#as the Noble and Righteous chosen ones

[quidam-sirenae]

God I hate the whole “well I think trans people should have medical access easier but cosmetic surgeries should have more hoops attached to them” because newsflash! It’s REALLY hard to differentiate what is cosmetic and what is medical. Boob reduction? Generally medical but classified as cosmetic. Reasons someone could be getting a rhinoplasty can range from “I wanted to look different” to “I cannot breath through my nose due to the way my body was made.” And also. Why should we restrict adults doing what they want with their own bodies? Even if they do want to change the way they look? Of course we live in a beauty oriented culture and that culture is disgusting but the solution to that is not “let’s limit what adults can do with their bodies” it’s “hey what if anyone could do whatever they wanted with their bodies regardless of stigma?” Dress how you want. Present the gender you’d like to. Wear your hair or lack thereof however you’d like. Yes, even get cosmetic surgeries to fit those bullshit beauty standards. Because believe it or not, any adult, cis or trans, should have full autonomy over their own body and what they do with it

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Confessions

Summary: On the final night before he’s set to ride to King’s Landing to join the Greens, Gwayne Hightower and his forbidden lover are forced to face the reality of their relationship and of war.

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Velaryon!Reader

Warnings: the tiniest suggestion of smut, familial angst, religious trauma

A/N: God, I haven’t written anything here in ages. Gwayne caught my fancy so i just had to indulge myself a little and this is the result. Just a little blurb. Any and all thoughts and feedback are welcomed and much appreciated!

Word Count: 1.5k

GIF by ohmovie

Oldtown was a far cry from Driftmark. Nevertheless, this was your life now. It had been for the better part of seven years. As the third child of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen, you’d left behind your noble name for the Holy Faith. It was at the humble age of six-and-ten that you set off from High Tide for the Reach where the Hightower beacon burned day and night. This had in turn made you somewhat of a pariah among your family members. No longer would you be attending the feasts and balls and tourneys. You embraced a life of solitude, of order and devotion.

Now in your final year of training as a novice, you had begun taking confession from small folk and noblemen alike. And though you indulged in the gossip, hearing about the dalliances with servant girls and the many lies spread back and forth across the city, the work was still the work. You often found herself feeling detached from the folk, granted this was the life you had chosen. Though you couldn’t help but feel at times that the massive stone walls surrounding the city were like a cell, locking you inside a prison of faith and the constant quest for knowledge in the Citadel.

You were used to the pompous, almost self-righteous way the few nobles spoke to you of their sins. It was the same way the man across from you spoke, only his ramblings were tainted with too much care. Ser Gwayne Hightower was too well-witted for his station. This you had learned. 

Truthfully, you were surprised at his presence in the dark confessional at all. He had more important matters to attend to, surely, like the City Watch, policing Oldtown’s labyrinthine streets and alleys. But this was the only place Gwayne could go where he would truly be listened to. It wasn’t the same as having his squire follow his orders to ready his horse or help him with his armor, nor was it having the Hightower soldiers and banners follow his commands as they prepared to march to the capital. It was a comfort, really. Talking with her where his every word wouldn’t be judged or he didn’t have to think up pithy witticisms for the politics of the realm, like he’d have to if he were speaking with his father, which he was loathe to do anyway. 

But now he spoke with a solemn lilt in his voice as his hand grazed the curve of your jaw. The room was warm and candlelight flickered across the light toned stone that made up his rooms. Your limbs tangled together in the sheets as you moved closer into him. Your fingers grazed the smooth skin of his chest. His hand ran through your silver locks of hair with a practiced rhythm. 

“I cannot gainsay that I worry for my sister,” he told you.

Being privy to the goings-on at court, she knew that the Dowager Queen had been losing the last vestiges of influence she retained. And with Otto Hightower put out as Hand of the king, that the rule of the realm teetered on the inconstant whims of one silver-haired boy.

“There is still time,” you said, trailing off. 

Gwayne toyed with the ring on your finger before removing it completely. “I will take this piece of you with me,” he said, his eyes moving from the ring to your lips. You closed the gap between you. The kiss was slow and longing, hungry, as the both of you tried in earnest for make each moment last. 

