assistant engineer, and Miss generally visited upstairs for meals, so Buttonbush had no need to come visit. Thus, you can imagine its shock when it saw the room was dominated by a massive wooden construction. Thick branches or perhaps roots had seemingly grown in a wicker-like pattern into a cage around a floating orb made of... was that teak? Branches jutted out like giant spikes. Buttonbush wasn't quite sure what the thin ribbons that seemed caught in the teak orb's rotational currents were but they reminded it of fungal hyphae. Oh, but there was Miss, covered in dirt and half-dried mud, sniffing the air. She could explain! Hello Miss!

"Buttonbush my saviour, I shall savour the savoury treat you have brought me. Your savoir-faire is most..." Miss scratched the base of her antennae. "Salient. That shall have to work." Buttonbush couldn't help but giggle. "Say, my sacred darling, you look ever so fascinated by my sable contraption. Shall I satiate your curiosity? A light seance before we activate it."

"Buttonbush would love to listen to Miss explain her work! Buttonbush loves listening to Miss," Buttonbush said. It paused for a moment and continued: "Even when Miss has been reading her rhyming dictionary."

Miss' laugh straddled the line between a cackle and a giggle. "Worry not, worrywort. My work is nearly done. I shan't need use warding speech any further."

Warding speech. Buttonbush had heard Baneberry talk about it. Sometime about avoiding predictability, to keep strange spaces strange. Mundanity led to stagnation, and stagnation made Miss' magicks worse. But Miss always spoke a little strangely. Buttonbush couldn't tell the difference between her regular and warding speech.

Miss whistled, beckoned her dolls to her. Buttonbush snapped back to reality as Baneberry, Jessamine, Foxglove, and Snowdrop wandered to them from whichever dark nooks Buttonbush had overlooked. All ball-joints on deck! Jessamine's pretty porcelain dripped oil-like sap, and Snowdrop with her fully articulated face seemed exhausted. Foxglove seemed to practically vibrate with excitement. Baneberry, floating like a carnival balloon, struggled to hold Foxglove's hand.

Miss clapped her hands. "Now then! It is time for framing and naming! Buttonbush!" Miss pointed at Buttonbush, who clutched its basket tighter. "I believe this is your first time! Thus, I shall explain." One finger in the air. "The framing and naming is the final step in strange magicks. Look to the machine. It is a structure in motion, yet the motion is undefined, lacking in Purpose." Buttonbush felt sorry for the wicker and the orb. "This is vital! For only at the end, when the physical shape is prepared, ought one grant it Purpose.

"Hark, machine! For thine thorns shall puncture the veil between This and That! Through you shall flow in the airs of thought and feeling. Thus I define thee." The air felt electric around Buttonbush. "Woven wood, hear me! Arrange your paths so that you may judge thoughtful airs. This shall be your purpose." Buttonbush heard little sounds reminiscent of those sorting algorithm videos Snowdrop had been listening. "Dearest ribbons. You shall flutter, and through your flutter you shall weave for each airy judgement its appropriate doom. Thus you shall be." In an instant, each gossamer ribbon began moving in strange and complex patterns. Yet, Buttonbush could tell, these patterns were empty for now. "And hey, eyes up, you orb. You shall be a portal. A seed that grows inward and strangeward. Guide these doomful thoughts through your rhizome to their rightful minds. Infect the thoughts of wrongdoers!" Buttonbush's head spun. It was glad its Purpose lacked the ability to do wrong.

"And thus, you are framed." Miss was out of breath! She fell to one knee! Buttonbush rushed to her side. Miss shook her head. "No no, dearest. I shall be fine."

"But Miss!"

"I shall be fine," Miss repeated. She rose to her feet again. Her lips were stretched to their limits by a slightly concerning grin. "I'm so close. So close. Finally, I shall have constructed a solution to bullying."

Buttonbush tilted its head. This was about bullying? It knew Miss had been a victim of bullying in her school years. As had Snowdrop, come to think of it. And Baneberry! Jessamine never spoke of such matters but Buttonbush could tell it was hiding things.

