#Zealous servant

[ahungeringknife]

Posting original stuff for the first time always feels like the top of a roller coaster just before the drop for me :,D Info links are all at the bottom

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The Zealous Servant | 1 | No place like home

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If not for the feeling of his stomach in his throat Spayar wouldn't have even noticed when they came in for a landing. Two rows ahead someone threw up in a bucket and he was glad they'd waited until they landed. The small cabin started smelling like vomit almost immediately and several of Spayar's old platoon-mates started giving the person a hard time. They thought flying was bad they wouldn't have lasted one week in their platoon!

Before it could get too rowdy or a fight break out the doors were opened and the two flighters who'd brought them here started directing everyone out. Spayar got up and was out the cabin quickly to get out into the open sky. He'd seen it was gray skies from the window in the cabin and now landing the clouds seemed even lower than usual. He went over to the waiting area for his luggage with the rest of the passengers. It was already covered for the year for the rain. On the landing pad the two wyrms were stretching their legs from the flight and one was already starting to curl up like a sleeping cat, its bristles and razor scales and spines laying flat so it looked like a smooth dull gray stone. Porters were running around the back of the cabin, a aerodynamic cylinder with a couple of portholes and two doors, unloading the luggage.

A man he'd served time with knocked shoulders with him, "So you coming back for more fun, Hillsman?" he asked.

"As delightful as losing my gag reflex was-" he paused when the he laughed "- I have other civil work to do."

The man nodded slowly. "That was a dumb question, Fanger," another platoons-man said to the older man. She was Spayar's age. "Spayar's d'aelar to the Prince. You're lucky the Prince didn't pull rank to pull him out sooner." Spayar grimaced. She didn't have to say it so loudly as now some normal passengers were looking at him. It was too early in the morning for him to have to look dignified. He did square out his shoulders at least.

"Right. Forgot that. You talk way too normal to fit in with those stuffy nobles," the man clapped Spayar on the shoulder hard.

It's almost like I'm educated and know when it's better to dumb myself down, Spayar thought but didn't say. "Have to bring them down to my level sometimes," he said with his best charming grin.

"Hillsman?" one of the porters called as they'd brought the luggage from the back. He slipped out from the man's grip and collected his luggage, a back pack and a small carry trunk. He saw the faded buoyancy weave on both items put on there before the flight to keep the weight down and just reconnected the threads. The bag and trunk immediately weighed a third of their normal weight. He picked up the trunk one handed after slinging the pack over his shoulder and walked off the landing platform and down to the post office below.

It was busy already at the Central Office but mostly of postal people, the odd flighter boredly waiting around for their daily trips, or the bustling blue dressed messengers. A few people already were in line to send their mail. He paid none of them any mind. He just wanted to get home.

There were taxis waiting outside the post office after an air travel landing. He just took the first one, a petty cab pulled by what looked like an ostrich if not for a face like a rat and lacking any feathers and was instead brown furred and covered in a smattering of black and dark brown spots. The driver sat astride it while Spayar loaded in. "Where to, fella?" the driver asked.

"Synnerstock street, number sixteen, out in Bellringer," Spayar said and gratefully sat in the taxi.

"Roger," and the driver urged the Pol'cobb forward and they were off at a good speed joining the mostly foot traffic of the city in downtown Assarus.

The trip out to Bellringer was not short and Spayar just leaned back in the taxi and watched the city fly by. He hadn't been home in two years while serving time but everything seemed more or less the same. He'd have to feed the birds as soon as he got a chance. He'd kept in touch with his friends and accomplices via letter or Seeing spell when he could manage but there were some things you didn't want to talk about over something like letters or spell that could be tracked or spied upon.

"Can we go through South Garden?" he asked the driver as they were leaving the downtown area and it looked like the driver was about to take the longer, if more scenic, route along Riverside and Tradesmen.

"Roger," the driver said and took a different street. Spayar thought South Garden was a pretty neighborhood too. Lots of hanging flower baskets or grow boxes in their windows but the cramped quarters of the houses prevented those who lived here from having proper gardens. The awnings here over the street were more colorful than the ones downtown and caused the light on Spayar's dark skin to cast it into different glows.

Entering Belringer was obvious as South Garden's streets were winding but Belringer had been laid out by strict city planners. The roads were neat and straight and there was more room for gardens for the homes, more breathing room for the inhabitants.

"Thirteen was it, fella?" the driver asked over his shoulder.

"Sixteen," Spayar corrected.

"Roger." The taxi came to a stop a few moments later. "This place?" the driver clarified.

"Roger," Spayar said and climbed out of the taxi. He pulled out his wallet and paid the driver and once he'd removed his luggage the driver kicked the pol'cobb off again and they were trundling down the street once more.

Spayar looked at the building he'd been left in front of. The front was a workshop and store front of his father's and behind was a large two story house with a large connected garden hidden by a high wooden fence. The front door was through the garden unless he wanted to pass through the shop front and he really didn't.

Much to his annoyance the garden door wasn't locked. He remembered always scolding his siblings about making sure the door was locked when they left or came home. He bet it was Duren, or maybe Anora. She was the more forgetful of the Hillsman siblings. But it benefited him today as he didn't have to fish his key out and entered the garden. It was full of late summer growth and early autumn sprouts, some tended to in neat rows and others left to grow more wild.

He locked the door as he headed for the front door. It also wasn't locked. He walked right in and Spayar was greeted by the smell of his mother's cooking from the kitchen where he heard her moving around and probably making a mess of things. She was a good cook if not a very tidy one. Spayar closed the door softly and went around to the three quartered walled kitchen. She didn't notice him at first.

At least he thought she didn't. "Duren you just had breakfast, lunch isn't for a while yet, go back to helping your father," she said in her sweet accented Feylian, not looking at him. Spayar smiled to himself. She thought he was his little brother. Spayar hoped he hadn't gotten as tall as Spayar was already.

"I would but Duren's not here," Spayar said giving his mother such a fright she nearly threw the spoon she was using to tend to whatever was on the stove.

Relora spun and let out a cry. Spayar grinned when his mother rushed over and gave him a great hug. She felt slight in his arms when he hugged her back. She was saying something excitedly in Dirnine but Spayar hated to admit he had trouble following. "Let me see you my sweet," she proclaimed in Feylian and stepped back to take his face in both her hands.

"Amma," he said with a tired smile looking at her. She was a dark skinned Dirinnan with a few freckles on the sides of her face and around her temples framing sea glass green eyes. Her forehead was high and her long black hair was pulled back in a neat single pleat and then pinned into bun on the top of her head. Specific scars decorated the middle of forehead of a vertical straight line and two lines curved against the straight parts. Spayar didn't know the meaning of the scars but his mother usually touched them when she prayed. She said something in Dirnine. "Amma, I forget," he complained.

That made her laugh. "You've only been gone two years, Junior," she said, her teeth white in her smile.

"I'm a dumb foolish boy though, amma," he whined.

"Oh, my poor foolish mazuk," she said and fondly patted his cheek. She kissed him on the cheeks and between the eyes. "You just arrived?"

"Yes. Took a flight from Fort Fetari here in the predawn."

She frowned, "Isn't that dangerous."

"Mail wyrms fly in the dark, amma, it was fine," he said hoping to alleviate some fear. "I want to get some sleep before lunch? Before I have to get to work," he sighed.

She laughed softly. "And you work so hard, Junior," she said gently. "But try to take a few days off hmm?"

"I'll see how long I can avoid the Prince then," he told her like a secret and she didn't look impressed by that at all knowing such a thing was impossible. "I'll get that nap in at least."

"Alright. I'll have Duren wake you for lunch," and she hugged him one more time. "You can tell us all about your time served over lunch."

"Sure," he tried not to groan. He would much rather forget it if he was honest.

She let him go and Spayar scooped his trunk back up and went upstairs. Down the hall his door was opposite his sister Calli's and he could hear her in her own room. He went into his own room. It was as he left it. Bed made, things organized and put away, everything filed where it was supposed to go. His bookshelf was orderly and his mother had come in here a few times to refresh the room as there was no dust and it didn't smell like old cleaning. Two windows let in mid morning light despite the curtains and made the room very bright. An old mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling in the corner. He set the lightened trunk and back pack down and went over to mobile. Lightly he reached up and touched the fifth planet on the mobile and connected an old weave on it. He half expected it to have faded but was pleasantly surprised it was still there. He didn't know why. Tassa had made this weave and she was the strongest weaver he'd ever met.

While nothing about the room changed it got considerably darker in the room as the magic sprang into life over the windows as an invisible spider web, not allowing as much light in as before. Perfect for when you wanted to take a nap during the day or if you were hung over from the night before and the suns were just too much.

Spayar didn't even bother taking off any of his clothes except his boots, coat, and belt before face planting onto his bed with a groan.

He was woken by a small, dense, body throwing itself onto him. He started awake as arms wrapped around him. "De-de, time to wake up!" Duren cried at the top of his voice making Spayar's ears ring.

"I'm awake," Spayar said with all the affection one would have for a problematic isopod. It wasn't that he didn't love his baby brother he just did not love being jumped on.

"Amma said it was time for lunch," Duren said brightly.

"So I surmised," Spayar said and tried to sit up, impossible with a small child clinging to his waist. "Duren-- we can't go to lunch if you don't let me go."

"But I like hugging you," Duren said looking at him with the same green eyes their mother had. "I missed you."

Spayar softened despite his desire to be annoyed. Duren had gotten bigger since the last he'd seen him, both taller and wider. He had to be what, seven? Eight? He thought it was eight. Still chubbier than a normal eight year old with baby weight. He was cute so Spayar didn't mind. "Yeah but I'm hungry. Aren't you? Working with dad doesn't work up an appetite? I should tell him he's slacking-

"No! We work a lot," Duren insisted and climbed off Spayar. Spayar got up and didn't mind when Duren grabbed his hand. "You didn't come through the shop," he said as Spayar left his room, Duren in tow. He didn't hear Calli in her room and figured Anora was at school.

"Doo'suvf talks," was all Spayar said, speaking of their father. "And I wanted to come home and sleep."

"Hmph," Duren wasn't impressed and Spayar let go of his hand so they could walk down the stairs. Duren trundled down the steps two at a time, hopping off the final three steps, "Amma! I got Junior," he proclaimed.

"Duren I've told you not to jump from the higher steps," Relora scolded Duren who pouted at her, puffing up his cheeks and lips. "It's dangerous, you could hurt yourself."

"But I didn't amma," Duren said.

Spayar left his mother to scold Duren and wandered towards the dining room and-

Sitting next to his sister was someone very out of place in a family home of dark skinned Dirinnans. Or it would have been if Von hadn't spent most of their childhood sneaking out of the Palace to come have meals and sleepovers at Spayar's. "You," he pointed at Von sitting next to Calli.

They both whipped around at his voice. Von pointed right back. "You. What are you doing here?"

"I live here!" Spayar cried and Calli giggled into her hand. "What's your excuse?"

"I was in the area," Von said with that annoyingly handsome smile of his that made him like a sunbeam.

"Lemp's ball sack you were," Spayar said and sat across from Von at the table. Vondugard Le'Acard was Spayar's best friend and the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. All fair golden skin and hair with the most intensely cerulean eyes he'd ever seen. When he smiled he had dimples and wore his hair at a fashionable length around the top of his ears with a long front fringe that today he had pinned back with a gaudy silver unicorn rampart clip. Spayar didn't usually go for white guys but Von was an exception. As he was with everything. He was also a Crown Prince of the Alliance.

"He always comes and has lunch with us on Siscest," Calli said thoughtfully, rightfully snitching on him immediately.

"Since when?"

Calli just shrugged. "A while? Probably since your presence was missed in the Palace."