It was then that you could hear her voice echo through your mind. It was silly, really. The long-held paranoia from when you were just a young maiden. 

“No, she’ll notice,” you cautioned. 

No matter how many times Septa Elspith preached about piety and proper deportment, it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the tawny-haired, comely young knight with whom you now shared a bed.

“Then she can answer to my sword,” he said, his serious gaze morphing into a grin. 

You chuckled before settling back into sweet silence and the afterglow. Your indiscretions with the eldest Hightower son had begun quite unceremoniously at the altar to the Mother late one evening. Gwayne had been praying, at least it had looked that way. Really, though, he’d been talking to his own late mother. Inside the sept was the only place you’d known Gwayne to shed the haughty, rational front he sported outside of those seven walls. Here he had someone he could confide in. You had gotten down on your knees beside him to pray yourself. You had felt his eyes on you and you slowly opened your own to look over at him, your violet eyes shining in the candlelight from the altar below. The look he gave you was one of knowing and of desire.

Confession wasn’t the only place in which Gwayne confided in you. It was in the stolen moments alone in the cold, forgotten corners of the sept where your lips met and your hands fondled and searched one another’s bodies. You felt free in those moments as if this were what true salvation felt like. You imagined this was how it must have felt for your siblings to soar through the sky on their dragons, though you would never know in truth. And as your naked bodies moved together in the scant light of his chambers, you felt free as the open sea and the open air. Perhaps this was what it meant to be alive.

But when these moments were over, the guilt and the worry returned with a vengeance. Were another to find the two of you, surely your head would end up on a spike, your soul damned for eternity.

Your hand fiddled with the star around your neck. “And to think confessional would lead to this,” you said. 

He hummed in agreement. “You’re a long way from Driftmark, princess.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What? Do you think hiding that silver mane of hair behind a habit is all it takes? Besides, you never did say why you left.”

You sighed. Frustration working at your brow at the thought of revisiting your past. “I never took to the seafarer’s life. Even after the brother and sister died.”

“But the blood of the dragon runs through your veins.”

“And yet I never claimed one,” you said looking at him intently. “Queen Alysanne landed Silverwing atop this very tower and here I am practicing the very faith my ancestors rejected.” Gwayne didn’t say anything. He simply took to lazily twirling your ring between his fingers. “I do not wish for you to go.”

“You and I both know we have nobler causes.” He put the rings aside then turned back to you. “I hate the capital.”

“Hm. Too many tyrants in the Small Council for your liking?” you quipped.

“Heh. And a Dornishman to contend with.”

“Careful, that’s your Lord Hand you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes and made a dismissive sound. “Please. Cole doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

You gazed at him uneasily as he got up from the bed, walking over to the basin of fresh water that had been left for him. Your hand moved to your belly as he splashed his face with water. “Indeed,” you answered as he slid on his breeches.

His eyes followed your hand that now moved along your stomach. He was frozen there.

The look he gave you broke your heart and was enough to make you want to burn down the Starry Sept yourself. Tears welled up in both of your eyes. There were now words spoken, nothing to fill the silence of what was perhaps your final night together. Your final chance to see each other alive. This was your confession. 

Then Gwayne spoke up. “How long have you known?”

“Not two moons,” you said.

Gwayne was again at a loss for words. He was just about to set off for battle. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Sure, he wanted this, but it wasn’t the time. He shook his head, angry at the Seven, at himself. “Seven hells.”

“I’m going to get rid of it.” Concern crossed Gwayne’s features. “I’m a septa,” you said, breaking his gaze. “Plus, this is no world to raise a child. We all know what’s coming. The dragons will dance and all we know will come crashing down in fire and ash. Those are the real gods. The great beasts my family lords over.”

“So this is over?” he asked quietly. 

“I can’t do this, Gwayne.”

“No, no. I can make this right. I could get you safe passage out of the Reach—”

“It’s no use. This war is coming.”