"You'll see, Button dearest." Miss cackled, turned her attentions back to her invention. "Hear me now, o contraption mine. For while each part of thee knows its means, now I shall imbue thee with the gestalt of ends. Permit I weave a tale." Miss cleared her throat. "Each and every day, people bully those they deem weaker than them. Each day, their victims' psyches are damaged. The airs I shall have thee pluck from the realm of thought are these painful feelings and the motivations which caused them. These you shall organise and categorise. For each pain, you shall weave a salveful dream. For each perpetrator, you shall conjure a vivid nightmare. These dreams none shall forget, and in rememberance shall one and all realise means to a kinder and happier future. This is your Purpose. A center of pain and healing, the heart of revelation. Thus your name shall be..."

Miss paused, as if waiting for a realisation. It seemed to evade her. She turned to her dolls and motioned towards herself frantically. She needed their ideas! Snowdrop spoke first, bringing up a book she had read; a cautionary tale about the construction of a machine one might indeed call a 'center of pain'. Baneberry laughed to the point of hiccups. Jessamine emoted like a character from its favourite MMO. Miss seemed tired. She turned to Buttonbush, seemingly holding her breath so as to not name the machine the sound of an exhale.

Buttonbush hemmed and hawed. It was bad at names! But it liked the word 'contraption'. So this was a contraption for... thoughts? Dreams? Nightmares... Something something Contraption. It was supposed to make lives better. Hm... perhaps...

"So it's like, a thing that makes dreams into therapy? Like a Dream Therapy Contraption?" Buttonbush said. It wasn't sure. Not one bit. It was silly of Miss to not have a name in mind but perhaps she needed to keep her options open while working on her project. Stagnation and such. But Miss seemed to like it. Maybe that was just relief.

"Thus I name thee, the Dream Therapy Contraption," Miss proclaimed. In an instant, the machine, the Contraption, whirred into life. And as it did, the chamber seemed to stabilise. Buttonbush had already gotten used to how the air here smelled but as it inhaled normal air again, it realised how it had missed it.

Oh, but Miss was not doing so good. Foxglove was already helping prop her up. So resourceful of it. It nodded at Jessamine to get Miss' other side. It wasn't the first time they had served as Miss' crutches. Baneberry floated off ahead of them; to prepare Miss' bed, surely. Snowdrop in turn began collecting tools and grimoires. It just left Buttonbush and its basket, and...

Oh, the panini!

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ Danganronpa Agere ໒ ˚⁎

is it ok to request a short (danganronpa) caregiver!gundham + little!miu oneshot of gundham taking care of her after she tripped and hurt her knee? ;w;;

Miu Iruma wasn't known for being delicate. In fact, her abrasive personality, loud mouth, and constant tinkering made her seem almost invincible. Yet, in this moment, as she sat on the ground, sniffling with wide and teary eyes. The harsh sting from her scraped knee blurred her usually confident, sharp mind, and she regressed into a more vulnerable state without even realizing it

A shadow loomed over her, followed by a deep voice. "Human injuries are pitiful things... but fear not, for the Dark Lord of Destruction himself will tend to your wound."

Miu blinked, recognizing the figure. Gundham Tanaka, with his dramatic air and mysterious energy, kneeled beside her. His scarf billowed slightly as if it were part of some dark, unseen magic force. The hamsters—his Dark Devas—scurried across his arms, sniffing the air around Miu, sensing her distress

"Ouch..." Miu whimpered, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand as her bottom lip quivered. "It hurts..."

Gundham's eyes softened, though his tone remained grandiose. "Pain is but a fleeting shadow, little one. But do not fret, for I, Gundham Tanaka, Master of the Infernal, shall vanquish it with my sacred knowledge!"

