#Those Who Will Carve Their Name in Legends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whywontyoucomeout · 1 month ago

Text

A warrior’s pride

———————

In the remote hills of the Jiangnan region, where mist rolled over jagged cliffs and rivers carved their way through ancient forests, there was a name spoken with equal parts reverence and fear: Mei Lian, the Crimson Tiger. She was a legend, a master of the martial arts known for her unmatched skills in combat and her unyielding resolve. Bandits, warlords, and even the imperial soldiers trembled at her name. For nearly a decade, she had roamed the land, a solitary force who upheld justice where the law could not reach, dealing swift retribution to those who preyed on the weak.

But now, Mei Lian was no longer roaming.

Atop a high, secluded mountain, she had made her home in a modest wooden house. The air here was crisp, free from the stench of cities and the blood-soaked battlefields where she had earned her fearsome reputation. Her house was surrounded by tall pines, with a garden where she grew herbs and vegetables. From this vantage point, she could see the wide expanse of the world below—rolling hills, deep valleys, and distant towns where life continued, oblivious to the storms of violence she had once raged through.

Mei Lian was alone, save for the life growing inside her.

Her hand rested on her swollen belly, feeling the steady, rhythmic movements of the child within. She was near the end of her pregnancy now, her body heavy and slow. It was a strange sensation for someone who had lived her life in the perfection of physical discipline, whose every movement had once been like flowing water—graceful, quick, and deadly. Now, she found herself in a different kind of battle: the quiet, internal struggle of awaiting motherhood.

The child’s father, Liu Zhang, had been a warrior like her, an honorable man who fought beside her during the rebellion against the corrupt local magistrates. They had shared brief moments of peace between battles, moments where the world outside ceased to matter. But he was gone now, killed in the final skirmish that had broken the magistrate’s hold over the region. Mei Lian had taken vengeance swiftly, but after the blood had cooled, she found herself not only alone but pregnant with the last remnant of their love.

In the quiet isolation of her mountain home, she prepared for the child’s arrival as best she could, gathering herbs for medicine, building a fire pit to keep them warm through the cold nights. Yet even here, far from the noise of the world, the legend of the Crimson Tiger had not been forgotten.

One afternoon, as Mei Lian rested in her garden, her senses—sharpened by years of combat—picked up the faintest sound of rustling in the trees. She narrowed her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for the sword that leaned against the porch. Her movements were slower now, and her belly made certain stances awkward, but Mei Lian was still dangerous. She still remembered the rhythm of every strike, the dance of every blade.

A group of figures emerged from the forest shadows, six in total. They were dressed in ragged black robes, their faces partially hidden by scarves, but Mei Lian recognized the emblem sewn onto their sleeves—the symbol of the Black Talon gang. She had crossed paths with them many years ago, scattering their forces and killing their leader when they had terrorized the countryside. Clearly, they hadn’t forgotten.

The one in front, a tall man with a scar running across his face, stepped forward. His eyes flicked down to Mei Lian’s pregnant belly and then back up to meet her gaze.

"The great Crimson Tiger," he sneered. "We’ve heard the stories. And yet, here you are, living like a hermit, heavy with child. Looks like you’ve softened."

Mei Lian’s eyes remained cold, her hand steady on the hilt of her sword. She said nothing.

"You see, we’re not here to kill you," the man continued, pacing slowly. "At least, not yet. The Black Talon has risen again, and we owe you for what you did to us. But seeing you like this… helpless, vulnerable… we thought it’d be better to wait. To see you suffer first. Maybe we’ll take everything from you again, just like you did to us."

The others chuckled darkly, their hands resting on the hilts of their own weapons, eager to strike.

Mei Lian finally spoke, her voice calm and steady, but laced with quiet fury. "If you wish to die, then take a step closer. But if you value your lives, I suggest you turn around and leave."

The leader’s grin widened. "Oh, I see. Still the fierce Crimson Tiger, even in your condition. But you can’t possibly fight in your—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Mei Lian moved.

With a flick of her wrist, she drew her sword, the gleaming steel cutting through the air with deadly grace. "Come then," she said, her voice low and steady. "Let’s see how brave you are."

The first man lunged at her, overconfident. Mei Lian moved like water, swift and fluid, sidestepping his attack with ease. She struck once, her sword slicing through his defenses and disarming him. He fell to the ground, clutching his wounded arm, groaning in pain. But she had no time to celebrate the victory—another man was already upon her.

This one was faster, but she was faster still. She parried his blow, her movements sharp and precise, though the weight of her belly made her balance more difficult than usual. Her muscles strained with the effort, and each motion required more energy, more focus. But her skill was undeniable. With a swift upward strike, she disarmed the second attacker, sending him crashing to the ground.

The others hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. They had expected an easy victory, but now they were faced with the reality of fighting a legend, pregnant or not. Mei Lian’s chest rose and fell more quickly now, the weight of her pregnancy beginning to take its toll, but her stance remained solid.

Two more came at her together, trying to overwhelm her with numbers. Mei Lian ducked under a swinging sword, her belly brushing against the fabric of her robe as she spun and deflected a second strike. Her movements, though still precise, were slower than she wanted. Her body protested with each step, each twist, the burden of the child inside her pulling her down.

Still, she fought on. She delivered a crushing elbow to one attacker’s chest, sending him sprawling, while her sword slashed across the other’s arm, dropping him to his knees. She was breathless now, her body covered in a light sheen of sweat. The fight was taking more out of her than usual, but she was still standing.

Only two remained.

The leader of the group, watching from the back, finally stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, calculating. He had let his men soften her up, and now, with her breathing ragged and her legs trembling under the weight of her own body, he saw his chance.

"You’ve fought well," he said, his voice cold, "but you’re tiring, Crimson Tiger. You can’t keep this up forever. Let’s end this."

Mei Lian didn’t respond. Her eyes locked on him, her grip tightening on her sword. The leader raised his weapon and moved toward her with measured steps, his movements more controlled than the others. He was skilled, she could tell, and unlike the rest, he wouldn’t underestimate her now.

Their swords clashed in a flurry of strikes, the sound of steel on steel ringing out into the night. The leader was relentless, pressing her harder than his men had, forcing her to block and parry with more effort. Mei Lian’s arms ached, her back strained, and her legs felt like they would give out at any moment. Her belly, heavy and cumbersome, made each movement harder, but she refused to yield.

The fight dragged on, each of them trading blows, but slowly, Mei Lian gained the upper hand. She anticipated his attacks, countering with precision. Her strikes found their mark, cutting into his defenses, and with one final, powerful slash, she knocked the sword from his hand.

The leader stumbled back, falling to his knees, his eyes wide with shock. Blood trickled from a wound on his shoulder, but it was his pride that had suffered the most. He had been utterly defeated.

Mei Lian stood over him, her chest heaving, her sword pointed at his throat. "It’s over," she said, her voice cold and hard. "You’ve lost. I told you before—leave me alone. If you ever come after me again, I will not be so merciful."

The leader’s face twisted in shame and fear. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with desperation. "Please... don’t kill me. I... I was wrong. I beg you, spare me."

Mei Lian’s lip curled in disgust. "You beg for your life now, after sending your men to die for you? You are a coward. You didn’t have the honor to face me yourself until you thought I was weak."

The man lowered his head, his voice trembling. "Please. I won’t come after you again. I swear it."

"Swear all you want," she said, her voice like ice. "But your words mean nothing. You are nothing." She stared down at him, her eyes cold and unrelenting. "You’ll live, but you’ll never forget this day. Your cowardice will follow you for the rest of your life."

As she spoke, a sudden pain ripped through her abdomen, sharp and unexpected. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her vision blurred. The contraction was sudden and powerful, far more intense than any kind of pain she had felt before. Her hand instinctively flew to her belly, her fingers gripping the fabric of her robe as she tried to steady herself.

The leader saw her falter and, sensing an opportunity, lunged for a hidden dagger at his waist. He moved quickly, hoping to strike her down while she was vulnerable.

But Mei Lian’s instincts were faster than his desperation. In a blur of motion, she raised her sword and, with a single stroke, severed his arm at the elbow. The man’s scream echoed through the forest as he fell to the ground, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm had been.

"You should have listened," she said coldly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now, that missing arm will remind you of today. Of your failure."

The leader, sobbing in pain and fear, scrambled away, his remaining hand pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding. He stumbled into the trees, disappearing into the night, his cries growing fainter as he fled.

Mei Lian stood alone once more, the forest quiet around her. She watched him go, her body trembling with exhaustion. The pain in her belly was still sharp, her muscles tensing with each passing moment. She dropped her sword, her knees giving way as she sank to the ground, her hands clutching her abdomen. The pain was intense, but she breathed through it, trying to steady her mind.

Minutes passed, and eventually, the pain began to subside. False labor. Her body, exhausted from the fight, had played tricks on her.

She leaned back against a tree, closing her eyes as she caught her breath. The fight was over, but the real battle was still to come.

For now, she needed rest.

Weeks passed since the intense battle that nearly pushed her body to its limits. Mei Lian had taken the time to rest, allowing her body and mind to recover from the strain. Though she had defeated the men, her body had been tested in ways she had never imagined. Her swollen belly had become a constant reminder of the challenges still to come.

But now, she resumed her daily activities, moving with the same grace and strength as always, though slower, more deliberate. Her belly had grown even more, something she hadn’t thought possible. Already large before the fight, it now seemed as if it was on the verge of bursting. The tightness of her skin behind her clothes was ever-present, and even her largest robe could barely contain the sheer roundness of her abdomen. At night, when the weight of the day’s tasks made her feet ache and her back stiffen, she would loosen the robe’s bindings, allowing her belly to be free. As the rope fell away, her belly would spill forward, its vastness unrestrained by the fabric.

It was a sight she had become used to over the months, but even now, she found herself staring at it in awe. Her belly had taken on a life of its own, heavy, round, and impossibly tight. The skin stretched to the very limit, yet not a single mark marred its smooth surface. It was as if her body had been preparing for this moment all along, and now it bore the full weight of the child she carried. The moonlight filtered through the small window of her home, casting a soft glow over the taut surface of her belly. She could see every detail—the way it rose high, nearly blocking her view of her legs, the way it curved outwards in a perfect, enormous dome, stretching her skin to its very limit.

Mei Lian lay back on her bed, her robes loosened, her enormous belly fully exposed in the dim light of her home. She rested her hand on its round, taut surface, feeling the baby shift slightly inside. "How am I supposed to push this out?" she muttered with a wry smile, lightly tracing the tight skin with her fingertips.

As the days grew shorter and the weight of her belly heavier, Mei Lian began her preparations for the birth. She gathered clean cloths, set water to boil, and placed a sturdy blade within arm’s reach—just in case. Every few moments, her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding forest from the window, her senses honed from years of battle. Everything appeared normal: the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of animals, the quiet hum of the night. Yet, an uneasy feeling gnawed at her. Something wasn’t right, though she couldn’t quite place what it was.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Mei Lian felt the first stirrings of labor—a tightness in her abdomen that quickly spread into a deep, aching pressure. She inhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall of her home, her mind slipping into the calm focus she had cultivated over years of martial discipline. This was another battle, a different kind, but one that required the same endurance and strength.

The pain intensified, coming in waves now, pulling her deeper into the physical struggle. She knew her time was near. She had prepared for this, just as she had prepared for every battle, every challenge. Everything was in place—the herbs she had gathered, the water she had boiled, the linens she had carefully set aside for the newborn.

But as she moved toward her bed, her body heavy with the strain of the contractions, something caught her attention—a sound. It was faint at first, barely more than the wind slipping through the trees, but it grew louder, unmistakable. The door creaked open, and her heart skipped a beat as the familiar figure stepped into the room.

The Black Talon leader.

Mei Lian’s hand instinctively reached for her sword beside the bed, but the sharp contraction that followed was too much, her body doubling over in pain as she gasped. The blade slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor, and her breath came in ragged bursts as the labor took full control of her.

The leader’s grin widened as he stepped forward, staying just out of reach of her fallen sword. His gaze flicked down to her belly, then back to her face, and he chuckled darkly.

“Ah, the mighty Crimson Tiger,” he said softly, his voice thick with mockery. “Look at you now. Reduced to this. I told you I’d find a way to make you suffer. Watching you in your weakest moment… it’s almost better than killing you.”

You think you’ve hidden yourself well," he began, his voice dripping with mockery. "But I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right time. And now… now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity." His gaze dropped to her belly, round and taut, heavy with the child she was struggling to bring into the world. A twisted grin spread across his face. "Look at you. So… enormous."

Mei Lian’s breath hitched, the pain already mounting inside her, but she refused to show weakness. Not to him. Not to the man who had burned entire villages just to hunt her down. She clung to her dignity, even as her body betrayed her.

"You’re as big as a mountain," he continued, stepping closer to her, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "I’ve seen women give birth before—my wife has borne me five children—but not a single one of her pregnancies came close to… this." He waved a hand toward her belly, as if gesturing at a grotesque display. "How in the world will you handle it? With a belly that size, you’re going to suffer for hours… maybe even days."

His words cut like a knife, but Mei Lian kept her gaze locked on him, refusing to let his taunts burrow deeper than they already had. She gritted her teeth against the growing pain, but he seemed to feed off her tension.

"Imagine," he sneered, circling her bed slowly. "You—the Crimson Tiger—known for your strength, your speed, now reduced to this." His eyes gleamed as he took in the sight of her swollen form. "You can’t fight me like this. Not with that enormous belly weighing you down. You’ll be too busy screaming, too busy pushing that monster of a child out to do anything."

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, as if he was savoring every moment of her struggle. "I can already see how hard it is for you, how uncomfortable you must be with all that weight. How can you possibly manage to bring a child like that into the world, hmm? A child so big… maybe even too big for you."

Mei Lian clenched her fists at her sides, her body already slick with sweat, her mind a whirl of pain and fury.

As Mei Lian lay on the bed, her body wracked with pain as labor began, the leader of the Black Talon stood nearby, a smug, twisted grin playing across his lips. His shadow loomed over her like a dark cloud, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching with sadistic pleasure as she struggled to manage the mounting contractions.

Mei Lian gritted her teeth, fighting back a scream as another contraction hit, her body tensing against the wave of pain. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, her mind trying to focus through the agony. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response, but she couldn’t remain silent. Her honor, her pride as a martial artist, demanded it.

"You’re... disgusting," she managed to spit out between clenched teeth, her voice strained but defiant. "You… can’t even face me in battle… head to head... You have to wait until… I’m at my most vulnerable to strike. This… this is not a warrior’s way. It’s cowardice."

The leader’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he listened to her labored words. "Oh, come now, don’t pretend this is about honor. I’m not here to fight fair, Crimson Tiger. I’ve watched you defeat countless men, and I know that head-to-head, I would fall like the rest. But here… here you are, reduced to a woman in labor, helpless, vulnerable." He chuckled again, stepping closer, watching her closely as her body convulsed with another contraction. "And it’s only just begun, hasn’t it? Look at you… barely able to speak through the pain."

Mei Lian’s body shook with the effort of holding herself together. The pain was growing, the contractions more frequent, her muscles tightening with each wave that passed through her. She could barely catch her breath between the spasms, and the urge to scream was becoming harder to suppress. But she fought it, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

"You… are nothing but a coward," she growled, though her voice cracked as another contraction surged through her. She gasped, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as her legs trembled beneath her. "No courage… no honor…"

Her words were cut off by a sharp cry of pain, her body rebelling against her will as the contraction reached its peak. Her back arched involuntarily, her breath coming in ragged bursts. The baby was coming, and she could feel the pressure mounting, the unbearable stretch inside her. But the leader, standing calmly nearby, merely tilted his head, enjoying the spectacle.

"You really think you’re in any position to lecture me about courage?" he mocked, stepping closer again. "Look at you, trying to hold on to your pride, trying to keep your composure… and failing. Your body betrays you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I think… I’ll wait a little longer. Watch as that enormous belly of yours gives you more pain. How long until you break?"

Mei Lian’s fists clenched, her knuckles white as she tried to push back against the waves of agony crashing through her. Each word he spoke dug into her like a blade, and the humiliation of being at his mercy in this moment was almost too much to bear. But she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t.

"Keep talking," she gasped, her voice ragged as she forced herself to look up at him, her eyes blazing with fury despite the tears welling in them. "It’ll… only make your defeat that much sweeter."

The leader smirked, his eyes scanning over her struggling form, his gaze settling on the enormous curve of her belly. "Defeat? You think you’ll come out of this victorious? Not like this. Not with that belly, that… burden. No warrior’s training can help you now." He gave her a mocking look, his voice dripping with scorn. "Just wait… you’ll scream soon enough. And I’ll be right here, enjoying every moment."

Mei Lian’s breath hitched as another contraction hit, this one more brutal than the last. Her body contorted with the pain, and she could feel her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath her. Her thighs, once strong and firm from years of training, now shook with weakness, unable to stand up to the sheer intensity of the labor. The urge to scream welled up inside her, almost impossible to contain. She bit her lip hard, trying to focus, but it was getting harder to maintain her composure.

The leader, noticing her silence, stepped even closer. "Go on… scream. Let it out. I want to hear you scream for me, Crimson Tiger."

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay quiet, but the pain was too much. A guttural cry tore from her throat, despite her efforts to keep it in, and she collapsed forward onto the bed, her body shaking from the effort.