In that moment he was powerless. And he hated it with every fiber of his being. He knew you were right. The war was here and there was nothing he could do about it except face certain death. He moved back to the bed and sat down heavily on the edge, bereft of all other thoughts.

Your moved over to him and wrapped yourself around his back, your arms enveloping his torso. You rested your head in the crook of his neck. He brought a hand up to your arm, settling there. The both of you sat there in silence, gazing out of the window overlooking a glowing Oldtown, knowing what was to come.

[0bticeo]

may the odds be in your favour | coriolanus snow x fem! reader

series masterlist.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5.

chapter summary: blood will have blood.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

there’s silence. there are twenty four gazes pinning you down to your seat. there’s coriolanus snow, blue eyes a shade darker than they were before you started talking. you meet his gaze and sense something shifting. it’s in the way he leans a tad bit closer, lips parted as though to speak – no. to taste.

wc. approx. 2000 words.

cw. sexual tension. probably innacurate anatomical description. manipulation. reader and coriolanus being assholes. death threat (implied). religious imagery. sleep deprived author.

weeks pass. snow greets you every morning at your front door and extends his arm to you until you have no choice but to link it with your own. occasionally, he brings a rose, gently tucking it in the lapels of your coat. in your hair, fingers gently brushing your cheek. in your breast pocket. 

you know it to be a blatant claim. here you are, proud descendent of the ash dynasty, allowing him to own you. you tell yourself it’s only for a few months. that, whatever the outcome may be, there’s no way that damned prize will escape you. you ignore the growing ache between your thighs, the way you lean into snow’s touch when he leads you back home. 

let him think he’s playing you like a fiddle. let him think he’s turned your own game against you. let him think, and weaponize the truth to your advantage. 

you have very few things left to your name. pride is one of them. you won’t discard it for his name.

what you will do is this. you will sit next to him in class, head held high, legs crossed under your skirt. you will not pretend you’re not enjoying the way his gaze burns into you whenever you turn one of his arguments against him in rhetoric class. oh, rhetoric.

etched in white remnants of chalk against the blackboard is the question you’ll have to treat today. there’s silence in the class, as you all take it in.

what are the hunger games for?

date’s fourth of february. in five months, maybe, you’ll get an answer that doesn’t rely solely on theory. that doesn’t rely on the minds of know-it-all, privileged bastards whose only experience of life has been luxury. for now, your only choice is to take your seat next to coriolanus snow and lean back ever so slightly, trying not to roll back your eyes.

they talk, all of them. felix ravinstill, arachne crane. 

the hunger games are a proud display of savages from the districts—to remind us that we are better than them.

clemensia dovecote. lysistrata vickers.

the hunger games are a reminder of what befalls the districts. that they should not stand against the capitol.

sejanus plinth.

it’s barbaric.

at that, your attention shifts. you focus on him, the one from district 2. the one whose father’s wealth was enough to bring to the capitol. the one with the dark curls and passionate fire in his eyes—he dreams of justice and fairness. interesting.

he doesn’t talk. no, he argues. finally someone who understands the noble art of rhetoric.

“putting them in an arena to fight—they’re doomed the moment their names are chosen! it’s inhumane, having them slaughter each other for our own entertainment!”

you watch him, cheek cradled in your palm. he’d make a good lawyer, you muse. the naive, righteous type. 

you watch the others. the way arachne crane rolls her eyes so far back in her skull you think they’ll stay stuck. the way felix ravinstill snickers, barely conceals his disdain for the district boy, for daddy’s precious boy. it’s palpable, the way they all disregard him. doesn’t matter if he’s wealthier than half the class—he’s district.

“what about you, ash?”

fucking snow.

you glance at him, from the corner of your eye. he’s been watching you, too. wonderful mise en abîme. you watch them, he watches you. who watches him? are you all being watched?

ah, he’s waiting. they all are. as if your opinion matters to them. as if it matters at all. but you have to put on your usual show, display your wit. so you lean back against your chair, lips drawn in a sharp, sharp smile, and say:

“why, it’s a dreadful reminder of human nature is all.”

there’s silence, then. twenty-four gazes are on you, and they’re waiting. 

what are you, a messiah?

snow smile, judas dressed in red.