"I get no peace with the two of you together," Von said, hand to his forehead. Calli giggled. Calli looked a lot like Spayar but took more after their mother than their father with a high forehead, graceful nose and delicate hands. She was also lighter skinned than Spayar like their father. Spayar got Relora's nearly eggplant dark skin while Calli was simply a rich deep brown. They both also had their father's black eyes. Duren was the only one who'd gotten Relora's green eyes. She and Von were the same age and he was suddenly reminded that meant they've both start their own time served this year.

Duren joined them then, sitting next to Spayar and flopped his head on the table, thoroughly chastised by their mother. "You never mentioned you visited so often," Spayar said to Von.

"Was it so important? You know writing long letters bores me," he said dismissively. Calli giggled again.

"Yeah well I--!!" Spayar ended in a yelp when he was nearly lifted, seat and all, up into the air from behind. "Doo--im, stop," he complained to his father who had enveloped him and was kissing him on the face. How utterly embarrassing.

His father released him with a deep laugh and patted Spayar's shoulder hard. "You snuck around the side then, Junior?" he asked.

"I'd rather die than let your apprentices see you do that," Spayar said, deadpan. Spayar Senior was a handsome man with a shaved head and was growing his beard out for winter. Spayar knew his father could look incredibly intimidating but when he smiled, like now, it was utterly charming and disarming. He wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off his wide shoulders and strong arms covered in scars too imprecise to be anything but weapon wounds. Spayar looked a lot like him except Senior's face had a more firm jaw and a wider mouth. He was missing a few teeth but had replaced them with gold making his smile flashier than even Spayar's.

"Ah but it is my job to embarrass you as your father," Senior said with a charming smile that Spayar could mirror, his accent less pronounced than Relora's.

"At least wait until after lunch," Relora appeared with a pot of rice and Spayar perked up. He hadn't had rice while serving time.

Senior said something in Dirnine Spayar parsed out as something like 'yes, my beloved' and was more horrified at how bad his home language was just after two years serving time than he was at his parents being lovey dovey. Senior sat at the head of the table as Relora went back into the kitchen and brought out a full baked goose stuffed with grains and vegetables from the smell.

"Now where is Anora, school should have-

"Amma, dooim, I'm home!" the front door crashed open when the last Hillsman child came home from school for lunch hour.

"You come here willingly every week?" Spayar asked Von over the commotion of Relora sweeping over to Anora who was excitedly talking about school. Spayar had to put up with this because he loved his family but Von was the crown prince.

Von just smiled his beautiful smile. "It's much more fun than having lunch with my sister." For a moment his face turned brittle but only because Spayar knew what he was looking for.

"Which one? The idiot or the bitch-

"Oooh, de-de that's a bad word," Duren said next to him.

"Junior," Senior said like a warning even as he was carving the goose.

"It's not bad. It's just a grown up word and I'm a grown up now," Spayar said and stuck his tongue out at Duren who did the same to him, making an extra gross face as he did to make Spayar snicker.

Anora and Relora arrived at the table with Anora being a whirlwind of excited voice and hands. She was talking to Relora non-stop even as Relora got her into a chair. She looked a spitting image of their mother with a lower forehead and Senior's dark eyes and skin. Her long wavy hair was done in braided pigtails today. She was completely oblivious to Spayar and Von at the table as she started talking to Calli next. Senior put some goose and stuffing on Spayar's plate.

"Are you just staying for lunch?" Spayar asked Von while three other conversations were happening. It was a pretty typical meal for the household and for Dirinnans and cross talk was to be expected.

"We could hang out," Von said as he was served.

"I need to feed the birds," Spayar scooped some rice onto his plate.

"Right. I forget you do that."

"You talk to our friends?"

"Everyone's still alive if that's what you're asking."

"Tassa around?"

Von grimaced. "I dunno. You know she isn't fond of me."

"I think you underestimate her," Spayar said casually. "Is she?"

"I haven't seen her. We don't run in the same friend group."

Right, you two don't talk unless I'm around, Spayar thought with an internal sigh.

"-- Junior? Have you been here the entire time?" Anora suddenly asked him.

He looked at his little sister. Middle child with way too much energy. "Yes," he said patiently.

"And you just sat there!"

"You were talking to Calli- oof," he grunted when Anora hugged him tightly. "Uh-huh," Spayar said when Anora started talking to him rapidly about school and math. Spayar was the only one she could talk about math too since he was the only one in the family any good at it other than her. Not for the first time he reminded himself to talk to Senior about getting her an apprenticeship with an alchemist. She was old enough. He was only half following though as he scooped lunch into his mouth, giving indications he was listening. Anora rarely wanted a full conversation, she just wanted to tell you about what she was excited about and she was excited about many things.

Anora had him captive the rest of lunch and he half listened to everyone else's conversations while keeping up with her telling him about algebra. Calli and Von were having a pleasant conversation about Calli's new job she was starting this week at a watch maker, the last one she'd had at a florist had fallen through. Senior was talking across the entire table to Relora in Dirnine that Spayar was vaguely aware was about work. Senior was also talking to Duren about what they'd be doing after lunch.

He was so glad to be home.

Von was sitting on Spayar's bed while Spayar was digging through his carry trunk. The sounds of the city outside were dampened and even the light seemed faded and diffused in the room as the purple sun of the mobile glowed softly with magic. The room was effectively sealed from outside viewing, hearing, or scrying by all but the most powerful magic users. Von was leaned back casually on one hand waiting for Spayar to find what he was looking for.

"You really going to feed the birds today?" Von asked as Spayar found what he was looking for.

"Mom wanted to go shopping. I volunteered," Spayar said peeling back a final layer of clothes. It was a simple locked box about the length of his forearm that he picked up and put on his desk. There was no key hole or any sort of actual mechanism to open it, where a key hole would be just a solid piece of metal. To open a safe box like this you needed to be a mettalurgist. It just happened metal ran in the family. Needing no spell or weave Spayar smeared the solid iron down from the lock opening and released the lid from the bottom. He opened the box and pulled out a letter in a sealed envelope from among the items inside. The envelope was sealed with magic that would also make them explode should someone not the intended person open them. The intended person being Spayar himself.

He opened the envelope. "From Councilman Milo Theron," he said as he handed the paper inside to Von. He closed the safe box after.

"Who?" Von asked as he took the papers.

"Sinso's friend in Galinsum," Spayar said as Von unfolded the letter. "Councilman, very high up. Sinso was working on something in secret along with trying to figure out the perfect formulae to make someone vomit on command," he ended with a sigh as Von started reading.

"Sinso was your contact in the Arm, right?" Von clarified.

"Yes. If you asked him I was his little stooge," Spayar said as he put the safe box up on a shelf where it had gone before he'd served his time.

"You're so good at it though I'm not surprised," Von teased him and Spayar rolled his eyes. Von read the letter and his brows slowly furrowed seriously. Spayar sat in his desk chair while Von read the multiple page letter. "Hmm," Von said after a few minutes. "That sounds quite like treason if I was the Governor of Galinsum," he said casually.

"So he fits right in with us," Spayar said seriously.

"Who's the Governor there again? Remind me," Von said even as he read the letter again.

"Jengin Albera," Spayar recited dutifully.

"Right, the 'immortal alchemist'," Von said distractedly. "He's not Feylon is he?"

"No."

"Have we met him?"

"I don't believe personally. He does attend some of your mother's balls and galas though," Spayar said. "We've been introduced at the very least."

"Hmm," Von was very seriously reading the letter again. "Never thought I'd see proper war alchemy."

"It's potentially quite devastating," Spayar said.

"Have you seen it?"

"It was something Sinso was working on yes. Him and other alchemists serving in the arm, away from Galinsum and their pacifism."

"Can you get a message to Theo reliably?"

"He accepts mail."

"Is it screened?"

"He's a Councilman, I imagine not," Spayar said thoughtfully. Von got up from the bed and came to the desk. Spayar turned around and shuffled some papers out. "Ink or pencil?"

"Ink well," Von said and Spayar knew what he was going to do. If Spayar knew Von any less he'd think it was a gross over display of power but Von's entire family was a gross over display of magical ability. The tips of Von's fingers glowed orange and became sharpened like needles and Spayar watched him stitch together a weave in moments and a few complicated hand motions. Then Von put a glowing finger to the page and ink jumped out of the well directly onto the paper. Von didn't have to speak or even write it, the words were transcribed directly to the paper at the same speed as his thoughts. He'd seen Von do this enough times to not be overly impressed but the speed he could construct a well spoken letter was more impressive than the magic.

Von paused, lifting his finger from the paper, just to check something in the letter Theo had sent before putting it back down and finishing the letter. Then he tugged on a piece of the weave and it snapped closed into the perfect size to fit into an envelope. "I'll send it off when I go shopping," Spayar said looking for an envelope.

"Pay for expedited. I want it in his hands tomorrow morning," stepping away from the desk.

"Of course," Spayar said as he hand wrote the staffs of the address with a pen.

"If Theo is courting me what's the odds other Councilmen are courting my siblings?" Von asked quietly.

"Sinso made it sound like most Councilmen aren't interested in treason for personal gain."

"Then why is Theo?" Von said and looked at the letter again. "And why me?" he was particularly surprised by that one.

"You have a d'aelar," Spayar said throwing his arm around the back of his chair to turn and look at Von.

Von whipped around, blue eyes wide for a moment, and then he smiled slightly. "I do," he said smugly. "Don't remind Teldin," he added. Spayar laughed. "Was that all the work for today?"

"Yes," Spayar said standing, grabbing the envelope.

"Good," and Von used a spell to light the letter on fire. It burned to a crisp into ashes but didn't even mark his perfect hand.

"You made a mess in my room," he said, looking down at the ashes.

"You'll forgive me," Von said with a cute smile like he never thought Spayar wouldn't. And damnit if he wasn't right. I'd forgive you anything, Spayar thought and it was both fond and frustrated with him. "So, feed the birds?"

"You're coming?"

"Probably not. It bores me. And I'm sure my minders are missing me-

Spayar put his hand to the bridge of his nose, "Of course," he said, squeezing. Von just snickered. He raised his hand and disconnected the weave around the purple sun of the mobile and light and sound returned fully to the room.

"Now that you're back home we can start work properly," Von said even as Spayar brushed the ashes up to throw them away.

"Again," Spayar sighed grabbing his rain coat and hat for the low hanging clouds outside.

"Yes. Again," Von said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I have ideas but I was waiting for you."

"Hopefully not on everything?" Spayar asked as they left his room.

"No. Just some big plays."

Calli's door opened as they were walking down the hall. "Junior," she called.

"Yeah?" he called back.

"You're going shopping for amma right?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming. Amma doesn't trust you not to take six years to do the shopping."

"I don't take six years," Spayar said with a slight roll of his eyes. But yes he did take longer to do the shopping only because he got the shopping done quickly and spent the rest of the day feeding the birds or people watching.

"Let me grab my coat," and she vanished back into her room.

"Still can't believe you came here every week to have lunch," Spayar mumbled to Von.

"Only for the cooking. I wouldn't bore your family with royal or court trivialities," Von said. "Even if Calli has raked me over the coals about it," he sighed.

"Why?"

"She has it in her mind-- ah Calli, is that the coat I got you?" Von asked, changing topics when Calli came out wearing a new rain coat of the sweetest pink color Spayar had ever seen, the outside shiny and waxed to keep the rain off.

Calli beamed even as she was pulling her long wavy hair up into a high tail. "Yes."

"You bought my sister a coat?"

"Seemed polite," Von shrugged.

"It was for National Day," Calli said quickly. National Day was a country wide holiday that marked the official first day the first Asuras, Sinou, had taken the throne almost two thousand years ago. It happened in high summer when the moon flowers bloomed along the Meltong. "He got Anora one too and Duren new rain boots."

"Didn't get me anything," Spayar complained.