The leader laughed, clearly enjoying every moment of her struggle. "There it is. That’s more like it."

Mei Lian’s eyes burned with fury, but she could do nothing. Another contraction hit, stronger this time, and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. Her body screamed at her to push, but she resisted, her muscles trembling with the effort.

She had never allowed herself to show weakness in front of an enemy. She had never let anyone see her vulnerable. And now, the thought of this man—this vile, spiteful creature—seeing her in the throes of labor, seeing her exposed in the most intimate way, filled her with shame and anger. She clamped her legs shut, her body rigid with tension, as if by sheer will she could stop the birth, stop him from seeing her like this.

The Black Talon leader raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Ah, so you’re trying to keep some dignity, are you? You think you can fight it? How long do you think you’ll last, Crimson Tiger, before the pain forces you to open up? Before you have to let go of that pride?”

Mei Lian glared at him, refusing to answer. The pain was unbearable now, rolling through her like a storm, each contraction more powerful than the last. Her body was betraying her, forcing her toward a place where no battle-hardened warrior could maintain control. She gripped the edge of the bed, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow and rapid as she struggled to contain the pressure building within her.

But the pain—oh, the pain—it was relentless. It demanded that she push, that she surrender to it. Sweat poured down her face, her muscles trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. But the child was coming, whether she willed it or not. The contractions intensified, each one longer and more agonizing than the last.

Finally, a low, guttural groan escaped her lips, and despite her resistance, her legs began to part. The pain was too great, the pressure too overwhelming. She could no longer fight the natural process her body was undergoing. With a gasp, she spread her legs wide, exposing herself completely in front of her enemy, her hands gripping the sheets as another wave of pain coursed through her. A guttural cry tore from her throat, as she throw her head backward, face up the sky: “Nghhh ahhhhhhh”.

The Black Talon leader’s grin widened as he leaned back against the wall. “There you go. That’s it. You can’t fight it forever, can you? No matter how strong you are, in the end, you’re just like every other woman. Weak. Vulnerable.”

Mei Lian’s body shook with exertion, every muscle in her powerful frame straining as she pushed with all her might. Her legs were spread wide, trembling under the immense pressure, her fingers gripping the sheets so hard the fabric was on the verge of tearing. The baby’s head had emerged, just barely, stretching her to her limits, only to retreat again, slipping back inside with agonizing slowness. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her face drenched in sweat, but no matter how hard she tried, it felt like her efforts were in vain.

The leader, standing over her, let out a loud, mocking laugh, the sound echoing cruelly in the small room. “Look at you,” he sneered. “All that strength, all that skill, and you can’t even manage to bring a baby into the world.” He circled her slowly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her struggle. “It comes out… then goes right back in,” he said, mimicking the motions with his hand. “What’s wrong, Crimson Tiger? You’re frustrated, aren’t you? All that effort, and yet the baby doesn’t want to stay out.”

Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of frustration. She wanted to scream, to strike him down, but her body betrayed her, consumed entirely by the pain and pressure of labor. She could feel the baby slipping back again, and her heart sank with the familiar sensation. It was so close, yet impossibly far, and the leader’s taunts only made the ordeal worse.

“Look at you,” he continued, his laughter growing louder with each failed attempt. “You’re trying so hard, pushing and screaming, but the baby just keeps slipping back. It’s almost funny. All your enemies have fallen before you, yet this little one seems to be defeating you.” He shook his head, smirking. “How pathetic.”

Mei Lian’s mind screamed in fury, but her body was no longer her own. The child inside her was demanding to be born, and the pain was forcing her to push with all her might. She bore down, her face contorting in agony as the baby began to crown. She could feel it—so close, so near the surface—but then, just as she thought it would finally emerge, the child retreated again, slipping back inside.

A strangled cry of frustration escaped her lips, and she gripped the bed harder, her body shaking with the effort. She pushed again, her entire being focused on bringing this child into the world, but once more, the baby began to emerge, only to retreat again. It was maddening, the way her body refused to cooperate. The baby teased the world, appearing for a brief moment before sliding back, as if it were mocking her.

The Black Talon leader watched her struggle with dark amusement, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. “What’s the matter, Crimson Tiger? Can’t even manage a simple birth? You’ve killed men with your bare hands, and yet you can’t even push out a child? Maybe all that fighting has made you too stiff.”

Mei Lian’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried again and again to push. Each contraction felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside, and the baby’s refusal to fully emerge only deepened her despair. She had fought in the fiercest of battles, endured wounds that would have killed others, but this—this was a battle she had never trained for.

Her vision blurred with tears of frustration, but she refused to give in. She would not be beaten by this. Not by him, and not by her own body. She would bring this child into the world, no matter how much it cost her. The labor dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity as the baby danced on the edge of life, just out of reach.

“Come on, Mei Lian,” the leader taunted, leaning forward now, his face full of mocking delight. “You can do it. Just one more push, and maybe this time it’ll stay out. Or maybe not. Maybe you’ll just keep struggling, over and over, until you have nothing left. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Her body shook, her muscles screamed in protest, but Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with determination. She gathered every ounce of strength she had left, every bit of willpower that had seen her through countless battles, and pushed again.

Mei Lian's body trembled as she bore down with all her strength, the intensity of the birth overwhelming her senses. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her heart pounding in her ears as the baby’s head finally began to emerge fully. The pressure was immense, like nothing she had ever experienced in battle. The pain coursed through her body in waves, but for the first time, the baby’s head no longer retreated. Progress had been made, and though the pain was excruciating, she felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

But her victory was far from assured.

The Black Talon leader had been watching her closely, his cruel amusement never wavering as she struggled to bring her child into the world. His twisted smile darkened as he realized what was happening—the baby was coming, inch by inch, despite his taunts. His victory over her, the moment he had so patiently waited for, was slipping away.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He rose slowly from where he had been leaning, his eyes narrowed with intent. Mei Lian, between contractions, noticed his movement. She could see the calculating look in his eyes, the way his body tensed, preparing to act. His expression had shifted from amusement to something more dangerous—he wasn’t just here to mock her anymore. He was going to intervene.

“I can’t let this happen, Crimson Tiger,” he said in a low voice, stepping closer. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw it. Instead, his gaze shifted downward, focusing on the baby’s head, which had only just begun to crown. “It would be a shame to let this child live when I could so easily take it all away from you.”

Mei Lian’s heart raced as she realized his intent. Her body tensed with a mixture of pain and fury as she understood that he wasn’t going to kill her—not yet. He wanted to rob her of her child first, to make her suffer by denying the life she was fighting so hard to bring into the world.

“I’ve watched you fight tooth and nail through this,” he sneered, taking another step closer, his eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. “But it seems your baby is just as stubborn as you are. It keeps coming back, but I can fix that.”

He waited, watching her closely as her body tensed with another contraction. It was clear he was waiting for her moment of greatest pain, the moment she would be most vulnerable. Mei Lian gritted her teeth, forcing herself to breathe through the pain, to stay calm even as every nerve in her body screamed for her to push, to keep fighting for the life of her child.

But instead of pushing, she did the opposite. She slumped back against the bed, allowing herself to groan loudly, letting her eyes flutter shut in an exaggerated show of exhaustion. Her breathing became shallow, her hand falling limply to the side. Though the pain was very real and intense, Mei Lian forced herself to act as though it was too much, as though she had no strength left to resist.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” the Black Talon leader said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Finally showing your true weakness.”

He stepped closer, crouching down beside her, his face a mask of cruel delight. He reached out toward the baby’s head, his fingers stretching forward as if he could simply push the child back inside her, as if he could undo all her progress with a single motion.

Mei Lian’s heart pounded with a mixture of terror and fury, but she kept her breathing shallow, her body limp. She had learned long ago that the best way to defeat an enemy wasn’t always through brute force but through patience and strategy. She had let him believe she was defeated, let him believe he had the upper hand.

And as his fingers brushed the baby’s head, Mei Lian’s eyes snapped open.

With a sudden surge of strength, she raised her leg and delivered a powerful kick to his face, her foot connecting with his nose in a sickening crunch. The Black Talon leader’s eyes widened in shock for a split second, realizing it when its already too late. The kick feels like every kicks she has ever delivered combined into one. He collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Mei Lian had done it. The danger was gone, at least for the moment, and now she could focus entirely on the task at hand.

But as the adrenaline faded, the pain of the labor returned tenfold. The strike had made the baby slipped in again. Mei Lian gripped the edges of the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her body was once again seized by the brutal force of the contractions. She no longer had the luxury of distraction—this was the battle that demanded everything she had left.

Her muscles strained, every inch of her body on fire as she bore down, trying to push the baby further out. The head was there, emerging little by little, but each time she thought she was making progress, the child seemed to slip back just a little, as if refusing to fully enter the world.

Sweat poured down her face, dripping onto the sheets, and her breath came in desperate, shallow gasps. Her legs shook with the effort, and her body screamed for relief, but the baby refused to come easily. Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her mind filled with frustration as the head inched forward, only to retreat again. It was maddening. She had never felt so powerless, so out of control.

She tried pushing again, harder this time, her body trembling with the effort. The pain was unbearable, searing through her like fire, but she bore down, focusing every ounce of her strength on bringing the baby into the world. Her muscles tensed, her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, and for a moment, she thought she had made progress.

The head slipped a little further out, and for the briefest second, hope surged through her. But then the baby retreated once more, and Mei Lian let out a cry of frustration, her body collapsing back against the bed.

The firelight flickered in the room, casting long shadows across the floor. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside, all Mei Lian could hear was the sound of her own labored breathing.

Her body was tired. So tired. But there was no choice but to keep fighting.

Mei Lian inhaled deeply, gathering her strength once more. She couldn’t afford to give up now. She had fought through too much, endured too much pain to let this final challenge defeat her. The baby was close, so close, but it would take everything she had left to bring it fully into the world.

She closed her eyes, centering herself as she had so many times before in battle. She slowed her breathing, calming her mind despite the chaos of her body. The next contraction hit, and this time, she pushed with all her might, focusing on the baby’s head, on moving it just a little further out.

The baby responded, inching forward, the pressure building as its head stretched the limits of her body. Mei Lian’s muscles burned, her legs trembling uncontrollably, but she kept pushing, refusing to let the pain stop her.

The baby’s head emerged a little further, and this time, it stayed.

But she knew the hardest part was still ahead. The shoulders had yet to come, and the baby’s body still needed to follow. The contractions slowed for a brief moment, giving her a merciful pause, but Mei Lian knew that this was far from over.

She took the brief respite to steady her breathing, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she prepared for the next wave of pain. The baby was nearly there, but the birth was far from done.

The next chapter of her battle was about to begin.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing in as Mei Lian lay on the bed, legs spread as wide as they could go, her body straining, stretched to its absolute limit. She could feel the baby’s head pushing against her, a searing pressure that made her want to scream, and she did, the sound tearing from her throat in a way that she hadn’t allowed herself to do before. Her powerful legs, the same ones that had delivered so many decisive kicks in battle, now trembled uncontrollably, utterly useless in this moment of life and death.

Her legs couldn’t help her now.

Her arms, once strong enough to defeat entire groups of thugs, lay beside her, limp and shaking, unable to provide any aid. It was an overwhelming realization, one that hit her harder than any punch or sword strike ever had. For years, she had trained her body—her arms, her legs, her mind—sharpening them into weapons that could take down any opponent. She had relied on them, on her strength, her control. But now, here in the throes of labor, they were nothing but quivering limbs, trembling and shaking with the effort of trying to bring her child into the world.

Mei Lian’s breath came in gasps, her chest heaving as another contraction gripped her, pulling her deeper into the relentless pain. Her legs, once so solid and sure, now buckled beneath the weight of her labor. They couldn’t support her. They couldn’t carry her through this battle.

Her mind reeled at the absurdity of it, at how all her years of training, all her discipline, were worthless here. She could take a life with a single blow, but now, bringing one into the world, she was helpless.

The baby’s head was there, pushing against her, stretching her body beyond what she thought was possible. Her legs spread even wider, as if they couldn’t get any further apart, yet still, it wasn’t enough. The baby was stuck, just barely crowning, and no amount of strength seemed to make it move forward. Mei Lian felt her will beginning to crumble, the frustration building inside her like a storm.

Tears welled in her eyes, and her breath hitched as she stared down at her enormous belly, which had become her greatest challenge. It rose like a mountain, stubborn and unyielding, mocking her with its stillness. Despite her best efforts, despite the sweat pouring from her body and the pain tearing through her, the belly remained, unmoved, unshaken.

It was as if her own body were conspiring against her, refusing to let go, to release the child she so desperately wanted to meet. Her hands moved almost unconsciously, trembling as they pressed against her belly, fingers splayed wide. She could feel the hardness beneath her skin, the baby waiting just beneath the surface, but no matter how much she pushed, the mountain remained.

She broke, tears spilling from her eyes, her voice raw as she whispered through her sobs. “Please… please, baby, come out,” she begged, her voice cracked and hoarse. “I can’t do this alone. Please… please…”

Her hands dug into her belly, massaging the taut skin, her breath ragged as she sobbed through the pain. Her body screamed for release, her heart cried out for her child, but the baby remained stubbornly lodged in place. Mei Lian’s frustration boiled over, a mixture of helplessness and anger that she had never felt before. How could she, the Crimson Tiger, who had faced down death so many times, be defeated like this?

But the labor was relentless. Another contraction hit, even stronger than before, and Mei Lian felt the burning sensation grow more intense as the baby’s head began to shift. The pressure was unimaginable, her body straining as she bore down, pushing with everything she had left. This time, there was progress—slow, agonizing progress, but it was there.

The baby was moving forward.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt it, inch by inch, the head creeping forward. Her entire body trembled with the effort, every muscle taut as she fought to bring the child into the world. Mei Lian gripped the edges of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white, her legs trembling violently as she bore down, her body shaking with exertion.

The baby’s head moved again, just a little further, and a sharp cry escaped her lips, her voice a mixture of pain and hope. The pressure was immense, the burning stretching sensation unbearable, but she was making progress. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the baby inched forward, each push bringing it closer to the world.

Mei Lian’s tears mixed with the sweat pouring down her face, but she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about the pain, or the exhaustion, or the fact that her powerful legs were now trembling like those of a newborn fawn. All that mattered was the child, and the need to bring it into the world. The contractions hit again, and she pushed once more, her body quivering as the baby’s head came further, inch by inch.

Her sobs turned to groans of effort as she gave another push, her hands pressing down on her belly, trying to help the baby along. The head was nearly there now, so close, but still, it felt like an eternity before it would be free. Each push felt like a battle won, but each victory was short-lived as the baby resisted, stubbornly inching forward in its own time.

Mei Lian screamed, the sound raw and guttural, as she gave one final, desperate push. The baby’s head moved further, finally passing the point of no return. The sensation was a mix of pain and relief, her body straining, stretched to the limit, but she could feel the shift.

Several more pushes later, the baby’s head emerged fully, its slick, round form finally free from the grip of her body. Mei Lian collapsed back against the bed, her chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ears as she gasped for breath.

The hardest part wasn’t over yet, but the baby’s head was out. The rest of the body would follow soon.

Mei Lian’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lay back, feeling the baby’s head fully emerge. She had done it—or so she thought. But as she tried to push again, hoping the rest of the baby would follow, her body met resistance. The shoulders—broad and unyielding—were stuck.

A new wave of frustration surged through her. The baby was so close, yet still, it would not come. Mei Lian pushed with all her might, every fiber of her being straining, but the shoulders refused to budge. The sensation was maddening. She could feel the child so close, practically at the edge of entering the world, but her body wouldn’t release it. The pressure was unbearable, the pain relentless, and her will—so strong throughout the labor—began to crumble.

She groaned in agony, her voice raw with frustration. Her powerful legs, which had carried her through battles and knocked out countless foes, were trembling beneath her, completely useless in this moment of pure, primal struggle. She shifted her position, trying to adjust, but nothing worked. The baby’s shoulders remained stuck.

Mei Lian’s eyes blurred with tears, her mind racing. **There had to be a way. There had to be a way.**

Her gaze fell to her enormous belly, still rising high and swollen, mocking her efforts once more. It hung heavy and round, her skin pulled tight, yet it felt as though no matter how hard she pushed, her body was holding on, refusing to let the child out. She let out a guttural cry, pressing her hands to the firm mound of her stomach as if willing it to release the baby.

The weight of her belly, the heaviness of it, seemed almost unbearable now, like a burden she had been carrying for far too long. It hung low, unmoving, despite all the strength she had poured into pushing. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched her swollen belly, her voice breaking into desperate sobs. "Please… please, baby… please just come out," she whispered, her strong, battle-hardened hands trembling as they pressed against her taut skin. "I can't… I can't take this anymore. Please come out of me…" Her composure shattered, she wept openly, feeling utterly vulnerable, overwhelmed by the unbearable pain and the helplessness of it all.

But the baby remained lodged, the shoulders stuck in place, refusing to slide free.

Desperation clawed at her, but in the back of her mind, her training kicked in. She needed to change her position. The battle wasn’t lost yet. She had always been adaptable in a fight, always able to shift her stance and find the advantage. Maybe, just maybe, if she could find the right position, she could free the baby.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Mei Lian shifted her weight, rolling onto her hands and knees. The movement was agonizing, her body screaming in protest, but she had no choice. She buried her face into the mattress, gripping it with trembling fingers. Her knees spread wide, and her belly hung low, almost touching the bed beneath her. Her buttocks rose high in the air, her body bent forward, exposing herself completely to the empty room.

