#a place in the sun 1995

[celluloidrainbow]

A PLACE IN THE SUN (1995) dir. Constantine Giannaris Cruising the neon lit streets is handsome and solitary Ilias, looking for someone to distract him from the emptiness of his life. He meets Panayotis, young, Albanian, and ambitious. These two characters are separated by origin and bound by love. (link in title)

[1995-9]

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (the final choice)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This is the final part of this story. Just embrace the chaos.

Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: rook's rest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The courtyard of the Red Keep was quiet, save for the distant hum of activity near the training yard. You had just finished spending time with Aegon in his chambers—an exhausting visit, but one you knew was necessary. His strength was slowly returning, but the scars of Rook’s Rest, both physical and emotional, still lingered on him like a second skin.

You’d barely stepped into the fresh air when you noticed Aemond standing near a large clearing, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun. And looming beside him, unmistakable in her sheer size and ancient majesty, was Vhagar.

Your heart sank.

Aemond’s stance was stiff, his single eye fixed on you with that familiar intensity. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat, but as if he needed something to anchor himself. As you approached, the massive dragon let out a low rumble, her great, scaly head turning ever so slightly to regard you, like a cat considering whether or not to bother with a mouse.

“Aemond,” you began cautiously, “what are you doing?”

He stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever storm was brewing inside him. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You and I. Together.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Leaving? To where?”

“Harrenhal,” Aemond replied without missing a beat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve taken control of the keep. It’s secure, far from the prying eyes of court. Far from… distractions.” The word hung in the air, thick with meaning. You didn’t have to guess what—or rather, who—those distractions were.

You crossed your arms, staring at him as though he’d just suggested flying to the moon. “You want me to leave Aegon and our children and just… run off with you to Harrenhal?”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “Aegon is a shadow of the man he once was,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of something softer behind his words. “He can’t offer you anything anymore. But I can. I’ve done everything for you, Y/N—everything. We can be free of this place, free of him.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You think I can just abandon my family? Aegon might be… changed, but he’s still my husband. And our children—what of them?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, clearly frustrated that you weren’t seeing things his way. “They’ll be safe here. You and I, we belong together. You know that.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your temper in check. It wasn’t that Aemond’s offer wasn’t tempting on some level—there was a part of you that did feel drawn to him, that had felt the pull of something more between you. But this? This was madness.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, “I’m not leaving Aegon. And I’m certainly not leaving our children. You need to understand that.”

He frowned, his eye narrowing as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Why? What can Aegon give you now? I’m offering you everything. We can start over, away from this cursed place. You don’t have to play the dutiful wife anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to resist the urge to snap at him. “Aemond, I am Aegon’s wife. And those children you want me to leave behind? They’re mine. I’m not just going to run off into the sunset with you and pretend none of this exists.”

Aemond’s frustration was palpable now, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m offering you freedom. A life that isn’t weighed down by him.”

You glanced at Vhagar, who was watching the entire exchange with an almost bored expression, her massive eyes blinking slowly, as if she were above all this petty human drama. You turned back to Aemond, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp look.

“Aemond,” you said with a sigh, “I’m not getting on that dragon.”

He stared at you, incredulous. “You refuse?”

“I refuse,” you repeated firmly, your voice steady. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to—like making sure my children are taken care of.”

Aemond’s eye blazed with a mix of anger and desperation, but before he could say anything more, you turned toward Vhagar, who was still looming in the background, waiting for her rider’s command.

You waved a hand at the ancient dragon, much like one would shoo away a stray cat lounging on a cushion it had no business being on. “Shoo, Vhagar. Go on, off you go. Go take a nap or something.”

Vhagar let out a deep, rumbling huff, her massive head tilting slightly as she regarded you with something that almost resembled amusement. After a moment, the dragon shifted, her wings rustling as she slowly lumbered back a few paces, clearly in no hurry to follow your orders—but still, she moved.

Aemond stared at you, utterly speechless, as you casually waved off the largest, most powerful dragon in Westeros like it was a lazy cat that had overstayed its welcome.

“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Aemond, I love you, but I’m not abandoning my life. You’ll have to figure out another way to deal with your issues that doesn’t involve kidnapping me and flying off to Harrenhal.”

Aemond’s face remained unreadable for a moment, his eye searching yours for something—some sign that you might change your mind. But you didn’t budge.

Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But this isn’t over.”

You nodded, watching as he turned back to Vhagar, who seemed almost reluctant to leave the scene of such entertainment. Aemond mounted the great dragon, his jaw tight, but there was a flicker of something resigned in his gaze as he glanced back at you one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, before Vhagar took to the skies, her massive wings beating against the wind as she soared away from the Red Keep.

You stood there for a moment, watching him go, a mixture of relief and sadness settling over you. The temptation Aemond offered had been real, but so was your life here. You had made your choice.

With a sigh, you turned back toward the Keep, your mind already shifting to thoughts of Aegon and your children. The drama with Aemond would have to wait for another day.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a tense place, filled with an eerie quiet as the skies outside darkened. The heavy doors to the chamber had been bolted shut, as though they alone could keep the inevitable at bay. Aegon, though burned and scarred, sat upon the Iron Throne, his face pale but determined. The ordeal of simply climbing the steps to the throne had been an exhausting one, and though he was seated now, he leaned heavily against the jagged iron, every breath a visible effort.

You stood at his side, watching him with a mixture of concern and admiration. He was stubborn, that much was clear—too proud to abandon his throne even now, when defeat seemed to hang in the air like a storm waiting to break. Behind you, your children stood close, their young faces filled with confusion and fear. The Red Keep had always been a fortress, a place of safety, but now it felt like a trap.

Alicent stood just a few paces away, her face drawn tight with determination, though you could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. She hovered near Helaena, who sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap as she murmured something to herself, her eyes unfocused as they often were when things became too overwhelming.

The sound of Syrax and Caraxes had been heard earlier, their roars echoing through the city like the gods themselves had descended upon King's Landing. The sky had been filled with the telltale shadow of dragons, and now, the doors to the throne room felt more like a countdown than a barrier.

Alicent, her voice sharp and unyielding, broke the silence. “We cannot give up hope,” she insisted, though her tone wavered slightly. She looked at Aegon, then to you, as if trying to will you both to share her belief. “Aemond will return from Harrenhal. He will. We sent the raven just as the dragons were spotted on the horizon.”

You glanced at Aegon, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, there was an unspoken conversation between you—one built on shared glances over the years, one that said more than words ever could. The truth was as plain as day: Aemond was not coming in time. No raven, no dragon, no battle-hardened brother was going to sweep in and save the day.

Aegon’s lips curled slightly, his scarred face twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. He leaned toward you, his voice low. “She still believes, even now.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress the wry smile threatening to form. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “this has gone on long enough.”

Alicent’s head snapped toward you, her expression tight with disbelief. “What do you mean? This is our duty. We must hold this city. We cannot simply—”

“Alicent,” you interrupted softly but firmly, your gaze meeting hers. “It’s over. We’ve fought this fight for far too long, and look where it’s brought us.” You gestured to Aegon, sitting on the Iron Throne, barely able to keep himself upright, a shadow of the man he once was. “The children—our children—deserve better than this endless war.”

Alicent stared at you, her eyes wide with something like betrayal, but beneath that, you could see the cracks in her resolve. The truth had been gnawing at all of them, and now it was finally forcing its way to the surface.

Before she could respond, the heavy doors of the throne room creaked open. The sound echoed through the hall, sending a chill down your spine as you turned to face what was coming. The chamber seemed to hold its breath as a group of armored men entered, their steps measured and purposeful. And at the head of them, with her head held high and her eyes blazing with determination, was Rhaenyra Targaryen.

She looked every bit the queen she had always been meant to be, her black and red gown billowing behind her like the wings of a dragon. Beside her strode Daemon, his usual swagger ever-present, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Behind them, their men filled the room, a silent but unmistakable display of power.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick with tension, the kind that comes right before a storm breaks.

Aegon’s hand gripped the arm of the throne tightly, the sound of his breath ragged as he leaned forward slightly. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a rasp, “here we go.”

You stood by his side, your hand resting gently on his, as you both braced for whatever came next.

The silence hung like a blade in the air as Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto yours next. For a moment, everything seemed frozen, save for the flickering torches.

You took a deep breath, your hand slipping from Aegon’s as you stepped forward, toward Rhaenyra. Her guards bristled, their hands twitching toward their swords, but Rhaenyra held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks. Daemon, however, remained still, his sharp gaze never leaving you, though his lips curled into an amused smirk, as if the whole scene was nothing more than a game to him.

“Y/N,” Alicent’s voice rang out sharply from behind you, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “What are you doing? Come back. You can’t—”

But you didn’t stop. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze head-on, your heart pounding in your chest, but your voice steady. “I’m trying to end this madness, Alicent,” you said softly, but loud enough for the room to hear. “For all of us.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Alicent for a moment, then back to you, her brow arching slightly, though she didn’t move. Behind her, Daemon’s smirk grew wider, though he still didn’t relax, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword as if expecting things to turn violent at any moment.

“Brave,” Daemon drawled, his voice filled with amusement. “Approaching a dragon in its den.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living with one for years now, Daemon. You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve faced.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, as if she were suppressing a smile herself, but she stayed silent, waiting to see what you would say next.

You took a deep breath and stopped a few paces from her, your voice calm but firm. “This has gone on long enough, Rhaenyra. The war, the bloodshed, the endless fighting. There’s been enough loss. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, though her expression remained measured. “A deal?” she asked, her voice cool but curious. “And what, exactly, are you offering?”

You straightened, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on you—Aegon, Alicent, Helaena, Rhaenyra, and even Daemon, all waiting for your next move.

“I want to take Aegon, our children, and my family back to Casterly Rock,” you said evenly. “Let us go, and we’ll never trouble you again. Aegon will renounce his claim to the throne. We’ll stay out of the way, and you can rule in peace.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the room, though no one spoke. Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she were weighing the offer in her mind.

“And what guarantee do I have that your husband,” she gestured toward Aegon with a slight tilt of her head, “won’t attempt some foolish rebellion once he’s licked his wounds?”

You smiled, glancing back at Aegon, who was doing his best to sit up straight, though it was clear the effort was taking its toll. “I think,” you said wryly, “that Aegon has had enough of wars for a lifetime. Isn’t that right, love?”

Aegon managed a weak, sardonic grin from the Iron Throne. “Aye,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with bitter humor. “I think I’ve had my fill of conquest. The Iron Throne’s overrated anyway—too damned uncomfortable.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched again, though her gaze remained steady. Behind her, Daemon chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Aegon swears,” you continued, your tone firm, “on the lives of his children, that he will never challenge you again. We’ll live quietly in the West, away from court, away from politics. Let us go, and you’ll have one less enemy to deal with.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra said nothing. The room held its collective breath as she studied you, her eyes flicking to Aegon, then back to you. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before.

“You would leave the capital? Leave the realm behind?”

You nodded. “We would. For our children’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, just a fraction, and for the first time since she had entered the room, you saw something almost like understanding in her eyes. She, too, was a mother. She knew the weight of protecting her children.

But before she could respond, Alicent’s voice cut through the tension once more, her tone sharp and desperate. “You can’t—we can’t give up the throne so easily! Aegon is the rightful king. You have a duty—”

You turned to Alicent, your voice firm but gentle. “Alicent, it’s over. The Iron Throne has brought nothing but pain to this family. It’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as if she wanted to argue further, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew, deep down, that you were right. The fight was over, and all that was left was survival.

Rhaenyra shifted, her voice calm but firm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “You may leave. Take Aegon, take your children, and go to Casterly Rock. But know this—if any whisper of rebellion reaches my ears, if Aegon so much as thinks of challenging me again, I will burn Casterly Rock to the ground.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Agreed.”

Daemon, still leaning lazily against his sword, raised an eyebrow. “A generous offer, Rhaenyra,” he murmured, though there was still that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I wouldn’t mind a little rebellion. Keeps things interesting.”

Rhaenyra shot him a warning look, but there was a faint smile playing at her lips. “That won’t be necessary, Daemon.”

You exhaled, the weight of the moment crashing down on you as you realized that you had done it. You had secured safety for your family—for now, at least.

Rhaenyra turned toward the throne, her eyes flicking to Aegon once more, her voice quiet but resolute. “The Iron Throne is mine.”

Aegon, still slumped in the chair, managed a dry laugh. “It always was, Rhaenyra. Enjoy it. I’m off to more comfortable seats.”

With that, Rhaenyra signaled to her men, and the room began to empty, the weight of the war falling away as the path to peace finally opened.

And as you stood there, beside Aegon, with your family behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a small, bittersweet sense of relief. The fight was over. At least, for now.

Casterly Rock had never been this lively. The towering, ancient fortress perched above the waves of the Sunset Sea now echoed with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Since your family’s relocation from King’s Landing, Aegon had been enjoying himself far more than anyone expected. It was as though the Iron Throne and its sharp, uncomfortable spikes had sucked the joy out of him, and now, finally free, he was having the time of his life.

You stood on a wide balcony overlooking the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape, watching Aegon as he lounged on a luxurious settee, a goblet of wine in hand, looking far more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. The children played nearby, their laughter filling the air. Every so often, Aegon would turn to them with a lazy grin and shout something like, “Go on, you little lions! Show them how a real dragon roars!” before collapsing into a fit of chuckles.

Aegon had taken to life at Casterly Rock like a duck to water. His once pale, sickly complexion was now kissed by the sun, and his spirits were high. He reveled in the wealth, the ease, the freedom from responsibility. As for you, the newfound peace and tranquility of Casterly Rock were a blessing—no more politics, no more war. Just wine, family, and the occasional feast that Aegon insisted on hosting for any Lannister cousins who would visit.

The only downside? Alicent.

Despite all the opulence, all the relaxation, Alicent Hightower stood by the balcony, arms crossed, her face set in a permanent frown, as though every bit of merriment was a personal affront. She had insisted on coming to Casterly Rock with you, despite your gentle suggestion that she might want to stay in King’s Landing. Since arriving, she had maintained her usual demeanor—watchful, tense, and, most of all, annoyed by the sheer joy Aegon was taking in his new life.

You couldn’t help but watch her with a mixture of amusement and concern. For days now, she had been pacing, her disapproval palpable. Finally, you could no longer resist, and with a light laugh, you approached her.

“Lady Alicent,” you began sweetly, though there was a teasing edge to your voice, “you’ve been frowning since we arrived. We’re in one of the most beautiful places in Westeros, Aegon is practically glowing with health, and yet…” You gestured to her stiff posture and furrowed brow. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Alicent turned to you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I simply don’t see how you can all be so… carefree,” she muttered, her gaze drifting back toward Aegon, who had now joined the children in some impromptu game that involved a great deal of roaring and chasing. “The world is still full of dangers.”

You sighed, leaning against the stone balcony rail. “Alicent, we’ve left King’s Landing, we’ve left the politics behind. You can relax. You’re not responsible for every move made in the realm anymore. Why not just… go back to Oldtown? Spend time with your family there. You don’t have to stay here with us if it makes you uncomfortable.”