"You were four provinces away," Von groaned. "What was I supposed to do?"

"I dunno, visit?" Spayar groused even as they headed down the stairs. Behind him Von was saying some groveling type of apology while Calli giggled. Spayar wasn't really upset but it was always a good time to tease Von. The prince needed it. "Mom, do you have your shopping list?" he called once down on the first floor, not quite sure where Relora was.

"It's on the table," her voice called from the sitting room.

Spayar scooped it up. "So you're coming," he pointed at Calli, "and what are you doing?" he pointed at Von.

"I'll find something to do. We're having a get together at Red Garter tonight, coming?"

"Maybe."

"Can I?" Calli asked.

"No," Spayar said immediately.

Calli rolled her eyes. "Why not?"

"Because it's a drug bar," Spayar said keeping his voice down so Relora didn't hear. He saw the tips of Calli's ears turn red. Unlike Spayar most of his siblings were quite sheltered and being raised by immigrants they didn't always have the same proclivities as typical Feylon. Especially at places like a bar. Also there would be boys there and Spayar couldn't get high or enjoy himself knowing some leech might touch his sister.

"I- fine," she huffed, cheeks puffing out slightly. She went and gathered up the shopping bags.

"Red Garter's not that bad," Von said quietly as they followed her.

"No," Spayar said again. "Unless you want to be the one keeping an eye on her?"

"What? No. She's your sister."

"Exactly. No."

"Will you two stop whispering and come on," Calli groaned. "The meteorologists said the rains were starting today."

"They say that every day starting the middle of J'dorr," Spayar said.

"And aren't they right?" Calli asked.

"Eh, sometimes," Spayar allowed and did follow Calli out. The clouds did seem much lower than earlier though so Spayar put the envelope into an inside pocket of his coat and put his hat on over his wavy hair.

"You didn't bring a rain coat Vondugard," Calli said as they stepped out from the porch and into the garden.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Von said cheerfully. "You know the rain doesn't bother me."

Calli just looked confused. "He's a warlock, Calli," Spayar said, unimpressed.

"So?" she blinked at them both even as a slight misting started to fall from the sky. She pulled up the hood of her rain coat. Von just once more coated his fingers in magic and made a complex weave. The rain began beading up on an invisible barrier he'd woven around himself. It was wide enough that any large enough drops didn't even touch him and just fell harmlessly off to the side.

Calli looked at Spayar, "You can't do that."

"I don't want to do that," Spayar huffed. "Show off," he told Von and headed for the street.

"Well what's the point of being Le'Acard if I can't show off sometimes?" Von said following after him. "And this is where I say farewell my Hillsman friends," he beamed all sunshine on a miserable day. Spayar hated his fool heart for fluttering. He'd known Von how many years and he still got all silly?

"Don't get into trouble," Spayar said.

"Me? I would never," and with a wave he walked off.

Spayar and Calli stood there for a moment watching him walk off, a spring in his step. "He's such a pain in the ass," Spayar declared and then turned and walked the other way. Calli laughed into her hand as she followed after Spayar.

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[pupmusebox]

Tag dump 5/?

{ Dragon Specialist and Slacker - Drayton } { Fiery Trainer and Cook - Crispin } { Calculating with Contracts - Azul Ashengrotto } { Fairest Looking of All - Vil Schoenheit } { Serious Minded and Dedicated - Riddle Rosehearts } { Calm and Respectful Fae - Malleus Draconia } { Shut-in and Tech Specialist - Idia Shroud } { Lazy and Imperious Lion - Leona Kingscholar } { Soft-spoken and Courteous Eel - Jade Leech } { Chaotic and Unpredictable Eel - Floyd Leech } { Focused Wolf - Jack Howl } { Wealthy and Generous Housewarden - Kalim Al-Asim } { Vice Housewarden and Servant - Jamil Viper } { Caring Attentive and a Mystery - Ortho Shroud } { Upbeat Quick Learner and Mischievous - Ace Trappola } { Earnest to be a Respectable Mage - Deuce Spade } { Vice Housewarden and Mild-mannered Parental Figure - Trey Clover } { Casual and Carefree Roomreader - Cater Diamond } { Runt of a Hyena - Ruggie Bucchi } { Quiet Dainty and Ephemeral Beauty - Epel Felmier } { Vice Housewarden and Aesthetic Appreciator - Rook Hunt } { Vice Housewarden and Overseer - Lilia Vanrouge } { Cool and Collected Fellow - Silver } { Livewire and Zealous - Sebek Zigvolt } { Dramatic and Stylish Professor - Divus Crewel } { Feathery Headmage - Dire Crowley } { No. 11 of The Fatui Harbingers - Tartaglia/Childe }

[tenth-sentence]

Conseil was my servant, a faithful fellow who accompanied me on all my journeys, a brave Dutchman I had great confidence in; he was phlegmatic by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit, showing little astonishment at the varied surprises of life, very skilful with his hands, apt at any service, and, in spite of his name, never gave any counsel, even when asked for it.

"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" - Jules Verne

[fangsandfeels]

Playing Veilguard and making it everyone's problem

I am going to rant, and I will rant a lot, and there will be spoilers, so if you're not afraid of them and the game criticism, buckle up.

Elves and their gods

I am absolutely fucking livid about how Veilguard handles the Dalish and elves in general. The events of Trespasser made it clear that the elves started flocking over to Solas, including the elves working for the Inquisition:

After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor's story about Fen'Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf's forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned.

Solas had multiple spies working for him during Trespasser, and If I remember correctly, there was even a note, left by one of the elves - they were anticipating the great change and the return of the elven glory. Anyways, the established fact is that: elves learned that the stories about their gods were true and one of them now was going to restore the world as it used to be. At least, this is how they interpreted it (maybe, this is the version Solas didn't debunk) and so they started following him.

You might think, the Inquisitor and their allies are going to have a huge problem with breaking it to elves that their chosen leader isn't going to make things better and that their gods don't love them. Especially, if the Inquisitor is a human or anyone who isn't an elf. You'd imagine any attempts will end in failure because of course elves aren't going to listen to outsiders trying to explain their own culture and gods to them. You'd imagine that their trauma caused by centuries of oppression and discrimination will make it impossible for the Inquisitor and anyone else to make them see the truth.

You'd assume anyone who tries to find and stop Solas will be sabotaged every step of the way, feeling themselves horrible for having to clash with people desperate for a chance of a life without injustice - even if it means burning the rest of the world down.

You'd imagine that they will only change their mind if/when they see the harm done by Solas' actions and get to witness their gods true intentions by themselves - which would lead to a massive crisis of faith and schisms happening between elven tribes and groups.

You'd imagine will get all this incredible drama in the Veilguard, with elves initially resisting the group's attempts to stop Solas, then trying to pull themselves together after the revelation. You'd assume there will be zealous groups doubting Solas (because the Dreadwolf is a liar and a deceiver) and intending to use him to actually free the elven gods. You'd think this is how actually some of them get out.

But, NOPE. Not only Solas ends up working alone, with none of his followers throwing themselves at Rook and the party to buy him time, but also all elves now hate Solas because...Varric said so?

You meet a group of Veil Jumpers (elves devoted to exploring their ancient culture and history, learning more about their gods and reclaiming their heritage) and their leader instantly calls Solas an asshole. Based on WHAT?

I get it, Varric had met them before and told them that Solas was Fen'Harel...

(needless to say if you expect players to find and read other media in order to make sense of the events in the game, you are doing something wrong)

...but why were they so fucking calm about it, instantly eating up the "yep, he's bad" version? Even if the Dread Wolf is vilified in the Dalish mythology, wouldn't they be curious about what that means? Wouldn't they have gotten tempted or excited by the implication that other gods exist too? They weren't told the full story - why the fuck did they instantly accept the "Solas is an asshole" narrative? Especially when Solas comes with a promise of a world for the elves like it was meant to be?

WHY?

The Veilguard has no response for that. I guess, Dalish never cared about their history and traditions, and city elves were dandy about Alienages and oppression, so they easily believed some randos over a literal god promising a new, better world.

I don't even play Dalish, but I love their plotline and arcs - and I was bracing myself for some downright painful choices and conflicts during the next Dragon Age. But it felt like the writers couldn't be bothered with developing such a nuanced narrative, so they just waved it all down with "Nah, elves are chill now and they never really cared about their gods in the first place".

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Your husband has been deeply troubled as of late. In an attempt to guide him from his distress, he brings a concern of his to light that only serves to tip you into your own fears.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫��𝔰: Nonsexual nudity, AFAB implied w/ usage of "breasts," the title "wife" is used. Angst and some fluff. Small hints of morally gray reader. She's simply in love with her demented husband.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: 5.6k words. Just something short and sweet; I had to write a comfort fic for our favorite, pretty war criminal after the season finale. But I may have just made it worse actually. Not proofread.

It is all teetering into chaos. Suspended along the edge of a great precipice. The depths of which you cannot spy the bottom of. The worry, the agitation looms heavily over the castle. Over the entirety of King's Landing. Buzzing and constant like the bothersome scattering of flies. And where there are flies, death is near. You see the dread in their eyes. The fearful whispers that are passed between the bowed heads of the servants as they work; the horrified, faithless gossip casted about by the socialites and bureaucrats as they traversed the halls in secretive conversations that are much louder than they believe. 

The tensions have only been mounted with the news that the Blacks have come into the resources of new dragonriders, the scales are looking as though they are tipping in their favor. It has all strained and on edge. With the order of the city's gates having been closed by Aemond's decree, the smallfolk have been up in arms against the order. Cries of outrage chanting and rising up from the masses in pleas against their Prince Regent. Protests that warn of starvation, proclaiming that he is cruel and uncaring. Not even the assured decimation of Sharp's Point by the scorching breath of Vhagar's fire has done anything to calm the storm brewing. 

The tides are still swelling. Churning and tossing to soon lift from above and collapse down upon all of your heads. The toll of it weighs heavy on all of you like the promise of damnation. Hope is dimming. The support it once offered giving underneath itself, curling in on its own body like a beheaded serpent. But it is the man who bears it all who is in the throes of violently crumbling underneath the burden of this war. 

You see it tearing at him. Pushing down on the once prideful set of his shoulders, pressing down upon the crown of his head so that it no longer sits perfectly high in unwavering confidence. The light of the zealous fire that once blazed within his eye has dimmed. Starved and suffocated; reduced to smoldering flickers light that mean to lash out in his near crazed attempts at preserving what little footing his still has in this war. 

It is almost as though he is dying right before your eyes. The final wild struggle of an animal caught between a set of fangs, claws and teeth lashing in the hopes to wound its bigger opponent. You have never seen him in such a state. The vulnerability that bleeds through the thin cracks in his armor worry you; unlike any sort of raw emotion that he has ever displayed before. It is fear. And it is almost unsettling to see on the face of your fearless husband. 

He is breaking directly before you, and now the only optimism you have of keeping him whole comes from the pressure of your own hands. 

His own mother has turned him away. You see it in the way she stares at him. Observing him as though he is a stranger, a monster wearing the flesh of her child - as though her name is not marked on this war just the same. It makes your skin prickle. Body flushing from heat and contempt as she silently disowns the very man who raises her banner, and fights in the name of his house. No one else will offer him solace as he labors underneath the crushing weight of the kingdom. Not his mother, not his sister, not the advisors in the king's counsel. It pains you to see him breaking. To see him scrambling to orient himself and find a way to victory with hardly an ally to assist him. 

So utterly lost. 

That is how you find when you slip into his apartments in the night. The candleflames flicker about the dim space in drops of amber, serving as your only guide to traverse the room in search of him. His bed and his writing desk are vacant of his presence. The latter cluttered and askew with parchment and documents, quills, vials of ink, and seal stamps strewn about its face. But it is the empty goblet of wine is what concerns you the most. He does partake in spirits quite casually, at supper and often when he evaluates the latest strategies before turning in for bed. You have yet to ever see him lose himself to the influence of the drink. Only indulging as a means to relax himself; a subtle rosy hue to dust his cheeks, but not enough to become untoward or dull-witted by its effects. 