She had never felt so vulnerable, so raw and exposed.

Her mind briefly flashed to the battles she had fought, the men she had faced down without hesitation or fear. Yet here she was, in the most private, the most intimate of battles, her body betraying her in its moment of greatest need. It wasn’t the fists of an enemy or the edge of a blade that she fought against now—it was her own body, and the child she so desperately wanted to bring into the world.

The position was humiliating, her body completely open and bared, but Mei Lian no longer cared. Pride meant nothing now. All that mattered was freeing the baby.

Another contraction hit, stronger than ever, and Mei Lian let out a fierce scream, her fingers digging into the mattress as she pushed with everything she had. Her back arched, her belly hanging low and swaying as she strained. She bore down hard, pushing her buttocks backward, trying to make as much room as possible for the baby to descend.

The pressure was overwhelming, the feeling of the baby’s broad shoulders stretching her beyond anything she had experienced before. Her legs trembled with the effort, her fingers clutching the mattress desperately as if it could anchor her through the storm of pain.

Her scream grew louder, raw and guttural, as she felt the baby shift inside her. The new position was helping, but it was still slow, agonizing progress. She pushed harder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her entire body shaking with the effort. Her mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion, the relentless pain making her feel as though she couldn’t continue, but she had no choice. The baby was coming, and she had to bring it into the world.

The shoulders, once so firmly lodged, began to move.

Mei Lian could feel it—the slow, gradual release as the baby’s shoulders began to slide free. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced before—painful and yet filled with the faintest hint of relief. Her legs shook, her arms trembling as she gripped the mattress, her face pressed into the bedding.

She pushed again, harder this time, her voice a hoarse cry as she bore down, her hips swaying slightly as she pushed her buttocks back even further. The pressure was immense, the baby’s shoulders moving ever so slowly, but it was happening. The baby was coming.

Another push, and this time she felt it—the shoulders finally sliding free, the baby’s body following in one smooth, agonizing motion. The relief was immediate, though the exhaustion hit her like a wave, her entire body trembling with the effort she had expended.

Mei Lian let out a final, breathless scream as the child was born, its small, slick body slipping from her and into the world. She collapsed forward onto the bed, her face pressed into the mattress, her chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. The pain began to ebb, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache, but the overwhelming sensation that filled her now was one of pure, unfiltered relief.

The battle was over. The baby was here.

She remained there for a moment, her body still trembling from the effort, her breath shaky as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. The room felt eerily quiet after the storm of her labor, the only sound the faint whimper of the newborn child behind her.

Slowly, painfully, Mei Lian shifted, turning to look at the baby she had fought so hard to bring into the world. The child lay there, slick with birth, tiny and perfect, its small cries filling the room.

Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy, of relief, of triumph.

The Crimson Tiger had fought her hardest battle—and won.

#pregnant kink #birth kink #birth story #birth denial #giving birth

182 notes · View notes

thegleamingmoon · 4 months ago

Text

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

#desiblr #gopiblr #modern au #love #trivandrum #vishnu #goddess lakshmi #ashtabharya #krishnabhakti #krishnablr #krishna #radha #gopi #aesthetic #writers on tumblr

184 notes · View notes

nostalgicnarrator · 2 months ago

Text

Outlaws and Lawmen

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Word Count: 5311

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Throin Oakenshield, law man, finds himself facing an outlaw, the likes of which he’s never seen before.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

⚠️Warning⚠️

Brief mention of extreme violence. Gun fights and death.

Note:

Listen, I don’t know what to tell you except I really wanted to write this for whatever reason. I was inspired, mostly by @shurikthereject and more specifically this post, and this post by them. Go give them love please if you haven’t already. Have fun and tell me if I messed up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The sun was just beginning to rise over the small, dusty town of Ered, casting long shadows on the wooden buildings that lined the main streets.

The cool breeze rolled through the growing town, it carried familiar scents of leather, horses, and the distant aroma of freshly baked bread.

Thorin Oakenshield, the town’s sheriff, adjusted his hat and took a deep breath, savoring the calmness of the early hour.

Thorin’s family had long been intertwined with the law, a legacy stretching back further than he or the rest of the town could really remember.

His father and grandfather before him had both worn the very badge now clipped to his chest.

though they were not the only to carve their own legends into the town, they were the only ones who’s legends lined with mystery’s.

His grandfather had been one of the most revered sheriffs the town had ever known, a man who brought order with a steady hand and an unyielding sense of justice.

But he had not been as invincible as he pretended. He’d upset the wrong people, his throat slit in the dead of night, his body found cold and lifeless in the alley behind what was now Bombur’s saloon.

No one had ever discovered who was responsible. The killer’s identity became the stuff of ghost stories whispered around campfires, a shadow in the town’s memory, known only as “The defiler.”

Thorin’s father fared no better. He vanished without a trace while leading a posse into the hills, chasing after, well Thorin didn’t know.

What he did know was that his father’s badge showed up and left in Thorin’s home, there was no explanation,

And as the weeks turned into months, Thorin's hope dwindled to a painful acceptance. His father was assumed dead, claimed by the wilds or worse.

Left with little choice, and after a little convincing, Thorin took the badge. He was allowed to wear it and wore it he did, making him one of the youngest sheriffs in the territory.

Now, it was his turn to uphold the family honor in a town that seemed forever on the brink of the unexpected. Ered had always attracted the strange and the dangerous, and lately, there’d been no shortage of both.

The sudden influx of outlaws had become increasingly frustrating, bands of desperados and renegades testing their resolve, pushing at the edges of the peace Thorin strived for.

Thorin, by now, had dealt with his fair share of trouble. He’d faced down outlaws who thought his town was an easy mark, stood toe-to-toe with gunmen who underestimated him, and outsmarted those who tried to outgun him.

His reputation grew quickly and he was known as the quickest draw and for having a sharp mind, at least when it came to dealing with outlaws.

His name began to spread beyond Ered, most rumors of him were just that; rumors. but if the whispers in saloons and campfires across the state helped in keeping his town safe he didn’t mind.

Most were overly dramatic stories, some being entirely false and others just being exaggerated. But said stories were enough to make some think twice about causing trouble in his town.

Before that, Ered was just another dot on the map. But it quickly became known as Thorin Oakenshield’s town.

A place where the law was upheld not just by the sheriff’s badge, but by the man who wore it. Outlaws might ride into other towns to cause trouble, but not here. Not under Thorin’s watch.

Still, even as he took in the quiet morning, a familiar tension settled in his gut. The calm wouldn’t last; it never did. And today felt like one of those days when trouble was bound to find its way to his door.

And even as Thorin strode down the main street, nodding to or saying hello to the townspeople who greeted him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing.

The air seemed thicker today, the shadows just a bit darker. He greeted his deputy, Dwalin, as he stepped inside the sheriff’s office.

“Mornin’, Thorin,” Dwalin grunted, adjusting his gun belt. His face, usually calm, held a hint of tension.

“Morning, Dwalin… Feels like a strange day, doesn’t it?” Thorin replied.

Dwalin nodded. “Aye, it does. Maybe it’s the storm coming in from the east, but I’ve got a feelin’…”

Thorin chuckled. “You always have a feeling, Dwalin. Let’s hope it's just the weather this time.”

But deep down, Thorin knew better than to ignore his instincts or those of his deputy. On more than one occasion either had been provided right.

And if they were both feeling it, then something really bad might just happen. Before he could dwell on it anymore, Bofur, the always cheerful owner of the general store, came through the door.

“Sheriff! Morning!” Bofur called, his usual grin tight fake, it seemed out of place on his usually jovial face.

Thorin nodded and made his way over. “Why mornin’ Bofur, everything alright?”

“Well, …no sheriff, It’s my cousin. I’ve been trying to get him help and, well he’s out on his own again.”

Thorin sighed. Bifur, maybe this is what his gut was so upset about. Bifur had lost his mind a few years ago after an accident.

The old prospector was a kind fellow most days but, when he got to wondering, there was no telling.

Bifur often wandered off into the hills, he never got much farther than that. “Alright, I’ll go check on him. Might be good to get out of town for a bit.” Throin patted Bofur on the back.

“Thank ya sheriff, send him to my general store or to my brothers saloon.”

Dwalin gave him a nod as they quickly gathered their stuff. Thorin was first to mount his horse, setting off towards the hills.

The wind picked up as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. He didn’t like leaving town with a feeling like this hanging in the air, but Bofur’s cousin needed checking on, and that was that.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

The midday sun hung high over Ered, casting its relentless heat down onto the dirt streets. A breeze brushed through the town making trees rustle kindly.

The townsfolk moved about their business; women chatting outside the general store, children running past the schoolhouse, and a few men lounged outside Bombur's saloon.

Then, a low rumble of hooves sounded in the distance, growing louder as they approached. Heads turned, eyes narrowing against the glare to see a group of riders on the horizon.

At the head of the pack was a man with a dark brown hat, caramel colored curls wearing a green shirt and a dark poncho around his shoulders. A white bandanna covered his face nicely.

Not everyone could immediately recognize the leader, but the few that did knew him as Bilbo Baggins, the outlaw.

He was a new name to the outlaws list, steadily climbing the wanted list, now he sits near the top, he’d robbed banks, and towns. He’s known to be armed and dangerous.

He never misses, he hasn't ever each time he’s shot a gun. Bilbo rode in with a confidence that would send a chill down the spine of any onlooker.

Three other men rode behind him, all armed and faces hidden behind masks of different colors and patterns.

Beside Bilbo was his right hand man, no name was ever given to the man, and none ever will. He always wore a purple shirt with a dark bandanna around his face and a black hat blocking the rest.

Bilbo’s right hand man was known as a wiry man with a wicked glint in his eye, he seemed to scan the buildings with sharp interest, his fingers twitching near the revolver at his side.

The riders came to a stop in the middle of the street, kicking up clouds of dust. Bilbo’s eyes swept over the faces that stared back at him.

There were wide-eyed women who clutched their children tightly, men tensing up, hands edging closer to their gun belts if they had one. He chuckled under his breath.

“Good afternoon, folks!” Bilbo called out lazily, he looked relaxed and calm. “How’s everyone doin’? Ain’t it just a lovely day? Be a damn shame if somethin’ were to spoil it.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The tension in the air was thick, almost like a coiled spring ready to snap. Someone had the nerve to draw and before the man could fully raise his hand a shot rang out.

The man dropped his gun and held his now bleeding hand to himself. Bilbos right hand man had his gun pointed at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to grab his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… see my partner here, he’s got an itchy finger.” Bilbo chuckled softly.

At the edge of the crowd, Dís stood with her sons, Fíli and Kíli. Her instincts told her to fight, keep her children safe. And she desperately wanted to listen to it.

But she couldn’t, not without getting someone killed. She held her sons back as they stepped forward, their own hands reaching for their guns.

With a gentle squeeze on their shoulders she got their attention “Stay calm,” she whispered to them, her eyes never leaving Bilbo.

Bilbo swung off his horse, strolling leisurely towards the bank. He nodded to Glóin as he stepped outside.

Bilbo’s gang slowly followed, spreading out behind him. “Now, I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Bilbo continued. “At least, not if I don’t have to. But my boys and I, we’re in need of some funds, and I’m sure your good banker here won’t mind making a generous donation.”

Glóin stepped forward, his face pale but not scared. “You won’t get away with this,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Bilbo laughed, a sound that made the townsfolk flinch. The laugh was too sweet for what was happening. “Oh, I think I will. See, I’ve got more men hidden around your little town- rooftops, alleys, you name it. You make a move, and they’ll turn this place into a shooting gallery.”

A wave of fear swept through the crowd. They glanced nervously at the rooftops and shadows, imagining invisible gunmen lurking there, ready to unleash hell.

Fíli and Kíli tensed beside their mother, their eyes flicking towards the distant hills where their uncle had ridden not long ago. They needed to get him, now.

Dís felt the tremor of fear in her sons, and in that moment, she made a decision. She tilted her head towards Fíli and whispered urgently, “Fíli, you and Kíli go. Ride fast, find your uncle, bring him back.”

Fíli hesitated, his eyes wide. “But, Ma-”

“Go!” she hissed, “I’ll handle this!”

Before the boys could argue further, Dís stepped forward, raising her hands high. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted, drawing all eyes, including Bilbo’s, to her.

Bilbo cocked his head, curiosity piqued. “Howdy ma’am, pleasure to meet ya, who might you be?”

Dís forced a smile, stepping into the open. “Just a mother, hoping to keep her children safe,” she said, voice steady even as her heart raced. “You say you’re not here to hurt anyone- then prove it. Let these people go about their day. You want money? Take it and leave.”

Bilbo’s grin widened. He sauntered closer, he began to prowl around her. “Now, now, that’s quite a proposal. So what makes you think you can negotiate with me?”

“Because, I know you’re bluffing,” Dís said, her eyes blazing with a defiant spark. “If you had as many men as you say, you wouldn’t need to make threats. You’d have already started shooting.”

A hush fell over the street. For a moment, even Bilbo looked surprised, caught off guard. Behind Dís, Fíli and Kíli took the chance to slip away, moving silently through the crowd, unnoticed by the gang members whose focus was entirely on their mother.

Bilbo glared at her and pointed up behind her to a rooftop where a gunman was, he had a shotgun aimed at her “are you sure…? My dear you seemed to have misjudged.”

Dís glared back “one extra gunner-“ Bilbo points at another on the bell tower of the church. “Two then, show me another and I’ll believe you.”

Bilbo’s smile slowly faded. “You’re a sharp one, ain’t you?” he said, his tone darkening. “Maybe too sharp for your own good.”

Dís’s heart pounded, but she held her ground, she pulls give her sons all the precious seconds they needed, no matter what.

Fíli and Kíli had at that point reached the edge of town, a horse waited for them. Without a word, they mounted and Fíli spurred it into a gallop, racing towards the hills.

Bilbo’s eyes flicked to the fleeing boys just as they vanished from sight. His smile returned. “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun after all.”

He turned back to his men. “Inside the bank!” he barked. “And make it quick. We’ve got company coming.”

The gang moved into action, shoving Glóin into the building as they went inside the bank. He protested loudly. Loud enough to still hear him outside.

Dís watched as her sons disappeared over the ridge, a silent prayer on her lips that they would reach Thorin in time.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

The hills outside Ered were grassy and scattered rocks, with the occasional stubborn tree jutting its way up.

Thorin and Dwalin had their horses trotting along slowly, scanning for any sign of Bifur. The old prospector had a habit of wandering off into the wilderness, especially after his accident.

The poor man had a hatchet stuck in his head, Óin says it’s a miracle that he could even still walk. Bifur’s mind seemed lost most days, chasing shadows only he could see.

“There,” Dwalin grunted, pointing ahead with a nod. A figure sat on a rocky outcrop, silhouetted against the bright sky. It was Bifur.

He looked as wild as he always does, muttering to himself as he gazed into the distance. Thorin began to wonder if he was lucid enough to sign.

Thorin and Dwalin swong themselves from their horses and approached cautiously, not wanting to startle Bifur.

As they drew closer, Thorin could make out Bifur’s soft mumbling. He was rattling off gibberish nonsense that always seemed to only make sense to him.

“Bifur,” Thorin called gently, stopping a few paces away. “It’s Thorin. Bofur sent me, your cousin? He’s worried about you.”

Bifur turned slowly, his eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize Thorin, his gaze flicking between the sheriff and the deputy beside him.

Thorin took another step closer to Bifur, his hands went up when the prospector, stepped away as if to run. Then, a spark of recognition lit in Bifur’s eyes, and his face softened.

“Thorin” Bifur signed and Thorin let out a sigh of relief, nodding slowly as the prospector’s hands moved silently. “I know you.”

Thorin smiled, trying to keep his tone light. “Yes, you do. And you know Bofur and Bombur too. They’re worried about you, Bifur. They want you to come back to town with us.”

Bifur shook his head, his brows notched together as his hands moved warily. “Can’t go back. The Shadows there. Always watching… waiting.”

Dwalin stepped forward, his voice was softer than normal. “It’s alright Bifur. We’ll help you get back safe.”

Bifur’s eyes darted around, scanning the horizon as if expecting something to emerge from the rocks. “You don’t see them,” he signed with quick movements. “The dead won’t stay dead, the shadows walk like men there.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, who gave a slight nod. They had to handle this carefully. Bifur was not dangerous, but he was unpredictable, and the last thing they wanted was to spook him further.

“Listen, Bifur,” Thorin said softly, crouching down to meet Bifur’s gaze directly. “Why don’t you come down from that rock and whatever you’re seeing, whatever you’re feeling, we can talk about it back in town.”

Bifur looked at Thorin more now and then to Dwalin, he took a step back away, both men showed their hands to him, “Bifur, out here, you’re exposed. It’s not safe. Let’s get you back to your family. To Bofur and Bombur. They miss you.” Dwalin offered with a kinder tone.

Bifur hesitated, He glanced at the hills behind him, then back at Thorin and Dwalin. He started down off the rocks, slowly moving to Thorin.

Thorin smiled, relief washing over him. “Good man, Bifur. We’ll take it nice and slow. Just follow us.”

They helped Bifur when he got closer, guiding him back to the horses. The man was unsteady, his eyes still darting about as if expecting to see the phantoms that haunted his mind. But with each step, he seemed to calm a little more.