To your surprise, Alicent’s expression changed—not into the indignant scowl you expected, but into something far more vulnerable. Her brows knitted together, and she looked away from you, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it.

“I can’t,” she said softly.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Alicent let out a breath, her hands gripping the edge of the balcony as though she needed something to hold onto. “I’ve spent my whole life in the capital. I’ve always had responsibilities—whether it was to my father, to my children, or to the realm. But now…” She hesitated, the words seeming to stick in her throat. “Now that the war is over, now that Aegon has given up the throne… I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her admission was so unexpected that for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. Alicent Hightower, the woman who had spent her life controlling, organizing, and managing everything around her, was lost now that there was nothing left to manage. She had always been defined by her duty—first to Viserys, then to Aegon, and now… well, now, she wasn’t sure what her place was.

You softened, moving closer to her. “Alicent,” you said gently, “you don’t need to have a grand purpose anymore. You’ve done your part. You’ve raised your children, you’ve kept the realm together through chaos. You’ve earned the right to rest.”

Alicent shook her head, her lips pressing tighter together. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just… relax. I’ve never had that luxury.”

You studied her for a moment, trying to find the right words. “You’ve never had that luxury because you’ve never let yourself have it. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long, but look around.” You gestured toward Aegon, who had now flopped onto the ground, dramatically claiming defeat as your children pounced on him in victory. “He’s happy. The children are happy. The realm is moving forward without us. Maybe it’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and uncertainty, as though the very idea of letting go was as foreign to her as flying a dragon.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, “we’ve got all the wine in the world here at Casterly Rock. It’s a shame to waste it on just Aegon.”

Alicent let out a small, reluctant laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I suppose there’s no harm in enjoying a little peace,” she admitted, though there was still a hint of doubt in her voice.

You smiled warmly, placing a hand on her arm. “There’s no harm at all. In fact, I think it’s exactly what you need.”

For a moment, you thought you’d gotten through to her. But then, Aegon—who had clearly been eavesdropping—shouted from the other side of the courtyard, “Yes, Mother! Embrace the wine! It’s the only thing keeping me alive!”

You shot Aegon a mock glare, but he just grinned, hoisting a goblet in the air as the children cheered beside him.

Alicent sighed, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Perhaps I’ll take a glass,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked toward the open courtyard, leaving you smiling in her wake.

As you watched her go, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Casterly Rock had a way of working its charm on everyone—even the most stubborn of people.

The castle of Casterly Rock had settled into a comfortable routine. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows, and for once, all was peaceful—well, until the thunderous roar of Vhagar pierced the air, shaking the very stones of the ancient fortress.

The sound was enough to rattle even the sturdiest of Lannisters, and Sunfyre, who had been dozing lazily near the cliffs, let out a high-pitched screech that reverberated through the castle, startling everyone awake. Servants rushed to and fro, muttering curses under their breath about “all these damned dragons,” while Aegon groggily sat up from his luxurious bed, blinking in confusion.

“What in seven hells is that racket?” Aegon mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake.

You, already half-dressed, sighed as you glanced out the window to see the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar landing near the cliffs, her massive wings stirring up dust and sending anyone in the vicinity scrambling for cover. “Looks like your brother has come to visit,” you said dryly.

Aegon groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Of course, it’s Aemond. Couldn’t send a raven like a normal person, could he? No, he has to drop in with Vhagar and scare half the bloody castle.”

Just as you were pulling on your gown, the door to your chamber flew open, revealing a very irritated Lord Jason Lannister, his usually impeccable hair disheveled, his face flushed with annoyance. “What now?” Jason snapped, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a man who had been woken up one too many times by dragons lately. “First, Sunfyre’s been keeping half the keep awake with his screeching, and now Vhagar arrives like a bloody storm? How many dragons are you lot hiding in this castle?”

You smiled sweetly at Jason, though you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Come now, Uncle. Surely you, of all people, are used to hosting royal guests.”

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation. “Not this many. And certainly not ones that come with wingspans larger than my dining hall!”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice echoed through the halls. “Where is he?”

Aemond strode into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he entered, his eye cold and unreadable as always. He glanced at you briefly, his expression impassive, but there was an unmistakable heaviness in the air. You could feel his gaze linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention to Aegon, who was still sprawled out on the bed like he’d been woken from the dead.

“Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Aegon blinked up at him, his face scrunched in confusion. “Goodbye? What do you mean, goodbye? You’re not going anywhere.”

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—perhaps frustration, perhaps regret—but he kept his expression neutral. “I’m leaving for Pentos. It’s time.”

Aegon sat up slightly, still perplexed. “Pentos? What in the seven hells are you going to do in Pentos? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Aemond crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Because it’s not your decision to make, brother. My place is elsewhere now.”

Aegon scratched his head, clearly still half-asleep and utterly confused. “Didn’t we talk about this already? Why does everyone keep leaving for Pentos? Am I missing something?”

You placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. You’re not missing anything important. Aemond’s just… moving on to new things.” You gave Aemond a pointed look, silently communicating that whatever unresolved issues he had could stay unresolved.

Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered there—something ambiguous, something unspoken. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But now wasn’t the time for lingering glances and hidden meanings.

Aegon, oblivious as ever, looked between you and Aemond with a puzzled expression. “Moving on? To what? A vacation in Pentos?” He let out a snort of laughter. “I didn’t realize you were the relaxing type, brother.”

Aemond, unamused, simply inclined his head. “It’s not a vacation. But yes, you could say I’m… finding new opportunities.”

Aegon waved a hand lazily. “Whatever you say. Just don’t go burning any cities while you’re there.”

Aemond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead offering a final, silent nod. His gaze lingered on you once more—just a heartbeat longer—before he turned on his heel and left the room, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode out, leaving the tension in the air behind him.

As soon as Aemond was gone, Aegon let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “Pentos,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What is it with people and Pentos these days?”

You smiled at him, patting his cheek playfully. “Don’t worry about it, love. He’ll be fine, and so will we.”

Aegon blinked up at you, clearly still half-dazed. “But why did he look at you like that? Am I missing something?”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice dripping with affection as you reassured him. “You’re not missing anything, Aegon. You’re the most important person here. Let Aemond run off to Pentos. We have everything we need right here.” You smiled sweetly, love-bombing him with all the tenderness he adored.

Aegon beamed up at you, his confusion melting away as he basked in your affection. “You’re right,” he said, his voice warming. “We’re doing just fine, aren’t we?”

You nodded, giving him a look that was both teasing and sincere. “More than fine. We have the sun, the sea, our family, and all the wine you could ever want.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enamored as always, and leaned back into the cushions with a contented sigh. “Gods, you really do know how to make a man feel like a king, don’t you?”

You smirked, pouring him another goblet of wine. “It’s my specialty.”

As Aegon took the goblet and smiled up at you with that adoring, slightly dazed look in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Whatever had happened at Rook’s Rest, whatever tension still lingered between you and Aemond—it didn’t matter now. Aegon was happy, and for the first time in a long while, life at Casterly Rock was peaceful. Well, mostly peaceful—aside from the occasional dragon roaring at dawn, of course.

[loveacrosstimes]

The Nurse and the Rancher

Summary: Claire, a 27-year-old nurse from NYC accidentally gets transported back to California in 1995. There she meets Jamie, a 25-year-old Scot who recently inherited his uncle's sprawling ranch in St. Helena.

Claire Randall had no cell phone, no wallet, not even a single ballpoint pen to accompany her on her trek through the dusty, humid hell that was small town, California.  

It had a name, sure, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

It wasn’t one of the handful of famous cities she’d learned about back home in New York  — Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco  — but that was the least of her worries.

In the span of eight or so hours, she’d settled into the terrifying reality that not only was she not in New York anymore, but she was somehow nearly 30 years in the past as well. 

June 8, 1995, to be exact.

The rolled-up newspaper under her arm confirmed as much, as did the genial convenience store cashier who’d given it to her for free. That small show of kindness had kept her from falling to her knees and asking God why the worst luck in the world seemed to attach itself to her. 

Traveling to the past on the day before her fifth wedding anniversary, when she and her husband, Frank, were already on icy terms. He thought she spent too much time clocking in at the neonatal unit in the hospital; she thought his nose was too far in his history books. 

Neither was wrong, and once they could see past their own deep-seeded stubbornness, they agreed to fix things. 

After spending weeks in couple’s therapy, this was supposed to be a make-or-break milestone for them. 

A new beginning. 

She’d bought a new dress and a little makeup — because it’d been ages since he’d seen her out of her scrubs — supplies to make his favorite maple cake, and the fixings for a steak dinner. 

And now, she'd vanished without a trace. 

She stopped in the middle of the barely-paved road, unfurling the paper. The number of times she’d glanced down at the date hoping that the numbers changed was mind-boggling — but it was unfailing.

June 8, 1995. 

Eight days into the sixth month of the nineteen hundred and ninety-fifth year. 

In Le Cressida , no less, according to the paper. Wherever that was. 

She pressed an anguished hand onto her forehead.

The California sun, which she’d only heard about in theory before today, beat down on her with no abandon, shellacking her curls to her forehead and plastering her scrubs to her thighs.

If she didn’t get something cold to drink soon, she was going to pass out from dehydration. 

Heeding the directions of the cashier, she turned right in front of the store, walking right down the long, uneven street, until she passed a car repair shop and a check cashing place. 

Sure enough, there was a diner across the way. 

HATTIE’S, spelled in all caps. It was supposed to serve the best chicken and waffles in town, according to the cashier. 

Not that she cared. She just needed sustenance.

And water, God, she needed water. 

Claire pushed open the old creaky doors to the diner, and was immediately enveloped with the cold, crispy breeze of air conditioning and the overwhelming smell of grease.

Perhaps her hunger was overtaking her, but it wasn’t a rancid, turn-her-stomach kind of smell.

It smelled like buttery, artery clogging goodness, swirling with the remnants of chicken and burgers and bacon, and whatever else was sizzling on the big splotchy grill back in the kitchen.

She never allowed herself to enjoy these foods, thanks to the number of patients she’d seen meet their demise from years of overindulging when she was doing her rounds in nursing school. 

But today was no ordinary day.

“Come on in, little lady, you’re letting out the AC,” said a gruff, burly man from behind the counter.   

Claire walked further into the establishment. The floors latched onto her shoes, its thin layer of grime sandwiching itself between the grooves on the bottom of her shoe. 

Inside, she grimaced, but she kept her face leveled to keep from offending the man who stood between her and a tall icy beverage. 

“Sorry about that." She pointed back towards the door. "I got distracted.”

He picked up his notepad and shrugged. “‘It’s alright. Now, what can I get for you?”

She sat her newspaper on the counter, then looked at the menu scrawled out in chalk on a board above. Endless pairings of salt, fat, and protein, slathered in more fat, but only one item made her stomach truly quake. 

“Can I get a double cheeseburger, please? Hold the pickles and extra tomatoes. And a cup of ice water. The biggest size you have.”

He wrote as she talked. “That's all?” 

Glancing back up, she considered adding a carb to the meal. Before the universe whisked her to Le Cressida, she’d been making her daily walk to Mount Sinai Hospital. She was halfway there before she realized she’d left her purse at home, but she didn’t think much of it. 

Obviously, she should’ve.

Now, she only had the $50 worth of emergency money she kept in her bra — something NYC pickpockets couldn’t swipe — to pay with. Through some measure of a miracle, it’d made it through this journey here with her. And since she didn’t know how long she’d have to stretch it, she couldn’t go overboard. 

“Yes, that’s all — thank you, uh, Danny,” she said, finally noticing his name tag. 

With a nod, he turned and headed towards the kitchen. 

As he fetched her food, Claire familiarized herself with the surroundings.

The diner walls were dyed with what looked like years of unfiltered oil and smoke residue. There was a large neon, Coca-Cola sign on the wall to the right of the large windows, across from the counter. The retro kind she’d seen in her mother’s old magazines she collected in her early 20s. On the other wall was a board full of polaroid photos she couldn’t make out from her seat. In the other corner was a jukebox that looked like it’d been plucked straight out of the ‘60s – probably why it wasn’t on.

Or maybe it was because the diner was nearly empty. Besides her, two other patrons were sitting in a booth that lined the windows — peculiar for 3:12 p.m, no matter what decade you were in. 

Then again, it wasn’t quite time for the dinner rush yet. 

Or maybe HATTIE'S just didn’t turn over much business. 

She didn’t intend to stay here long enough to figure it out. 

After she got a good meal in her belly, she was going to wander a couple of miles back to the edge of the forest where the universe had spit her out and see if she could get back home.

Glancing backward towards the door, she looked across the way. There was barely any foot traffic along the few businesses that lined the street. It made the expansive nothingness surrounding them in every direction seem more storied, more menacing. 

Just as Claire turned her attention back to the counter, Danny emerged with her order. “Here you go, little lady.” 

She whipped around with a gleam in her eyes. “Thanks, this looks amazing,” she said about the very generic-looking diner burger coated in a thin layer of grease and grill marks – even the bread. 

Yet, it wasn’t long before she was shoveling in her food with both hands, slowing only to gulp down streams of her water. The food wasn’t nearly as tasty as it smelled, and yet it was the most delicious meal she’d ever had in her life. Determined to savor every morsel, she didn’t notice Danny, propped up near the counter, watching her intently. 

“Slow down, ma’am, I don’t know the Heimlich maneuver,” he said with a guttural laugh. 

Face flaming from embarrassment, Claire slowly raised her head and reached for the napkin dispenser. “I’m sorry … I haven’t eaten in hours,” she said, wiping traces of grease from her mouth and hands. 

But he waved her away. “Oh, I’m just funnin' ya. It’s nice to see someone appreciate the cuisine.”

Claire picked up what was left of her burger. “Well, it’s amazing.” A lie and a truth. “I’ll, um, have to come this way more often.”

Though, if the universe cared about her even a little bit, this would be the last time they ever crossed paths, because she’d be able to figure out how to get out of Dodge, and back home. 

Or maybe she’d just wake up from this very bad dream or perhaps even a coma. She hadn’t completely ruled that this wasn’t an elaborate hallucination, after all.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind. It’s always nice to see a new face now and again – especially one so pretty.”

Ignoring Danny, she took another bite from her burger, not wanting to entertain even the mildest flirtation from this man. 

Even if she wasn’t married, he wasn’t her type. 

“Plus, we don’t get many medical folks in this part.”

“Oh?” She asked brow raised slightly. 

“No, the nearest hospital is about 10 miles out.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she said quickly – perhaps too quickly. “But I was doing a house call nearby...” she added, offering up that tidbit before he could find any gaps in her story. “For a homebound patient.”

The less the locals knew of her situation the better. She was already in a strange town in an unfamiliar time. The last thing she needed were people sniffing around her trying to figure out where she was from.

All she had to offer them was the truth, and in this case, it was certainly stranger than fiction. 

"Dedicated eh?” he said, the answer seeming to satisfy him.

She smiled again. “Yes. I love my work.” That part was true. “Anyway, how much was the meal?” She reached into her bra for all the money she had in the world. Her poor father, he’d roll in his grave if he knew.

“Let’s see, a burger, extra tomatoes, and ice water. $5.56.”