But the circumstances now are so much different. You can only hope that he has not turned to it in the attempt to drink himself into a stupor or allowed himself to become sloppy from the sway of the spirit. 

"Aemond?" It is both a question and a call as your vision darts about the space, flickering back over to his bed to see if you might spot the impression of a body tucked underneath the drape of its blankets but they are flat and perfectly lain along the mattress. "My love, are you here?" 

It remains deathly silent. The only bit of noise belonging to the low whisper of the flames softly darting about their wicks in the draft that drags along the room; the delicate billow of the breeze drifting through the columns of the open windows, gliding into to the room from the guide of the wind that calls outside. Most of it sneaking in through the open threshold that conducts to the balcony. 

A low breath puffs from your chest. Hardly a sigh, but it dares you to feel relief as you step towards the entry way to near the stone platform the projects from the side of the castle. You notice the stars first. The bright, cosmic glimmer of them as they hang from their place within the silky black cradle of the darkened heavens. The faint lights of the city below nearly blending with the night sky, though the oily sheen of the lantern fires can hardly compete with the star dust above. 

In your observations, it does not take you long to spy the form of the prince, standing along the banister as he stares down at the city, bare hands gripping onto the rough barrier. You can see how tightly he clutches onto it from the tension in his fingers, stretched and taut along it so tightly that you fear the stone may crumble and break beneath his palms. Relief floods you at the sight of him, though it is quickly dulled and banished by the worry that replaces it. Snuffed by the rigid way he holds himself, as though he is only moments from snapping and giving in on the pressures of his own mind and collapsing upon the stone floor beneath his feet. 

He becomes hard on himself in times like these. No matter how indifferent he tries to project himself, the opinions and thoughts of others often swarm over him like a cloud of angered hornets, and it can be a trouble for him to shake. It is never easy to guide him out of his thoughts. You know that he is aware of your presence, but he has been caught too tightly within the chaos trapped within his mind to respond. The deluge of emotions that he often refuses to outwardly show too great. And knowing him, he has willingly turned himself in to the anger and the bitter spite that wars within him, finding solace in its familiarity. He is too stubborn for his own good, but that will never be enough to keep you from trying draw him out of it. 

Your feet seem to cross the stretch of the floor that separates you, silently carrying you to him with the soft patter of their soles along the chilled stone. He does not give you any indication that he is aware of your approach. Not the tilt of his head or a single murmured word in greeting, but he does not startle when your hands lift to sweep up his back. The leather of his doublet is tepid with the slight cold in the air and the warmth radiating from his body, smooth and buttery underneath your palms as they sweep around his torso to press him against you in an embrace. You let your cheek to rest along the flat of his shoulder, the silky strands of his hair tickling your skin; your lungs pulling in the subtle spice and musk of his scent. 

"You should come to your bed; it is getting late." You suggest, allowing your fingertips to toy with the metal clasps on the front of his garment, tracing the engravings in their shape. You nearly expect to get no response from him. For him to continue to wallow and torture himself alone in his silence. But then you feel it almost more than you hear it, thrumming along your hands from the depths of his chest as his voice rises out in a hum. The only verification that he has acknowledged your words. 

It is better than silence. A response from Aemond is better than naught in these circumstances. It gives you some hope that you may be able to usher him from the fog of his oppressions. 

"Come," you urge softly. "You have fretted yourself enough." 

"Have I?" It comes from him in that serene tone of his but the bite at the edge of it is more than apparent. You know that it is not aimed at you. Not directly, at least. In his mind, and on the battlefield, he has been backed into a corner, and like an animal it causes him to lash out and bare his teeth, even at things that are familiar. "That seems to be everyone's judgement as of late. I suppose I should listen then, hmm? Roll over and brandish my belly for Rhaenyra's dragonriders to feast upon. Would that satisfy you then?" 

"It would not, and you know that." Your voice comes out much firmer than intended, though you do not feel guilt over it. For someone so logical, Aemond is often swept over by his emotions and the voice of reason is easily drowned out. "Look at me, please." 

He makes no attempt shift from his stance, continuing to stare out along the horizon. Watching the city in its slumber, and you have to wonder if he is imagining it in a state of ruin. Preparing for the worst already. Bracing for the destruction that has yet to come. Picturing the roofs and spires lit aflame in a blaze so great that it would turn the night into day, smoke twisting up to the heavens to brush against the stars. 

You loosen your grip around him, giving yourself enough separation just to stand along his shoulder so that you are able to look upon his face. He refuses to meet you vision with his own. The pale glint of his eye now dark underneath the cover of the night as he peers ahead. But already you are able to spot so many different emotions reflecting within it. A confused storm: anger, bewilderment, sorrow, loss. You know that he must feel as though he is drowning. Caught and strung along by his responsibilities. Pulled between the pressures of his duties and the rejection casted by his mother. So many conflicting obligations with no way to properly juggle them. You know that you have no true way of guiding him through the blood and fire of this war. Of the strategies that it requires. But you can hope to be some kind of support. A beacon breaking through the thick wall of an oncoming tempest. 

You lift a hand up to his face, sweeping your fingers past the shape of his jaw to cradle his cheek, feeling the texture of the scar underneath your palm. You are gentle in your direction when you guide him to look at you, and despite his earlier remark, he allows you shift his head to you willingly. Leaning into the weight of your hand as his eye darts to meet yours. The confusion and torment burn inside the pale hue of it, glinting far brighter than the traces of light reflecting along the angles carved into his jeweled eye.  

You are nearly surprised that he has not removed the sapphire yet. You know that it often ails him. When the precious stone absorbs the chill around it, or the dull edges catch along the sensitive flesh of its cradle. Rattling about his socket and causing the tender tissue within to ache and swell with irritation. Another punishment for himself it seems. Intent to burry down inside his own suffering. 

"You must stop this insistence on driving yourself towards your own destruction. You will find no answers by forcing yourself awake at night, ruminating over the criticisms of your mother. Of the council."

Something venomous passes through his expression, but it is quickly traded out by what looks to be exhaustion and a diluted sense of irritation. A subtle furrow pinched between his brows; lips lightly pursed.  "What would you have me to? Laze about all day on my bed. Stuffing my gullet with wine as my brother would while our enemies close in around us?" 

"No." You reply promptly, allowing your hand to drop from its place, running your thumb along his cheek in a final caress as it falls to your side. You do not miss the way that his head nearly bends to follow its wake. "I would have you rest. An eased mind is a sharp one. " 

"Rest." He echos in a murmur, allowing the word to roll off his tongue as though it is a foreign one. "Rest is not something that I am afforded. Each moment of "rest" is another second allotted for our enemies to draw closer."  

You understand his reasoning. His anxieties are not unfounded. But that does not make them any less frustrating. His intellect, the determination that fuels him and wit of his tongue have always been some of his most endearing qualities to you. It drew you towards him like a siren song. But all of those traits are currently making you feel as though you could bludgeon your head against a thick wall. You fear that he will collapse underneath their breadth.

"They will draw near regardless of your slumber or not. " That stubborn expression on his face remains undeterred. Still fully unconvinced it seems. Or perhaps he seems to be resisting against your wishes because he is merely in search of some sort of victory, no matter how measly in spirit it is. And as much as you would like to indulge your husband in his efforts in feeling vindicated, this is not a battle you can allow him to win. Not for his sake. "If you will not do it for yourself then do it for me. Comfort your wife. That is too apart of your duties is it not?" 

You notice his nostrils flare, his chest rising suddenly as he draws in a deep breath. Likely to ground his own irritation. His eye shimmers lowly in the dim cast of the candlelight projecting from the confines of his room, spilling out past the threshold to dance along the dark blue of the sapphire. Like sunlight scattered about the shifting face of an ocean. He is angry. That much is and has been apparent. Left astray to dangle and thrash along the fraying support of a rope. You only wished that he would allow you to catch him instead of treating you like the ones who have tied him to the line. 

But you notice something waver in him then. The breaking of a dam. The thawing of ice. The vulnerability displayed could destroy you if you allowed it. To cause you to fall apart underneath the sheer sense of raw loss and uncertainty. He is so troubled. So lost. Forced to display a facade of unwavering poise and resolve no matter the dangers that prevail ahead. Constantly trailing after the role that he was not allowed to fulfil despite being better suited and now left to stand alone as the support of his own house falters. Superior enough to be wielded as a trump piece in combat, in council, but not benefitting enough to bear the title of king in the eyes of the advisory and his family. An injustice you can hardly stomach yourself. 

"Come," you urge once again. You voice much lighter than before, softened by the distress in his gaze. There is still a hesitance in him. The reluctance to relinquish what little control he still has over himself, but that control seems to snap when your hand closes over his, fingers threading to join them. It only takes a slight tug for him to follow. The fight in him absolving to trail after you, allowing you to guide him back into his chambers and away from the open, chilled air of the night. 

The atmosphere within the safety of the apartment walls is much warmer. Almost balmy along you skin, perfumed with the scent of wax and ink. Another reminder of the documents and worries that he tirelessly toils over. The bloodshed and the possibility of dragonfire. But you push it all to the recesses of your mind. Burying it all deep in favor of escorting him to the side of his bed. It is only then that you allow your hand to remove from his, and you mourn the loss of his warmth against your palm. 

"Remove your clothes," you order gently. You notice just the faintest hint of amusement nudging at the corner of his mouth. The possibility of a smile, though it does not fully come. You can still see the traces of his mirth. Of lust as well. Even while he does not properly convey it, you allow your delight to grace upon your expression. Your lips lifting upward as you shake your head to admonish him delicately. "Not tonight." 

He makes no complaints as he begins to unfix the clasps of his doublet. Unhooking the fine metal rungs with lithe fingers to shed the garments, uncaring as it lands along the floor. He is just as nonchalant about the rest. Shedding and discarding his undershirt and his breeches just as quickly after tugging of his boots. Baring his nude form to you. It is a state that you have seen him many times before, but still, you are unable to keep yourself from tracing the agile shape of his body. Admiring the swell of strength in his arms, the defined cut of muscle along his torso, the flaccid condition of his cock hanging between his thighs. 

The spike of heat that rushes throughout your being is tempting, but currently unwelcome. On any other night you would have basked in it. Pursued after the warmth and hedonism, but this is not one of those nights. When you manage to will yourself to meet his eye, you are forced to notice the smirk that lifts at the curled edges of his mouth. Satisfied and preening underneath your salacious attentions. 

"Not tonight, ābrazȳrys?" His inquiry is teasing and arrogant. And finally, for the first time since you have sought him out you see the man that lies beyond the pain and distress. The man that strides about the kingdom with his head lifted high. A head deserving the weight of a crown. 

"Not tonight, my love. " You answer, both a playful jab and a truth as you pluck at the neckline of your shift to allow it to join his clothes along the chilled stone beneath your feet. He only offers a velveteen hum in response as his eye sweeps over you. Just as gluttonous as yours had been as you move to climb astride the bedding, making sure to toss the blankets aside before shuffling to rest the flat of your back along the cushion of his pillows and the embellished headboard behind them. You sit, unfaltering underneath his focus. If anything, the crude nature of his observations only emboldens you. Even past the reasonings of lust. He views you as though you were crafted just for him. Sewn together by the gods and animated by stardust and earth to be worshipped and praised by his sight and hand. 

You like to believe that he was born for the same purpose. A god amongst men built by fire, wind and blood. Designed to be revered by your voice and mouth. He is beautiful beyond compare. Fierce in his loyalty and cunning. Unrelenting in his determination and ferocity. Like a deity of war. 