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a glance, Bifur had once been a kind fellow, not that he wasn’t now and not that he didn’t seem to have moments of clarity,

There was a time where Thorin wondered if the person who slit his grandfather’s throat was the same person who tried to bash Bifur’s skull in with a hatchet.

The sound of galloping hooves drew Thorin back to the present. He turned, spotting two riders approaching at breakneck speed.

His hand instinctively went to the gun at his hip, ready for anything. As the riders drew closer, he recognized their faces. He found himself hurrying a little closer.

It was his nephews. Thorin’s heart clenched with worry as he glanced back toward the town. Something was wrong.

“Uncle Thorin!” Fíli shouted as he and Kíli threw themselves from their horse, scrambling over to him, panic etched on their faces. “You need to come back! The town- there’s an outlaw!”

“Said his name is Bilbo Boggins!” Kíli added breathlessly.

“No, no! It was definitely Baggins!” Fíli corrected, his voice trembling.

Thorin’s heart tightened. Bilbo Baggins, the name was as infamous as it was unexpected. He knew what the name meant.

Thorin felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he glanced at Dwalin, whose expression mirrored his own horror and panic.

“What’s he doing?” Thorin demanded, trying to steady his voice. He pushed Bifur to Fíli.

Kíli caught his breath. “He’s holding the town hostage. Says he’s got a dozen men hidden around. Mom distracted him so we could get away, Uncle!”

Thorin’s heart sank, then shattered at the thought of his sister risking herself. He wouldn’t lose her too. He wouldn’t let his nephews lose their mother.

He turned to Dwalin. “Mount up,” he ordered, already moving towards his horse. “Fíli, stay with Bifur. If you follow then keep a safe distance behind us and get him back to Bofur and Bombur if you can manage. Stay safe, both of you.”

Fíli nodded, though his eyes were wide and worried. Kíli grabbed his uncle’s pant leg, not ready to let him go. “What about you, Uncle?”

Thorin’s face hardened. “I’m going to deal with our new visitor.” With that, he spurred his horse forward, “Let’s go!” he shouted to Dwalin, who fell beside him.

They raced back towards Ered, the peaceful morning had now become a distant memory.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

By the time they reached the edge of town, Thorin could still see some of the townspeople. Most had been ushered into the general store and the doors were blocked and bard closed.

The rest were tied up and left in front of the store. And Dís was one of them. Two men were at the entrance of the bank guns drawn, one called into the bank as Thorin showed.

After a moment the doors slammed open and there stood Bilbo Baggins, his face covered by a white bandanna , his right hand man stepped out beside him, his face also covered.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo called out, his voice carrying over the din. “I’ve heard of you. The scary lawman turned legend. Some say you can never miss a shot.”

Thorin slid off his horse, Dwalin followed suit quickly, his hands hovering towards his gun. Even though Bilbo’s face was covered, Thorin could see the playful grin underneath it.

Then the first shot rang out, sharp and echoing across the town square, shattering the fragile stillness. Dwalin had fired at Bilbo, but he missed.

Bilbo huffed and shot back, his men soon followed his lead. Instinctively, Thorin and Dwalin ducked behind a water trough, bullets whizzing past them.

"Dwalin! Really? No negotiation?!" Thorin shouted over the din, gripping his revolver tightly.

Dwalin shrugged beside him, wincing as a bullet ricocheted off the edge of the trough, splintering the wood. “I had 'em, the sun just got in my eye…”

“Uh huh, sure.” Throin huffed, he ducked down lowered as his hat got blasted off. “Aww man, I like that hat…”

Dwalin huffed a chuckle at Throin and shook his head before popping up a bit and trying to shoot back.

Throin had to push Dwalin back down when a bullet narrowly avoided hitting Dwalin in the head. “keep your head down!”

Bilbo Baggins chuckled, his voice unnervingly calm amidst the gunfire. "Come on, Oakenshield! You've got quite the reputation. Show me what you've got!"

Thorin clenched his jaw, peering around the edge of the trough. Bilbo stood confidently in the middle of the street, a few of his men taking cover now behind wagons and barrels.

Thorin saw his chance, one of Bilbo's outlaws leaned out too far, aiming a shot at him from the roof from across the street. The outlaw fell from the roof, clutching his chest.

He squeezed the trigger, and the man dropped, his body crumpling to the ground.

"That's one," Thorin muttered under his breath. He moved swiftly, signaling to Dwalin to cover him as he darted to the side of a building.

Bilbo chuckled. "Ooh, nice shot! You keep that up, and I might have to start taking you seriously." Thorin's jaw tightened, but he kept his focus.

Another outlaw shot at him from a wagon. He lined up the shot, cocked his gun's hammer and squeezed the trigger again.

"Two," Thorin counted. He had to duck out of the way as a bullet ricocheted off the wall he was hiding behind.

Bilbo clapped his hands in mock applause. "Oh, very good, very good! But you're still outnumbered, Sheriff. How many bullets you got left? Think you can take us all?"

Throin growled, stepped out and shot at Bilbo, the outlaw just barely avoided the shot as he ducked behind a wall, his right hand man followed him quickly.

Dwalin glanced over at Thorin, Dwalin huffed and shot at them making one of the outlaws that was about to shoot Thorin duck back behind his cover and miss.

Throin slipped back where he was before, Dwalin soon joined him behind the wall. "He's trying to rile you up, don't let him get to you!" Thorin nodded, but he could feel the frustration bubbling up.

Bilbo's voice was like an itch he couldn't scratch, each word dripping with amusement. He huffed and shot across again behind a wagon after a moment Dwalin moved to fallow.

An outlaw popped up from nowhere with a rifle, aiming at Dwalin as the man ran. Thorin fired first, and the outlaw’s head snapped back as he fell to the ground.

"Three," Thorin called out through gritted teeth.

"Now, now," Bilbo chided, his tone mockingly sweet. "You're making this really boring for my boys. Can't you give them a bit of a chance?"

"You want a chance, Baggins?" Thorin shot back, his patience wearing thin. "Tell your men to lay down their guns and come quietly. Otherwise, I'll make sure you're the last man standing."

Bilbo laughed, a light, easy sound that grated on Thorin's nerves. "Well, I'm sure I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a schedule to keep."

Another outlaw shifted, trying to take advantage of Bilbo's distraction. Thorin whipped around and fired, hitting the man square in the chest.

The outlaw fell back with a grunt, his gun clattering to the ground. "Four," Thorin called.

His reputation wasn't a game, but Bilbo treated it like it was. Bilbo's smile wavered slightly but didn’t fall. "Well, well! That's four of mine down. But who's counting, right?" He winked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Thorin's patience snapped. "I am," he growled, Throin sprung up and stood on top of the wagon, and an outlaw popped up to shoot.

Throin nailed him in the head. The last outlaw dropped, leaving only Bilbo and his right-hand man, both still standing. “That’s five Baggins! Wanna make it 7?”

Bilbo stepped out, his grin strained beneath his bandanna. “Oh, you are fun, Sheriff. But now it’s just me and my friend here. And we’re not nearly as expendable.” As if on cue, Bilbo’s right-hand man lunged toward Thorin, a rifle clutched in his hands.

Before Thorin could react, the man crashed into him, both of them tumbling off the wagon and onto the dusty ground. The impact jolted Thorin’s breath from his lungs, and he fought to regain his footing as they rolled across the dirt. The rifle clattered out of the man’s hands, skidding across the ground, out of reach.

Thorin twisted, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. The outlaw grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Thorin to shove him off. Thorin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his revolver, but the outlaw was already up, tackling Thorin again before he could grab it.

They grappled in the dirt, exchanging blows, each trying to overpower the other. Thorin’s hand brushed the handle of his gun, but the man yanked him back, forcing him to focus on the struggle. They wrestled for control, boots kicking up dust as they struggled on the ground.

With a sharp twist, Thorin managed to throw the man off balance, sending him crashing into the side of the wagon. The outlaw groaned, shaking his head to clear it, while Thorin lunged for his gun, fingers closing around the cool metal.

But just as he did, the outlaw grabbed his rifle from where it had fallen nearby. They rose to their feet simultaneously, weapons in hand, both breathing hard from the scuffle.

Thorin fired first, but the man was fast, ducking behind a water barrel just in time. Thorin turned, his eyes scanning for Bilbo, but the outlaw leader was already on the move, darting from his cover with surprising speed.

Thorin spun, aiming to take the shot, but Bilbo was quicker than anticipated, and Thorin could react, Bilbo lunged forward and grabbed Gloin.

The man had managed to wriggle his way out of the doorway of the bank, his hands still bound tightly in front of him, a gag tied around his mouth.

Bilbo yanked the banker up to his feet, wrapping one arm around Glóin's chest and pressing the barrel of his revolver against the side of the man's head.

"Alright, everyone, hold up!" Bilbo shouted, his voice ringing out clear. "Or your good banker here gets a brand-new hole in his head!"

Thorin froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Glóin's eyes were wide, his face pale beneath the sweat and dirt that seemed out of place on the banker.

Thorin could see the desperate plea in Glóin's eyes, but he kept his gun trained on Bilbo trying to think of something, anything to say.

Before he could think to stop himself he was already talking "Let him go, Baggins," Thorin called out, hoping his voice sounded steady. "You don't need to hurt anyone."

"Oh, I really didn't want to, Sheriff," Bilbo replied. "But you haven’t and your friend hasn't left me much of a choice, now have you? How about you drop those guns, and maybe I'll think about letting your banker friend here go."

Dwalin's jaw was set, his hand steady on his weapon. "Like hell I will!" he yelled out. "He's bluffing, Thorin. We can take him."

Bilbo chuckled, his laughter maddeningly light and teasing "Is that what you think, Deputy?" He tightened his grip on Glóin, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against the man's temple, Glóin to wince. "I'm not bluffing. Now, toss your guns aside, or I'll paint the street with his brains."

Thorin's mind raced.

They were at a standoff, and Bilbo knew he held all the cards. "Alright, Bilbo," Thorin heard himself say. "We'll put down the guns. But you let Glóin go first."

Bilbo's eyes glinted with amusement behind his bandanna. "Oh, Sheriff, you think I'm new at this? I say guns first, then the banker goes free."

Thorin could feel Dwalin tensing beside him. "Don't do it, Thorin," Dwalin whispered urgently. "We can't let him leave. Not after what he's done."

"Dwalin, put the gun down," Thorin told Dwalin, turning to face his deputy.

But Dwalin's jaw clenched, and Thorin realized too late what was about to happen.

Dwalin's hand twitched, raised his gun and shot, but Bilbo was faster.

A gunshot cracked through the tense air, and Dwalin staggered back dropping his revolver, clutching his shoulder with a grunt of pain as he fell to one knee.

"Dwalin!" Thorin shouted, his voice sharp with fear and frustration.

Bilbo pressed the gun harder against Glóin's head, his smile never faltering. "Uh-uh, Sheriff," he warned.

"You make one more move, and your banker's brains decorate the street. Now, what's it gonna be?"

Thorin's frustration boiled over, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Bilbo, listen to me," he said, his voice low and steady. "Glóin has a family. He's not part of this. Just let him go."

For a moment, Bilbo hesitated, his grip on Gloin loosening just slightly. "I know he has a family, Oakenshield," he said, his tone almost sincere. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Sheriff. Honest, I don't. But I can't have you chasing me down the road. I need to make sure you don't follow."

Thorin nodded slowly, lowering his hands further. "Alright, Bilbo. We'll stay put. Just don't do anything stupid."

Bilbo's smirk returned, though his eyes darkened with determination. "Too late for that, Sheriff." In one swift motion, he pistol-whipped Glóin, sending the bound man crumpling to the ground, dazed and bleeding.

Before Thorin could react, Bilbo spun, firing a warning shot into the dirt at Thorin's feet. "Drop it!" he barked.

Thorin's revolver clattered to the ground without hesitation. Bilbo's right-hand man covered them as Bilbo mounted his horse in a single, fluid motion.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sheriff!" Bilbo called mockingly, his voice once again full of mocking cheer. He spurred his horse, his right-hand man close behind, both of them racing out of town in a cloud of dust and grit.

Thorin watched them go, he groaned in frustration as anger boiled in his veins. He turned quickly to Dwalin, who was struggling to his feet, clutching his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked as he looked his deputy over with concern.

Dwalin nodded, though his face was pale from the pain. "I'll live. What about Glóin?"

Thorin knelt by Gloin, checking his pulse and untying the gag from his mouth. "He's alive, just knocked out. Get Óin.

Make sure everyone else is safe," he ordered, looking out over the square.

Dwalin nodded and staggered off, Thorin could see his nephews, Kíli was uniting his mother and Fíli helped unbind the doors of the general store.

The dust from Bilbo's escape was still settling, but Thorin knew one thing for sure: he'd be ready when Bilbo Baggins came back around. And next time, there'd be no escape.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

1 / 2

Note:

Okay I’m gonna stop it there. This was just kinda a little one shot for @shurikthereject ‘s western/cowboy au. The rest of this note is kind to them now. I tried to stay true to the shown characters and how you made them but I’m not the best at that. Also I wouldn’t mind making like a whole book for it but if you hate this and you don’t want me to continue I’d like to know. Or if you’d like me to change anything let me know. Okay bye.

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #fanfic #the hobbit bilbo #bagginshield #the hobbit thorin #thorin company #lord of the rings #cowboy au #thorin x bilbo #angst #hurt #i don’t know how to tag this #au i guess

83 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Mystical Items & Objects

A Quick Guide to Creating Fictional Items

STEP 1: Give Your Item Purpose

Crafting memorable items and artifacts demands purpose and intention.

And luckily for writers, there are countless routes you can take.

Symbolism: Embed deeper meaning with an item that represents your story’s themes, like a shattered mirror in a narrative about fractured realities or identities.

MacGuffin: Introduce items that ignite the central conflict or quest, becoming the catalyst for your story’s unfolding events.

Enhancement or Protection: Equip characters with items that empower their abilities or shield them from peril, exemplified by a cloak granting invisibility in dire situations.

Foreshadowing: Introduce an item early on that will play a crucial role later, subtly hinting at its significance without giving everything away.

Progression: Propel the plot or character development with items that carry them from one stage to the next, such as a mystical map revealing hidden worlds.

Misleading (Red Herring): Employ an item to divert attention, creating suspense and keeping readers on their toes with false leads or assumptions.

By carefully considering these categories, you can ensure that your item serves a meaningful role in your narrative.

STEP 2: Give Your Item a Backstory

Delving into the past of your fictional item adds layers to its meaning and significance, creating a story of its own that complements the main plot.

Consider the creator: was it forged by ancient beings, crafted in a moment of desperation, or is its origin shrouded in mystery?

Reflect on its journey: has it been a catalyst in significant historical events, or perhaps changed hands through various intriguing characters?

Ponder its mythology: what tales and legends has it spawned, and how do they influence those who encounter it?

By carving out a detailed history, your fictional item evolves from a mere object to a vital and captivating component of your narrative.

STEP 3: Describe Your Item

The ability to create a clear and compelling mental image of your fictional item in the minds of your readers is paramount. Examples:

The Lament Configuration from Hellraiser boasts an ornate gold filigree, clearly harboring dark magic.

In contrast, the Alethiometer from His Dark Materials seems simple enough, yet hides its ability to unveil cosmic truths.

Meanwhile, the black monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey stands as a minimalist enigma, prompting viewers to question its purpose.

A memorable item can create a lasting impact, ensuring your story resonates with the audience long after they've turned the final page or the credits have rolled.

STEP 4: Consider Its Powers and Limitations

Navigating the balance of power and limitation is crucial when conceptualizing a fictional item.

Explore its strength and scope: What phenomenal feats can it perform, and where does its influence wane?

Understand its accessibility: Who is deemed worthy or capable of wielding such power, and what proficiency or awareness is necessary?

Acknowledge the stakes: Are there perils or repercussions tied to its usage?

By defining these aspects clearly, your item becomes a well-integrated, credible element of your world.

NOTE: Steer clear of making your item omnipotent to maintain narrative tension, and adhere to established rules (i.e. limitations) to prevent inconsistencies.

STEP 5: Give It a Name

The final touch in bringing your fictional item to life is bestowing upon it a fitting name.

Opt for the classic and straightforward: think “The Amulet of Fate,” aligning directly with its purpose or powers.

If you’re feeling whimsical, embrace the quirky—think of the real-world “whatchamacallit” candy bar or the playful “thingamajig”.

Or, simply state it as it is, calling a sword a sword (especially for mundane magical items where you may not want to reveal their powers).

Should you choose a particularly unique name, ensure you provide enough context for readers to grasp its significance.

ADVANCED TECHNIQUES

Now that you've laid the foundational work, elevate your item from intriguing to unforgettable by considering the following:

Mix and Match Types. By intertwining the ordinary with the extraordinary, your item takes on a life of its own and sets itself apart with ease.

Build Lore Around It. Trace your item’s journey to acknowledge how time has warped perceptions or fostered myths and misconceptions.

Use History and Mythology as Inspiration. Enrich your story by pulling from history and mythology, tapping into a wellspring of real-world intrigue.