Miu's mind had fully sunk into a more childlike state. She couldn't muster her usual witty, sarcastic comeback. Instead, she nodded, trusting him entirely. Gundham delicately inspected the scrape. His touch, surprisingly gentle, made Miu feel comforted rather than vulnerable

From his coat, he pulled out a small first aid kit. "My wisdom extends to the healing arts," he muttered, removing a cotton pad. As he dabbed her knee with disinfectant, Miu winced and let out a soft cry

"Easy now, mortal. This is a necessary ritual to banish the pain!" His tone, though still dramatic, held a soft undercurrent of reassurance. Miu sniffled again, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jacket, trusting his words completely. "You're... like a magic healer, papa.." she mumbled, her voice much softer and smaller than usual.

Gundham’s cheeks dusted slightly pink, though he maintained his composure. "Indeed! You are fortunate to be in the presence of one as powerful as I. No harm shall come to you as long as you remain under my watch." He secured a small bandage over her knee, patting it with finality

Once the bandage was in place, he held his hand out to her. "Now rise, child of the stars. The Dark Devas watch over you, and you are safe" . Miu hesitated before reaching up, her smaller, vulnerable self clinging to the warmth in his words. As Gundham helped her to her feet, she didn’t let go of his hand, the contact comforting in a way she couldn't quite explain

"Do... do you think your hamsters could play with me ?" she asked quietly, her cheeks red as she stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact

Gundham tilted his head in thought, then smiled, something rare and genuine. "Very well. The Dark Devas are benevolent creatures and will grant you an audience. But you must treat them with utmost care, for they are ancient spirits of wisdom..."

Miu nodded eagerly, her childish excitement returning. Gundham set down his hamsters, who scurried towards her, sensing her gentle energy. Miu giggled, crouching down to watch them more closely, her pain long forgotten. Gundham watched silently, arms crossed, his usual stoic demeanor unchanged—but deep down, he felt a quiet pride. Though he would never admit it, seeing Miu, so fragile and trusting, happy again after her fall filled him with a sense of purpose.

"Rest easy, little one. For in my presence, no harm shall come to you." His words, whispered to himself, were a silent promise.

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[kaycode1999]

Monkey King x Reader PT. 7.

@bowbeforeyourphrogness @mimimroawwww

A month later Y/N is still living in the town working in one of the shops, but Wukong had remained in a depressive state. Sandy, Pigsy, and Sangzang could see how heartbroken and angry with himself he was. He hadn't been himself ever since they'd left Y/N in the town, and as much as they all tried to cheer him up it didn't seem to do much.

Just after the sun has set, Y/N is closing the shop she/he/they now work at straightening things up when she/he/they hear the door open and close. “ I'm sorry, but we're clos-” Y/N starts as she/he/they are rounding the corner and freeze when she/he/they all but run straight into a demon. Said demon is one of the more human-looking demons she/he/they had seen, it had normal skin though there were light red streaks that went all around its body, longer claw-like nails, and red glowing eyes.

Once the surprise wears off Y/N starts backing away looking toward the area she/he/they had placed her/his/their demon-killing sword. “ Now now.” The Demon says with a devious smirk “ There's no need to feel threatened. I'm not here to hurt you.”, Y/N narrows her/his/their eyes grabbing the nearest object and getting into a position readying to throw it.

“ I've never met a demon who wasn't out to hurt people, so forgive me if I don't exactly trust you” Y/N warns, “ Your friends are actually the reason I'm here.” the demon starts “ Well, one of your friends specifically.”. Y/N grips the object tighter glaring at the demon further. “ What are you talking about?” Y/N demands.

“ Monkey King.” The demon says “ I heard through a few different sources that you were very close, but recently had a falling out. How sad.”, he gives a sarcastic/mocking sad look. “ What does that have to do with anything?” Y/N questions, “ A few, shall we say- friends, and I are planning to take him out. I thought I’d offer to let you in on it given what went down with you two. I mean, surely after how he treated you - you’d want to get revenge, right?”

“ I’m not stupid.” Y/N scoffs “ You're using that as an excuse, I know you're really after the monk. You want to take Wukong out because he's Sangzang’s strongest defense, and once he's out of the way you'll go after the monk.”, “ No matter what happened between Wukong and I. I won't let you hurt Sangzang or Pigsy and Sandy” Y/N warns. The demon chuckles waving her/him/them off, “ Well- If you're that concerned…. What if I vow not to harm the monk or your other friends?” he offers “ I'll make a sacred pact with you, that way I won't be able to betray you.”