He does not wait for a cue as he follows after you, climbing along the bed and into your waiting arms to lie himself within the cradle of your hips, draping the length of his body along yours as he settles his head against the cushion of your stomach. He allows himself to go pliant against you. Indulging in your warmth just as you do with him. The heat radiating from him making you turn lax. The both of you melding to each other. You observe him at his place tucked into you. Admiring the pale fan of his lashes resting against the sharp contour of his cheekbones, the proud rise of his nose. He is gorgeous like this. As though he had been sculpted from a fine marble. The statue of a great god - a king - come to life. 

You glide you fingers through the silken, silvered strands of his hair. Combing your nails along his scalp and you are all but rewarded by the way that he seems to melt even more, the tension leaving his body. Going slack and supple; his nose daring to nuzzle along at your breasts as he attempts to burrow himself closer like he wants to bathe in your warmth. That stubborn furrow is still hitched between his brows. Immediately letting you know that his troubles have yet to be fully evicted from him. His mind is no doubt just as frenzied as before even though his body relents to the comfort of his bed and the weight of you. 

"You truly do stress yourself too much," you murmur. Your fingertips skirt downward, tracing along the nape of his neck, sweeping your thumbs along the sensitive skin at the edge of his scalp. A shudder trembles softly down his spine. "It does not suit such a pretty face." 

His lips twitches again, though that furrow comes back with a vengeance. His brows cinching close in the guise of annoyance, and if it were not the fleeting appearance of that brief smile then you would have truly believed him to be angry. "I have no ear for listening to your jests, lady wife. " 

"Not a jest," you promise playfully. "I wouldn't dare. " 

Another low, rumbling hum rises up from his chest in the semblance of a response. His chin tilts back just the slightest, baring his throat to you. Offering it to you as you move your hands downward to cradle the sides of his face, fingertips gliding along the edge of his jaw. The contented noise he makes nearly reminds you of the purrs that leave Vhagar as she lounges along the forest floor. The pleased growl of a dragon. A tranquil silence drifts along the room, as though it is brought in by the tepid breeze that glides in through the threshold of the balcony. It is calm. Peaceful for once. It feels as though it has been years since an hour without fear or dread has haunted you. And finally, it is simply you and your husband. Free to relax and just simply exist. To lounge within the warmth of each other as though you were lying under the sun. Untouched by war and bloodshed. 

You continue to massage your fingers along the shape of his skull, combing them through his hair and lightly scratching your nails along the sensitive skin almost absentmindedly as you allow your own head to rest against the board of the bed. The lull of sleep is already calling. Inviting and comforting in its beckon as the influence of it threatens to take ahold of you, but a part of you resists. Insistent on enjoying the dulcet pleasure of this moment. Intent to stretch it out for as long as possible before it slips away from you and the both of you must return to your duties. To the horrors of the world. It is here that you are safe. He is safe. 

"We should make contingencies in the event of my death." 

The quiet sound of his voice, the words abruptly registering in your mind feel as though they gut you once they are fully understood. Just the prospect of it has your heart skipping, fluttering wildly within your chest and your hands are forced to pause; smooth tresses caught between your fingers. Your eyes snap open as you head bows to look down upon him from his place against your torso. He is already watching you, the sapphire gleaming sharply in the firelight but the pale hue of his eye is soft despite the sobriety of his words. You see clearly without asking that this is not some sort of twisted attempt at morbid, tactless humor. He is well and truly serious. A dull wave of nausea wells up in the pit of your stomach as you watch him. 

"What has brought this about?" You ask sharply. There is a raised edge in your tone. Defensive and unsettled, but your vulnerability is also apparent. Easily heard with the way that your breath snags in your throat. 

"It is only an honest concern. " He answers, but it is clipped. A bear explanation and it gives way that he is dodging the question. Offering scrap to appease you. "One that I should have prepared for long ago, when this war was little more than a whisper on a gossips lip." 

"I won't hear of it." 

"You are my wife," he insists. But with each utterance it only drives a slash of phantom pains into the depth of your heart. You swear that you can hardly manage to pull in a single lungful of air. "That does not shield you but make you a target. And we cannot expect to win this battle with Vhagar alone. If I were to be slain, they may very well come for you. A trophy of this conflict-"  

"Aemond, that is enough." It comes out as a warning. Or perhaps a plea. It is so difficult to know. It is impossible to tell when you feel as though you are breaking in half even while he rests safely inside your embrace, confronting you with the single thing that you have always feared. The single terror that gnaws and bites and lashes at your heart and spirit every time that he sits astride Vhagar and lifts into the air for battle. The horror that he may never come back. It had eaten at you when he had snuck off to Rook's Rest without your knowledge, only to return hours later smelling pungent of dragonfire and the acrid sting of smoke. 

His lip's part, a rebuttal no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but it is quickly snuffed out by the desperate plea of your voice. A final beg of mercy.  

"You are my love, Aemond. Without you I cannot live." You nearly hate the sound of the raw emotion that pitches from your chest, but you are unable to control it. The intensity of it far too great. Welling up within you until it seems as though you may drown in your own trepidations. That your lungs will be squeezed in its grip until you suffocate on your own anguish. Your fingers thread around his hair, seeking out the warmth that lies underneath as though your mind requires confirmation that he is still here with you. Safe in your bed. "You are not allowed to die. Promise me, Aemond. Promise that you will return to me."

His eye skirts along your face, as though committing your features to memory. You can tell exactly where his vision lands from the weight of the concentration in his gaze as he studies the structure of your lips, the sweep of your cheekbones, the shade of your eyes. It is awful how much it feels as he is staring at you as though it will be his last. 

"Please," you whisper once more. 

A plethora of emotions flicker along his countenance. Time seems to be frozen when he lifts himself from your grasp. Your hands leave him reluctantly, clutching onto the sheets alongside you to stave off the urge to reach for him. But you are stopped when he rises to nudge his head to your own to meet your eyes. It gives you no other options but to meet his eye. To face the intensity and adoration that burns within it. The flecks of violet and azure seeming to blaze with his fervency. 

"I promise, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys, I will return to you. Be it a thousand years in this life or the next, no man nor god will keep us apart." 

A sob could have torn itself from your throat had you not a better grip on yourself. Though you do not have enough control to manage in articulating a response. You can only nod, lifting your hands once again to grip at the junction of his neck and shoulders. Needing to feel the warmth of his flesh underneath your palms. His lips are soft as they press against yours. Simultaneously gentle and hungry as they coax yours into a kiss. It is languid. Unhurried but no less passionate. 

It is like a balm on the tearing placed upon your soul. Soothing and mild. You sigh into his mouth, drawing each other's air inside of your lungs in between the starved presses of your mouths. Holding scraps of the other within the pocket of your chests. But just as quickly as it had begun, he pulls away from you. Though he hardly gives you time to voice your complaints or to mourn as he guides you both to settle along the bedding. Mapping out your face with the fleeting brush of his lips, scattering them along your face until you both lay side by side to gaze upon each other. 

You cannot bear to look away from him now. The mere idea of it sounds akin to death. You are not sure how long you remain in that state. Simply beholding each other. Counting the breaths that he takes, how they puff across your face in warm brushes along your nose and cheeks. The candlelight has lightened his hair with glows of burning amber, as though molten gold has been spilled upon the pale strands; highlighting the contours of his body. Like a deity of light. Of fire.  

There is a peace in his expression now. And you are not certain if that concerns or alleviates you. The corners of his mouth have perked into a content smile, his eye unblinking in his admiration as though he is at peace. Sweeping over the shape of your breasts and rise of your hips down to the length of your legs. But it is untouched by lust. It is simply observing. Peaceful in his exploration of a body that he has touched many times already. As much as you would like to remain that way, fixed beneath the worship of his stare, you are unable to keep yourself from nudging yourself closer. Too weak to hold yourself back from returning him back into your arms where he is safe. Untouched by the war he wages. Protected from the consequence of dragonfire and sword. 

You rest you nose along the crown of his head, drawing in the scent of spice and wind that clings to his hair in the hopes of calming yourself. Of ripping yourself from the influence of your own worries and escaping the control of sleep that threatens to possess your body despite your terror. You want to focus only on the weight of him. The heat of his skin. The steady rise and fall of his breath. The press of his face tucked beneath your chin. 

"Sleep, ābrazȳrys." His voice thrums against your chest. It seems that even when he is not watching you, you are unable to escape his perceptiveness. That you cannot hide from the from him. He knows you too well; he feels the tension in your muscles, in your silence. Still, despite the urge to fight his tender order and to resist the weight of sleep, it is growing difficult. The urge to slumber is heavy on your eyelids, nudging them to close. And the comfort of his scent in your lungs only goads you closer. "I will be here when you wake." 

It sounds like another promise. And the assurance rings heavy in your ears, giving your mind the permission that it seems to have needed in order to welcome the blanket of rest. But all the while, as you descend into your slumber, you can only give yourself the solace that he is still here. As of now he is safe. Guarded from blood and death under the shield of the night. Drawn into an embrace while you both sleep as pair of lovers. 

[oldmen-enjoyer]

"We are both servants of something greater, be the very air you breath or the blood that plagued humanity since Dawn. You and I are no different. Born in the womb to committed ourselves to this cruel miracle that you call life."

"You and I are two dogs in fighting ring with fierce and zealous sense of duty. Question is, who will be devoured first?"

[Update + concept doodle below]

I been trying to update and polished FAITH: White-lie once again. Though this time I try to make it more.. closely resembled the vanilla. Admittedly there's some element that I need to curl out. I still keep "John is vampiric" and "Gary is plant related" core of it. I got my co author permission to make extensive change to Gary. This version of Gary are more nature-driven, his humanity are simply organic flesh outside. He is a black mold on your wall

And to put in nutshell what to expected, both angels and demons are viruses of some kind. Demons almost exclusively blood pathogens. Anyway. Here's some doods

[aanthirin]

please infodump about vivayth <3 if you gotta narrow it down, her relation with hircine and/or mehrunes dagon

sits down. right so-

the bases of vivayth's entire worldviews, her developments and delusions, her copes, it can all be led back to her introduction to lycanthropy. she couldn't really reconcile her zealous, century-long faith in the tribunal with the fact that she had become exactly what she was taught to hate, what she was taught stands against everything dunmeri society was: an abomination. she's long since made peace with that and happily embraces the title of 'demon' a lot of people toss her way, but a lot went down for that to happen... (more info below)

she went through a lot of effort to try and figure out exactly why this happened, why the living gods would allow hircine to infect her so, and allow her to remain this way, to be shunned by their servants and soldiers, their hands, their very mouthpieces. when she couldn't turn to her estranged family nor those she loved, she was led down a very dark road by another once-zealous faithful corrupted by the forces of oblivion, so it was only inevitable that she'd crack. after the things she's seen and done, and when she realized exactly who and what she'd become, who wouldn't?

she spent a long time searching for answers, uprooting secrets that would've been better left of alone. many sleepless nights were spent poring through texts that scrambled her mind or destroyed themselves upon being read, or going out of her way to beseech the long-dead for answers. between all the scraps of knowledge that she collected, she came to believe that hircine was a servant of mehrunes dagon, his personal huntsman to test the mettle of his armies (and later on she develops the idea that perhaps hircine himself is a sort of demiprince or daedra lord under dagon's service, or an avatar of dagon himself). this is based on old lore jsyk, like battlespire-era

this mostly happened because she's very morrowind-minded from a metaphysical point of view. even though she's spent a significant portion of her 180 years alive dedicating herself to studies on the metaphysical, mystical and occult after a brush with a renegade wise-woman—which theoretically should not even be remotely bound to something so arbitrarily mortal like culture—she can't help but be very conservative and patriotic in mindset and that warps a lot of her perceptions of reality, creating some very, uh, eccentric interpretations of the most foundational aspects of the aurbis. that is all to say her mind struggled a lot to reconcile an inherently outlander consequence such as lycanthropy with an explicitly dunmeri foundational belief, that being the house of troubles and their role in the theology.

soon enough she started to believe that dagon had a direct hand in the events that cursed her with lycanthropy, and that it's one of two of oblivion's sacred tools to help mortals (more importantly, her specifically) break free from the shackles of limitation imposed by the aedra (the other being vampirism, which she reveres FAR more than the comparative self-loathing she feels toward lycanthropes)

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

You know I find it interesting how Faust started off her relationship with Heathcliff by dogging on Heathcliff, sort of doubling down on the mistreatment he received, and acting quite upset over Heathcliff's outbursts. I don't remember exactly what she said to him, but she showed surprise that he made a "logical choice." Very rude behavior coming from her.