Ultimately, do what best works for you as the writer. You may rearrange some of these steps, and tweak them to suit your writing process and style.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References More: On Mystical Items & Objects

#writing notes #fantasy #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #on writing #writing reference #writing tips #worldbuilding #writing advice #writing prompt #writing inspiration #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #writing ideas #creative writing #writing resources

87 notes · View notes

cherryredlove · 3 months ago

Text

☆ the eyes of the weirwood ☆

Alicent Hightower x Targareyen Septa! Reader

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The childhood companion of the Princess turned Septa sits grieving by the weirwood tree. You seek out the love you have always denied and comfort her aching heart.

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: angst, lesbian angst, just let my girl alicent be a wlw queen cmon, religious guilt, kinda OOC soz

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The godswood is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over the Red Keep and painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. You walk through the ancient grove, your footsteps hushed on the moss-covered path. The old oak trees stand tall, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms. Your robes sweep the floor, and you heart thuds in your chest.

In the midst of this serene setting, you find yourself drawn to a familiar figure seated on a stone bench beneath the weirwood tree. Her auburn hair glows like fire in the dimming light, and her shoulders tremble with silent sobs. Queen Alicent Hightower, once your childhood companion, now the widow of King Viserys, grieves alone. You are not unknown to this grief yourself. He was your father, despite only ever seeing Rhaenyra as a true Targaryen princess.

You stop for a moment, taking in the sight before you. The woman who once laughed with you under the very same tree now sits, silenced and wrought. The years have carved paths of worry and weariness upon her face, but to you, she remains the beautiful girl you once knew—a girl you secretly loved.

As you step closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Your decision to become a septa instead of marrying had not been an easy one. It severed any chance of relationship with your father and sister. You were too pious and meek for their dragon blood. It was a path that granted you freedom from the duties of court life, yet it had also been a means to escape the yearning you felt for Alicent—a love you dared not speak of, not even to yourself. You remembered the hot shame you felt when your sister teased you for wanting to dance with Alicent instead of handsome suitors as a younger maid.

"Alicent," you whisper softly, your voice barely breaking the solemn silence she sat in.

She looks up, her eyes red from crying, yet they soften upon seeing you. The weight of the crown seems to slip away, if only for a moment, and before you sits not just your Queen, but also your Alicent.

"(Y/N)," she breathes your name like a prayer, as though your presence alone could aid her stricken heart. "What are you doing here?"

"I know not, my feet took me here of their own accord," you reply, though your true purpose is far deeper. "But seeing you here... I couldn't leave you alone in your sorrow."

Alicent wipes her tears with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. "It's foolish," she says, her voice cracking. "To weep like this. He was your father too."

"It's not foolish," you reassure her, taking a seat beside her. Your hand hesitates before resting on hers, and you feel the warmth of her skin—a touch you've longed for, yet denied yourself for so long. "Grief is the heart's way of speaking when words fail."

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the whispers of the trees. Your mind drifts back to those days of youth when you and Alicent would escape to this very spot, finding fun and companionship away from the prying eyes of the court. You would steal away with cakes stolen from banquet tables and regale each other with reenactments of legends of old. Back then, your feelings were a secret, even from yourself, masked as the innocence of friendship.

"I miss him," Alicent confesses, breaking the silence. "Viserys... he was a good man, even if our marriage was... complicated."

Your heart aches for her loss, but there's something deeper—an ache for what might have been if circumstances were different. You glance at her, taking in the sight of her gentle profile, the elegance that is Alicent, and suddenly, the words you've held back for so many years press against your lips. The blood of the dragon finally roars within you, urging you to be brave, be true.

"Alicent," you begin, your voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. "There is something I must tell you... something I've kept hidden for far too long."

She turns to you, curiosity and concern mingling in her gaze. "What is it?" You believe she already knows. How could she not, when all you ever did was gaze longingly at her?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you are about to reveal. "I've loved you, Alicent. I have always loved you, from the days of our youth until this very moment. From when you would declare yourself the Rhaenys to my Visenya, I have loved only you."

Your confession hangs in the air between you, the air heavy and thick. Alicent's eyes widen, and for a brief moment, you fear rejection. But then, something shifts in her expression—a softening, a recognition.

"(Y/N)," she murmurs, her hand squeezing yours gently. "I have longed for you as well. In the silence of my heart, I wished things could have been different." Her face is fraught. Fear of shame is etched into her, but yet she still holds your hand.

The relief that washes over you is mingled with a bittersweet realization of the paths you both chose. Duty, family, and honor had dictated your lives, pulling you away from each other. Yet, in this stolen moment beneath the weirwood's watchful eyes, those burdens seem to fade.

Your gaze locks with Alicent's, and without another word, you lean forward, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss is gentle, filled with the yearning of years unspoken. It is a taste of what could have been, a glimpse into a world where your love was not confined by duty and titles.

Alicent responds, her kiss tender and hesitant, as though afraid that acknowledging this love will unravel everything she has built, everything she has fought for. She has given her maidenhood and life for the crown. But within this fleeting moment, the world outside the godswood ceases to exist, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken bond you share. The kiss is not just a kiss. It is a promise, and the weirwood tree's eyes watch knowingly.

As you finally part, reality returns, bringing with it the weight of your choices. Alicent's eyes glisten with tears, and you know this moment, as perfect as it is, cannot last.

"I must return," she whispers, her voice laced with sorrow. "To my children, to the realm. There is no place for us in this world." That cuts you like a knife.

Your heart breaks at the truth of her words, yet you nod, understanding the burden she carries. As a septa, you have vowed to live a life of celibacy and devotion to the gods, but your heart will always bear the mark of this love. Your true devotion will lie with her.

"Know that you are not alone," you tell her, your voice steady despite the ache within. "I will always be here, by the weirwood, in your heart, should you need me."

Alicent nods, and though her eyes are filled with gratitude, they are also heavy with the loss of a love that can not be. She stands, and you watch as she walks away, her form retreating into the shadows of the evening.

As the night falls over King's Landing, you remain, like a statue, your heart tethered. In the quiet solitude of the ancient grove, you pray to the Mother and the Maiden not only for peace but for the strength to accept the path you both have chosen.

Yet, even as you bow your head in silent supplication, you know that your heart will always linger in the godswood, where the echoes of your love for Alicent remain eternal, like the whispered prayers carried on the wind. And so, you continue your vigil, hoping that one day, perhaps in another life, your paths may cross again without the chains of duty holding you back.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: very sappy and ooc, very much inspired by Alicent and Rhaenyra’s scene in the sept. Alicent just can't catch a break lol

#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #septa reader #alicent hightower x septa #faith of the seven #alicent hightower x female reader

87 notes · View notes

sapphicseasapphire · 10 months ago

Text

There are many tales and legends that follow Hyrule’s history.

These legends are passed down amongst mortals, told to generation after generation. Whispered my mortals to their children, turned to ballads sung around campfires, carved into stone to last lifetimes.

Mortals tell stories of the creation of their world: of Golden Goddesses. Din, who formed the rock, the physical structure of the earth. She crafted mountains out of hardening lava, canyons carved from shifting stone. And then there was Nayru, who placed laws upon the land. Not petty mortal laws in place to measure morality, but universal laws that must be followed. Things like time or gravity. Finally, there was Farore, who breathed life into the newly formed world. She covered the earth in blankets of lush green, populated forests and rivers with wildlife, placed people upon the fresh surface.

The Golden Three then left their completed world to create another, as was their purpose. But they didn’t leave it alone. For left behind was a fourth Goddess, Hylia, tasked with protecting the realm. Hylia had great power, and with it, she created minor deities, lesser Gods with specialized tasks in order to ease her own burdens.

And that, it would seem, is where the story begins.

. . .

In every era, in every time line, the God of Time is known by a different name. Throughout history, these names take on new meanings, tall tales are woven by the chattering of mortals.

In his own era, he is Link. A hero. It is a name spoken with gratitude, with admiration, with appreciation. He’s a Godling walking amongst mortals, mingling with them. Bonding with them. Becoming involved in a way that most deities wouldn’t dare. Then again, he used to be one of them.

As years pass, centuries lost to the relentless flow of time, his status grows. He learns. He evolves. He is no Godling anymore. Some know him as the Fierce Deity, a powerful Protection God not unlike Hylia. Though his methods are more… direct. He’s a warrior, he cuts down his enemies without hesitation. He will stop at nothing to keep his people safe… even if that means becoming lost to his own power.

(Members of the Hyrulean Army, royalty, and those training in the ways of battle will pray for his protection during conflicts.)

To others, he is known as Father Time: a minor deity with dominion over the flow of time. He cannot see the future, but he can change the it by changing the past. With the ability to rewind and create new timelines, he remains a Protector God. Most of the folklore here comes as an explanation for dejavú. It is said that if an action or place feels familiar to you even if you have no recollection of being there or doing it before, that’s Father Time rewriting history for you. He’s watching over your shoulder, creating a timeline for the best version of your future. It’s familiar because you HAVE done it before, he’s giving you a chance to do it over. Don’t miss that chance.

(People from all corners of Hyrule pray to him for luck)

To others, he is the Man of Many Faces. He’s said to be able to change shape at will, walking among mortals and acting as a messenger for the Gods. He relays information that he’s gathered among the land of Hyrule and relays it the deities who cannot- or will not- show themselves. He’s less of a protector in these legends, often depicted as a young man. Maybe even a child. Some accounts paint him out to be stoic, while others view him more as a trickster god. It is said that if you encounter a stranger while on the road, silent and nameless, that the Man of Many Faces is paying you a visit. Treat them with kindness, you never know who’s watching.

(Travelers pray to him for safety on the road and in the wilds, though a lot of prayers are just asking for forgiveness or asking for specific messages to be relayed)

. . .

Time wasn’t always a God.

Hylia had been quiet for centuries, having divided her duties among so many minor deities. These deities kept the balance, though they weren’t involved in mortals’ lives. However, a certain Hylian child quickly caught their attention. Young Link had broken Nayru’s laws so carelessly during the course of his quest to save his world from Ganondorf’s malice. So often. So recklessly. It made more work for the Gods, and they watched him closely, gauging his competency, his resourcefulness, his willingness to succeed.

They were pleased with his skills.

And so, when his quest was over, they thrust him into another.

The land of Termina wasn’t real- kind of Koholint style but also Silent Realm style. It was one big trail to test child Link, baby Time, to see if he’d be able to handle being a God.

Link has no idea that it’s an illusion when he stumbles into the strange land, when he’s faced into a vicious three day cycle, staring down a malicious moon. Countless lives are at stake, people rely on him without even knowing the power he wields. He is a child, he is a grown man, he is no one, and he is the only person who is real.

Throughout this trail, he’s given the ability to use masks to change his shape, including the mask of the Fierce Deity, who he would eventually become. This trail nearly kills him. In fact, it does kill him. The moon crashes into the earth, cleansing this imaginary land in Din’s flames… only for it to be brought back again, for Link to be revived.

Until he gets it right.

There’s no escape. If he fails, he cannot walk away and return to Hyrule. No, he can only retry. Again and again. Until he succeeds and is rewarded with the Godly mantle thrust upon him. The point of the trail was to simulate a world that needed saving, to teach him the fragility of mortal lives, to force him to use time as a weapon, as a tool, to his advantage. Training grounds for a young God.

When he finally succeeds, he comes face to face with the Gods who have forsaken him, and he does not get to deny their plans for him. He can do nothing to fight against the searing pain behind his eyelid as sacred light pours out from him. He cannot escape his fate as he is Marked.

Link spent years in Termina. Depending on who you ask, he never returned at all.

. . .

Some notes!

• He’s kind of the ‘other.’ The newest God, barely considered to be anything of note by those who have existed for millennia. He’s met Hylia. Nayru, Din, and Farore are gone but he can still sense them. Hear them. Sometimes he can speak to them. He knows every deity from every era. He knows legends that have been lost to time, legends amongst Gods. Legends that mortals have forgotten.

• He knows the Legend of the Godkiller. He’s. Terrified of Sky, actually.

• His relationship with other Gods isn’t so great (this man’s so good at holding grudges). And his connection with mortals is what makes him so special! He interacts with them literally all the time, he’s married to one, and some day, he will have mortal children. Or else Twilight wouldn’t exist.

• “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

• He plays his silly little Song of Time, but really, he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t rewind time often since it just makes new timelines for him to keep track of (and there’s already too many, thank you very much). He only does so when it’s life or death. And by that I mean, he only does so when someone dies and he has to bring them back.

• HE CANNOT DIE. If he gets mortally wounded, time flows as usual up until he takes his last breath, then it automatically rewinds to the moment before he sustained the injury. He does not get sick. He does not age. He is the only member of the group that is actually 100% immortal

• This is not a good thing.

• He knows A LOT. More than he lets on, more than he’d ever hope to be able to explain. More than I could ever explain to you, dear reader, as I myself am not a God.

Original Character Sheets!

Sky’s Origin!

Wild’s Origin!

#the legend of zelda #my art #fanart #chain as cryptids au #fierce deity #ocarina of time #majoras mask #CAC origins #look I posted it at 11:58 #I told you I’d get it posted by the end of the day #cryptid time #links meet au

264 notes · View notes

perfectlyoongi · 4 months ago

Text

BTS AS... ANGST ROMANCE TROPES

JUNGKOOK ⠀ᯓᡣ𐭩 UNKEPT PROMISES. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he promised that your love would be told by all the constellations that embellished the sky. he promised that legends would be told of your love, creating envy and jealousy in all who heard them. he promised to love you eternally, with such intensity that even the gods themselves would want to be part of your love. but all of Jungkook’s words were but cascades of empty promises, swept away by the autumn of life, by the aggressive breeze of the marks of time. he promised worlds and galaxies, made you believe that each word had a deeper, purer meaning than what was in the dictionary; but nothing Jungkook said came true when the sun exposed his true heart, too corrupted by the world, too tainted by humans, too destroyed to be able to truly love anyone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“one day, the gods will envy us,” he spoke to the clouds, trying to see in the sky a trace of those who put him in this world, trying to understand what purpose would exist in that moment, in his own words, knowing perfectly well that those days he talked about so much and made you look forward to would never come. “i know i promised you that. i know i promised you that, one day, our names would be written in the sky among constellations and stars, carved by the most beautiful hands of the most talented gods. but maybe all the promises i made didn’t deserve the comfort of your heart or the kindness of my voice. maybe it was my fault for singing the most beautiful poems to you on the scariest nights. but the promises i made to you cannot be fulfilled in this world, in this life, and, much less, by me.”

97 notes · View notes

mlm-writer · 3 months ago

Text

Atish'an (Dorian x M!Reader)

Pairing: Dorian Pavus x Male Elf Inquisitor (trans-friendly) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1306 POV: Second Summary: The inquisitor is having feeling for the Tevinter, but the tragedy of a past lost make it hard to act on those feelings. Tags: hurt & comfort, love confession (?), flirting, Dorian's fabulous moustache, getting together (?), Elven language & dash of angst

A tingling sensation danced like a warm fire over your lips. It had been a while since you had speed-walked towards your chambers, but you still felt it. It was lingering like a ghost, a remnant. You touched your lips lightly, replaying the abrupt kiss Dorian gave you after Mother Giselle accused him of being some sort of bad influence. Maybe he was. You didn’t care though.

Your hand reflexively reached up to the pendant hanging from your neck. The simple jewellery wasn’t worth a single piece of gold, but you had made sure it survived the conclave, the journey through time and the attack on Haven. The thin chain was starting to get some wear and tear from your nervous fiddling and the pendant itself was losing its outer coating. “Zevwen,” you whispered the name into the cold air, like a soft prayer for your long gone lover. It had been a good decade ago, but you could recall the last day you heard his voice crystal clear.

He was pale as the snow in the mountains. The only colour on his visage was the redness around his eyes. Fingers, thin and trembling, lightly held onto yours. His voice had been a mere fragment of what it used to be. “Ma vhenan, you were meant for great things; I have always seen legends in your soul.” Such a convoluted way to tell you to live on, venture away from the clan and carve your own path. You did just that a few months ago; look where that got you.

A deep sigh left your lips, before you rose from where you were seated on the edge of the bed. You tucked the pendant back under your clothes and went on to be the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the random guy who is going to defeat Corypheus. No big deal.

—

The Winter Palace was as grand as the Game was despicable. In the grand mess of schemes and murder, Dorian seemed to have enjoyed himself in some way. You suspected he would mingle well with the nobility. A few times when you passed him by, a young Orlesian woman was trying to woo him. The forbiddeness of a Tevinter man was very popular among the younger ladies. It was somewhat amusing to see Dorian suffer through tactfully rejecting them one by one, without causing a political debacle that would torture Josephine for months to come.

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters. I told her you left already.” Dorian made his grand entrance on the balcony. There was really no hiding from him. “You can thank me later or now, but… you look distracted. Something on your mind?” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. It had been a wild night, but even as an entire empire was on the verge of crumbling, you had often found your mind drift to the way he was filling out that ridiculous red tunic.

“Did you need me for something?” You finally turn your head to really look at him; that was a mistake. Steel grey eyes bore into your soul, searching for answers to inquiries he had not even made yet. You tried to keep your expression neutral, hiding your emotions beneath a blanket of professionalism.

Dorian turned towards you, one arm handsomely leaning on the edge of the balcony. “Oh, I always need you for something.” He gave you another one of those insincere charming smiles; you were both inept at expressing honest emotions. “I would say the question remains whether you need me, but I know you do. Afterall, you would not have extended the invitation of the scheming marquis if you didn’t.” His arm waved around in a grand motion. You hummed and nodded in reply, knowing he would continue talking no matter what your reaction was. “In any case, I know what you need now too. A distraction.” He pushed himself off the stone and offered you a hand. “Dance with me, Inquisitor.”