“Really?” She asked, unable to contain her surprise. That same meal would’ve been at least $12-15 in 2024 —  and that's without a tip.

“Yep. Surely that’s not too steep for a nurse – I hear y’all make good money.”

“No, it’s very affordable. I’m just … surprised.”

He shrugged again. “Shouldn’t be. Things are cheaper out here in the sticks.” 

“I'm learning.” 

He reached for her money and walked over to the register.

She turned her attention back to her water, downing the rest of it. Barely satiated, but feeling stronger to restart her journey. 

Behind her the door jingled, alerting her to another patron, but she was too transfixed with the temporary relief.

It wasn’t until he stood next to her at the counter that she noted his statuesque physique. A long, lean body, accented by bulging muscles,  topped with a mess of auburn curls. 

He was wearing loose-fitting jeans, gathered at the waist with a belt and a plaid button down with what looked to be cut-off sleeves.

He was a cowboy or a cosplayer. 

Was cosplaying even a thing in the 90s? Her knowledge of the decade mostly amounted to the 90s-era TV she’d grown up with and the stories from her mother’s days as a wild, uninhibited twenty-something she’d heard about from her aunt Tiffany. She couldn’t remember any mention of the costume-heavy conventions that had taken root during her lifetime.

Either way, he was undeniably handsome in a way it’d be improper to harp on as a married woman.

So she didn’t harp .

She took only a moment to familiarize herself with this deliriously handsome figure standing feet away.

He noticed her a beat later and tilted his cowboy hat towards her. 

She flashed him a meek smile, then forced her gaze forward. 

Danny returned to the counter with a conflicted look on his face. 

“I’ll be with you in just one second, Jamie,” he said to the man he was obviously familiar with. 

Jamie, as she now knew him, nodded, then took the fourth seat at the counter, leaving two empty seats between them. 

Turning back in front of her, Claire caught the man’s expression, turning her face downward into a frown. “Everything okay?” She asked, a prickly filling rooting itself in her stomach. 

And it wasn't because of the greaseball of a burger she'd scarfed down.

“It will be after you tell me where you got this money.” 

She blinked slowly, taken aback. “Umm, an ATM?

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does when the money is counterfeit,” he said, holding the bill up into the air next to a second $50 bill he’d pulled from the register. 

Pressing her hands into the counter, Claire leaned forward.  “Are you seriously accusing me of giving you fake money?” 

“I am.”

“This is preposterous. I have a good job, and I am married to a man with a good job. I have no reason to hawk fake cash.”

“I don't need your life story, little lady. All I know is that Ulysses S. Grant’s head is the wrong size, misaligned, and the numbers are missing those little circles. Not to mention this bill says series 2024. 20, 25 – nearly 30 years into the future. So unless you rode up in town in a time machine, you’re dealing fake money, and you got it from someone who didn’t give a damn enough to make it look real.”

Eyes wide, Claire froze, the unsettling realization sinking into her bones. Of course, the money looked weird — it wasn’t yet in circulation. Thank God she hadn’t tried to pay with the new $100 bills; Danny would really crap his pants then. “Can I see it?” She asked, hoping that if she could get her hands on it, she could somehow explain away the abnormalities.

Or at the very least snatch it and make a quick escape. 

Where the hell she would flee, she didn’t know, but she knew she didn’t need another problem added to her plate.

“No … and guess what else? I’m going to have to call the Sheriff.”

“Sheriff?! Why?!” She yelled, garnering the attention of the other patrons – including the Ginger-haired man sitting two seats down. He'd already been quietly assessing the scene, but her outburst inspired a less casual observance.

"It’s the rules. We have to confiscate fake bills. He stopped, his gaze thickening as he allowed his eyes to travel from her face down her body. For the first time that day, this somewhat neutral stranger made her skin crawl. “But you look to be about his type  — bat those pretty eyelashes of yours and you’ll probably be able to get off with a warning.”

“Surely, you’re not suggesting that I use my womanly wiles to fix a problem made by your egregious accusation.”

“Egregious!? You’re the one trying to cheat out a small diner in a small town with your fake money. What happens to you is not my problem. What is, is making sure you don’t do it again.”

This was the last thing she needed.

Actually, being whisked into the past the day before her anniversary was the last thing she needed, but this certainly wasn’t helping. 

Especially now. It’d only be a matter of hours before Frank realized she was missing – that’s if her job hadn’t called him because she hadn’t shown up for work that day. She needed to figure out how to get back home before she made the local news. 

Unable to help herself, her tears built and fell hard and fast. She pressed her elbows into the counter and rested her face in her hands. “I cannot fucking believe this is my life,” she said under her breath. 

Danny turned to reach for the corded phone on the wall — another nostalgic relic from decades past she would now associate with one of the worst days of her life.  But before he could dial the Sheriff, a thick Scottish accent spoke up beside her. 

“Wait, Danny,” said the voice she quickly realized was Jamie’s. “Let me pay for the lass’ meal. It can’t be that much.”

Eyes wide, Claire shot the man a surprised glance. The other man held the phone in the air, looking between them, brows furrowed. Whoever he was, was somebody that Danny respected, as his inquiry had momentarily halted his desire for “justice.”

“I don’t know,” Danny said after a beat. “I don’t want to give an outsider the impression that it’s okay to get over on us small-town folk.”

“Just this one time.” He said, tilting his head her way. “The lass looks like she’d had a long day." Reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, he pulled out a $50 bill, dangling the money in front of the cook with a charming smile.

Danny shot her one more contemptuous glance, then returned his attention to Jamie. “And I can keep the change?” He bargained. 

“$50 for a burger and some water? You must ken me a Gomerel,” Jamie objected.

“And you must ‘ken’ me a brassy-haired Scot,” Danny returned with a laugh. “But that was your uncle, not me."

“Come on, Danny. Ye’re robbing me blind.” 

He shrugged. “That’s my price for not turning in the thief.”

Claire, who’d become more transfixed with this kind man’s thick, Scottish accent than she wanted to admit – rooted herself back in the present at his insult. “I am not a thief.”

"No, you’re just a woman handing out Party City money to hard working, small town folk.” 

Unable to help herself, Claire wound herself up to unleash an insult in kind, but Jamie interjected. "Fine, I’ll give you the $50,” Jamie replied. 

With a sigh, Danny hung the phone back up on the wall. “Fine, you got yourself a deal,” he said, taking the money from Jamie. “And I’m still keeping this,” he said, referencing Claire’s $50. 

It was the bit of cash she owned, but being absolutely broke was better than spending the night in the local jail, a fate she’d escaped thanks to this stranger. “Whatever,” she said, rising from her seat at the counter. 

Danny deposited the money into the register just as a few more people walked into the diner. More trickled in across the way. Adults, teens, kids – school and work was obviously over for the day.

And if time moved at the same pace here as it did back home, Frank would be expecting her home within a couple of hours. 

But as eager as she was to get back, she had to take care of something first. She took a step forward where the man was seated. “Thank you so much … Jamie,” she said slowly with a smile. “You didn’t have to do that, but I am so, so grateful that you did.”

He humped his shoulders. “It was nothing,” he replied in that thick, mellifluous accent of his. “But I wouldn’t suggest you try that again. People don’t take kindly to scammers in these parts.”

“I really wasn’t trying to scam anyone. I have no idea how I ended up with fake money,” she lied, though it actually wasn't a lie.

Tilting his head, he looked at her incredulously – as if he didn’t believe even an ounce of her story. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just be careful."

She nodded, unwilling to even scrounge up an explanation that he would believe, mainly because she didn’t have one – at least not on such short notice. Also, because for a moment, she got lost in the oceanic depths of his gorgeous blue eyes. 

“I will,” she said eventually. “And thanks again.” 

“It was my pleasure,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face. 

Turning back to the counter, Claire grabbed her newspaper and the rest of her ice water, then turned towards the door. 

Just as she reached the exit, he called out to her. 

“What’s your name again, lass?” 

She turned on the balls of her feet, meeting his inquiry. “What was that?”

“Yer name.”

“Oh. I’m Claire …" she said, "Claire Randall."

“It was nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Jamie. Jamie Fraser.”

**********

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!

It's also available on AO3!

[moeswriting]

good morning, miller | mine one-shot

this is a part of my series Mine. i highly suggest reading that first to make sense of the little things in this fic. takes place between chapters three and four.

pairing: mine!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: mornings with the millers,

or sarah’s first day of kindergarten

warnings: doesn’t really make complete sense unless you’ve read Mine, unbelievable amounts of fluff, joel miller is a grumpy boy without his coffee :(, sarah miller doesn’t need coffee– she’s hoarded all the energy (what the fuck, she just stole mine– SARAH GIVE IT BACK!!!!), reader needs some iced tea and a nap, mention of breakfast food (bacon, eggs, that kinda stuff), reader is wearing  Joel’s shirt (described as “fitting you well”, no other description), some subtle hints to Sarah having some really intense ADHD but it’s never said explicitly

word count: 2k

a/n: a little treat for all y’all who waited so long for chapter three <3

series masterlist | read on ao3

✦ ✦ ✦

August 14th, 1995

“DADDY!” With a scream, something light flops down onto his chest, startling him awake.

“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. DAD!” Sarah emphasizes each word with a bounce, pushing the air out of his lungs.

When he creaks his eyes open, dust piled in the corners of them, it’s bright– sun shining through the window on the side of his bed and warming his bare back. He would give anything for another hour in bed.

“Dad,” she draws out, grabbing the sides of his face and pushing his cheeks together, “It’s my first day of school. You need to get up! Sugar is making breakfast, so you need to get up.”

She’s already dressed and ready to go– hair puffy, but pushed out of her face with her favorite pink butterfly clips, a pink shirt with a few Care Bears on it and jean overalls with little strawberries on the front pocket. It’s very clear to him that you’ve done this since everything looks coordinated and doesn’t clash like it usually does when he dresses her and it isn’t her princess dress, which is what Sarah would’ve put on if she had dressed herself. He wishes you were still in bed with him– he can feel your absence like a missing limb, like a vital part of him is gone. 

His voice comes out muffled, since she’s squishing his cheeks, when he replies, “O’ay, ‘m up.”

She lets out a yelp of excitement, jumps off him, and slides off his tall bed and onto the floor. The only part of her that he can see as she runs out of the room is the top of her hair as it bounces around the bed and out of the door.

When his feet hit the hardwood floor, he shivers. It’s cold, much too cold without you next to him.

He pulls a pair of jeans off the floor and slips them on. Where’s that stupid shirt he threw last night? Whatever– he’ll put a shirt on later.

Stepping out of his room is heavenly. It smells like the diner, but so, so much better and it’s warmer, so much warmer.

He follows the scent into the kitchen, shuffling his tired feet through the hallway and to the entryway to the kitchen, leaning on the wall.

There you are, humming along with the buzzy radio attached to the bottom of the cabinet and pushing scrambled eggs around a pan. You’re wearing gray sweatpants and a blue shirt that fits you well– that’s where his shirt went. 

He thinks it’s a Madonna song playing, but he can’t really tell through Sarah’s rambling she’s spewing at you from the kitchen table.

“Maddie from preschool is going to the same school as me. I think that’s really cool. I wonder if she’ll play princesses with me. Do you think she’ll play princesses with me?”

You turn to look at her over your shoulder and nod, “Yeah, baby. I bet she does. Just make sure you ask, okay?”

“Okay– I think she will too. Remember to ask, remember to ask.” She pushes a finger into the middle of her forehead, as if to force her thoughts to the forefront of her mind.

You nod again, “You’ll remember– just be patient with yourself.”

Sarah starts mumbling to herself and counting her fingers– he cannot even begin to imagine what is going on in her big brain.

While turning your face back to the stove, you catch his eye and a smile takes over your face.

God, what he wouldn’t do to see that smile everyday. He can’t believe that the sight of him makes you look so damn beautiful.

“Good morning, Miller.”

He can’t find it within himself to put effort into forming words with his mouth. Too much energy. He grumbles nonsense instead.

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Come on, grump– I made coffee for you.”

Coffee. That’s what he needs: coffee.

He shuffles further into the kitchen. He feels like a fucking zombie. He’d bet a million bucks he looks like one too.

Without even looking, you hold out a mug of coffee towards him, the other hand pulling the eggs off the heat. He mumbles a thanks and takes it out of your hand.

Oh, he’s so glad you know just how to make his coffee. It’s heaven on his taste buds. Black, not too hot, not too cold. He can already feel the caffeine kick starting his brain.

Placing his mug down, the green one that proudly displays “World’s Best Dad” (something his brother had bought him as a joke when he first found out about Amanda being pregnant– it hadn’t been funny at the time, but he really liked the mug now), he grabs your waist from behind and snuggles his nose into your neck. His eyes slip closed at the comfort he feels being near you.

“G’mornin’.”

You turn your head and press a kiss into his bed-mussed hair, “Morning, baby.”

“Thank you for gettin’ Guppy ready for school.”

You shuffle around in his arms. He’s clearly in the way of you moving around efficiently, but you don’t say anything and neither does he.

“It’s no problem. I woke up earlier than usual and I figured you should sleep in a little. You haven’t gotten enough sleep lately.”

You’re right. You’re always right. Because Tommy’s been gone for two months now, he’s had to pick up the slack with their contracting stuff. He can’t stop doing it, it’s the only way he can afford to feed Sarah and register her for school and keep up with rent. His income from the diner isn’t enough anymore.

It’s fine though. He’ll do it. Anything to keep Sarah happy, healthy, and fed.

But it’s taking quite the toll on his body. He’s way too young to be feeling this damn old.

All he does in response to you is nod into your shoulder and sigh.

“Go sit. I made you a plate.”

He lets go of you, instantly feeling the loss, before he flops down onto the chair next to Sarah.

“Good morning, Guppy,” he mumbles through a sleepy smile, “What’re you doin’?”

She doesn’t even look up to respond to him, still intensely staring down at her fingers, “Counting.”

“Countin’ what?”

You place his forgotten coffee mug and a plate in front of him. It’s filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, and a handful of cut strawberries. You’ve been getting on his ass about being a good example with his eating habits– “You need to eat more fruit and vegetables or Sarah’s going to think that what you normally eat is an acceptable diet.”

He ate them because you asked him to. He knew you were beyond stressed lately, what with starting your senior year of college and getting ready for student teaching next semester. You didn’t need another thing like what he ate to stress you out even more.

“How many friends from preschool I have in my class. Three.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, “I bet that number goes up a lot by the end of today.”

She smiles up at him as he sticks a strawberry in his mouth, “I hope so.”

You chime in, sliding into the chair across from Sarah, “I know so. You’ll have to tell me all about school and how super cool it is when I come over on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?! You’re not coming back until Wednesday,” she shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air.

He thinks that if he didn’t know that sometimes you needed to be by yourself in your own space and this was the first time you’d told him you weren’t coming back for two days, he would be reacting the same way Sarah was.

You look freaked out for a second with your eyebrows raised and your eyes wide, before your expression cools, “I got school too, Guppy.”

“But– how I supposed remember all the stuff happens today so I can tell you on Wednesday?” She forgets a few words in her need to get out what she wants to say quickly, a common occurrence with his five-year-old.