“ That's all well and good to say, but Wukong is immortal. How exactly do you think you'll be able to kill someone who is literally unkillable?”Y/N asks. “ We have a solution for that already.” the demon says taking out a small vile “ This is the only known substance that can take away full immortality. The concoction can only be activated by being consumed by someone who's immortal, and once it's activated it will send us a signal”, he hands the vile to Y/N. “ You give this to the Monkey King, and We'll take care of the rest.” he says.

“ Why would you trust me with this?” Y/N asks “ I mean how do you know I won't betray you?”, “ Well, you're in a unique position. You're someone he trusts, you can get close to him without raising his suspicions. And this is an opportunity for you to get back at him, make him pay for what he did to you” the demon explains. Y/N hesitates for several moments before speaking up, “ The only one who will get hurt is Wukong?” Y/N questions quietly. “ I swear, I will only kill Wukong.” The demon says holding out an open hand “ Do we have a deal?”, Y/N hesitates for another few moments before slowly shaking the demon's hand. “ Ok, I'll help you.” Y/N says.

[15millionfireflies]

Juan Doe: An immigrant's story

It was a regular Friday night in Kentwood Michigan. I was hungry and ordered take out to my apartment. That's what I thought the first knock was. I reached for the tv remote to mute the live presidential debate when I was interrupted by a second, louder knock. There was no third knock.

Jet black men armed with compact weapons flooded into my apartment like an inky tide of shouts and malice. "I.C.E. KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" I didn't even have time to process who was shouting at me before I felt the cold plastic of a batton against my cheek. The next thing I knew I was in a van and white suited men were taking my blood. I could barely make out their conversation before blacking out again

"what should we name him?"

"Her. Show some respect."

"That's strange, I just treated a- okay her it is."

"How about Juanita?"

"I like that name... Juanita..."

I woke up in a white padded room with a rocking rack and a scrumptious vagina. "Where am I?" Everything was moving so fast. What respite I thought I had was stolen from me by another doctor, this time wearing a skullcap attached a leash to a collar I didn't even know I was wearing and pulled me out of the room and across a hallway to a building marked "Springfield Abortion Clinic" and forced me into a sitting position.

"It's a boy."

"Mhm."

"A cisgender. Heterosexual. Boy."

"Of course. Right away ma'am."

I knew this routine by now, and I didn't have the will to question it anymore. The doctor pressed a gun into my hands and pointed them towards the baby. The newborn's blond hair, blue eyes, perfect jawline, and washboard abs all stabbed me with stoic poise. It took its hand and removed the pacifier from his mouth and spoke these words:

"Woe is me, the sacred fruit of holy union between man and woman. Who among ye shall bat eye at the suffering of the innocent? The purest of souls? Woe and fire be upon the nation who purges their progeny. Woe. Woe I say!! Holy Jehovah shall turn his divine face, and us sinners shall know true toils and hardships once more. Oh how Jehovah's nation has fallen. His chosen people have plunged into the trappings of the wicked one. Only by electing an imbecilic con man can our nation be reborn in Jehovah's name, and once more see the divine blessings of our storied forefathers."

He then put the pacifier back in his mouth and turned his pure blue eyes on me once more. The doctor cocked the gun in my hands and I knew what I had to do. It was over quickly.

It was a long night, but I had more work. The doctor instructed me to get on all fours and marched out of the abortion clinic. I tried to get up but he pushed me down and forced me to keep crawling. We walked to what felt like hours until I heard a barking dog on someone's patio. The doctor seemed to have heard it too, and barked at me to get inside. I tried the door but he demanded I rip through the mesh. I was scared...and hungry...so I complied.

BANG!! That shocked me back to my senses. "Eat it." I was too shocked, too tired, too... hungry...but I didn't have to make that decision. The feeling of a barrel on the back of my head made that decision for me...