A smile creeped onto your face. You tried to hide it by looking down, but you knew Dorian had already seen it. Without a word, you took his hand. He pulled you into the empty space on the balcony. The music drifted through the slit between the doors, guiding your intimate dance under the night sky. Josephine had appointed you a dance teacher for tonight, so you would fit in, but Orlesian nobility apparently danced differently from the Tevinter nobility. It was hard to anticipate Dorian’s movements. Maybe it was just Dorian, ever the storm, the chaos, the novelty. Maybe Dorian actually didn’t know how to dance.

Nonetheless, he held your eyes hostage with his. The warmth of his body seeped through your fancy clothes. The sweet scent of his perfume filled your nose. He was everywhere around you, making your heart race and heat rise to your face. You dipped him; matching smiles adorned both your faces. “This is the moment you kiss the evil magister, Inquisitor.” His soft-spoken, alluring words broke the spell. Anxiety creeped up your spine. You pulled him up and let him go. “Or not,” Dorian added without hiding the disappointment in his tone.

You took a steadying breath and rubbed your face. “Sorry… We… We need to talk.” When you looked at Dorian again, he had his arms crossed. He seemed to be waiting for you to continue speaking. It seemed like he had his mind sorted already and it was just you who needed to talk. You leaned over the edge of the balcony, avoiding eye contact. “Please do not misunderstand. I do like you. I just…” The emotions clogged your throat. Dorian slid into the space beside you. He put one of his strong arms across your shoulders, pulling you against him. You leaned against him, finding peace in his presence. Another calming breath helped you find your words again. “I have lost someone dear to me before… We did not even live a perilous life back then and we…” A rough chuckle escaped your tight throat. Dorian waited patiently for your every word. “I thought I would spend my life with him, but illness got a hold of him before our future could. I do not know if my heart is strong enough for another loss like that.”

You allowed yourself to lay your eyes upon Dorian again. For once, the Tevinter seemed to be serious. He pulled you close against him, resting his head against yours. “I cannot promise you will never lose me, but I can promise you that I will make every second of joy worth any possible moment of mourning.” His voice vibrated through your body, lulling you into comfort. “It is not good for the skin to be mourning me while I am still alive.”

You couldn’t suppress the chuckle bubbling up. You turned towards Dorian. He faced you, a confident smirk on his lips, but fear of rejection hidden in his eyes. “You’re right. I should not mourn you while you’re still breathing.” You caressed his face, playing briefly with that wonderful moustache. “I’d like to pick this up without the Orlesian court lurking around the corner, if you’d let me.”

Dorian took your hand and placed a gallant kiss on your knuckles. “I am quite looking forward to what exactly you will be picking up, Inquisitor.” His grin churned your insides in a way that was both frightening and delightful. “Until then.” His fingers lingered on yours as he slowly let go of your hand with a flirtatious wink. Dorian turned to walk away, hips swaying a little with every step he took to leave the balcony. He left you more fearful than ever, but also - for the first time in a long while - hopeful.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

62 notes · View notes

merymoonbeam · 2 months ago

Text

Book of Breathings - Elain - Ankh Symbol

First of all this is tied to my "a tool of creation" theory so you can read that first if you want.

We first learned about book of breathings in acomaf. To nullify the Cauldron.

“When the Cauldron was made,” the carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)

And as the books went on...we got the two half of the books and finally the book is somehow in cc world.

So lets start with this theory post.

The name of the book comes from Egyptian Mythology

The Books of Breathing (Arabic: كتاب التنفس Kitāb al-Tanafus) are several ancient Egyptian funerary texts, intended to enable deceased people to continue existing in the afterlife. The earliest known copy dates to circa 350 BC.[1] Other copies come from the Ptolemaic Kingdom and Roman Egypt, as late as the 2nd century AD.[2] It is a simplified form of the Book of the Dead

This information will be important for later. And in the meantime I made a post about koshei's onyx box connecting to this if you wanna read it.

Okay moving on...

I was looking at acotar coloring book pages and book of breathings drawing is... interesting.

Side not: sarah got the deals for the acotar books and then worked on the coloring book so I think this is important to add bc she LOVES to add hints as little things and whats better to add than a coloring book?

The circles of silver, gold and bronz.

It had been formed of dark metal plates bound on three rings of gold, silver, and bronze, each word carved with painstaking precision, in an alphabet I could not recognize. Yes, it indeed turned out my reading lessons were unnecessary.

I think these might be related to the book names of the new acotar books.

Silver flames

Gold(en) XX

Bronz XX (for vassa maybe? Bc she is a bird of flame...flame and bronze???)

Okay back to the other things.

The star(sun?) in the middle. When you first look at it it is like a sun but when you take into account that the asteri made this book and there is the starborn symbol of 8pointed star...its probably an eight pointed star.

She stared and stared at the Book—as if it were a ghost, as if it were a miracle—and said, “It is the Leshon Hakodesh. The Holy Tongue.” Those quicksilver eyes shifted to Rhysand, and I realized she’d understood, too, why she’d gone. Rhysand said, “I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings who feared the Cauldron’s power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here … and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it.” (acomaf)

Amren turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language—their language: “The glowing letters inked on her back … they’re the same as those in the Book of Breathings.” (hofas)

“I can teach you things you’ve never even dreamed of,” Rigelus promised. “The language inked on your back—it is our language. From our home world. I can teach you how to wield it. Any world might be open to you, Bryce Quinlan. Name the world, and it shall be yours.”(hofas)

Also in the coloring book the ships of the papa archeron have these on them.

Feyre: moon and stars

Nesta: sun?

Elain: eight pointed star 👀

So for feyre it checks out. For nesta...why sun? When she had eight pointed star tattoed on her back(tho now it is gone after the deal with cassian is done) I thought what could the sun mean? The cover of acosf.

That's a sun. Also it is interesting that the High Lord of Day had such a negative reaction to the mask...🤔

And now... eight pointed star for elain? That remains to be seen what it could mean...👀

So thats out of the way and now we will look into the symbol at the bottom and top which I found out is the symbol of Ankh...from Egyptian Mythology.

The ankh or key of life is an ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol used to represent the word for "life" and, by extension, as a symbol of life itself.

The ankh has a T-shape topped by a droplet-shaped loop. It was used in writing as a triliteral sign, representing a sequence of three consonants, Ꜥ-n-ḫ. This sequence was found in several Egyptian words, including the terms for "mirror", "floral bouquet", and "life". The symbol often appeared in Egyptian art as a physical object representing either life or related life-giving substances such as air or water. Commonly depicted in the hands of ancient Egyptian deities, sometimes being given by them to the pharaoh, it represents their power to sustain life and to revive human souls in the afterlife.

Life...soul? We always say how Nesta is death and Elain got the life. Maybe it is more correct than we had thought???

And now the bird on the cover. There is no mention of bird symbol being on the cover of the book.(Im pretty sure of this but if Im wrong...it still stand that the only quote the book of breathings has said with bird is this) So why add bird? The only time Book of Breathings is connected with a bird is this quote:

The other one, the Book hissed. Bring the other one … let us be joined, let us be free. I slid the Book from my pocket, tucking it into the crook of my arm as I tugged the second half free. Lovely girl, beautiful bird—so sweet, so generous … Together together together

Which I totally think it is about Elain and Vassa.

Lovely girl? Elain. There is SO MANY quotes with elain and lovely.

Beautiful bird? Vassa...bird of flame.

And I made a bigger post about this(the other one) if you wanna read it.

So maybe we really need to get the book of breathings back? And Elain will use it to control cauldron?

#elriel #cauldron #book of breathings #ankh symbol #this is kind of mess but I cant deal with making it look that pretty so here you go...

47 notes · View notes

little-mouse-gardens · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere vampire rottmnt au concept/idea

A rottmnt au that popped up in my head (romantic)

Warning: Mentions of violence, blood, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, kidnapping (I do not condone this behavior in real life. I Do not condone anyone to do any of these actions in real life. this is only for entertainment purposes only.

I don’t normally do character x reader writing (mostly because I’m not great at it) I mostly do character x oc stuff.

However I got a random idea for yan vampire turtles au idea?

Thought about this a day or two ago and got some great ideas on discord. Saying thank you and Crediting at @lexiechr and @astral--horrorshow for inspiring some of my ideas!

Reader is an upcoming mystery thriller novel writer seeking inspiration for the next book they want to write who moves into the local village far, far away from the city.

Reader Hear legends about vampires and decided they want to stay a little while longer to write their novel and see what All the fuss is about and one night while they are out and about on some late night errand.

The turtles (separately) spot them and instantly fell in love with their personality, the way their eyes sparkle with emotions and the way they spoke. Making them want to make reader their bride. To love and to cherish them in their castle for the rest of eternity no matter who gets in the way. Suddenly reader notices strange things occurring around them that are quite hard to ignore.

- a local bookkeeper reader was talking to the other day? Suddenly disappears and is later found in the river. The only calling card being the turtles family name emblem carved into the bookeepers flesh. A dire warning to stay away.

- The turtles visiting reader outside their cozy cottage at night, talking with them. Trying to sweet talk them into letting them in and being theirs with equally sweet promises of love and anything reader desires. Though reader is clever enough to not let them in.

- the villagers suddenly being extra nice to reader. Offering them free things to them, letting them have special privileges, life is made easier for them. It’s very confusing to reader, but the villagers know they have to unless the turtles decide to go after them.

Reader, after another string of vampire based murders and disappearances, does their research on each of the turtles and discovers more information about them based on the emblem. Wandering into the local library one late evening and finding a book on them.

The turtles are a bloodline of vampires that dated back for many years.

- Raphael, dubbed as the brawn’s of his brothers and the most feared by the town. Actively known to hunt down and brutally maul people and livestock. Occasionally steals soft things like fabrics and plushies. However he is the only one recorded to have actually spared some peoples life

- Leonardo, the charmer. Everyone in town knows his tricks, he charms and flirts with his victims before delivering the finale blow. Has been known to enter the local tavern when it’s not busy, or even steal from local tailors and jewelers to buy new shiny expensive things to add to his collection or himself.

- Donatello the mad scientist. The second most feared. His methods are simple, grab and torture his prey with his experiments in his laboratory. Villagers will not hesitate to give him the things he needs and or wants for his inventions. Leaving them outside their homes at night in an effort to get him to leave them alone.

- Mikey the artist, he will use his victims blood to decorate the streets with messages to taunt those who don’t give him what he wants. Sweet but not unwilling to cause mass chaos. Every craft store and bakery will always find something missing by morning, and sometimes he will leave different paintings on the walls of the town as a reward for their offerings.

Then, reader leaves the library that night, they are kidnapped by the turtles (separately) and brought back to their castle to be their partner for life. Promising to make them immortal, to give them all the love and joy they possibly can and making the clear vow that they won’t escape them.

However reader is clever and determined to find their way out. Even if it means playing along for now.

- Forcing themselves to Cuddle with raph and accepting his gifts and tokens of affection

- letting Leonardo shower them in compliments, dolling them up in silks and jewels while they compliment him on his attributes

- listening to Donnie speak of his inventions and praising his genius no matter how diabolical it may seem

- painting with Mikey, eating all the treats and snacks he makes them while he paints their portrait

The ultimate sacrifice for reader, other than their freedom, is to let the turtles have a taste of their blood and agreeing to be their partner for life. The turtles (separately) are much more gentle with reader, or at least they try to be.

- they’ll make sure reader comfortable. Each turtle (separately) will praise them for being brave and shower reader with compliments, cuddles, gifts after they finish. Soft blankets, their favorite snack or comfort food, a nice warm bath scented with flowers. Name it and reader can have it so long as the turtles get a taste.

Each yan vampire turtle has a different wing in their castle. Each with a specific set of theme colors and decor. Each place being huge, full of secrets for reader to uncover and secret entrances for them to potentially use so long as they don’t get caught.

Leonardo’s wing = Soft blues. Golds and silvers. Jewels encrusted everywhere you go, silks arranged around as if you were walking through a kings palace. So many drapes and screens that make it very Easy to hide what isn’t meant to be see. All the jewels and fine clothes for him to dress reader in. To shower them with compliments and sweet promises, making sure that his beloved will never want to go looking for the secret passages in the castle

Donatellos wing of the palace = Reader never dares to get to deep into his Lab, lest they find the many remains of the missing villagers turned into something sick and twisted. Donatello prefers to keep his beloved partner close to his side, showering them with endless gadgets and gizmos to impress them. Keep them distracted and their interest away from his sources of food and morbid curiosity that would put victor Frankenstein to shame.

Raphael’s wing = His halls are expansive, almost never ending. A place for the brute of the vampire brothers to wander at ease, lest his rage be incited. Rooms full of soft things and others full of little objects he collects. Objects he will gladly show and shower reader with if it means they’ll stay with him as his bride for all eternity.

Mikey’s wing = All down the halls, throughout every room reader will find art of all kinds. All of which he painted, sculpted and crafted himself with delicate yet skilled hands. He will spoil the, with all the beautiful sights and delicious smells. How can they search for the secret corridors out if they’re too distracted by Mikey’s art and him forcing them to sit for another portrait or sculpture? Or making them try all the fine delicious foods and drinks?

Most of the time reader is able to get alone time, which would be when they leave at night. Though occasionally one will stay behind to watch them, reader mostly spends their time in the ornate guest room or exploring the shadowy halls of the old castle.

Using their clever mystery novelist mind to come up with plans of escape. Writing down things about their captors and potential routes of escape in a journal they keep under a floorboard beneath their bed.Reader is kept in the highest point in the castle. That Overlooks the village and forested mountains below. Reader can only see their freedom from a distance while they bide their time.

Now, if reader managed to escape? All hell would break loose. Reader running for their life and packing any important belongings to get out of town while the loud roars and shouts of the turtles don’t linger too far behind.

- Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to reign destruction upon the village in a blind panic rage. Demanding his beloved be returned to him unless this whole town gets stomped down to the ground.

- Leonardo who is portaling to every corner of the town and nearby woods to get his beloved home safely or even threatening to portal the villagers into the gator infested swamps and wolf infested forests unless someone spills the details.

- Donatello who actively starts torturing people until someone gives him answers on where his darling went to

- Mikey who is literally using his powers to tear apart houses and farms looking for his lover

No place is left unturned, and it wouldn’t shock reader if the villagers came hunting after them to bring them back or snitched about their where about’s and to be honest, reader couldn’t blame them either.

Once and if reader is brought back to them, they are never let out of their sight if they can help it. If reader wasn't smothered before, they’ll definitely be smothered now and the wedding date will be bumped up closer from a year to a few months time.

Anyways, that’s just my random take on it. Hope you guys enjoy!

#rottmnt #vampire au #yandere rottmnt #yandere donnie #yandere donatello #yandere leonardo #yandere michelangelo #yandere raphael #vampire Donatello #vampire raph #vampire Leonardo #vampire Michelangelo #yandere tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #headcanon #rise of the tmnt #tcest dni

197 notes · View notes

thatoneyanderewriter · 2 years ago

Text

Love or Obsession?

pairing(s): young!yandere!nick goode x shadysider!reader, platonic!ziggy berman x reader.

summary: after seeing you with tommy, nick’s not sure what he feels for you is love or obsession. but one thing’s for sure, you’re his.

warnings: toxicity, gore, blood, murder(?), manipulation, obsession, yandere, tommy becomes possessed lol, possession, mentions of sacrificing, mature language.

i wasn’t sure if I should add a spoiler warning considering the three movies have been out for some time now so I didn’t add one. sorry! but enjoy. and don’t really worry it doesn’t go by the plot of the movies anyway(mostly).

You were a camper. And he was a counselor. Okay, you weren’t that young. Only two years younger than he was. You wouldn’t deny having a small attraction for Nick Goode, Sheriff Goode’s son and the king of Sunnyvale.

Though he didn’t have a huge ego like you had expected. In fact, he was down to earth and kind, and kind of introverted. You shared similar hobbies. But you were a shadysider and sunnyvalers didn’t particularly get along with Shadysiders.

It was an normal day, well, a normal Sunny day. You definitely liked nature, but was worn out from the hiking and activities.

“Worn out? Tommy teased. “Kind of yeah, you chuckle. He wasn’t that much older than you yet a counselor. You didn’t even plan on becoming one anyway.

Yeah, you liked helping out with children but wanted a better job and focus on studies at the same time. “Hey, it’s fine, he assured you.”some of these kids never run out of energy.”

“I know right? You chuckle. Neither of you noticed that Nick had been glaring daggers right into Tommy’s skull. He was pissed. More so jealous. That you were the one Tommy was interested in. Everyone knew that.

Including him. And he needed to do something about it. He felt something for you, that he knew for sure. But wasn’t sure on what. Love or Obsession? Could it be both.

It had been passed down from family to family. Sacrifices. Possessions. And it was Nick’s turn. He already had a name in mind. At that moment, he decided Tommy would be the perfect candidate for possession. And kill all. Then you wouldn’t be so interested in him now would you?

Shadyside wasn’t a shithole for no reason. And as everyone suspected, it was a curse. Placed by Solomon Goode all those years ago back in 1666.