You shake your head at her, “It’s okay if you forget. That big brain of yours is gonna keep it all stashed in there, you just might need a little reminder to jog your memory.”

Joel butts in, hopefully to take some of the heat off you, “We could write it all down, just in case.”

She takes a minute to think about it, finger pressed into her temple. You both watch as she comes to a conclusion and nods her head definitively. “Okay. But we have to write it down right after school, Daddy. I don’t wanna forget.”

He mimics her nod, “Of course, Guppy.”

You spend the rest of the time that he spends finishing his breakfast singing whatever songs come on the radio and leading Sarah in an uncoordinated dance around the kitchen as she throws her head back with the force of her giggles.

He wishes everyday could be like this. Waking up to you in his apartment. In bed or greeting him in the kitchen– it didn’t matter to him. As long as you were here, he was happy and so was his little girl.

He throws a shirt on (not the one you stole, he insists you keep that one on) and guides his girls out of the second-story apartment and down onto the street. It’s bustling with activity as people come to the busy downtown street to get to work and get errands done.

Sarah’s already hopping down the street, her pink Elmo backpack being jostled up and down with her as she bounces, while he locks the door behind them.

“Sarah,” you call for her, gesturing with the hand you don’t have placed on his lower back for her to come back.

She obeys, but she does so reluctantly. Her hands wrap around her backpack straps and her head faces the concrete below her.

“You gotta hold Daddy’s hand, remember?” He holds a hand out for her to take when she’s standing next to him again. He’s been trying to really hammer this point home to her for years now, to get her to remember, but she has a harder time focusing when she’s really excited. He doesn’t mind– she just needs to be reminded.

“Yes…” She slaps her palm into his and clamps down her tiny fingers in between his thumb and his pointer finger.

“Thank you, baby.”

You start your trek down the street. Sarah was going to the grade school that was on your college campus, the one that the education students helped teach at occasionally. You assured him that you knew a lot of the people that would be interacting with Sarah and that they were all fantastic. It just made him nervous sometimes, but he trusted you.

“Can I hold Sugar’s hand too?”

You beam down at her, “Of course.”

When you give her your hand, she insists that you both swing her, which, of course you do because you both are wrapped around her comically small pinkie finger.

He successfully drops her off with no tears, which he doesn’t know how he managed considering he had cried to you the previous night about how weird it was that his little girl was going to school now and that she wouldn’t have any family around her there like she always did. You had assured him that going to school would be a fun new adventure for her. Sarah was such a social butterfly that she could fit in anywhere. He just didn’t want her to grow up.

He takes you to your dorm room and says good morning to Elaine, who’s snuggled deep in Robin’s chest and barely acknowledges his existence. You give him a long kiss and tell him that you’ll see him on Wednesday. Wednesday could not come sooner.

When he punches his timecard at work later that morning, he sighs in disbelief at how big his little girl was growing– at how much he would give for another morning just like this one. Maybe someday.

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists 🌼 | eras masterlist 🌻

[the-monkey-ruler]

Greetings! I hope you're having an at least decent weekend. Is it just me or is Stephen Chow involved in a lot of jttw/swk centered media? & do you have anything to say about any of Stephen Chow's jttw/swk centered work?

Stephen Chow WAS Sun Wukong in what could be considered the most iconic Sun Wukong that changed the game. I'm not kidding that there could be a butterfly effect on how Stephen Chow's Wukong in the Chinese Odyssey became such a classic we see how it has affected games, shows, and movies even years later. Dare I say it but I think Stephen Chow could have been just as influential to Wukong's development in modern media as much as even Liu Xiao Ling Tong with how IMPACTFUL his Wukong was.

I have to say that Stephen Chow does have a certain scene of humor that you see in all his movies, not just Journey to the West. He can be raunchy, violent, and nonsensical so I would say that his style of movies might not land with everyone but Stephen Chow undoubtedly always puts a lot of heart into his characters which is what really makes people connect with his movies. He is a master of incorporating meaningful connections through the most ridiculous and insane situations that humans could find themselves in and that is part of his charm seeing both the humor and the tragedy in life as they often go hand and hand. I would suggest reading more about his style here since I think it puts into words how his art form is expressed.

But there can be a fascinating conversation to say just HOW much his Sun Wukong has influenced even modern Journey to the West media. Chinse Odessey was nearly 30 years ago and yet its impact is still being seen today in movies that are directly related to his films, versus movies and shows that he is directly or indirectly involved in today.

Journey to the West Conquering the Demons (2030) (tv remake on Chow’s Wukong)

Black Myth Wukong (2024)

The Monkey King (2023)

A Chinese Odyssey 1 (2022)

A Chinese Odyssey - Origin (2022)

Journey to the West - ARPG (2019)

Bio of Wukong (2017)

The Legend of Sun Wukong (2017)

A Chinese Odyssey TV series (2017)

Journey to the West Demon Strikes Back (2017)

A Chinese Odyssey Part Three (2016)

Honor of Kings (2015)

Taste of Love (2015)

Journey to the West Conquering the Demon (2013)

Asura Online (2010)

Even in movies that he is NOT involved in like Monkey King: The One and Only (2021) 大圣无双 where the Wukong actor is basing his performance clearly on Demon Strikes Back (2017) Wukong. Not to mention nearly EVERY SINGLE Wukong x SO plot line where the SO dies in the end could be traced back to Chinese Odyssey. If you hate how much Wukong's love interests are killed off in media, you can somewhat blame Stephen Chow, not for doing it first, but for doing it WELL and then dozens of directors for years to come trying to recapture that magic but falling short of what made people love that tragic romance in the first place.

Chinese Odessey was made in 1995 and led to the light novel Bio of Wukong which was made in 2000 and at least 4 more movies and its own TV show. The Bio of Wukong was so popular that it led to the inspiration of Asura Online game based is the story and its own movie Immortal Demon Slayer. Stephen Chow continued to make his own movies Conquering the Demon and Demon Strikes Back. He also goes on to help produce Monkey King 2023 and even makes plans to help produce an entire TV series based on his own universe. Asura Online was worked on by Game Science who continued to work on the creation of Black Myth Wukong. This isn't even to mention the spin-offs, sequels, and prequels to Chow's movies and still how they are influencing directors today.

I can't express how much Chow has impacted the very image of Sun Wukong from being a fighter to a tragic hero. I even took from an ENTIRE CHPATER from Transforming Monkey: Adaptation and Representation by Hongmei Sun bout the CULTURAL impact that fans had with Chinese Odessey and how it became such a cult classic. He was the one to really reshape what Wukong could mean to people, not just a hero in an action movie, but a tragic figure that is forced to give up his individualism for the sake of saving the world because no one else can. That the burden of being 'Sun Wukong' can be relatable to anyone and anyone can see their own struggles with how Wukong tries not just to fight demons, but also fight himself.

I have so many feelings on the intricacies of how Wukong's character changes throughout each generation and each audience across countries and what he means to each new audience but never loses what makes him so beloved and keeps him still going strong after 400 years. And I think that Stephen Chow plays a huge and critical part in how Wukong has changed yet again in the public eye. Wukong going from a pure heroic figure to now a tragic hero who has all the power in the world but still finds himself falling short of what he desires in life. I think that this was a vital step in show the complexity and having more directors and the audience toy with the notion of Wukong's internal battle with his identity versus him always just fighting physical battles.

I will say that Chow's influence did lead to the popularity of the Journey to the West Conspiracy Theory which I am not personally a fan of. It is not that it can't be fun or interesting but moreso I believe that this theory has been drawn out far too long in the past 20 years and that it is time for a new nuance perspective to take its place. Genres have waves of new tropes and cliches and I do believe the 'heaven bad, yaoguai misunderstood' has been played out a tad too long to be charming anymore. I think this was a vital step in Wukong’s and Journey to the West adaptions but I also believe that now more can be built upon this premise to allow for more creative ideas that reflect a more modern audience.

I think that the audience that has grown up with Chow's work (Chinese Odessey at least) is now at the age where they can produce and create their own material and we are still seeing how this audience is echoing the same statements of Chow's Tragic Hero standpoint. I don't know what else I can say that I haven't said before but the sheer magnitude of changing a character's image is shocking and I hope that we see what new form Sun Wukong shall take!

[hayaomiyazaki]

Stavros Zalmas as Ilias A PLACE IN THE SUN / Μια θέση στον ήλιο (1995) dir. Constantine Giannaris

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Elementary, Chapter Six:

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x sarah’s teacher!reader

rating: E (18+ only, talks of bisexuality (reader is also bisexual), unprotected PIV, just so much fluff it’ll make your teeth rot)

wc: 3.4k

a/n: as a bisexual person who’s known from a very young age that they were different but never had someone to go to about it, i felt it was really important to showcase a relationship between a paternal figure/mentor and child wherein the child feels comfortable seeking advice about the things going on inside their head. if you have an issue with it, you’re entitled to your opinion, but from personal experience i know that pretending as though pre-teens aren’t capable of understanding the complexities of gender and sexuality only leads to them having more questions and more unnecessary shame over things they cannot control. if you don’t agree, please just keep scrolling. everyone is entitled to their own views on this, and i just ask that you respect mine just as i respect yours. 🤍

series masterlist | joel masterlist | elementary playlist

After a weekend of pure bliss, and maybe a bit too much sex, it was time to say goodbye to the man of your dreams, at least for the next three days.

Joel had heeded your advice about whisking Sarah off for a little trip, choosing to take her down to Corpus Cristi rather than San Antonio so that they could enjoy the ocean for the first time in a long time.

At the present moment, you stood in the driveway of his two-story suburban home, the Texas sun setting behind the houses across the street. Joel was in the garage with Tommy, changing the tires on their truck while you contentedly looked on, a glass of fresh lemonade in your hand courtesy of Sarah and Jessie.

“Hey, baby?” Joel called, the pet name slipping from his lips as casually as a breath. You forced your grin to calm at the sound.

“Yeah?” you replied.

“Would you mind goin’ inside and grabbin’ us a couple beers? Pretty please,” he sweet-talked you, his hands covered with grease, his face and neck glistening from sweat. How could you deny him his request when he looked like that? When he looked at you like that?

“I suppose I could,” you smirked. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

“What’s your price?” he asked, matching your smile.

“A couple smooches.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Tommy groaned at the cutesy game the two of you were playing.

“You can pay up later,” you spoke to Joel, your eyes flickering over to his crabby brother. Joel chuckled and nodded, giving you a wink before returning to his task.

Inside the house, Sarah sat with Jessie in the living room, the two girls occupied by the 1995 film adaptation of this month’s book club pick: Sense and Sensibility.

“How’s it going in here?” you asked with a friendly smile. “The movie any good?”

“It’s alright, I just thought the guys would be better looking,” Sarah replied.

“Yeah, isn’t Willoughby supposed to be…hot?” Jessie added, looking to you as you stood in the kitchen.

“Hugh Grant isn’t ugly,” you argued with a laugh. “Never been my cup of tea but a lot of women seem to find him good looking.”

“Well, they need to get their eyes checked. You know who’s hot? Justin Timberlake,” Jessie proudly declared, earning a gag from her friend.

“Yeah, so hot with his ramen hair,” Sarah snarked sarcastically. “Have you seen Usher?”

“Yeah, he’s cute, too,” Jessie agreed.

“You know who I was really into when I was a teenager?” you asked, and both girls looked full of interest. “Freddie Mercury.”

“Who’s that?” they asked in unison, making you gasp.

“Who’s that?” you repeated. “Oh, girls, your parents have failed you. He’s the lead singer of Queen,” you waited for them to place the rock star in their minds. “Bohemian Rhapsody? We Will Rock You?”

“No clue,” Sarah shook her head. “You think my dad would know him?”

“If he doesn’t, he’s crazy,” you chuckled. “Anyways, I gotta go bring these out before Tommy gets an attitude. You two have fun arguing about Justin Timberlake and Usher.”

“And you have fun daydreaming about Frankie Mars!”

“Freddie Mercury!” you corrected with a chuckle.

Back outside in the garage, the boys greeted you with a cheer as you handed over their beers. Joel planted a kiss upon your cheek as you leaned into his side, his hand too dirty to hold your waist so he refrained.

“You both know who Freddie Mercury is, right?” you asked as they took sips from their cold amber bottles.

“Yeah, Queen,” Joel replied and Tommy nodded in confirmation. “Why?”

“Sarah and Jessie had no idea who he or Queen was,” you chuckled. “Called him Frankie Mars.”

“My god,” Tommy shook his head. “Yet they’ll talk your ear off about B2K and N-Sync.”

“Sign of the times,” Joel sighed and chuckled before tilting his beer towards you. “Hey, where’s your drink at?”

“I gotta drive home,” you reminded, earning a pout.

“Thought you might stay the night,” he murmured just for you to hear. “Since I’m gonna be gone for the next few days.”

“Well, I never got an invitation,” you snarked with a tilt of your head.

“Go get a beer,” he ordered with a smirk.

The boys remained outside well after the sun had set over the horizon, tinkering with the truck and letting the radio play, the sounds of 80’s and 90’s love songs filling the night air. Jessie had gone home, leaving Sarah to join the three of you outside.

“Baby,” Joel turned and locked eyes with you as “Weak” by SWV came on the radio, a charming, pleading smile on his face as he held his grease-covered hand out for you. “Dance with me.”

“These two,” Tommy rolled his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head in disgust as he looked to his niece. “Can’t wait til this honeymoon shit is over.”

“As long as you wipe your hands off,” you ignored Tommy’s complaining and stood up off the hood of your car where you’d been looking at the stars with Sarah. Joel pulled a rag out of his back pocket and cleaned his hands as best as possible as you walked to him. “This is gonna be our song now, you know?”

“It’s a damn good song,” he argued, placing one hand on the small of your back while the other held yours in slowdance form. He pressed his cheek to yours and led you to the music, slowly swaying you around to the beat.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Sarah teased from the car, an amused smile on her face at the sight before her.

“I can’t,” he replied.

“You’re not too shabby,” you mumbled in his ear, earning a squeeze to your waist. Joel turned his face to whisper into your ear.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about gettin’ you alone all damn day,” he confessed, making your heart skip a beat. “You think I haven’t noticed you checkin’ me out?”

“I’m always checking you out,” you admitted with a smile. “The whole sweaty man working with his hands thing just makes it even harder to look away.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought for a minute before speaking again. “This might be a good incentive for me finally gettin’ around to fixin’ shit up ‘round here.”

“As long as you invite me over to watch.” Joel laughed and nodded.

“I think you’d faint if you saw me at work.”

“And I think you’d be very, very bored if you saw me at work.”

“You kiddin’?” he asked rhetorically. “The idea of you teachin’ multiplication drives me crazy.”

You pinched his side and rolled your eyes, laughing at his sarcasm.

“Although, I do love those dresses you wear to work,” he husked, his tone still light but there was an undeniable desire in it. “Those actually drive me crazy.”

“Joel, can you and your lady love split up for a goddamn minute so you can help me change out this oil?” Tommy called over the music, forcing a deep sigh from his brother. Joel pressed a kiss onto your cheek and hummed.