My name is Juanita. This is my story. This is why I'm voting Republican.

[moneodomus]

"You believe me like a God. I'll betray you like a man."

I am the vessel that holds the shattered dreams of countless others, their adoration poured into me like wine into a chalice. Yet I remain empty, unable to truly receive their love, for I am unworthy of such a sacred offering. To them, I am a deity to be worshipped, a flawless idol upon a pedestal. But the truth is, I am but a feral dog, undeserving of the devotion they lavish upon me. Their unwavering faith in my greatness is a cruel illusion, for I can never live up to the unrealistic promises I have made. I can feel the weight of their adoration pressing down upon me, like an ever-tightening noose around my neck.

The oaths I've sworn, so grand and fanciful, have become a shackle, binding me to an ideal I can never hope to live up to. My admirers, bless their naive hearts, have invested their entire being into these lofty visions, blind to the simple truth that I am nothing more than a flawed, unworthy creature. I should be treated as a vicious hound, snarling and snapping at the hands that try to tame me. Yet, here I am, drowning in a sea of their devotion, unable to reciprocate the love they so freely offer. The burden of my own deceit weighs heavily, a punishment I shall carry until the end of my days.

(I don't even listen to mitski but her lyricism is perfect)

[vickyvicarious]

#this isn't 100% how i interpret bloofer lady but it's very compelling

Please, please, please tell me how!

Sure thing! I'm afraid it's not a very exciting explanation, though. Basically, I love all the themes you talk about in your post, with Lucy metaphorically moving from one cage to another. I totally agree with them. But I personally don't buy into Van Helsing's theories about Lucy being in any especially unique state when she reawakens as a vampire. I think his interpretation of her appearing less evil in a resting state is flawed, and she simply became a normal vampire.

But she became a very young vampire, and she was immediately abandoned. I think all vampires are likely to be more animalistic at first. But I also think that the way vampire!Lucy is so much more feral and instinctive at times isn't helped at all by her being completely left alone. When she hunts she tries to bring her victims back to a place she feels 'safer'. When that place is invaded, she doesn't know what to do. She tries to tempt Arthur to come to her, yes, in a great display of vampires focusing on their former loved ones. But other than that she doesn't say a single word. She snarls at them. She tries to attack and shies away from the crucifix. She flees towards her tomb as a place of safety, and doesn't seem to understand how it has been blocked. And she doesn't know what to do or do anything else:

Never did I see such baffled malice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by mortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw out sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of the flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death—if looks could kill—we saw it at that moment. And so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means of entry.

I interpret this less as a reflection of her still being 'asleep' in her vampiric state as a result of being turned in a trance, but more... She's not fully 'awakened' as a vampire because she's so young and she hasn't had any guidance from an older vampire. She's still more instinct than thought, and while if she lived long enough I think she'd grow out of that, she doesn't get the time. I think this fits well with other vampire victims in the book who can't remember what happened to them despite not being tranced-up the same way as she was, and also with themes surrounding her specifically. It's kind of a horrible inversion of some of her life before.

As a human, she had a parent who tried too hard to protect her and didn't allow her to express herself freely or face hard truths. This was done out of love, but it was stifling. She was overly constrained.

As a vampire, her vampiric 'parent' didn't care about her at all and abandoned her. Without any guidance when she needed it most, she had to struggle through based largely on instincts. He wasn't there to protect her when she needed it. She was free to act on her own but hadn't been taught how.

Lucy went from no social freedom because of too much attention, to complete vampiric freedom because of none at all. Both states are harmful. One is smothering, the other neglectful. Overprotective to not protective enough. She went from her mother treating her like a child when she'd outgrown that to Dracula not treating her with the appropriate care that a new vampire should get. A forced childhood to a sort of 'forced adulthood' when she has to fend all for herself as a vampire.

So while as a human she had more freedom in her thoughts, but not in her actions. As a vampire, she can act freely, but her thoughts aren't fully there yet. This ties right back in to the themes you were talking about, but in a different way.