You suddenly trip, but Tommy caught you before you fell. You laughed. "You're a life saver. I swear." He blushed. "It's no big deal, Y/n."

You smile. "Well, I mean, i think so. You're so sweet. You know, helping everyone." "That's what a counselor does... He smiles, before rushing over to help with the next activity.

You didn't know then, that would be the final time you would see Tommy before hell broke loose. You grew tired so eventually you fell asleep quite early. Normally, You were up and ready.

When suddenly, You hear screams. You leave your cabin quick. "Y/N! Ziggy yells. "Ziggy! What's happening? You exclaim. "The witch... she possessed Tommy... Ziggy said.

"No... You frown."Not him. Why him?" Ziggy replies,”I don’t know we just have to go! I don’t want you to die!”

“I won’t, just promise me you won’t, and you’ll live, You say, standing close by your best friend. “I promise, she replies.

You both ran for your lives. You always believed that witch shit even though you shouldn’t. Because last summer, you found something you shouldn’t.

Back then you were a skeptical of the Sarah Fier Legend. A curse on Shadyside, Really? You knew the town had bad luck but a curse was out of reach.

Then you found a ritual. someone who worshipped satan or whatever had a place to go for that. And look what you found. The names of each shadyside killer carved into rocks no human could’ve done with their bare hands.

And it seemed quite obvious that Sarah fier was behind it. After all, she wanted revenge. But that was before Tommy’s name had been put into it. Which explained why Nurse Lane attacked him.

You didn’t want to admit it but she should’ve. It would’ve prevented a huge massacre. But you adored tommy. Though oblivious to his obvious feelings for you.

You two ran for a while until you screamed,”Tommy!” He was right in front of you and was about to strike but turned his attention to Ziggy.

“No! You yell and as he was about to you move her out of the way, both of you unharmed. “Y/N, you could’ve died! I can’t lose you! She said.

“Look, we’re both okay? And it was odd, he didn’t even… try to kill me, You say. “I know, maybe his feelings for you were why, ziggy blurted.

“What? You say. “Oh, She said. "You didn’t know? It was so obvious he was in love with you.” “I thought he was into Cindy… You say. “No, she’s into Alice and everyone also knows that, Ziggy said.

"Whatever, we need to hide! He killed Jeremy, Jesse, Stacey and More kids! You yell, sobbing but tried not to. Ziggy nods. You grew up with her, if you lost her, you wouldn't know how to live.

You run with her, her hand in yours, you didn't want to let go. "Hey look! I found somewhere we could hide... Ziggy begins."Fuck, Cindy! Where is she?"

"Where did you see her last? You asked. "I-I don’t remember, we just should find her, Ziggy said. "Also, I locked Sheila in the bathroom." "Good one, You said. "But she could be killed. Plus, I heard something about Cindy and Alice going somewhere involving Sarah Fier."

"Okay, come on! Ziggy said, you run to the bathroom but now you were growing exhausted. "Sheila? You say. "Fucking Shadysider Bitch! Sheila replied. "Did you lock me in here?"

"Y/n didn't, I did... But come on, Ziggy entering the bathroom before Sheila began attacking her. You pulled her off of Ziggy. ”Calm down. there’s a killer and you have to leave or-“

“Of course it’s always a shadysider huh? Sheila said. "I mean, you’re the reason this shit is happening.” “Shut the fuck up, you don’t know what’s going on first of all, You say, laced with venom in your voice. "Second, I think we can all agree none of us want to die so-“

“Hello! Cindy said, and you could hear her voice. "Can anybody hear us?” Ziggy realized like you that it was Cindy and follows the voice. Only to see them under the bathroom.

“What are you guys doing there? You say. “Oh thank fucking god, Alice said. “It’s a long story but… can you help us out? Cindy said.

“Yeah of course, You reply. Ziggy come help me.” “No hesitation, Ziggy said, relief that her sister was okay. You help them up. Apparently Tommy was possessed first there. He killed Alice's stoner friend, Arnie.

"Wow, You said, hearing everything. "I mean, i knew of the whole ritual stuff. But-" "You knew he would be possessed? Ziggy asked. You shook your head."No, But i knew then this witch shit was real."

"Oh."

"In order to stop this, we need to reunite her hand with her body, Cindy said. You nodded. You noticed how she held onto Alice's hand. You hadn't seen Nick, Will, Joan or Kurt in a while. Which made you wonder if they were murdered too.

Nick was acting kind of lately, you didn't know why. But either way, you had to find out. "Well, where is her body? I don't think she had been buried anywhere near here, You point out.

"Y/n's right, Ziggy agreed. "Look, she is, Alice said, moving the book in front of you. You read and looked it over. "Holy shit she is, You exclaimed.

"Fuck, Ziggy said. "Which is why we could bury her hand with her body, we know where her hand is too, Cindy explained. You nodded. "Then what are we waiting for? We could end this curse now."

"Okay, Cindy said. "Come on." Sarah Fier's hand was in the front on fhe table. It soon made sense why she had been buried under the tree where she had been hung. But when you accidentally touched her skeletal hand, you saw everything. You wiped your bloody nose. "I saw the witch. She was pissed. So we we should hurry up."

You grabbed any weapons you could. Even if you didn't know if you could kill or hurt anybody. But before Alice could even kill, Tommy killed her. Cindy angrily lunged at him, and so did you.

Your eyes were filled with tears but you didn't let them fall. "Alice, don't die on us, You said softly. "Please." However, she took her last breath and became another victim. But everyone couldn't mourn for long.

Everyone heard someone singing. "Ruby Lane, You said. "Come on, we have to go." Cindy was naturally reluctant but agreed. Somehow, you got lost from Cindy and Ziggy, who you figured were digging.

As you walked, hoping you could find your way back, you bumped into Nick. "Nick! You're okay! You said, sighing of relief. "Y/N, where were you.. He said, his voice filled with concern. "I... think we could end this curse, You said."

"Y/n, come on, this witch stuff isn't real, he just went crazy, Nick said. "No, Nick, I saw her, She's pissed, I saw the fucking witch! You exclaim. Tommy, the sweet guy you knew, didn't just go crazy. Neither did Nurse Lane. She was right. Of course she had been.

"Hey, this will all be over, Nick assures you, suddenly hugging you, pulling you close while you cried on his shoulder, not seeing the smirk on his face.

Everything was going according to plan.

#nick goode x reader #yandere fear street #yandere nick goode x reader #yandere nick goode #fear street x reader #horror #tw obsession #tw yandere #ziggy berman x reader #alice x cindy #long fic

544 notes · View notes

inaconstantstateofchange · 10 months ago

Note

I come to you on my hands and knees (relevant to the topic right lol) begging for any and all info on Bane, Banites and how it all ties in with Gortash. I love you in advance. <3

Bane and His Cult

Alright, so after twelve and a half hours of research I still don’t fully feel like I have enough, but at a certain point I just need to get this out there, and if there is anything you – or anyone else – would like to see explored in more detail, please feel free to ask!

Note: I love getting asks like this! There is such a vast quantity of Realmslore that having some sort of specific focus for my deep-dives is a huge help, and knowing the topic is of interest to others is a huge motivator. I also greatly enjoy getting to put my training as a historian to work, as there is so much to interpret and archive alike.

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

We’ll begin with one of the most recent conclusive descriptions of Bane, from the 5e Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, an overview of the current world-state of, well, the Sword Coast:

Bane has a simple ethos: the strong have not just the right but the duty to to rule over the weak. A tyrant who is able to seize power must do so, for not only does the tyrant benefit, but so do those under the tyrant’s rule. When a ruler succumbs to decadence, corruption, or decrepitude, a stronger and more suitable ruler will rise. Bane is vilified in many legends. Throughout history, those who favor him have committed dark deeds in his name, but most people don’t worship Bane out of malice. Bane represents ambition and control, and those who have the former but lack the latter pray to him to give them strength. It is said that Bane favors those who exhibit drive and courage, and that he aids those who seek to become conquerors, carving kingdoms from the wilderness, and bringing order to the lawless.¹

This gives us the briefest summation of what draws people to the Cult of Bane: the desire for power and control, often deriving from a sense that they lack exactly those two things. Bane is the quintessential deity of lawful evil, which – if you’ve read any of my previous posts on the sociology of the Nine Hells – bears a striking similarity to Baator itself, the realm of lawful evil, and the place where Enver Gortash spent at least a portion of his formative years.

The majority of the following excerpts derive from 3e, which went into far more detail on the specificities of the Faerûnian gods, including their dogmas, holy days, et cetera. One important point to note, however: any discussions of Bane’s scope of power are no longer accurate, as the time period in reference is about one hundred and twenty years before Baldur’s Gate 3 is set, at a time when Bane had just returned to life – and godhood – as nothing less than a greater god. By comparison, during Baldur’s Gate 3, he is a quasi-deity, having abandoned most of his previous godly power in exchange for the ability to directly meddle with Faerûn – forbidden to the gods by the overgod Ao – and gambling that he would be able to regain his lost power and prestige in so doing.²

The dogma of Bane – that is, the core tenets and philosophies that his followers seek to emulate – is as follows:

Serve no one but Bane. Fear him always and make others fear him even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down those that stand against it in the end. Defy Bane and die — or in death find loyalty to him, for he shall compel it. Submit to the word of Bane as uttered by his ranking clergy, since true power can only be gained through service to him. Spread the dark fear of Bane. It is the doom of those who do not follow him to let power slip through their hands. Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.³

Even were there nothing else to go off of, this would tell us a great deal about the group dynamics of any followers of Bane, whether established church or fragmented cult. Just as in the Hells, hierarchy is everything to proponents of lawful evil. Any cult of Bane would have a strict order to its power structure, and there would be limited – practically nonexistent – tolerance for any questioning or insubordination of that order. To the minds of Banites, such is simply the natural and superior ordering of the world. These interactions are detailed below:

Within the church, the church hierarchy resolves internal disputes through cold and decisive thoughts, not rash and uncontrolled behavior. Bane’s clerics and worshipers try to assume positions of power in every realm so that they can turn the world over to Bane. They work subtly and patiently to divide the forces of their enemies and elevate themselves and the church’s allies over all others, although they do not fear swift and decisive violent action to help achieve their aims.³

The manner of tyranny that Bane holds to is similarly calculated – he is not interested in mere shows of force, but rather in insidious plots that twist and make use of existing rule of law to legitimize tyranny wherever possible. A social tide operated ostensibly within the laws of the land is far more troublesome to fight back against than a simple army.⁴

As far as specific ritual and day-to-day workings of the cult, some can be evidenced here, in broad strokes:

Bane’s clerics pray for spells at midnight. They have no calendar-based holidays, and rituals are held whenever a senior cleric declares it time. Rites of Bane consist of drumming, chanting, doomful singing, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, who are humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before their death by flogging, slashing, or crushing.³

In this sense, rituals seem most likely to be used as a display of power and a test of subservience, leaving lower-ranked members of the cult at the whims of their superiors, expected – as noted previously – to attend to their commands with the same alacrity they would use were Bane himself to speak. The rites themselves are designed to reinforce and glorify the primary aspects of their god’s domain: the tyranny of forcing submission and pain from the weak.

Faiths & Pantheons, published a year after the Campaign Setting supplement, provides a similar description of the rituals of the cult of Bane, along with some intriguing and flavorful additions (noted in bold for ease of comparison):

Their religion recognizes no official holidays, though servants give thanks to the Black Hand before and after major battles or before a particularly important act of subterfuge. Senior clerics often declare holy days at a moment's notice, usually claiming to act upon divine inspiration granted to them in dreams. Rites include drumming, chanting, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, usually upon an altar of black basalt or obsidian.”⁴

As, in the “present day” of Baldur’s Gate 3, Bane has lost much of his foothold on power and his Faith’s old domains, the specifics of architecture of Banite keeps are no longer quite so relevant. However, in times past, when his Faith worked far more openly and held much greater power, the philosophy of Bane was expressed through the architecture of his churches and strongholds:

Tall, sharp-cornered stone structures featuring towers adorned with large spikes and thin windows, most Banite churches suggest the architecture of fortified keeps or small castles. Thin interior passageways lead from an austere foyer to barrackslike common chambers for the lay clergy, each sparsely decorated with tapestries depicting the symbols of Bane or inscribed with embroidered passages from important religious texts.⁴

The social capital of a Faith – a broad term used to encapsulate all followers of a single deity – is often heavily intertwined with the power of its god, a mutualistic relationship that runs in both directions. More social weight behind the Faith means its god’s name and will is conveyed to more people, some or many of whom might apportion some worship or act in alignment with that god and empower them by so doing. More power for the god means more divine actions that can bolster their own image and the reach of their clergy. At its height in the late 1300s, the Faith of Bane was one of the most prominent and powerful, with comparable might to that of a small kingdom.⁵

Something that is important to bear in mind in a setting such as the Forgotten Realms, not only polytheistic, but an environment where the gods being worshiped are demonstrably existent, is that the followers of evil gods are not likely to be obtrusive with the less savory aspects of their dogma. Not only would that, in the majority of cases, do more harm than good to their deity’s long term goals, in the words of Elminster:

A dead foe is just that: dead, and soon to be replaced by another. An influenced foe, on the other hand, is well on the way to becoming an ally, increasing the sway of the deity.⁶

All of this aligns with what we see of the Cult of Bane and its operation in Baldur’s Gate 3. While it does not have the same sway and might behind it as it did a hundred years before, through manipulation of law and carefully applied pressure – of whatever form most likely to yield the desired results, be it threats, bribery, blackmail, or use of hostages – Gortash has enacted a steel web of delicate, ensnaring tyranny across the entire city.

We can even find present-day expressions of the interactions of the cult members, and find that they hold true to what their forebears experienced, further proof of the consistency of lawful evil. A personal note found on the body of a dead Banite guard at the Steel Watch Foundry calls the Black Gauntlet in charge of the Foundry Lab, Hahns Rives, a “disgrace to the Tyrant Lord”, and notes the writer’s intent to “compile a list of Rives’ shortcomings for the Overseers.”⁷ These shortcomings include:

1. Rives failed to reprimand Polandulus for making jokes about Lord Gortash! 2. Rives missed the morning mass to Bane - twice! 3. Rives didn't punish Gondian Ofran when she missed her gyronetics quota merely because she'd lost a finger that day in the punch press.⁷

We can see evidenced here the constant scheming for position and recognition consistent with this manner of lawful evil hierarchy. Both devils and Banites orient their day-to-day lives around how to prove themselves to their superiors, while also undercutting them at any chance they have to prove their own superiority, with hopes of being raised above them.

This is only reinforced further by another text found within the Steel Watch Foundry, Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Its text is not written out for us, but described as such:

A book of adages and precepts for Banites, providing the basic tenets of worship of the Lord of Tyranny, with suggested prayers for common situations. The heart of the book is Bane's Twelve Admonitions, a dozen rules for proper Banite conduct, with punishments specified for failure to comply. The book opens easily to a page with two of Bane's most popular admonitions, number six, the Reprimand for Leniency, and number seven, the Rebuke for False Compassion.⁸

The most likely scenario is that this book was used by the “Overseers” referenced by the anonymous Banite writing of Rives above. The exact position of the Overseers is not made clear, but from context and knowledge of Banite hierarchy, we can infer that they inhabit a place in the hierarchy above both the guard and Rives himself, and that their role is to ensure all those below them uphold the tenets of Bane at all times, never losing sight of his will.

In that context, it makes sense that they would both have a book of specific punishments for specific infractions – rule of law, after all – and that, given the attempted report on Rives, punishments (“admonitions”) for the crimes of leniency and false compassion – and all compassion is false when your conception of the world does not allow for its existence – would be those most referenced. It would be incredibly important to the unity of the cult, as well as to Gortash’s plans, to harshly punish any observed leniency or break from Bane’s law among members of the cult.

Not only would failure to control the situation at the Foundry potentially spell failure for the schemes of Bane’s Chosen, any unpunished step out of line by members of the cult would be seen as tempting others to do the same, a trickle of dissent quickly becoming a flood. Better to ensure that all adherents live in merited fear of the consequence of failure.

After all, it is said of Bane himself: “He has no tolerance of failure and seldom thinks twice about submitting even a loyal servant to rigorous tortures to ensure complete obedience to his demanding, regimented doctrine.”⁴

And, in an appropriately lawful hierarchy, the same rule must apply from the bottom, to the top.

¹ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2014. p. 26.

² Descent into Avernus. 2019. p. 231

³ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. pp. 237-8

⁴ Faiths & Pantheons. 2002. pp. 15-16.

⁵ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. p. 93

⁶ Ed Greenwood Presents: Elminster’s Guide to the Forgotten Realms. 2012. pp. 135-6.

⁷ Rives’ Failures as a Banite. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

⁸ Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

#voidling speaks #asked and answered #realmslore #meta #my meta #bg3 meta #bg3 #bg3 gortash #bg3 bane #enver gortash #bane #baldur's gate 3 #forgotten realms #cult of bane #d&d 5e #d&d 3.5

123 notes · View notes

murderedbyhomework · 7 months ago

Text

Kinda scared to post this but

translation of the last chapter of mlc novel not including the extra here:

If anyone doesn’t want to click into google docs full translation plus an extremely lengthy translator’s note underneath the cut

Main Text:

Di Feisheng had already crossed blades with all the main sects consecutively. Except for the Shaolin1 “Empty of tricks” Abbot who insisted against fighting, and Wudang2 “Purple haze” Daozhang3, who had been in seclusion for a long time, he was nearly undefeated in this world.