However... a sort of shift happened. She began to sort of. Understand Heathcliff. The reasoning becoming clear to her. Why he is the way he is.

I don't remember when this shift happened, but I think it's a general shift, with Faust stepping down from her proverbial high horse, and being kinder to the other sinners. We can see in Murder on the WARP Express, when she was severed from that channel of information she is plugged into, most of her eyes being blinded, she relied on other sinners to see. She began recognizing their strengths, their knowledge, how they live and how they perceive. She recognizes Ishmael's very firm and practical look at things, for example, and thus reached out to her.

Anyways, back to Heathcliff. As I said, since Heathcliff was the one she was the most firm with, and the most frustrated with, her shift towards a more caring outlook is noticeable. She doesn't make snide remarks about him anymore. This is likely because of all of Canto VI. She experienced all of that, and fully understood the weight of it all. The weight of Heathcliff's emotions, and how the most disturbed, cruel Heathcliff there is, had his wailing suffering reverberated throughout the mirror worlds.

Speaking of Mirror Worlds, I would imagine Faust learned a lot from Butler Faust. I don't know if she is in so much a "direct communion" with her IDs, I feel as though it's more about observation. Faust feels very observation heavy, after all.

Like. I don't think Butler Faust is meant to provide any moral direction. I think Butler Faust is meant to be an observer of both Wuthering Heights, and the Wild Hunt. She stands to aid and hone the Hunt. Sharpen that hatred. Exacerbate the cruelty. She is much more of a mechanism, a servant, as Butler Faust, who merely relays the sentiments of Wuthering Heights itself, all from an overzealous chief butler. I am not sure how long Butler Faust specifically was around for, but still, the treatment of Heathcliff is cruel. It is cruel to look at a literal child with such scorn, and it is cruel to dehumanize the twisted child so, as he is fully grown.

Really I don't think most of Faust's IDs have a link to morality. Rather, a link to info. They all observe, and all that observation comes together and results in an interesting base of knowledge. Like, N-Faust is of course, incredibly cruel and unusual, but I believe she serves as a lesson.

A lesson about Nagel Und Hammer zealous and broken doctrine.

While here, to finish my thoughts, I believe Butler Faust serves as a lesson about cruelty, maltreatment, envy, and Heathcliff.

I believe seeing Butler Faust and learning from her was a large contributor to Faust's knowledge, and ended up granting her a massively different overview.

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

Okay, Miss Angst Queen, you want angsty scenarios, I shall give you one.

Fem!Reader (You), Diluc and Kaeya grew up together and Diluc develops a kiddie crush on you.

That's why he isn't too happy when Crepus suddenly announces that because Jean's mother had activated the marriage contract between their families, he is now engaged to Jean.

It didn't take Jean long to realize that Diluc doesn't like her the way he like you and she's pretty miffed because she feels you have 'stolen' her fiancé. Her more... over-zealous servants decide to take matters into their own hands and arrange for 'unfortunate incidents' to happen to you.

Eventually, your mother is forced to fake your death and send you to her distant relative in Liyue (Baizhu) when one of those 'unfortunate incidents' come a little too close to killing you.

With Diluc, after his self-exile after Crepus' death, the very first thing he does after returning to Mondstadt is to annul the marriage contract.

( I resubmitted it myself so I can have it in my drafts )

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Character: Diluc

Type: Angst, tragedy, and Reader in her villian era

Tags: Fem!Reader

Requester: @sailorstar9

Content: The female protagonist grew up with Kaeya and Diluc, along with Diluc developing a crush on on you since childhood. However, Jean's mother activated a marriage contract with Diluc's fathers, thus binding him and Jean in an arrange marriage. Jean's servants decided to arrange an event to create an unfortunate "accident" which lead your mother to actually making you fake your death by it and send you to Baizhu, a distant relative. However, unknowingly after Crepus's death along with his situation with Kaeya, he placed himself on self exile and the first action he did when returning, was to nullify his marriage contract with Jean now that he is the head of the family and can decline the contract. ( I hope I got this correctly )

My spin with Angst :) : Years later, Since the reader's distant relative is Baizhu, it would make sense she would have Dendro healing abilities, as Baizhu have been training you to defend yourself and medically educate you. However, ironically, you were in your villain era, You were angry, you felt robbed. This was trauma without you realizing it. Despite being taught to be a catalyst user, you decided, why in the hell would you even try at this point? You decided, a sword would suit you much better.

Trigger Warning: I might be a little violent in this story to stress the Villain Era the reader is in, and also, dealing with trauma so please proceed with caution. I might add cursing a bit, please let me know if you can feel the idea of the reader without the cursing.

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"What you do you mean you are cancelling the arrange marriage!?!" Jean looked at Diluc shocked.

He was standing in her office, unfazed. One word to describe Diluc right now, was tired. Exhausted. Drained. He had no energy to deal with anything, he didn’t want to deal with anything. He lost the person who he loved to some vague accident, he lost his father, and lastly, he lost his brother, metaphorically of course.

"Just as I said, I am canceling this unnecessary contract, I have the right to. The only reason we had this, was only because of the favor my father owned your mother. Consider that favor fulfilled by my servitude to the Favonious knights." He turned to leave without another world.

Jean jumped forward, and walked. "Wait! Wait!" She hugged him from behind. "I haven’t see you in so long, can't we talk this out? Come on, Luc..."

Diluc pushed her away. "Don't ever call me that again, understand? I only tolerated it for the contract. But I never want to hear it out your mouth again. Understand?"

Jean looked at him baffled. "B-But-"

"Understand?" Diluc glared into her eyes, his eyes were soulless reds, in the pits of a fiery empty dead hell.

Jean obediently complied, due to shock and intimidation. "U-Understand..."

Diluc continued to walk out of her office. "There is only one person who is allowed to call me that..."

As Jean watched Diluc walked out and put in all his two week notices for everything and leaving behind a life he once had. To that, he thought, good riddance.

As years, passed by, Diluc went on to be the most successful winery owner over the countries, gaining riches, as his main occupation is to produce wine, and deal with the fatui, and any other monsters at hand.

However, here you are, staring in the mirror in your room. You lived in Bubu Pharmacy with Baizhu looking after you. You glared at the scars on your body. There were deep scarring on your arms, back and chest. So deep, that it could be felt through your clothes if anyone tried hard enough to pay attention.

Red. There was only anger in your eyes. You saw a glimpse of your kind happy face, when you were younger, as it flashed back now. You just wanted to be left alone. You want peace and quiet. You didn’t care for anything. You were just angry.

You were robbed, you lost everything. Angry at almost dying, angry at losing your roots at your home land. Angry that you could have had a happy life, a peaceful life. Yet, you were here in fucking Liyue. Your mother recently passed, months ago, and you couldn’t be there. Why? Because you were in fucking Liyue. You could have healed her, but she kept saying no and to keep your faked death a secret.

She has passed on, that was the last straw, fuck faked death. Fuck being alive or dead. Fuck everything. You are done.

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

Tobirama birth chart (headcanon)

Tobirama is a headcanon I've procrastinated a lot because as a Madara hardcore fan, of course I'm not enthusiast about the Second hokage. But hey! I need to conclude the cycle of founders birth's chart. And I swear, I'll be fair play !

I strongly advise you to read Madara and Hashirama's chart. For this birth chart, I'll go a little bit more technical in astrology. We will talk briefly about rulerships, aspects and synastry. I'll try to explain as simple as possible but if you don't understand don't hesitate to ask me more precision in comments. Ok let's go:

Based on the official databook, Tobirama Senju is born the 19th of february which made him a 0° pisces. At first glance, it's an intriguing choice. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac traditionally described as encompassing all the previous ones. Pisces is compassionate, creative, mystical. It talks about total acceptance, the dissolution of the ego. The drop of water reaching the ocean and merging with the divine before moving to a new cycle : a new aries. Actually in the beginning of Christianity it's not a mistake that Jesus was associate with Pisces symbol. It's the same self-sacrificing figure for a transcendent cause. We agree that it seems far... far away from the rational and composed Tobirama...

It seems that I need to articulate a coherent idea between his sun (ego), his rising sign( body) and his mars (action). Say in a different way, this triptych talks about public image. The king comes with a vision (sun), he shows himself to the public wearing a formal dress, an etiquette, a way to behave in public (ascendant/rising sign) and defend its vision with the help of a general (mars).

☉ Sun : Ego – Branding to the world

♓ Pisces

Some clues shows an association of Tobirama with pisces : his element is suiton. His blue charadesign, he's also one of the strongest sensor of the verse capable of recognising chakra kilometres around, determine their ancestry ect... and what is a sensor? but a shinobi using his empathy as a tool? More trivial he's favourite dish is fresh fish from the river. But I think what shows the most his affinity with this sign is his self-sacrifice nature for this new entity that was the village in a time when people were strongly clan-oriented. It's something no one could believes possible, it only existed inside Hashirama's mind. You truly needed to have faith on him to invest all your energy on it. If we go back to Tobirama's speeches, he always justify his actions for the village. We can almost say that he had a religious devotion for his brother's dream and he gave his life for it. He's never seen coming with a vision different from Hashirama's (contrary to Madara), actually like a zealous servant to a higher cause he's ready to kill immediately anyone threatening this village when he clashed with Sasuke for suggesting he might destroy Konoha depending on the answers he got to his questions. But I'll talk deeper about the Uchiha's obsession later in the moon part. The moment when Hashirama strongly forbid his brother to attack Sasuke was also the moment when everybody knew who's actually the boss and who obey. Tobirama was a faithful follower of Hashirama's will and dedicated his life to translate it into a realistic project (using his mercury and mars).

In a more positive light, anyone accepting the will of fire are nurtured and loved even if they are Uchiha like Kagami. Tobirama had a strong attachment to his students, much more that his brother. I know it seems strange but from the first time he appeared, Tobirama was the one always calling Hiruzen Sarutobi by his pet name "Saru" meaning monkey in japanese, or his other student "my dear Danzo". Hashirama is a goofy character, but doesn't seem to have such proximity with them even if he loved Tsunade, he immediately doubted her ability as a hokage. Later during the war, Tobirama is also the one always complimenting or supporting the new generation : He acknowledged Minato as being faster than him, Naruto for having the potential to be a stronger hokage than his older brother.

Ascendant/Rising Sign : Social personality – Physical Body

♍Virgo

the image that come to my mind when I think of Tobirama is an ocean surrounded with a giant dam. The mass of water is controlled, accurately measured, divided and distributed only when necessary. But, you might ask, can we really controlled the immensity of an ocean with a river dam? Of course not! but what matter in a rising sign is to display the illusion of control.

Virgo is the sign coming to correct the extravagant of Leo. End of august, mid September is the period of the year in the northern hemisphere with the best natural light. Not too hot , not too bright. Soft and round with million nuances of gold, orange and red. Traditionally it's also the time of harvest when you need to select and separate the wheat from the chaff. It's a sign that excel in precision, expertise, high fashion but in the bad side can tends to be narrow-minded because the devil is in the detail.