“We’ll continue this dance later,” he promised. “Alone and in the nude. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you better hurry up and finish,” you pulled away from him with a smirk. Joel mustered the strength to leave your embrace, heading back to the truck while you walked back to the car, resuming your place next to Sarah on the hood.

“I was trying to find the Big Dipper,” Sarah started as you got comfortable, her small hand pointing around the night sky. “But I can’t see it.”

“Hmm, well, I think that’s the Little Dipper,” you pointed out a vague constellation, the street lights making the stars harder to spot. “No clue where the big one is.”

A beat of comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you laid there, eyes searching the stars. You wondered for a moment if looking at these bright little orbs in the sky affected her the same way it affected you, forcing you to think about your humanity and how lucky you were to have found this beautiful family in such a vast universe. Though you’d long since given up on wishing on stars, perhaps one of your wishes for true love you made as a little girl actually came true, the brown eyed man in front of you brought to you by some unseen force, some magic worked by the Cosmos.

“Hey…can I ask you something?” Sarah tilted her head to look at you and you did the same, nodding your head at her. “It’s silly, and…well, I don’t want you to think anything—whatever, I’ll just come out and ask. Is it…is it possible to maybe like boys…and girls?”

“Oh,” you sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering to Joel as he leaned underneath the hood of his pick-up truck.

“It’s just…well, when we were talking about celebrity crushes earlier, Jessie knew right away that she liked Usher. But for me, I had two people pop into my mind. Usher and Beyoncé. And then when Jessie and I were talking about boys we liked at school, I thought of José G and, well, Jessie. But I didn’t tell her that, obviously.”

“You know, I can only speak for myself, but I’ve always liked both women and men,” you spoke carefully, knowing that not only was she your pupil, but also not your child to influence. The last thing you wanted was to cross a line with Joel, not that you thought he’d be against his daughter’s potential bisexuality—he’d been incredibly supportive when you confessed your own to him on your first date. “But this might be something you could bring up with your therapist, or even your dad.”

“What if he gets mad?” she asked, her eyes turning to watch her father as he wiped his oily hands clean.

“You know your dad better than I do. Does he really seem like the type to get mad over something like that?” Sarah chuckled and shook her head. “If it’s something you’re nervous about, I could bring it up to him for you.”

“Really?” She turned to you with a smile. “That would take a lot of the pressure off.”

“Of course,” you smiled. “And as for Jessie, I think the best romances are born out of friendship. You guys are so young, you don’t need to worry about all that other complicated stuff for now. Just…be her friend. It’ll all work out how it’s supposed to in the end.”

“I’m really glad my dad found you,” she spoke sincerely. “It’s been hard for both of us after mom died, but it’s been even harder watching him be so alone. And not only do you make him happy, you’re also there for me. It’s…really nice.”

“You’re gonna make me cry, kid,” you chuckled and wiped your teary eyes.

“What’s goin’ on over here?” Joel approached the hood of the car and both of you sat upright, chuckling at his cluelessness.

“Just talking,” you replied.

“Alright, well, it’s gettin’ late, baby girl,” Joel tapped Sarah’s shoe. “We’re gonna head out early tomorrow, so I think it’s bedtime for you.”

“And you,” she countered, poking his stomach as she walked past him. “Night y’all.”

“Night,” you waved at her as she walked up to Tommy to hug him goodnight.

“You gonna fill me in?” Joel tapped your shoe.

“Yeah, upstairs.” You stood up and walked into his open arms, allowing him to squeeze you close and sway you.

“Tommy’s spending the night so we’re gonna have a full house,” he mumbled into your hair. “Gonna have to be extra quiet.”

“What makes you think you’re getting lucky tonight?” you teased, lifting your head just enough to rest your chin on his chest. Joel’s smile had you weak in the knees as he looked down at you, still hugging you close.

“Gotta pay up for those beers somehow,” he replied.

After wishing Tommy a good night, you and Joel headed upstairs to his bedroom, his hands grabbing at your hips the entire way. Once the door was shut, he was all over you, pressing his lips to your neck as he backed you towards his en-suite.

“Need to shower,” he husked against the shell of your ear.

“So do I.”

“What ever will we do about that?” he grinned against your skin, earning a few giggles that sounded in the acoustics of his bathroom. Letting go of you, he walked over to the shower to get the water going while you stripped out of your clothes.

“I didn’t bring anything,” you frowned, just then realizing you’d be going without a toothbrush and a clean set of clothes.

“Hold on,” he walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, opening his dresser to retrieve a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “Here’s your pj’s,” he set the clothes on the bathroom counter before opening the drawer beneath the sink and grabbing a brand new toothbrush still in its packaging. “All good?”

“You just keep a spare toothbrush on hand?” you asked, grinning as you opened the package.

“I got it for you,” he replied sheepishly. “Figured you’d stay over at some point.”

“You are…annoyingly perfect,” you breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head. “And I love you.”

Joel’s grin widened at the sound of your affections, those three words still new to both of you.

“I love you,” he repeated through his grin. “And I need you, so I suggest you get your fine ass in the shower.”

“You gonna make me?” you purred, reaching for the button of his jeans and popping it undone. Joel shivered as you reached inside his underwear to palm his stiffened length, his brows lacing together.

“You got me wrapped around your finger, baby,” he moaned breathily, his hands cradling your jaw as he leaned in for a slow and sensual kiss. “Do I gotta get down on my knees for you?”

“Maybe,” you grinned into the kiss. Joel lowered himself to the ground in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs as he peered up at you with those brown, doe eyes of his. Pushing his hair back, you smiled at him softly. “You look good from down there.”

“Can’t say I’ve got a bad view myself,” he smirked and leaned forward to press a kiss to your mound, right about where you needed him most. Guiding his eyes back to you with a tilt of his chin, you smoothed over his beard.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s get in the shower before the water gets cold.”

Joel stood up and followed you into the steamy tub, pulling the curtain closed behind him while you let the stream of hot water wash over you. His hands found your hips and his lips pressed against your throat as you tipped your head back to wet your hair, his cock prodding at your belly.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against your skin as though he didn’t mean for you to hear it. “Every inch of you…perfect.”

You guided his lips from your chest back up to yours, swallowing down his moan as he hugged you close under the stream of hot water. You gasped as he turned you around and pressed your back against the cold wall, one of his wide-spread hands gripping your ass, the other lifting your thigh to wrap around his hip.

“Need you,” you breathed into his ear as he sucked a mark into your neck. Joel let out a choked groan against your heated skin and nodded, the hand on your ass moving to grip his length and guide it into your heat. You sighed in unison at the feeling of his cock burying inside of you, your walls sore from the constant fucking ever since Friday night. “God,” you mewled as he stilled deep inside you. “Gotta go slow. S’too sore still.”

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked, desire straining his voice.

“No,” you quickly shook your head. “God, no.”

Joel lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you, his hand reaching to cup your face as he slowly withdrew himself. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip as he pushed back in, his eyes studying the way your face scrunched from the pleasure.

“Love you so much,” he moaned, his eyes glossy with lust.

What started slow and tender soon turned ravenous, his cock spearing into you once you were relaxed enough to take him properly. His grunts were muffled as he pressed his lips against your cheek while you bit your lip in an attempt to silence your cries. Your body moved against the wall as he thrust up into you, stroking against that spot inside that blinded you with bliss.

“God,” he choked out into your ear. “Pussy’s so damn good.”

“Joel, touch me,” you begged, needed just a little bit of help from his fingers to help you reach your climax. Joel was quick to act, sliding his hand down the front of your body so that he could strum over your clit in perfectly pressured circles. “Just like that, oh my god.”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin’ close,” he whined, his eyes screwed shut as he leaned forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You held the back of his head and shoulders, clinging to him for dear life as your body went limp from your climax, pleasure shooting from your core down to your toes as he fucked you through it. “Gonna cum, baby, fuck,” he warned, hips stuttering.

“Cum inside me, baby,” you purred, drunk on your post-climactic bliss and kissing his temple. Joel moaned in time with his last few sharp thrusts until he stilled inside you, his chest heaving against yours.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, lifting his head to give you a lazy grin. “You’re makin’ me feel old, woman.”

“Maybe you are old, man,” you grinned back, tracing his smile with your fingertip. “I love you.”

“Never gonna get tired of hearin’ that,” he chuckled and leaned forward to give you a sweet peck. “I love you too.”

After finally washing up and getting ready for bed, you tucked into Joel’s side, resting your head on his chest as the soft hum of the ceiling fan threatened to lull you into sleep, but there was still one thing left to talk about.

“So, uh, Sarah asked me something earlier,” you began, only slightly nervous to bring the subject up.

“Oh yeah? That what you two were talkin’ about outside?” Joel rasped.

“Yeah,” you rolled over a bit, resting your chin on his chest so that you could look into his eyes. “She, uh, she asked me if it was possible to like both girls and boys.”

Joel’s heavy-lidded eyes widened, his attention earned. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled.

“What did you say?”

“I told her that I could only speak for myself, and that I’ve felt that way since I was a kid,” you replied, studying his reaction carefully. Joel nodded, thinking to himself for a moment before turning back to you.

“Why didn’t she…come to me about this?” he asked, frowning a bit. “Did she think I wouldn’t be okay with it?”

“It’s a hard subject to breach,” you reminded with a shrug. “I’m sure it wasn’t anything personal.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Should I bring it up on the trip? Does she know you told me?”

“Yeah, she wanted my help getting her foot in the door,” you replied.

“Well,” he chuckled. “At least now there’s a good chance she won’t bring any stupid boys home.”

“I don’t know, I’m bisexual and look at where I am,” you rubbed his chest with a smirk. “In a stupid, gorgeous boy’s bed.”

“That’s true,” he smirked at you for a moment before sighing. “God, I really hope she isn’t worried about what I think about all this. I don’t care what she is or who she likes, she’s my baby girl.”

“She knows that,” you assured. “And if not, there’s always time to let her know.”

“What would I do without you?” he hummed, giving you a squeeze and a kiss upon your forehead.

“You’re doing a better job with her than you think,” you combed his hair back. “All I’m doing is reminding you of it.”

“I’m gonna cry if you keep bein’ so damn nice to me,” he chuckled.

“Shh,” you laughed and kissed his nose. “Let’s go to bed before I make you shed your first tear in years.”

“I cry often, thank you very much,” he corrected sassily.

“My apologies,” you grinned against him as you cuddled him from behind, Joel’s preferred position. Kissing his shoulder, you rubbed his stomach and whispered, “Good night, baby.”

“Good night, honey.”

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[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

“Cherub child,” I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls. He is smaller than me physically, but he didn’t seem to mind this gesture. In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest. Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did. “I can’t remember anything bad between us,” I said. “You will,” he responded. “And so will I. But what does it matter what we remember?” “Yes,” I said, “we’re both still here.” He laughed outright, though it was very low, and he shook his head, flashing a glance on David that implied they knew each other very well, maybe too well. I didn’t like it that they knew each other at all. David was my David, and Armand was my Armand. - Lestat and Armand, Memnoch the Devil (1995)

He looked at me, and a faint charming smile brightened his face. "Don't fear for me, little devil Armand," he said. "Fear for all of us. I am nothing now. I am nothing." In a low voice I whispered to him my plan. "Let me go down into the streets, let me steal from some mortal, some evil being who has wasted every physical gift that God ever gave, an eye for you! Let me put it here in the empty socket. Your blood will rush into it and make it see. You know. You saw this miracle once with the ancient one, Maharet, indeed, with a pair of mortal eyes swimming in her special blood, eyes that could see! I'll do it. It won't take me but a moment, and then I'll have the eye in my hand and be the doctor myself and place it here. Please." He only shook his head. He kissed me quickly on the cheek. "Why do you love me after all I've done to you?" he asked. There was no denying the beauty of his smooth poreless sun-darkened skin, and even as the dark slit of the empty socket seemed to peer at me with some secret power to relay its vision to his heart. He was handsome and radiant, a darkish ruddy glow coming from his face as though he'd seen some powerful mystery. - Lestat and Armand, The Vampire Armand (1998)

[soisaidfine]

Ethel Cain: a mother is a very special thing: my great-grandmother’s funeral back in 1995 ♡

magnolia-grove asked: where do the sermon samples on Strangers come from?

mothercain answered (Feb 3, 2023): my great-grandmother’s funeral back in 1995, same as family tree intro ♡

Ethel Cain: Family Tree (Intro), Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, Outside Lands Music Festival (August 2023)

sermon: “a woman, a mother, a mother is a very special thing. other than the lord jesus christ, i think that a mother is one of the most precious gifts that god gives to this world, cause a mother is the one who loves and has the warmth and always seems to be there when we need it. a mother is a very special thing. a mother is a very special thing.” - Family Tree (Intro) - Ethel Cain

. . .

sermon: "God is telling you and I there is death, for all of us. But then we find that the scriptures also tell us that we have a great promise, that there is a better place for those who believe in the lord Jesus Christ" - Strangers - Ethel Cain

. . .

'So I met him there and told him I believe (I believe, yeah)' - Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

. . .

'Jesus is the real thing. Are you the real thing?'

Sermon, Perry First Church of God, Perry, Florida

[theycalledmebaby]

LOVERS AND FRIENDS

| harringrovson x fem!reader |

-ALWAYS BE MY BABY

summary: Just a little flashback about meeting each of our boys. Super short lol 672 wc

warnings: idk, bad writing? none yet. This is just the beginning but still 18+

a/n: Hi! this fic is my baby and something that's been brewing in my drafts forever. I am not a writer by any means and this is simply self-indulgent/therapeutic for me. You can feel free to come along if you want!

series masterlist | series mixtape(coming soon)

Somewhere in 1995

Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey quietly playing in the background

"But do I have to go, Mom? Wha... what if—" "Yes, baby, you have to go to school. We already talked about this," your mom says as she pulls into the parking lot. "Besides, Stevie will be there! You get to see him at recess, and I will be here to pick you both up after school."

You don’t remember the day you met Steve Harrington. Maybe it was childhood trauma blocking out memories before the age of 4. You’re unsure, but you know he’s always been around.

Your mom had you at a young age and struggled to make ends meet when she started working for Robert Harrington. Robert Harrington was a sleaze, but his wife, Jen, was an absolute sweetheart. She befriended your mother immediately and soon found out they had babies around the same age.

To make extra money, your mom started babysitting for the Harringtons. Your mom didn’t mind always having Steve with her. The Harringtons paid her very well, you guys got to stay at their very nice house most weekends, and you had someone to play with. It was a win-win.

No, you don’t remember meeting Steve Harrington. -But you do remember that day. The first day of kindergarten. The first time Steve Harrington kissed you.

He had met you in front of your new classroom. You told him you were scared; he grabbed your hand, gave you a light peck on the lips, and told you everything was going to be okay. You didn’t know it then, but from that day on, you were his.

You were always going to be Steve Harrington's baby.

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

Somewhere in 1999

You may not remember the day you met Steve Harrington, but the day you met Eddie Munson is etched in your memory forever.