25th of August.

From the day they’d plummeted into the sea, till now, 13 years had almost passed.

Di Feisheng arrived at the shore of the East Sea very early, at a little village called “Grave of Clouds”, where everyone in the village was surnamed Yun4. The beach outside the village was very clean, with pearly white sand and an aquamarine sea, its waters reflecting the cloudless blue sky.

As if recalling the weather that year, on this patch of the beach, there was a great reef named “Sun Summoning”.

On some unknown date, an unknown person carved on this rock in unrestrained and majestic handwriting. As of now, miniscule sea conches had buried themselves in the deepest nooks and crannies of the calligraphy, but they could not take away from the magnificence of those winning loops and strong strokes5.

Di Feisheng stood on this very reef, clad in green billowing robes, just as he had all those years ago. In all honesty, he could kill Li Lianhua very easily, but what he wanted to achieve victory over, was not Li Lianhua himself, but Li Xiangyi’s swordsmanship.

13 years ago, he’d won the match, only because Li Xiangyi had been severely poisoned, but even poisoned, he’d still been able to do great damage to Di Feisheng. That move “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”, and the resulting 10 years spent on a sickbed, was engraved not just in his memory but in his bones, his heart6, for the rest of his life.

Today.

Di Feisheng felt that he could even just use half his true power to fight. He was going to kill Li Xiangyi. But not before he could crack his “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”. Besides, that man was crafty and resourceful, and in 13 years, perhaps he’d perfected maneuvers that surpassed “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”.

Di Feisheng stood on the “Sun Summoning” reef, and his heart faintly looked forward to the fight.

Beneath the reef, around 100 people stood there. The heads of Sigu Sect of course came, which among them included Qiao Wanmian. Emei7 Sect sent some young disciples, the gang of beggars sent 3 elders, Wudang Sect had Lu Jianchi, and even Shaolin Temple had some bald young monks arriving.

Among this motley crew of unusual people, a big golden and flashy sedan was what caused people to gape in tongue-tied disbelief8. The walls of the sedan were made of golden satin, which were embroidered with colorful phoenixes. The four people carrying it may have worn simple clothes, but with their arrogant attitude and blank expressions, it was clear that they were highly trained martial artists.

Sitting in the sedan was naturally great Young Master Fang and Princess Zhaoling. Outside, there stood a blank faced scholar, whose face was quite darkly tanned. Confronted with such a strange sight, members of the martial world kept their distance from it, exchanging hurried whispers and theories.

Fang Duobjng actually wasn’t willing to ride the sedan here at all. He’d originally planned to throw his wife off his trail, climb over the wall, and leave, spending the better half of the next year free to do whatever. Unbeknownst to him, his wife knew the tune his soul strummed out9 too well, and, knowing that her husband was about to run away, cheerfully prepared a grand sedan and carriages, sorted out their duties, and came here hand to hand with her ‘good husband’.

Along with this loving couple came Yang Yunchun. He’d been curious about the legend of Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng for long, and had practically been raised on their stories. As a practitioner of martial arts, why wouldn’t he be curious? On the reef, Di Feisheng seemed as imposing as the mountains and the abyss, his impressive aura reaching far and wide10. To Yang Yunchun, this sight greatly expanded his horizons, and he silently praised how people of the Jianghu were indeed different from the ones in court.

And yet even as Di Feisheng stood on that reef for 4hours, until it was past noon, nobody caught a glimpse of Li Xiangyi’s figure.

The crowd began exchanging theories in hushed whispers, Ji Hanfo’s forehead creased, as did Xiao Zijin. Bai Jiangchun had started to quietly order his attendants around, and Qiao Wanmian had unconsciously adopted a troubled expression.

Fang Duobing poked his head out from the sedan, “Why hasn’t he arrived after so long? Li Xiangyi wouldn’t have broken his promise right?”

Princess Zhaoling said quietly, “With an event of this magnitude, if he’s that unique among his contemporaries, a god amongst men11, how could he miss this? What if he’s had something happen to him?”

Di Feisheng stood on the reef, clear in mind and heart. Li Xiangyi was cunning, his late arrival was possibly a way for him to throw him off balance. At this moment, a large horse galloped towards the crowd, and someone called loudly from quite a distance away; “Young Master! Young Master! First Young Master!”

Fang Duobing leaped out from the sedan, brows drawn together, and asked, “What happened? During such an important moment, the Fang family somehow decides to send a messenger to yell and cause trouble, is it not really embarrassing?”

The servant boy had sped here by horse, and his breath was nearly gone, his face pale as he raised up a letter.”Young master, young master, this is a letter.”

Fang Duobing replied, not particularly good-natured in tone, “Of course I can tell that’s a letter. Hand it over!”

The servant boy handed over the crumpled up letter, turning paler by the second in fear, “This is Li Xiangyi’s letter…..”

“What kind of letter has to be delivered right now? Since when was Fang Family matters decided by this respectable one12?”

In a moment of infuriation, the phrase “this respectable one” fell from his lips, and yet Fang Duobing suddenly paused, “Li Xiangyi’s letter? His letter wasn’t sent to Sigu Sect instead? Why was it sent to me?”

He’d already been taking quite loudly, and after he said this sentence, everyone turned to look at him, and surrounded him and the servant boy quickly.

Li Xiangyi’s letter? Why would he send a letter to the Fang Family? And why wasn’t he here in person? Fang Duobing nervously opened the letter, his fingers trembling. The letter was a very commonplace piece of white paper, and on it was very familiar handwriting.

It wrote:

During the battle of the East Sea 13 years ago, this one, surnamed Li, used the advantage of concealed weaponry, and took the chance of a sinking ship to battle with you, yet was unable to emerge victorious. Your bravery and honor is near unmatched in this world, this one’s defeat graciously and gladly accepted. many years have passed, this one has succumbed to illness and cannot recover, blade broken and spirit departed, thereby unable to attend the promise of the east sea, much to this one’s regret.

Fang Duobing stared at that familiar handwriting, and only after a few sentences, he felt cold all over, and he could only see the letter say:

The mountains and rivers ever endure, ever changing. Departure follows departure, and my time has come. Today Xiao Zijin of Sigu Sect has trained with his sword valiantly for many years, and is not inferior to “the bright moon sinks in the west sea”. You pursue not a fleeting moment, not a deer in flight, but strive towards the martial world’s peak. This one has departed, and should you be dissatisfied, please request Sect Leader Xiao to take my place.

Fang Duobing’s face was deadly pale, and he looked at that last sentence:

Li Xiangyi passed on 13th July.

“What did the letter say?”

Ji Hanfo and Xiao Zijin walked over shoulder to shoulder, the crowd scattering out of their way, yet still poking their heads around in curiosity. Fang Duobing swallowed with difficulty, and when he opened his mouth his voice was hoarse.

“He said…...”

Xiao Zijin’s gaze was filled with a fierce light, and he grabbed Fang Duobing by his robes at his chest.

“What did he say?”

He was infuriated beyond belief, how dare Li Xiangyi break his promise to avoid a fight! This shameless type of vile character practically took Sigu Sect’s face and threw it out of the nine heavens13! If he did show up later, even if Di Feisheng didn’t kill him, he would!

“He said….. .he said…...” Fang Duobing looked at Xiao Zijin blearily, “He said he was already dead, so he can’t come, and he asked you……he asked you to take his place.”

“What?” Ji Hanfo exclaimed, and snatched the letter.

Xiao Zijin blinked, startled.

“What?”

“He said he’s already dead, so he can’t come, and that he regrets it a lot……” Fang Duobing mumbled. “He said…... he said your sword skill was very good, better than his, so he asked you to take his place.

The flame of fury burning in Xiao Zijin’s chest shot up into the heavens in an instant.

“What do you mean he’s already dead? Why does he want me to take his place? This is his oath of battle! This is his place! Why do I have to take his place?”

“He said…….” Fang Duobing said dazedly.

“Because you’re Sigu Sect Leader. Di Feisheng…….. is here to duel the Sigu Sect Leader, is he not?”

Xiao Zijin paused, dazed by the words.

“Why didn’t he come? If he came…... If he came I’d have….... returned the position to him….... returned it to him……”

He didn’t know why he said this, but somehow it came out so smoothly and naturally, as if he’d already said it in his heart a hundred million times. Fang Duobing shook his head.

“He said his blade was broken and his spirit was gone……. He’s already…....”

His voice was soft.

“He’s already dead.”

After that, he paid Xiao Zijin no more attention, and shakily walked back to his sedan.

“What is it?” Princess Zhaoling looked at him in concern.

Fang Duobing stood dazedly next to the sedan, and after what seemed like an eternity, the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Say……Darned Lianhua isn’t Li Xiangyi right?”

Next to the sedan, Shi Wenjue had watched as he became near dumb after reading the letter, and he hmphed.

“Pah! This respectable one told you ages ago, Li Lianhua is Li Xiangyi, Li Xiangyi is Li Lianhua, it was you who’d die rather than believing it. What is it? He sent you a letter? Now you believe it? Hahahahaha, he tricked us both so many years, it really is entertaining.”

Fang Duobing shook his head.

“Tell me— Darned Lianhua isn’t Li Xiangyi—“ Shi Wenjue was taken back.

“What is it?” Fang Duobing lifted his head.

“He sent a letter to Di Feisheng, he said…... he said he’s already dead, so he asked Xiao Zijin to take his place in the duel today.”

Shi Wenjue stared at Fang Duobing, as if in that instant, he’d become a piece of rock or a monster. Fang Duobing stared back in dazed confusion.

“Why did he have to send a letter to me? How nice would it have been if he hadn’t sent it?”

If he hadn’t sent it, I would never have known the truth.

Shi Wenjue dumbly looked back at Fang Duobing. All around them were so many people, yet in his eyes, they were but stone. Li Xiangyi was dead? That liar was dead? Why would he die? Wasn’t he Li Xiangyi? Li Xiangyi should’ve been…….undying.

“Was it really because of…… those injuries?” Shi Wenjue mumbled.

“Skies above…... I’d clearly known, yet…… yet I left— Skies above—”

Fang Duobing turned around, grabbing him all of a sudden and lifting him up, and snarled,

“What did you know?”

Shi Wenjue’s smile was more terrible than if he’d started crying.

“The liar has a lot of injuries, really severe old injuries…..probably remnants from when he fell into the sea…….”

Fang Duobing paused for asecond, and he wanted to continue yelling, but instead loosened his grip and put Shi Wenjue down.

“Whatever” He murmured, “Whatever whatever…...” He lifted his head to look at the turquoise sea and cerulean sky.

“This respectable one has known him for so many years, we ate and drank and even relieved ourselves in front of each other, but didn’t I end up knowing nothing about him anyway?”

“Is he really dead?” Shi Wenjue stood back up. “Who knows, maybe he lied, and to avoid coming to the duel, he’d pull something of this magnitude.”

Fang Duobing dazedly looked at the clear sunny sky, and shoke his head.

“He’s not pulling a trick. He might be a liar and a trickster, but he never really did trick anyone much……. not really, it’s just that you and I didn’t understand…....” His voice faded into a murmur.

“We just……. we just never took him seriously.”

On the reef, Di Feisheng had also heard about Li Xiangyi’s last letter, where he requested Xiao Zijin to take his place. After listening, he calmly tilted his head towards the sunlight and flew away, too disdainful to even cross blades with Xiao Zijin.

Yet Xiao Zijin was also unwilling to fight with him. He still couldn’t think it through, as to why Li Lianhua would rather run away than kill him that day, but suddenly died without a trace?

He’d said blade broken and spirit departed. Was it really that back then, when he’d shattered Wenjing, he’d also destroyed his chance of staying alive? Xiao Zijin felt horrified. What if….. what if it really was himself……. who had forced Li Xiangyi to death? He’d wanted him dead with singleminded passion, yet now when he really seemed to be dead, Xiang Zijin felt it was incomprehensible and unacceptable. Li Xiangyi was undying, he was undefeatable. He was supposed to be a godly presence, and no matter how Xiao Zijin treated him, how he spat hateful words or pointed swords at him, he should’ve never faded away and ceased to exist.

How could he just…... actually die? Was it because of the severe injuries he’d suffered years ago? When he’d been unwilling to kill, unwilling to end his own life that day, was it because—

Xiao Zijin’s face paled in an instant— could it be that Li Xiangyi didn’t want the former to kill him by his own hand! He didn’t want Xiao ZIjin to do someone he’d regret, or let Wanmian know he’d tried to force him to end his own life— so he couldn’t die at that moment! If he’d died then, Wanmian would’ve never forgiven Zijin.

So he’d jumped onto a fishing boat, to go…... to another place…... to die alone.

Xiao Zijin’s eyes reddened. He’d died alone, but when he died, was anyone there for him? Was there anyone who’d buried him, who’d given his corpse proper respects?

On the other end, the shore was silent in desolation, interspersed only by a few sobs, which were let out by some blue robed women in the corner. Ji Hanfo’s face was deathly pale to to extent of appearing gray, Bai Jiangchun collapsed to sit on the ground, and Shi Shui walked away silently. Xiao Zijin lifted his head to shout out sternly.

“Where did you die, Li Xiangyi? If you’re alive I’ll find you in person, if you’re dead I need to see your corpse. Even if I have to travel all over the world and overturn every inch of the ground, I will find you!”

Translator notes:

A sect for martial artists. One of the biggest, most prominent, most diverse martial arts sects with one of the longest histories in irl China. Present in reality and therefore referenced in a lot of works of literature as a martial arts sect

Wudang is a fictional martial arts school that’s often present in wuxia works of fiction

Daozhang, which might be familiar if you’ve read mdzs, is a title for very knowledgeable and spiritual people in Taoist believes. It can be extended to be used as a title of respect for any high up member of religion. In Taiwan it is also an address of respect between lawyers

Yun2 云 is the mandarin pronunciation for the words cloud. In the ancient times, entire tribes in China would often share the same surname and live together, and they’d often name the place they settled in after their own surname.

The chinese idiom used here was 银钩铁画 which refers to majestic calligraphy that deserves to win prizes essentially. The characters literally translated are silver, hooks/ticks, steel/metal, and strokes, so I went with half the idiom meaning and half the literal meaning.

Another chinese idiom (the author uses a lot honestly I’m just explaining the ones that I think deserve it) 刻骨銘心, which refers to a memory or experience being so unforgettable, it’s like it’s engraved into your bones and carved into your heart. 刻 and 銘 both mean carve/engrave, while 骨 is bone and 心 is heart.

The sect is called 峨嵋 sect, which sounds perfectly fine in in chinese, and in fact is named after a place in Taiwan, but unfortunately if you translate it literally it’s something like “mountain peak” and “brows” respectively, which sounds weird so I left it as the pinyin instead. Know that I tried.

Yet another idiom (Tengping I admire your literary ability and degree of culture, but please have mercy on the people translating ty <3) 瞠目结舌 which literally translated means to stare unblinking and unwaveringly, with your tongue tied. Mostly used to express great shock or disbelief.

The exact expression was zhiyin 知音, a term which anyone here who likes watching ‘bromance’ dramas will undoubtedly be familiar with. It actually doesn’t mean soulmate completely. Zhiji means something like “the one who knows me and my soul, my self utterly”, with zhi 知 being “to know/understand/comprehend” and ji 己 meaning “self”. Zhiyin therefore means something similar, but yin 音 means “sound”, or in this case “music”, so the meaning of this term would be “the one who understands the music my soul makes”. It originates from a very interesting story between friends Zhong Ziqi and Boya, and to summarize, Boya was a musician and Ziqi his friend, who despite his lack of formal education compared to Boya, could understand what Boya wanted to convey with every melody he performed, which is where the term zhiyin came from.

The idioms in question are 岳峙淵渟，氣象磅礡´. The first idiom 岳峙淵渟 means that someone is as silent as an abyss(淵渟) and as tall and imposing as mountains(岳峙), and is a metaphor for one’s upstanding and noble character (岳峙 part), as well as how great their tolerance is (淵渟). For 氣象磅礡´, 氣象mostly refers to weather, but in this case refers to one’s aura, while 磅礴 means expansive and endless.

Original idiom is 绝代謫仙, 絕代 means for one to be unique among one’s contemporaries, or to be the best within your generation. 謫仙 refers to gods who have been cast down into the mortal world, which extends to being a metaphor for people who are both noble in character and extremely talented, so much so that they seem otherworldly and unattached to the rest of the mortal world. God among men/mortals was the best translation I could condense this into.

The name Fang Duobing calls himself by is 老子 which can mean father, but in this case is a way for men to call themselves if they feel highly about themselves. Essentially it’s a pretty arrogant way to call yourself, because the title in the end can also mean father, so its a bit like someone saying “I’m your father” as in they have authority over/are senior compared to you

There’s a chinese saying 丢脸面which means to lose face. Xiao Zijin essentially wants to say that Li Xiangyi made Sigu Sect lose face so badly they can’t regain said “face” because it's 9 realms/heavens away.

#li lianhua #mysterious lotus casebook #li xiangyi #lian hua lou #di feisheng #fang duobing #xiao zijin #my translations #my writing #mlc novel #lianhualou novel #吉祥纹莲花楼 #if the format is iffy just bear with me i’m sorry #tumblr hates me #and also copy paste fucks up format so bad

65 notes · View notes