Rising virgo also talk about his physical appearance. Virgo is concerned about good health, best routine. Usually they are in good shape, average height unless the ruler of Virgo which is mercury is place in a sign with difficult aspect. And what set appart Tobirama from all the other founders is his charadesign flattering his albino's appearance. The cool colours of grey and blue, the fluffiness, it shows a natural sense of elegance without being extravagant for a shinobi.

And also the Senju are filthy rich, Hashirama have a strange (Madara would say ugly) sense of style, but Tobirama was like : "I may not be the most powerful in this house but I'm wealthy and smart, so does my style. And I will die on this hill."

☿ Mercure : Intellect – Communication

♒ Aquarius

I must find an explanation of the over analytical aspect of Tobirama. He's to Hashirama what Shikamaru would be later to Naruto : his brain.

Mercury in Aquarius is a big thinker, able to make atypical discovery, out of the norm and also subversive. Tobirama is the inventor of Edo Tensei which I remind you need to make a human sacrifice. In which condition Tobirama came to the creation of this forbidden jutsu ? And even during the 4th Shinobi war, he learned nothing from his past mistakes and proposed to sacrifice again someone else to bring back Madara and extort from him intels about Kaguya.

Aquarius as a fix air sign has the tendency to be stubborn and certain of their philosophy. Many people believe that the sign of Aquarius is humanitarian then nice by nature. Not always... Aquarius avoids emotional approach. It rather privileges logic, rationality to dissect human society. And it doesn't shy away from experimentation. The long lists of jutsu created by Tobirama is a proof of his brilliant mind.

♂ Mars : Action - Desire

Mars : Gemini

Reading again the 4th shinobi war and trying to focus on The Second Hokage rather than Madara was a difficult exercise but it helps me see his role in the war differently. He's one of the most important support character. If you remember my analysis of Hashirama's mars in taurus, the first hokage is a powerhouse ( a bit like Gojo in JJK) and thus tends to fight alone or one-on-one with Madara. Hashirama strength is to resist prolonged attacks and controlled someone else chakra. Yet his power is tremendous and can change the geography.

Tobirama has a different style. Although a powerful shinobi who can fight alone, he rarely does. He immediately fits with any partners he's close too. Hashirama, Minato, Naruto, Sasuke. He's often the one observing, testing and explaining a jutsu and reminding that HE created most of them 😂. On the spot, he also invented a way to save Sasuke's life with Kabuto.

Reason why I choose mercury in aquarius and mars in gemini is that he thinks as fast as he moves. in his chart mercury and mars form a trine which is considered a favourable aspect. being in the same air element, his mind and his action are flowing smoothly. Before Minato, he was considered the fastest of his generation.

Madara noted that his favourite way was to strike last moment when his opponent lower his guard. This cunning strategy is befitting mars in Gemini . This is traditionally represented as twins both crafty and fickle. Tobirama adapts to any situation, any war companions even those from the new generation he barely knows and immediately comes up with a new tactic.

I believe this adaptability is a direct consequence of fighting Izuna for years. We know that the sharingan can copy any technique except kekkei genkai. Hashirama can protect himself behind the mokuton but not Tobirama. If a technique is used once in front of an Uchiha he can't use it anymore and lost the surprise effect. Also the Sharingan can predict a movement. Tobirama found a way to outperform the sharingan by blizz speed with the Flying Thunder God Technique. Fighting Tobirama must be a terrifying experience, rest in peace Izuna😭. Imagine, he's there... then disappeared. then strikes and you only notice him when you know it's too late.

☾Moon : Emotion – Comfort zone

♒ Aquarius

If you remember in my previous HC charts, moon is easily guessed by childhood because children tend to be more lead by their emotions than adults. In volume 65, Tobirama was shown to be already a serious child, ready to defend his older brother from his father. Maybe the violent outburst of his father taught him early in life that the best way to deal with people is self-control, and strict procedures. And that's something that he often admonished his brother or his students. It's not that you shouldn't feel, but to him you have to keep your emotions in check.

Moon in Aquarius intellectualises emotions, and sometimes distance themselves from them. They can treat friends like family member since they believe in brotherhood beyond blood relative. Tobirama did everything to distance from the Senju heritage, he suggested a democratic election for choosing the first hokage and after his death the Senju ceased to hold power in Konoha, it diluted into the will of fire. In Aquarius there is this idea of giving privilege to the people rather than some monarchy (which is the leo's way).

Remember when I've talked about an ocean falsely controlled by a dam ? If the weather is nice it works but what will happened if one day a (red) full moon provoke a super tide able to engulf the dam and flood the world ? Nothing can control the chaos of emotion, it always moves somewhere and erupts somewhere else.

Moon talks about your emotion but also your irrational fear. And paradoxically Tobirama never checked his obsession of the Uchiha and this blindness caused many of the darkness that befall the Konoha he cared so much.

I said earlier that his fear of the sharingan was a driving force behind many of his inventions. Also Tobirama had an epidermic detestation for Madara. And the funny part is that it's not really reciprocal. Yet Madara had got all reason to be obsessed by vengeance since Tobirama killed his last brother but after he accepted the truce and created Konoha, he was willing to « tolerate » Tobirama's presence, but the younger Senju was unwilling to do the same gesture and kept his obsession to control Madara or any Uchiha willingly to follow his path. The databook says also that Anbu was specially created by Tobirama to put the Uchiha under surveillance.

We need to ask ourselves what an aquarius moon would hate the most ? As an air moon, this sign is unease with strong display of emotion, narcissism, drama... something typical of its opposite sign leo. An opposition is annoying but you can deal with it more or less. Aquarius also square 90° to scorpio. A square is considered as a strong source of tension than an opposition. Scorpio is ruled by mars. This sign thrives in passion, struggles, crisis, war, violence and transformation throught strong emotional turmoil. All those energies are challenging, and exhausting for an aloof, etheral and conceptual moon in aquarius.

Taurus is also a square to Aquarius, the lazy nature of this steady sign, rooted in tradition, is hard for an Aquarius interested by innovations and futuristic perceptive.

Now let's introduce a little bit of synastry. The art of synastry is to compare two charts and to gauge their compatibility. It's often use for couple or parent/children but what if we apply it to enemies?

Now remember my Madara's chart? His mars in leo is in the 8th house, conjunt his jupiter and square his pluton in scorpio. In other words : The expansive actions of Madara illuminate the house related to death and crisis. Madara's violence reach its peak in the house of destruction. In the positive side, it means Madara is built for battle and he loves that. Better to have him in your team than against you. And this tremendous tension can be source of transformation for the world and himself. In the negative side he is a natural disaster. He's a menace and unless your name is Hashirama he's impossible to stop and will create massive disturbance in the world. He transform and impact deeply the life of many characters in the verse like : Obito, Kurama, Onoki and obviously Tobirama.

So for Tobirama, his moon in aquarius opposes Madara's mars, and his moon also square Madara's pluto. So for the second hokage, any action (good or bad) made by Madara is source of concerned and suspicion. also the plutonic nature of Madara leads Tobirama to irrational fear and paranoia. On top of that he explains himself very well: The Uchiha clans is wired on everything he detest. Their power needs strong uncontrolled emotions to thrive. The deeper the feeling the higher the power, and the sleepless are Tobirama's night.

And yes Tobirama admits that Madara is the biggest sentimental of the verse😅.

♃ Jupiter : Infinite Expansion – House of wisdom

♍ Virgo

Considering that Tobirama is Hashirama's younger brother, jupiter spend in average one year in a sign. Depending how big is there age gap. His jupiter could be either in Leo, virgo or Libra

I choose virgo because it amplifies his uptight attitude. Jupiter is on his ascendant. His very procedural approach to life can outshine his sun in pisces. He likes precision and proper etiquette. He admonished Hashirama for not showing a proper dignified position during the hokage meeting. He reminds Naruto to respect his actual title, and correct anyone forgetting he owns the copyright of 80% of Konoha's jutsu!

♄ Saturne : Restriction – Time - Enlightenment

♑ Capricorn

Saturn in capricorn talks about authority and power. Time and stability. Here, Saturn is the ruler of capricorn. which means it express itself at the fullest in its quality and its flaw.

In positive Tobirama is the creator of all the institutions we know in modern Konoha. The ANBU, the chuunin exams, the academy, the military police forces. It's as if Hashirama was the spirit and Tobirama the architect. After him, Konoha was more powerful, stable and don't need anymore to rely too much in charismatic leaders in order to survive.

Again if we apply synastry between him and Madara, Tobirama's saturn conjunct Madara's sun. A conjunction is when planets come together and influence one and other. Saturn being strong in capricorn than the sun, it tends to have a highter toll on Madara.

If this saturn is close to Madara's ego, it would tend to exert a hold over him, a slow pressure to contain his sun. The big institutions of the village, Tobirama's political influence, the Uchiha under close surveillance. From Madara's perpective, he knows Tobirama can't fight him directly in close combat but he's building a system resembling a prison for him: he can't fight anymore his ally, he can't change his reputation, he can't have any political power (here I don't know if the Uchiha went to the military police force before or after the Valley of the end but anyway Madara wasn't included in discussion considering the nomination of the Hokage), and even his clan doesn't trust him anymore. And without a surprise even after Tobirama's passing those institutions and policies against the Uchiha ended up being their final downfall. And it took 8o years.

For saturn, times is always its ally.

♀ Venus : Attraction – Seduction

♓Pisces

Hard choice because we don't know if he had a flirt, or was married but it seems not. And we don't know anything about his personal dream. He's almost married to Konoha at this point. So by simplification I'll say venus in pisces. Which is an excellent place for venus based on rulership it's exalted in this position. Here she can expresses her most creative side. It would be funny if Tobirama is low key an artist but as practical as he is he probably brings all his imagination into his scientific researches and maybe his fashion tastes.

To conclude : Tobirama was a character more complex than I initially thought. Dedicated, efficient and caring for his village. I still don't like him though but now I precisely know why😂. Although I respect his steady strategy to destroy the powerful clan of the Uchiha, he really fooled them all. It was methodical and well planned. Compared to the other founders, Tobirama is more down to earth than his big brother, but also more patient and attentionate to the new generation than Madara. And if you love the will of fire (which I don't), yes Tobirama was probably one of the best hokage!

[ahungeringknife]

D'aelar - A zealous servant. One's most loyal vassal. One who does unpleasant things. Most loyal. One who has no greater love than that of their lord.

Spayar is the d'aelar of the generation of royals and he only has one task: kill the entire royal family to put his best friend on the throne before they're both killed instead. Clearly a simple task. Or it would be if the Alliance wasn't suffering both too much and not enough rain leading to a food shortage. And that is just the start of Spayar's problems when conspiracies land at his feet; his puppet thief lord is dead; and he's got a thousand other problems and all of them are the royal princes and princesses of the Alliance who either want him dead or want him to forsake his best friend and join them instead.

/----------------------------------------------------------------------------\

Intro post to my big WIP I've written... oh like 5 times and never been quite satisfied with it but I'm cracking at it again; my dark fantasy story the Zealous Servant. This is a story about you and your bff murdering your entire family because how succession is handled in your country is fucking bananas. It's also a very queer story. Main protags are all queer in some way. We got charming gays, mean bisexuals, slutty pansexuals, murderous aces, token straight friend, and a god following Spayar around because it sounds like a good story! Oh what fun we're gonna have killing the royal family :)

Cast of Characters

Master Reference Page

Start from the Beginning

If you'd like to be pinged when new chapters come out reply or reblog with what handle you'd like to be pinged at.