It was early February, maybe late January. An early chilly Saturday morning, and you were sitting in the backseat of your mom's car, immersed in Mariah Carey's "Fantasy" playing on your Discman. The car was parked in front of a house you had never been to—the home of your mom's new girlfriend. Apparently, her friend had a son around your age, and the plan was to carpool together to visit your stepdad in prison since her husband(Eddie's dad) was also in the same prison.

As Eddie hopped into the backseat with you, a distinct scent of laundry soap and the faint aroma of the smoke shop your mom frequented enveloped the air. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice his big, beautiful brown eyes. He asked what you were listening to, chuckled at your reply, and declared, "No, that shit is pop garbage. This is real music." With that, he placed his headphones on your head, and you were introduced to Metallica's "From Whom the Bell Tolls."

In that very moment, as this something-year-old boy gazed into your eyes and you listened to Metallica for the first time, something shifted within you. You didn't quite comprehend the depth of it then, being just a kid, but you knew deep down that this boy was special. He made you feel something you had never felt before, a feeling that lingered long after that day.

Yeah, you were never going to forget that day.

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

Somewhere in 2001

The summer sun beat down on the neighborhood streets, casting a hazy, golden glow over everything. You found solace on the porch steps of your new house, shaded from the heat, Eddie’s “The Marshall Mathers LP” CD playing softly in your ears.

Moving had its perks—peaceful surroundings and friendly faces—but you couldn't shake the nostalgia for the old apartment complex and memories of Eddie. Even if he was no longer your friend, you missed the sound of his skateboard rolling by or his obnoxious laugh when he and his friends were up to no good.

Lost in thoughts about Eddie, you barely noticed the sound of a skateboard approaching. The wheels clicked against the pavement, drawing your attention. Glancing up, you saw a boy about your age, his blond hair catching sunlight as he effortlessly maneuvered on the board.

He spotted you and skated over, coming to a smooth stop in front of your driveway. His gaze was cool, almost calculating, as he looked you up and down. Yet, his smile was warm and genuine, lighting up his face and his ocean blue eyes.

"Hey," he said casually, tinged with curiosity.

"Hi," you replied, unsure whether to be wary or friendly.

"Billy," he introduced himself, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated before responding, "Nice to meet you, Billy." You shared your name and mentioned you had just moved into the neighborhood.

Billy nodded, his expression unreadable. "Us too," he replied cryptically.

"Us?" you echoed, intrigued.

"Yeah, me and my stepsis Heather. Just moved here from Cali," Billy explained, his tone nonchalant yet somehow aloof.

The way he looked at you with those dreamy blue eyes made you feel like you were in one of those cheesy teen rom-com movies Steve always tried to make you watch.

"What are you listening to?" he asked.

"Oh, um, it's my friend's CD, Eminem," you replied nervously.

"Cool," Billy said simply, then skated away, saying "Cya."

"Uh, see ya," you managed to respond.

That was the day you met Billy Hargrove. Little did you know then, what an impact that blond, blue-eyed California boy would have on you for the rest of your life.

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Important thing that just occurred to me.

In Midnight Sun, when Bella is listing her favourite movies, she says "Pride and Prejudice, the six hour one, obviously."

As someone who became an austen fan in 2009, my reflex when specifying P&P adaptations is 1995 or 2005. And of course most die hard Janeites prefer 95. Obviously.

Which is why is interesting to me that Bella specifies this in Midnight Sun because what she is specifying here is not "95 over 05" but "95 over '40". Because this conversation is happening in March of 2005.

P&P 05 didn't release until September .

Smeyer is fortunate that the 40 version exists, otherwise I would surely have pegged this as an anachronistic oversight.

And I know I'm covering her ass for her here because if it had occurred to her that P&P05 was released in the same year as this book takes place, then surely Edward would have asked Bella her thoughts on the upcoming new adaptation.

Right?

[witchwrestler]

Hey there, Sailor.

pairing: fisherman!eddie + gn reader

wc: 1.8k

warnings: talk of the upside down, brief mention of scars

summary: he's a fisherman now, 20 something and trying to figure things out. The bakery he passes on his trek home finally lures him in one day, and a new friend (or maybe more) is made

a/n: greatly inspired by this fic by @/dr-aculaa | i had so much fun writing this, and i really hope you enjoy <3

It was 1995. ten years had come and gone since then. Things had calmed down. He had calmed down.

He found himself in the dreary west coast town of seattle, working on a boat catching fish for a somewhat sketchy payment. The grimey parts of which even grossed him out sometimes. He'd seen slimy creatures with rows of teeth from other dimensions and yet still some sea creatures made his skin crawl.

He was out of hawkins---he had lived through everything. He fought hard. And he made it. The monitors still rhythmically beeped in the back of his mind when he slept sometimes. The dull scars still riddled his abdomen, a not so subtle reminder of his close encounter with death. After everything he'd been through, eddie resorted to a quiet existence. Gone were the days of the loud, long haired boy with silver clad hands. The ripped jeans and homeade denim vest, covered in patches and pins were left behind. Soon replaced with cable knit sweaters and dickies, his beanie covering his shaved head.

He decided the quiet was easier, Though socialization was hard to come by when his work day ended when everyone else's began.

Making the early trek back home from the docks, he finds himself passing the little bakery on the corner. Usually he passes it and finds a 'we are closed' sign hanging on the door, but sometimes he catches glimpses of you setting up your quaint little shop for the day. Today, as he approaches the shop, the sign reads,

'we are open'

He peers in the window for a moment, advertisements for local bands, theater productions and bar crawls plastered over the glass. Soon his feet carry him inside, contrary to his brain, which was still deciding. As he enters the shop, the clash blares quietly from the back as he moves to the front, a second voice accompanying the song quietly.

"...Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine, I'll be here till the end of time"

Once upon a time the clash was his fourth favorite band, but after everything that he'd been through he found himself with music like elliott smith, and the smashing pumpkins. He cursed himself sometimes for listening to shit he used to call 'sad bastard crap', but he wasn't who he was in high school anymore, and it fit who he was now. Though now, he thought he might start listening to that stuff again. He was happier when he did anyway.

Standing awkwardly behind the cash register, he pulls his beanie off his head and brings a cold hand up to scratch his buzzed hair. His eyes wander the case, the freshly baked donuts and pastries sat carefully placed behind the glass, and when he looks back up, there you were.

In a metallica tour shirt. A warm smile on your face. "Hi." You coo, voice floating through the air. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, I opened early---I wasn't sure anyone would come in though" You add lightly, grateful he was your first customer of the day.

"that's alright" He says timidly. Soaking up your voice like morning sun.

He quietly requests a jelly filled donut. Just one he says. You happily get a peice of parchment paper and pick up the donut, carefully placing it in a bag.

"anything else?" You ask sweetly. His dark chocolate brown eyes meet yours as you set his donut on the counter in front of him, his still cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his carhartt jacket.

"that's ok." He says, slightly shaking his head no. He didnt want to be a bother and he was trying to not get caught up in your kind, warm smile that had his heart fluttering.

"you sure?" You questioned, "no coffee?"

"just the donut is ok. thank you, though" He says, politely declining and pulling out a couple of crumpled dollar bills to pay for the donut. You turn around and pour him a cup of coffee anyway. He looked tired. And it was cold outside.

You softly set the cup down next to his donut "on the house." You push the cup and bag toward him as he stares at it for a moment. His eyes sort-of wide. "really?" He questions, seemingly quite baffled by the gesture.

"you are my first customer of the day, after all" You say, shrugging.

He gives you a polite nod and makes his way toward the door, but not before turning around again to catch another glimpse. He pulled his beanie back on and sipped the coffee as he walked, holding the donut in his other hand. He found a park bench near his apartment and sat down, deciding he would eat the donut now.

he pulled the sweet treat out of the white paper bag, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a bite.

the sweet bread and jam melt in his mouth, causing him to fight a smile.

He makes the walk back to his apartment, and shuffles into the slightly grimey room, his boots squeaking on the floor. The smell of fish and salty air clung to his jacket as he hung it on the hook. He tried his best to make his dirt cheap apartment feel like a home. He decorated the walls with old band posters from his room in his uncles trailer, glimpses of what now seemed like a past life. He hung mugs just like his uncle did, to make it feel like home. Sometimes he missed the sense of home his uncles trailer gave him, but he did everything he could to remind himself of it. Although he didn't want to be back in hawkins, he didn't want to forget it either. He stripped off his work clothes to get ready for bed, finding himself daydreaming of the bakery owner he'd met today, who gave him the best donut he'd had in years.

When he left work the next morning, the donut shop was once again, open early. As he approaches the flyer covered windows, he finds himself, dare he say, nervous. He wondered if you made any new pastries today that he could try. His stomach twisted a little at the unfamiliar feeling, he hadn't felt like this about a person in a while, or ever, really. He carefully opened the door, eyes traveling the case of pastries as he walked in.

"Hey there, sailor" You greet as you walk out of the back kitchen, this time a metallica song plays faintly from your radio.

He smiles shyly at your greeting and gives you a small wave.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, turning around and putting on a pair of plastic gloves.

"What would you recommend?" He asks after a beat of silence.

Your face lights up with a warm smile, pleased that he asked your opinion. "I made beignets this morning" You say softly. "they're fresh"

He perks up a little at your words and nods slightly. "that sounds good" He says, a tight lipped but sincere smile on his face.

You nod politely and start to walk into the back and prepare him a little paper boat of them but then stop yourself.

"---do you want to come into the back?" You say, before you even realized what had come out of your mouth.

"--but I reek of sea animals?" He says, intrigued but slightly confused why you're inviting this smelly fisherman into your workspace.

"that's ok. come if you want." You shrug and leave the little swinging counter door open for him to enter if he chooses.

You walk into the kitchen, trays of donuts lining the metal counter tops, making your way toward a small plate of beignets. You pick up the confectioners sugar placed next to the plate and lightly dust a helping of it on top of the fried delicacies. Turning around you pick up a small paper tray and carefully place some of them inside.

"I like the music" You hear his voice say from across the table. "You can turn it up if you'd like. the radios right there" You say, a sweet smile on your face as you point over to the radio on your counter.

"Now some men like a fishin'

And some men like the fowlin'

And some men like to hear

To hear the cannonball roarin'

Me, I like sleepin'

'Specially in my Molly's chamber"

He doesn't turn the radio up. He likes that it's faintly playing, just enough to hear it if you really listen. "You a metallica fan?" You ask, looking up for a moment before lightly dusting the serving you'd prepared him.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching his head. "---In a past life" flashes of his james hetfeild esque haircut running through his mind.

You hand him the serving of beignets, giving him a small nod and then leaning against the counter behind you.

"not so much anymore?"

"I've decided I like the quiet more" He speaks quietly.

The conversation comes to a halt as he bites into one of the beignets you gave him. A sigh of, relief? pleasure? You couldn't quite place it escapes his chapped lips.

"I hope they're good. I've been workshopping the recipe for weeks" You speak, hopeful.

"They're more than good" He says, in the same deep and quiet voice.

"good" You nod, the ghost of a smile on your face.

"Uhm- do you mind me asking what brought you here? ---to seattle, i mean. it's quite a gloomy place for a 20--something--kid to move to---but I guess I'm one to talk" You talk quietly, worried you were talking too much to someone who didn't like that---he was very quiet--you couldn't tell.

Big brown eyes look up from the breakfast treat and at you, he swallows and thinks for a second.

"my hometown is---strange. I love it---but I had to get out of there. and here seemed like a good fresh start, I guess" He says, his voice gruff but kind.

"how long have you lived here?" You inquire, trying not to impose too much

"eight years"

"seven" you say, trying to find common ground "you should start coming in more often, I could use a familiar face" You had regulars at the bakery, but they were all simple hellos and goodbyes and small talk. This one seemed like it could be a friendship. Maybe you wanted more than that with this gruff and quiet fisherman who stumbled into your bakery, but you'll cross that bridge when you get there.

He stares for a moment, seemingly considering and running all the possible outcomes. "Yeah---Yeah."

You smile warmly at him from across the counter. He smiles sheepishly back.

He walks home in the cold and light rain that morning, thinking of ways he could talk to you. He didn't know alot, but he knew that you seemed like someone he'd like to keep around.

[whencyclopedia]

Ulunsuti Tales

The Ulunsuti tales of the Cherokee deal with the mystical jewel, the Ulunsuti ("transparent"), a diamond on the forehead of the great horned serpent Uktena. The Ulunsuti appears in several Cherokee legends, but the story is developed through three tales dealing with its discovery and power, all encouraging belief in and respect for supernatural forces.

Rock Art Depicting a Horned Serpent

E. Kay Luther (CC BY-SA)

Aganunitsi's Search for the Uktena is a hero tale on how the medicine man Aganunitsi brought the great power of the Ulunsuti jewel to the people. The Uktena and the Ulunsuti relates the origin of the great Uktena serpent and the power of the Ulunsuti. The Red Man and the Uktena is another version of the discovery of the Ulunsuti, its power for good, and its danger if one does not treat it with proper respect. Together, these three form the basis of the Ulunsuti legend and are sometimes, though not always, referred to as the Ulunsuti tales.

According to Cherokee belief, the world was made by the Great Creator, Unetlanvhi, with three planes – the higher realm of Galun lati, the earthly realm of mortals, and the lower realm of dark energies. In the middle realm, humans were responsible for maintaining the balance Unetlanvhi had established at the beginning of creation. One maintained this balance through recognition of one's place in the world, honoring the Creator, and living one's life in harmony with one's community and environment.

This balance was always threatened by the dark energies of disease, chaos, and death from the underworld, however, and so it was to one's benefit to have protective powers ("medicine") that could cure the sick, ward off demons and ghosts, predict the future, and help one find food and resources. The most powerful of these objects, according to the old legends, was the Ulunsuti.

The Uktena symbolizes the chaotic forces of the underworld that threaten balance on earth. According to The Uktena and the Ulunsuti, the Uktena was created to assassinate the Sun and, failing in its mission, became so enraged that the people were terrified of it. The creature was too powerful to leave on earth or drop into the underworld, and so it was taken up into Galun lati, where it could be watched over.

Before leaving earth, however, Uktena released others like itself with its power distributed among them in the diamond of the Ulunsuti on their foreheads. In defeating the Uktena, and winning the Ulunsuti, one had not only triumphed over the forces of chaos but could also wield the dark one's energy against future threats and for the benefit of oneself and one's community. This was only possible, however, if one followed the rules closely, mindful of where all power on earth finally comes from.

Text

The following text is taken from Myths of the Cherokee (1900) by James Mooney, pp. 297-301, republished by Dover Publication, 1995.

Aganunitsi's Search for the Uktena

In one of their battles with the Shawano , who are all magicians, the Cherokee captured a great medicine-man whose name was Aganunitsi, "The Ground-hogs' Mother." They had tied him ready for the torture when he begged for his life and engaged, if spared, to find for them the great wonder worker, the Ulunsuti. Now, the Ulunsuti is like a blazing star set in the forehead of the great Uktena serpent, and the medicine-man who could possess it might do marvelous things, but everyone knew this could not be, because it was certain death to meet the Uktena. They warned him of all this, but he only answered that his medicine was strong, and he was not afraid. So, they gave him his life on that condition, and he began the search.