[riddles-fiddles]

Pspspsp MC with a royalty kink and wants to act out this fantasy with Rook Hunt. Afab please:)

I am hearing you out. I'm pretty sure Rook does have a royalty kink as well, though he would rather take the paper of a knight, a bard, hunter, or any other kind of servant lmao

Au Clair de la Lune (+18)

Synopsis: Rook partakes the role of a loyal knight who's eager to please and show his absolute devotion to you. Charcaters: Rook Hunt Tags: royalty kink, praise kink, worship, oral sex, most foreplay Notes: AFAB gender neutral reader, 1k word count, everyone is 18+ Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rook rests his forehead down to the back of your hands, the ones which he holds with deepest esteem - like they are a pair of jewels with indefinable value. "I thank the grace you bestow upon this humble knight," his voice is a melody of sincere devotion, lips ghosting over your skin. "I'm grateful for allowing me to taste your skin, your higness."

As his eyelids flutters open, his gaze is captivated by the way you stand there, a mighty and imposing figure sat on the throne - the bed you two shared - as the moonlight hugged your curves with lavender outlines, enhancing the strands of hair shadowing your features, the way your shoulder curved slightly to the front, an uncoscious gesture to your desires.

He revels on your beauty, the way your stern gaze looks back down on him paralyzing his heartbeat; the feeling of being merely a pawn to your orders sending thrills down his spine. Rook has the heart of a poet and the desire to please of a servant, and being by your disposal was enough for him - his merciful, generous ruler.

Rook reserves his duteous instance; knee firm against the floor, hat pressed against his chest in a chivalrous way, his sharp eyes are cloudy with restrained lust, resigned on your next demand.

"Your obedience is commendable," a gracious smile paints shyly between Rook's lips at your words, his features softening in antecipation for your approval. "But it's not quite enough to prove your loyalty to my reign." With a low tilt of his head, Rook glances over your majestic face with inquisitive silence while his hands traveled down to your thighs, his gloved digits a feather brushing along the lines of your knees before tracing the design of your ankles. The gesture was careful and zealous, as if he was touching a monumental paiting - because in his point of view, that's what you are anyway.

"I beg your pardon, my sovereign. Allow me to correct my unfit behaviour."

Rook gently enveloped the back of your sole, bowing down to press an affectionate kiss over the curve of your feet, his warm breath tickling on your skin as the gesture left a lingering, warm feeling over your exposed skin. Taking his time, his lips climbed with passionate devotion over the same trail his fingers had previously marked on your body, his contented sighs a sweet incantation.

You reveled on the silent worship that Rook incited over your skin, wordless promises of his love and desire for you spreading to your nerve endings with every new kiss. His confident gaze met yours by a flickering moment, the sight of his face resting against your skin as he held your thigh with adorational attentiveness making you sigh in antecipation, heart skipping a beat as you marveled at the raw emotions shared between you two. Though you played a stern facade with your uptight words, there was no concealing of the way your body naturally responded to Rook's touch, practically melting against the contrast of his warm lips and the cold leather of his gloves.

Slowly, your thighs parted, revealing your bare core. Rook admired with contented surprise as you did so, tongue dewing over his lips in antecipatio with hunger glistening over his indigo eyes, gladly coming up to meet yours as you held his chin up, grip possessive and urging. "Prove your devotion to me, Rook," your voice lingered like a sweet spell hummed into his ear. "Bring pleasure to your majesty."

"Oui, mon majesté. Votre commande est mon plaisir."

Rook readily removes his gloves, laying them on the floor right beside his hat. His lean, firm hands come to rest on your soft inner thighs before leaning in, pressing a kiss over your clit, tongue spreading the folds. He gently sucks the sensitive bud over his tongue before pressing down, circling around as he alternated between different kinds of stimulation.

Your gratified sigh beckons him further. Rook brings two of his slender fingers to your wet core, slowly pressing down as he kept his mouth occupied with your clit, languish laps being contrasted by the intense, eventual sucking.

His heart jumps with delight as your pleased groan fills his ears, a hand coming to grip on the back of his head before pulling him closer, breath hitching slightly by the feeling of your hips bucking up, desperate for more friction.

His tongue is quick to match the pace you so desperately urges to find, rolling around the bundle of nerves in reverse to your motion as his fingers thrusted inside you slowly - teasing your sweet spot by pressing his digits against the soft area everytime he pushed them deep inside you.

You cry his name out like a prayer as your back meets the bedsheets, pleasure quickly turning overwhelming. Taking advantage of it, Rook positions both of your legs over his shoulders, lifting your hips slightly from the bed to get better access to your sensitive area; skilled, lean fingers rolled deep into your core, building pressure beneath your abdomen. The wet sounds that resonated shamelessly through the room, Rook's slurps and the merciless slapping of his fingers against your slick core sent shivers down your spine, your orgasm nearing its peak as your eyes fixed on the man's focused face.

And with a final, rough thrust, Rook's finger curls agains, sending an aggressive jolt of pleasure all through your body, making your back arch and your thighs close around his head. Rook can feel your orgasm shaking you from head to toe, but his mouth doesn't cease until your body finally starts to relax, too enthralled by the way you squirm under his touch, a shudder of veiled excitement mixed with satisfaction running over his own skin at the prospect of being the one responsible for your climax. His tongue savours the taste of your cum, and as you lift your head, a panting mess from the overwhelming explosion of senses, your flushed face greets Rook's confident yet messy grin, his face glistening with your slick all over. Still, he looks absolutely overjoyed, licking the mess from his lips greedily. "My precious, terrific knight," you sing the praises in soft, panting whispers, your grip easing around his hair in gentle caresses. "Your devotion is undoubtedly unmatched. Come, allow your ruler to reward your efforts." Rook's smile widens, his whole being flourishing with a chaotic mix of love, gratitude, pride and excitement by your sincere praises, quickly lifting himself from the ground to taste your mouth he so much longed for.

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Aqua [Myth @kazeharuhime]

Sister to Illumi the light Myth, Aqua is a timid girl with an appearance like water. She is capable of hiding in any body of water, even puddles, and can control large amounts of it to weaponize against attackers. However, she is very fragile, and doesn't do well in sun and warm temperatures, forcing her to dwell in the recesses of the cave where she and the other Myths live and needing to rejuvenate there when she's been out for any real length of time. Like her sister, large emotional disturbances can cause issues with her form, and if she's not careful, can accelerate evaporation or in extreme cases, cause her to diffuse in water, especially if she's depressed, and lose herself entirely. Though her abilities can be weaponized in various ways, her timid personality means she generally hides out in the cave unless absolutely necessary.

Ariella Riems [Kingdoms @thedailyvio]

Ariella Riems is a Lady in high society, who has dedicated her youth to training for war to bring honor to her family name. Dedicated to the deity of Order during her infancy, she's committed herself to not only her country, but all the demands of Aelian society and her father. Given the need for family honor, her being the last of her family line, and the strong gender roles of her home, these demands come into enough conflict for her to head out on her own rather than find a compromise. Without her father's consent, she takes a trusted servant, Charles, and begins her journey to what she believes will be a suicide mission into Aelia's enemy country in the hopes of doing whatever damage she can. Along the way, nothing quite goes to plan and she quickly finds herself in far over her head with a quest no mortal has been known to achieve. Ariella is an abrasive and even boorish young woman, unimpressed by most people she comes across due to her rigid beliefs and jaded outlook. While she knows how to behave in polite society, she often finds herself making enemies as her hot headedness can overtake all restraint. She is zealous for her beliefs which prescribe a legalistic view on life, easily taking offense from those who consider the law of the land as more akin to guidelines. She lacks hypocrisy in these matters, strongly determined and driven in all she does. She does however hold a bias for her loved ones which she can't entirely recognize herself.

[mollysunder]

There's a long essay to be made about how Sevika's name means "servant of god" and the way the origin of nations is heavily mythologized to create a unifying cultural identity. Even more could be said about the way Sevika aligns herself with these larger than life figures whose actions are integral to the creation of Zaun. Silco starts out the story like a boogeyman, he's a patient and shadowy presence that struck hard and overwhelmed the Lanes and ultimately Zaun to consolidate power. Whatever he was like before Vander's betrayal he discarded it to wear a new identity that would be the Eye of Zaun. Silco chose to embody a concept, a figure that could terrify Piltover out Zaun, and discarded all his "weaknesses". The show constantly frames him like a zealous prophet, and he might even have a cult following him, if those eye cultists with the turtle are actually related to him. The more he's humanized through his love for Jinx, the more tenuous his position and persona become. When Silco's humanity comes into conflict with endgame of Zaun's creation, he is quickly killed.

And then there's Jinx, whom the show likes to wrap in unholy imagery just as much as Silco. The further she goes down her path of becoming, she is baptized in the flames of her explosives and the waters of the Pilt. Even before Jinx goes through her unholy resurrection using Shimmer, crows begin to flock in her presence, sometimes just the aftermath of her actions, like the Enforcer funeral. Sure plenty has been said on how crows act as symbols for transformation as Jinx struggles with her past. But in the context of Arcane, Zaun seems to be without their patron god Janna, the wind goddess who brings fresh air to Zaun. Janna is sometimes characterized with blue birds, or initially she appears as one when she arrives, they're symbols of hope and joy. And here's Jinx's space being enveloped by these dark birds with messy reputations instead. All the while Jinx is semi-living and working in giant possibly defunct ventilation shaft originally meant to regulate Zaun's air quality.

Sometimes I think about the way Silco died not just because it was a horrible accident, but because his character couldn't keep going in the story. Silco reached the part of the myth where his choices could only hurt Zaun or Jinx, and that’s one and the same for him and the story. But then there's Jinx, kneeling for forgiveness, seeing him off with her head down like in prayer, and taking a seat after he's finished in the story to officially begin her part.

[lighttailoring]

One more!

Ship: Dedra/Syril/Krennic

AU setting: A Zealous Man universe

Castle Krennic had looked imposing as they approached it, cutting into the sky like a shard of bonfire-blackened bone - but now they are beyond its great doors the place is strangely inviting, with finely-carved chairs draped in sumptuous furs and silks, and the smell of amber and cloves filling the air. The self-made Lord Krennic greets them with equal warmth - his voice honeyed, his servants close at hand to offer welcome cups of sweet, spiced wine. He declares himself at their command, and with that the Lady Meero and the Reverend Karn are ushered into the North Hall, where supper has already been set out - neither of them notice the pentacle scratched over the doorway.

[robespapier]

For Fouché Friday @tierseta, Fouché savouring a shortbread while the aristocrat in hiding who sold it to him almost shits herself.

I was informed regularly by Charlotte, with whom this deceiver was back in touch. He was suggesting that, despite his family life, he had never gotten over their broken engagement. But she was very aware that he was only trying to mend his relationship with Robespierre through her. By chance this alert fox came across Mme de Valbreuse and her son, faubourg Saint Marcel. His expert eye immediately detected that this woman, carrying herself elegantly, wasn't confortable at all posing as a street merchant. And this zealous servant of the State went as far as to buy a shortbread biscuit from her. "Brown sugar of this quality is rare!", he noted as he tasted it. He prided himself on never forgetting a face, and was certain he had already seen her somewhere. Wasn't it in the Vendée, from which he was the representative? Mme de Valbreuse did her best to not show any emotion. Nor her or her son had a civic certificate. Moreover she worried that new documents compromising her husband had been found in the iron chest. Fouché was taking his sweet time savouring the biscuit while racking his memory. Would he put a name of Mme Valbreuse's face, that he had indeed met during his political campaign, when he visited Father Frédéric? Luckily for the viscountess, Fouché was expected. He took his leave. But she knew that he would be back soon, having guessed who she was. Ever since, she and her son where staying indoors.

La pensionnaire du bourreau, Olivier Dutaillis (also the book in which Robespierre likes the view from this window on the muscular young men working for Maurice Duplay).