The Uktena used to lie in wait in lonely places to surprise its victims, and especially haunted the dark passes of the Great Smoky mountains. Knowing this, the magician went first to a gap in the range on the far northern border of the Cherokee country. He searched and found there a monster blacksnake, larger than had ever been known before, but it was not what he was looking for, and he laughed at it as something too small for notice. Coming southward to the next gap he found there a great moccasin snake, the largest ever seen, but when the people wondered he said it was nothing. In the next gap he found a green snake and called the people to see "the pretty salikwayi," but when they found an immense green snake coiled up in the path they ran away in fear. Coming on to Utawagunta, the Bald Mountain, he found there a great diyahali (lizard) basking, but, although it was large and terrible to look at, it was not what he wanted, and he paid no attention to it. Going still south to Walasiyi, the Frog place, he found a great frog squatting in the gap, but when the people who came to see it were frightened like the others and ran away from the monster, he mocked at them for being afraid of a frog and went on to the next gap. He went on to Duniskwalgunyi, the Gap of the Forked Antler, and to the enchanted lake of Atagahi, and at each he found monstrous reptiles, but he said they were nothing. He thought the Uktena might be hiding in the deep water at Tlanusiyi, the Leech place, on the Hiwassee, where other strange things had been seen before, and going there he dived far down under the surface. He saw turtles and water snakes, and two immense sun perches rushed at him and retreated again, but that was all. Other places he tried, going always southward, and at last on Gahuti mountain he found the Uktena asleep.

Turning without noise, he ran swiftly down the mountain side as far as he could go with one long breath, nearly to the bottom of the slope. There he stopped and piled up a great circle of pinecones, and inside of it he dug a deep trench. Then he set fire to the cones and came back again up the mountain.

The Uktena was still asleep, and putting an arrow to his bow, Aganunitsi shot and sent the arrow through its heart, which was under the seventh spot from the serpent's head. The great snake raised his head, with the diamond in front flashing fire, and came straight at his enemy, but the magician, turning quickly, ran at full speed down the mountain, cleared the circle of fire and the trench at one bound, and lay down on the ground inside.

The Uktena tried to follow, but the arrow was through his heart, and in another moment, he rolled over in his death struggle, spitting poison over all the mountain side. But the poison drops could not pass the circle of fire, but only hissed and sputtered in the blaze, and the magician on the inside was untouched except by one small drop which struck upon his head as he lay close to the ground; but he did not know it. The blood, too, as poisonous as the froth, poured from the Uktena's wound and down the slope in a dark stream, but it ran into the trench and left him unharmed. The dying monster rolled over and over down the mountain, breaking down large trees in its path until it reached the bottom. Then Aganunitsi called every bird in all the woods to come to the feast, and so many came that when they were done not even the bones were left.

After seven days he went by night to the spot. The body and the bones of the snake were gone, all eaten by the birds, but he saw a bright light shining in the darkness, and going over to it he found, resting on a low-hanging branch, where a raven had dropped it, the diamond from the head of the Uktena. He wrapped it up carefully and took it with him, and from that time he became the greatest medicine-man in the whole tribe.

When Aganunitsi came down again to the settlement the people noticed a small snake hanging from his head where the single drop of poison from the Uktena had struck; but so long as he lived, he himself never knew that it was there.

Where the blood of the Uktena had filled the trench a lake formed afterwards, and the water was black and in this water the women used to dye the cane splits for their baskets.

The Uktena and the Ulunsuti

Long ago - hilahiyu - when the Sun became angry at the people on earth and sent a sickness to destroy them, the Little Men changed a man into a monster snake, which they called Uktena, "The Keen-Eyed," and sent him to kill her. He failed to do the work, and the Rattlesnake had to be sent instead, which made the Uktena so angry that the people were afraid of him and had him taken up to Galunlati , to stay with the other dangerous things. He left others behind him, though, nearly as large and dangerous as himself, and they hide now in deep pools in the river and about lonely passes in the high mountains, the places which the Cherokee call "Where the Uktena stays."

Those who know say that the Uktena is a great snake, as large around as a tree trunk, with horns on his head, and a bright, blazing crest like a diamond upon its forehead, and scales glittering like sparks of fire. It has rings or spots of color along its whole length and cannot be wounded except by shooting in the seventh spot from the head, because under this spot are its heart and its life. The blazing diamond is called Ulunsuti, "Transparent", and he who can win it may become the greatest wonder worker of the tribe, but it is worth a man's life to attempt it, for whoever is seen by the Uktena is so dazed by the bright light that he runs toward the snake instead of trying to escape. Even to see the Uktena asleep is death, not to the hunter himself, but to his family.

Of all the daring warriors who have started out in search of the Ulunsuti only Aganunitsi ever came back successful. The East Cherokee still keep the one which he brought. It is like a large transparent crystal, nearly the shape of a cartridge bullet, with a blood-red streak running through the center from top to bottom. The owner keeps it wrapped in a whole deerskin, inside an earthen jar hidden away in a secret cave in the mountains. Every seven days he feeds it with the blood of small game, rubbing the blood all over the crystal as soon as the animal has been killed. Twice a year it must have the blood of a deer or some other large animal. Should he forget to feed it at the proper time it would come out from its cave at night in a shape of fire and fly through the air to slake its thirst with the lifeblood of the conjurer or some one of his people. He may save himself from this danger by telling it, when he puts it away, that he will not need it again for a long time. It will then go quietly to sleep and feel no hunger until it is again brought out to be consulted. Then it must be fed again with blood before it is used.

No white man must ever see it and no person but the owner will venture near it for fear of sudden death. Even the conjurer who keeps it is afraid of it and changes its hiding place every once in a while so that it cannot learn the way out. When he dies it will be buried with him. Otherwise, it will come out of its cave, like a blazing star, to search for his grave, night after night for seven years, when if still not able to find him, it will go back to sleep forever where he has placed it.

Whoever owns the Ulunsuti is sure of success in hunting, love, rain-making, and every other business, but its great use is in life prophecy. When it is consulted for this purpose, the future is seen mirrored in the clear crystal as a tree is reflected in the quiet stream below, and the conjurer knows whether the sick man will recover, whether the warrior will return from battle, or whether the youth will live to be old.

The Red Man and the Uktena

Two brothers went hunting together, and when they came to a good camping place in the mountains they made a fire, and while one gathered bark to put up a shelter the other started up the creek to look for a deer. Soon he heard a noise on the top of the ridge as if two animals were fighting. He hurried through the bushes to see what it might be, and when he came to the spot he found a great uktena coiled around a man and choking him to death. The man was fighting for his life and called out to the hunter: "Help me, nephew, he is your enemy as well as mine." The hunter took good aim, and, drawing the arrow to the head, sent it through the body of the uktena, so that the blood spouted from the hole. The snake loosed its coils with a snapping noise, and went tumbling down the ridge into the valley, tearing up the earth like a water spout as it rolled.

The stranger stood up, and it was the Asga'ya Gi'gagei, the Red Man of the Lighting. He said to the hunter: "You have helped me and now I will reward you and give you a medicine so that you can always find game." They waited until it was dark, and then went down the ridge to where the dead uktena had rolled, but by this time the birds and insects had eaten the body and only the bones were left.

In one place were flashes of light coming up from the ground, and on digging here, the Red Man found a scale of the uktena. Next, he went over to a tree that had been struck by lightning and, gathering a handful of splinters, he made a fire and burned the uktena scale to a coal. He wrapped this in a piece of deerskin and gave it to the hunter, saying: "As long as you keep this you can always kill game." Then he told the hunter that, when he went back to camp, he must hang up the medicine in a tree outside, because it was very strong and dangerous. He told him also that, when he went into the cabin, he would find his brother lying inside nearly dead on account of the presence of the uktena's scale, but he must take a small piece of cane, which the Red Man gave him, and scrape a little of it into water and give it to his brother to drink and he would be well again.

Then the Red Man was gone, and the hunter could not see where he went. He returned to camp alone, and found his brother very sick, but soon cured him with the medicine from the cane, and that day and the next, and every day after, he found game whenever he went for it.

Continue reading...

[zahri-melitor]

so i'm reading certain nightwing volumes from '96 - 02 for my current reading run following NML (shout out to @havendance, cannot thank you enough 🫶🏾) and while some aspects of how he's written is very compelling and interesting to chew on, for the most part it's been pretty....boring?? like i'm gonna keep reading it so i can have as much context as possible, but it feels more like a chore 😩

anyways, i read your response on that “who’d you choose to write nightwing” poll and i’d love to get your opinion on what nightwing runs/writers to read outside of those 8 volumes. i really wanna get into dick grayson’s character and personality! also, if it’s cool with you, anyone else please feel free to add to this!

-dominomasc

Hey, dominomasc. Unknowingly you've just raised one of the fundamental incongruities of how comics work.

Comics are about layers of stories providing depth to a character and about dozens of different interpretations more than they are about a single amazing run. (Some characters have That Run! But on average, most don't). Dick Grayson, a character that has existed for 84 years, has some very fun stories from all sorts of writers. His title, Nightwing, is also an excellent example of how a lot of long running titles often don't really have a stand out section that's head and shoulders above the rest.

I promise, you are never going to run out of stories to read about Dick Grayson (Comicsvine has him at 9,593 appearances as I write this). So yes, this is going to be about two things: advice on finding stories about Dick that vibe for you; and advice on understanding Dick alongside other storylines.

Taking into account what's listed above and the fact I'm moderately obsessive, I have compiled a discussion of most of the major writers who have written Nightwing runs, or who have written major titles that Dick also prominently appears in.

I am at heart a 'Dick belongs to the Bat Office' person and my expertise in most characters starts with COIE. On that basis I'm not going to dip into pre-Crisis here.

Marv Wolfman & George Pérez: New Teen Titans (1980-1993ish). I am not going to explain all the title names here; you're going to have to go get more detail from someone who treats NTT period as their special interest. Wolfman and Pérez are the architects of Nightwing as a character, separate to Robin, that Dick grew into. Read this period if you're interested in Dick as a young adult among the other Titans going through the transition into adulthood and independence, and his relationship with Kory. Basically it's a superhero young adult soap opera. It can be quite uneven in places, particularly towards the back end, and there are approximately a thousand discussions over which storylines are good and which should be fired into the sun. I am not a subject expert for this period.

Because of the state of the Titans titles in the early 1990s, the Bat office demanded Dick Grayson back under their control. Exactly when they got him back is slightly debated, but it would be fair to say Batman #500 (October 1993) marks his transition back to being a Bat character (around the start of Knightquest); by KnightsEnd and Prodigal (July 1994-January 1995) Dick is once again firmly a member of the Batman set of characters, and has remained so to date.

Prodigal, by Chuck Dixon, Alan Grant, Doug Moench: (Batman #512 to Robin #13). Use a reading list here as the stories are spread across multiple titles. Prodigal is 12 issues about Dick's first time being Batman, with Tim as his Robin, and his feelings about returning home to Gotham as an adult. Robin #13 in particular is possibly the most important issue of the story, as it's the foundation of a reset in Bruce and Dick's relationship with each other and how it is going to be characterised for the next decade or so.

Chuck Dixon: (Nightwing #1-70 1996, Nightwing: Alfred's Return, and a bunch of other one shots) So Dixon is probably DC's most prolific writer of all time, and is the architect of what's been treated as 'default Nightwing'. In this run, Dixon creates Bludhaven and the situation of Dick being its protector, out of a desire to be his own man apart from Bruce. He sets up an extensive Rogue's Gallery for Dick, the most famous of which is making Blockbuster one of Dick's main enemies. He has Dick working at a cop bar and then decide to enter the Bludhaven Police Department in an attempt to investigate it from the inside due to the levels of corruption. This is also the run where Dick and Babs get together as adults. Basically, everything about 'default' Dick that you probably know comes from this run. Dixon's great for character interaction, for world building, and and particularly at making various titles tie together - because he was writing at least 1/3 of DC's entire line for a while there he's the king of crossovers, giving a lot of depth to friendships because characters just pop between titles he's writing. His actual plots however vary between middling to occasional flashes of greatness. I'd consider The Hunt for Oracle (#45-46 and BOP#20-21) and the Shrike story (#55-58) to be the standout storylines in his Nightwing run; for individual issues I'd also point to #6 and #25 for his relationship with Tim, #16 for Dick building his car, and then his crossover issues in events tend to be quality.

Chuck Dixon and Scott Beatty: (Robin: Year One 2000, Batgirl: Year One 2003, Nightwing: Year One - Nightwing #101-106 1996) I am separating these three out from the rest of Dixon's work as they're quite important as retcons over Dick's backstory. Robin and Batgirl are well regarded rewrites of events; Nightwing is less so, partly because it's a solid example of the Jason personality retcon, and partly I think because a lot of people reading this were still well across the two 1980s versions of Dick's transition from Robin to Nightwing. I highly recommend Robin Year One, particularly with the Shrike storyline of Nightwing, as they are interlinked.

Devin Grayson: (Nightwing #71-100 & #107-117 1996, Nightwing/Huntress 1998, Gotham Knights #1-11 & #14-32, The Titans #1-20 1999) Oh, Devin. Devin Grayson is a Dick Grayson superfan (she uses Grayson as her surname because of Dick). She is really good at character introspection - Gotham Knights #1-11 contains some amazing character work. She's also not shy about establishing her own headcanons on characters and retconning their backstories. Devin's biggest contributions to the Dick Grayson lore are in establishing him as Romani and actually writing Bruce adopting Dick. Her run on Nightwing is best understood as a whump, break-the-cutie run, where Blockbuster sets out to destroy Dick's life, and in the process gets Dick fired, breaks up Dick and Babs, burns down Haly's Circus (for the first time), blows up his entire supporting cast, chases Dick out of Bludhaven and leads to Dick going under cover in the mob essentially to punish himself (also not the only time). Dick's also sexually assaulted in Nightwing #93 but I really beg people to read this in context of the rest of the run; this should be looked at as PART of the whole flow of whump, rather than as a separate situation. Grayson also had the title taken off her before she got to the 'comfort' part of the extended hurt/comfort storyline she was writing. It reads a lot better if you think of this in a more transformative fandom, ficcish manner of story rather than as a more standard run. If her Nightwing run is too grim for you, I highly recommend Gotham Knights and her Titans run; Devin Grayson is honestly best when she's writing a constellation of characters around Dick more than when she's writing Dick himself. She adores his friends and family. Standout issues to get a sense of Devin include: Nightwing #100, a self-reflective issue on Dick's history; Nightwing #81, where Dick's in hospital and Cass goes after Slade for him; Titans #15 1999, where the Fab 5 go on a camping trip together to get back to their roots and deal with a lot of tensions in the group; and Gotham Knights #8-11, Transference, where Dick and Tim team up to rescue Bruce, who's been brainwashed by Hugo Strange.

Jay Faerber: (The Titans #21-41 1999) Honestly Faerber's run on The Titans is not that Dick Grayson focused. It's entertaining if you want to read some solid Titans dynamics, but the standout characters you read this run for are Roy and Donna. Seriously, if you're into Roy, Cheshire and Lian drama I highly recommend Faerber's work; otherwise it's not an essential run for Dick.

Judd Winick: (Outsiders #1-25, 34-49 2003, Batman & Robin #23-25 2011) Winick tends to write an angrier and darker edged Dick Grayson, and he has a bunch of really common tropes you see pop out in his writing. These are no different, and thus include an awful lot of violence and characters having sex (so much sex). He can be quite funny as a writer, but honestly his Outsiders run does not have much of that humour. The Batman & Robin story is basically Winick finding some space to tie up his Jason Todd plot before Flashpoint obliterated it, more than an actual story about Dick. If you want a good encapsulating issue to get the vibe of Winick about Dick, take a look at Outsiders #21, which has a good chunk of Dick and Roy AND Dick and Bruce in it, though it's helpful to remember that this issue is set very shortly after War Games and so Dick is in a massive guilt spiral.

Bruce Jones: (Nightwing #118-124 1999) It's One Year Later! Bruce Jones moves Dick back to New York City (as Bludhaven went boom due to Chemo in the lead up to Infinite Crisis) and theoretically sets up Dick's status quo out to Reborn. So. The story Jones is most famous for is the first 4 issues of the run, which are generally referred to by fans as the TentaTodd story. Jason Todd turns up to run around annoying Dick by ALSO dressing up as Nightwing and committing crimes. He also turns into a tentacle monster for a bit. It is certainly a story that exists, but it actually is pretty in line with Jason and Dick's relationship up to Flashpoint: Jason turns up to be a brat who wants attention, does violent things, and Dick exhaustedly kicks the shit out of him and gets him locked up while despairingly going 'why is this my life'. Because of Jason running around killing people as Nightwing, the NYPD get mad at Nightwing and start trying to hunt him down. Jones is for the completionist.

Marv Wolfman: (Nightwing #125-137 1999) Lacking any better ideas, Wolfman gets a run on Nightwing. It's not Wolfman's finest work, to put it bluntly, and it's very obvious that Marv hasn't actually read any of Dixon or Grayson's runs. Marv does set Dick up working as a gymnastics and trapeze coach, which is always a decent job for him. If I had to pick one story from Wolfman, read Nightwing #127, where Dick gets buried alive and digs his way out of the grave.

Peter J. Tomasi: (Nightwing #140-157 1999, Batman & Robin #20-22 2011) Tomasi loves Dick Grayson, and particularly loves Dick's connection to his friends and family. Let me put it this way; in the lead up to Final Crisis and Blackest Night every title got an Origins and Omens short story on the back of an issue. Most books used it to write creepy or introspective reflections on awful stuff especially deaths that have happened to the characters. Tomasi used his to have Dick take Barbara skydiving for her birthday, and echo a bunch of themes from his first issue. I think this is one of the most mature and grown up looks at Dick prior to Flashpoint; Tomasi treats Dick as a grown adult with an adult relationship with Bruce. I love Freefall. Read Freefall to see some really interesting meta on Dick's relationship to the concept of falling and to the concept of catching falling people, a theme that's frequently present in his stories.

Grant Morrison: (Batman & Robin #1-16 2011) Astonishingly given how much of Reborn was designed by Morrison, they don't actually seem to care that much about Dick as a character more than as a prop to set Damian against. Dick's extremely focused on Damian in this title but also does not actually appear to like Damian very much. If I were going to recommend one story out of it I'd probably point to Batman & Robin #7-9, because Dick gets to be a giant hypocrite in them and tries to resurrect Bruce. It goes badly, for all involved.

Scott Snyder: (Detective Comics #871-881, Gates of Gotham, and like every Bat event during n52) The Black Mirror is probably my favourite piece of Dick!Batman storytelling set during Reborn. It's just elegant in terms of how hard Snyder pushes Dick and how his reactions are very much not those that Bruce would have. This is helpfully extremely obvious in that The Black Mirror and Gates of Gotham are actually part of a trilogy, the third act of which is Court of the Owls and due to Flashpoint Snyder had to rewrite CotO quite extensively including swapping Dick out of being Batman and having Bruce as the lead. Read The Black Mirror for Dick having a minor breakdown while solving a complex case with links to James Gordon and Babs. Read Gates of Gotham for incredible Dick & Tim & Cass & Damian fourway storytelling that shows the dynamics of every pairing out of the four.

Fabian Nicieza: (Nightwing #138-139 1999, Batman #703 & #713, parts of Battle for the Cowl, Nightwing #51-56 2016) The thing about FabNic is when he's on, he's very much on, and when he's not it can be painful. I actually almost would have skipped him on this list, but he very much deserves recognition for writing the Nightwing issues of Resurrection of Ra's Al Ghul, which alongside the Robin issues portray exactly how far Dick will go for Tim; and for Batman #703, which is the only issue prior to Bruce's resurrection that actually puts Dick, Tim and Damian on page together as heroes. He also got saddled with writing the start of the Ric Grayson saga under the script of Scott Lobdell, which, well, is definitely at the 'not well regarded' end of his oeuvre. FabNic is again a writer that is really good at character interaction, and I tend to find whenever I'm reading events where there's heaps of writers involved and he's there, the issues I really enjoy are the ones he's had a hand in.

Tony S. Daniel: (Battle for the Cowl, Batman #692-699 & #704-707 & #710-712) Oh, Tony Daniel. Why. Daniel's stories are probably the most classic-Batman of the Dick!Batman stories. His stories revolve a lot around drama at Arkham Asylum, with Harvey and Gilda Dent, and with the Falcones. On balance I think you could probably actually trade Dick out for Bruce in half these stories and it wouldn't make a huge amount of difference. If I were going to suggest one to try, maybe go with #710-712? It's Harvey focused and it has Kitrina Falcone and doesn't actually depend on the whole Jeremiah Arkham thing.

Kyle Higgins: (Nightwing #1-12, 0, & 15-29 2011) For a reboot of Dick Grayson down to his fundamentals, and working within the requirements of the 5 year time line, I like Higgins' work on Nightwing. Sure, I could have done without him burning down Haly's circus, again, and all the Court of the Owls revelations, but some of that was clearly dictated to him, and they way he gave Dick time as a teenager with relationships with other characters at Haly's before his parents died worked quite well. If I were going to cite a favourite part of this run it's probably the last section, #18-29 when Dick moves to Chicago and tries the 'strike out as my own hero with my own city, screw you dad' thing for the first time in the new timeline. Higgins put in quite a bit of cast building work and it's a shame none of it ever got used again between Forever Evil and then Rebirth just ignoring everything during this period.

Tom King and Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #30 2011, Grayson #1-20) I'm going to treat these two together here as I can't actually easily subdivide the run between them. This is the longest period Dick goes undercover working as a spy because his life has just gone to shit. He is both spying on Spyral (for Bruce) but also his job within Spyral is as a spy and special agent. Think James Bond, except Dick also gets to be the focus of the objectification camera. Some people enjoy it as a change of pace, some people can't stand it because it's just a very weird story for Dick and Dick's generally personally unhappy when he's stuck undercover, and it definitely is a highlight in the 'did you know Tom King worked for an intelligence agency? Tom King is working out his feelings about working for an intelligence agency again' oeuvre. If you want to try an issue, I recommend Grayson #5 as probably the best character and storytelling piece in the entire run.

Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #1-34) Good stuff I can say about Seeley's run includes that he used Rebirth as a impetus to rebuild Dick's status quo. He did quite a lot of world building for a new version of Bludhaven, he got Dick back into Nightwing and back into a blue V costume for the first time in 7 years, he's interested in looking at the Grayson family and not so much in terms of the Court of the Owls stuff. He likes Dick and Damian's time as Batman & Robin. Seeley's also a fan of a lot of character beats in terms of Dick's characterisation that were pioneered by Devin Grayson - particularly in terms of Dick being easily attracted to women, being impetuous and hot headed at times, and in the Romani retcon. I don't necessarily see eye to eye with Seeley on all of his characterisation and story choices, but he does a lot of repair work on getting Dick back to being Nightwing, including things like repeating beats from the Dixon and Grayson runs so that Dick has that backstory again, and what that means for his character. I might suggest Nightwing #8 2016, because it revolves around Bruce and Dick and the concept of falling (I'm a sucker for a good falling metaphor) or #9, which is literally a discussion of the changes between n52 and Rebirth with both of the Clark Kents, and in which Clark points Dick to return to Bludhaven (in a sort of re-encapsulation of Clark originally giving Dick the inspiration for the name Nightwing, but this time pointing him to what people treat as his default 'home'). If you like the shape of Dick as Bludhaven's hero from fic, you probably will find Seeley's run has stuff to enjoy.

Sam Humphries: (Nightwing #35-41 2016) So Humphries' storyline is another good example of what a lot of the current run of Nightwing contains since 2016 - reinterpretations and new versions of old stories. In this case, it's an adaption of the Hanging Judge storyline to have taken place in Bludhaven in Bruce and Dick's past. I don't mind it as a story, but it's definitely there to remind you of old story beats.

I haven't yet read Benjamin Percy's run, or any of Ric Grayson yet (which is a combination of Scott Lobdell, Fabian Nicieza and Dan Jurgens), or Tom Taylor's run, so I don't want to give you too explicit opinions on these.

In general terms from experience on other titles and what other people have said: I really loved Benjamin Percy's Detective Comics #35-36 story in n52 and I suspect his Nightwing writing is a perfectly acceptable fill; nobody particularly likes the plot surrounding Ric Grayson, and the fact Scott Lobdell had a hand in plotting it seems to me to explain a bunch of the aspects of the scenario premise that upset a lot of people; Dan Jurgens is a DC workhorse who can turn his hand to anything; and Tom Taylor's run has been described as many as 'rewrite the arc of Devin Grayson's run but make it light and fluffy and free of consequences'. I honestly think if you haven't read much Nightwing yet, Taylor's run may be a good transition run to try to see if he's your vibe; I keep getting the impression he probably makes a good intro for new readers.

If you have any other writers you would like my impression of, please ask specifically; as I've said, Dick's been written by a LOT of people over the years.

[personastrologyhub]

Chart Observations, Charts of Selena & Analysis of the day of death. RIP Queen!

SPOOKY SEASON! Okay so in light of all hallows eve, I was feeling kind of morbid this morning and started to analyse how an assassination would appear in the charts of the legends we lost.

I'm starting this series starting with the Queen Selena Quintanilla 

Observations

Feel free to comment of leave your own observations.

Selena Quintanilla was born on April 16, 1971, in Lake Jackson, Texas.

She was murdered on March 31, 1995, in Corpus Christi, Texas, by Yolanda Saldívar.

Astrological Analysis with Example Connections

Selena’s Natal Chart Influences: Indicators of Vulnerability and Fame

Sun in Aries (Self-Determination and Fame): Her Aries Sun (ambition, independence) ruled by Mars (conflict, intensity) suggests a life marked by public visibility and an inner fire, but also potential clashes, especially within her relationships. The energy of Aries can attract passionate, even confrontational, dynamics, as seen in her final interaction with Saldívar, leader of  fan club and boutique. 

Venus in Pisces (Compassion and Trust):

Venus in Pisces reflects Selena’s deeply compassionate, forgiving, and trusting nature, which contributed to her broad appeal. However, Pisces (illusion) can sometimes blur boundaries, making those with this placement prone to seeing only the best in others, which could leave them vulnerable to betrayal. Selena’s Venus in Pisces (forgiveness, idealism) represents her tendency to trust others easily, seeing only the good in them. This could have made her more vulnerable to manipulation by someone close, as Pisces is often blind to hidden dangers within relationships. (Pisces rules mysteries, secrets, something that is hidden and unknown.)

North Node in Sagittarius (Public Influence): The North Node in Sagittarius (public exposure) aligns with a life of influence in the public sphere but also reveals potential risks associated with placing trust in those beyond her immediate family circle. Sagittarius emphasizes growth and risk, which may have exposed her to hidden threats.

Astrological Transits on March 31, 1995: The Day of the Assassination

Mars Conjunct Selena’s Saturn in Pisces (Conflict and Karmic Reckoning): On the day of her assassination, Mars (planet of aggression/fights/war and conflict) was conjunct Selena’s Saturn in Pisces. Mars (violence, aggression) in conjunction with Saturn (endings, karmic lessons) in Pisces (hidden enemies, secrets) represents a confrontation that culminated in betrayal and death. Pisces’ secretive influence implies that unresolved tensions with Saldívar were exposed, leading to a violent end.

Pluto Opposing Selena’s Moon in Taurus (Financial Betrayal and Emotional Vulnerability): Pluto in Scorpio (secrecy, intensity) opposing the Moon in Taurus (personal security, finances) highlights betrayal involving money and trust, with the emotional impact felt deeply by Selena. The financial element is underscored as she confronted Saldívar about bank statements, catalyzing the violent encounter.

The Impact of Transiting Pluto and Mars in Selena’s Natal Chart

Transiting Pluto in Scorpio (Themes of Death and Hidden Motives): Pluto (death, hidden motives) in Scorpio (intensity, revenge) amplified themes of betrayal and secrecy, bringing unresolved tensions with Saldívar to the surface. Scorpio’s association with power struggles implies that Selena’s final confrontation involved deep-rooted issues, reflecting Pluto’s fateful influence on her life.

Mars Activating Saturn in Pisces (Hidden Conflicts Resurfacing): The Mars-Saturn conjunction in Pisces signifies hidden or latent issues that reach a breaking point, often with sudden or final consequences. Pisces, representing things unseen, suggests an enemy within her inner circle whose hidden motives were finally exposed. Mars (aggression, action) conjunct Saturn (karmic consequences, boundaries) in Pisces (secrets, illusions) triggered hidden conflicts and brought long-standing issues with Saldívar into full view.

Moon in Sagittarius Conjunct Selena’s North Node (Life Path and Legacy): The Moon in Sagittarius aligned with Selena’s North Node on the day of her death, amplifying themes of fate and life mission. The Moon (emotions, public connection) in Sagittarius (legacy, life mission) conjunct her North Node (destiny) points to a pivotal moment that defined her path and influence. This aspect symbolizes the transformative impact of her passing, leaving an enduring legacy aligned with her life’s purpose.

Venus Opposite Pluto (Possessiveness and Betrayal): Venus in Taurus (relationships, loyalty) opposing Pluto in Scorpio (secrets, power struggles) emphasizes intense dynamics within relationships, suggesting themes of possessiveness, control, and betrayal. This alignment reflects Saldívar’s obsessive attachment to Selena and the tragic outcome of this toxic relationship.

Pluto’s influence over Venus mirrors the obsessive and possessive dynamics that culminated in violence, revealing hidden motives in their relationship.

Summary

Influences such as Mars conjunct Saturn in Pisces, Pluto in Scorpio opposing her Moon, and Venus opposing Pluto paint a vivid image of betrayal, hidden motives, and an escalating confrontation fueled by jealousy and possessiveness .Each Example Connection reveals how astrological symbols mirrored real-life events, from the violent confrontation in a private setting to Selena’s unyielding trust in someone from her inner circle. Her astrological transits on March 31, 1995, echo themes of trust, karmic reckoning, and finality, as aspects aligned in ways that exposed vulnerabilities and triggered hidden tensions, ultimately marking the end of her bright and beloved life.