“go on, ash.”

you do, martyr thrown to the lions.

“so far, the general sentiment has been that we’re better than them, those savages from the districts—don’t look at me like that ravinstill, i’m only quoting you.” 

you pause. you can’t outright tell them they’re influenced by a centuries-long tradition of countless philosophers. you’ll lose their interest.

“we think they’re savages. we see what we think is proof—footage of the games, of how they use anything at their disposal to slaughter themselves for our own entertainment, as plinth wonderfully put it.”

you nod in his direction and watch the glint of confusion is his eye, perceptible even from afar. poor boy will be torn to shreds if he doesn’t learn to conceal his emotions better. this is the capitol—worse arena known to panem.

(you think of your father’s flesh being torn by a man-beast’s bloody teeth in what was supposed to be a beacon of civilisation. you think of the dark abysses of his eyes, of the silent promise in them – you’d be next.)

you intend to make that fact known to those oblivious to it.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

there’s silence. there are twenty four gazes pinning you down to your seat. there’s coriolanus snow, blue eyes a shade darker than they were before you started talking. you meet his gaze and sense something shifting. it’s in the way he leans a tad bit closer, lips parted as though to speak – no. to taste.

“those are bold words from such a young lady, miss ash. you shouldn’t speak so lightly of such grave matters.”

you realise that in the brief time your gaze met snow’s, your classmates have looked up. up towards esteemed casca highbottom who stares you down, short silhouette all-encompassing. there’s something in his tone that makes your blood boil.

you smile, sweet and sharp.

“then maybe we shouldn’t brooch the subject in rhetoric class, sir.”

the odds switch and twist and turn with each passing second. you might get a glimpse of what’s in store in the way the dean’s hand trembles as it reaches in the recesses of his robe – morphine.

he gulps down the contents of the small vial in one go.

“class is dismissed for today.”

when you leave the room, you feel the weight of his gaze like a knife between your shoulder blades.

you don’t like the feeling of it.

**

philosophy’s only worth it if you’ve got someone to discuss with. unfortunately, you don’t. rhetoric class doesn’t count. after the dean’s impromptu interruption, you don’t get to debate. not anymore. instead, he makes you pour over law texts – capital punishments for traitors. you think of it as a warning and keep your mouth shut.

what you do enjoy is anatomy class. which is why you’re currently in the library, pouring over a heavy tome, nibbling on your lip as your fingers trace over the shape of a drawing. it’s beautiful, an inked figure detailing the different veins in the neck. jugular. internal. external. carotid artery. dorsal scapular artery. your finger follows the pattern, lips parted in an inaudible murmur as you stare ahead. inferior thyroid vein-

“what are you doing?”

fucking snow.

you have half a mind to throw him an annoyed glare and go back to your drawing.

“what does it look like?”

he raises an eyebrow. inquisitive bastard, that one.

“studying. badly.”

this time, you raise your head.

“and does the great coriolanus snow have a better way to memorise the anatomy of the cervical region? enlighten me.”

he slides on the bench next to you. close. close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. to smell him. roses, as usual. the same fragrance of the roses he gives to you each time he notices one withers away. (you don’t tell him you’ve kept them. each of them, pressed neatly between the pages of what books remain of your family’s once grandiose library.)

he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his neck. pale as snow. how very fitting.

“well? Where’s the external jugular?”

you let out a chuckle and move closer to him, until your fingers trail down his neck, following the path of his vein.

“what’s next, snow?”

he gulps, adam apple bobbing up and down ever so slightly. Leans into your touch as he glances down at the book – your fingers dig into his neck, until you feel his pulse, quick as the fluttering wings of a jay bird.

“inferior thyroid vein.”

there’s no pattern to the veins he’s asking you to map out on his skin. your fingers move slightly to the left. if you squint, you can make out its contours, faint blue line under the pale, pale skin. You wonder if you’d see it better if you’d blow on it. you do, softly, until you feel his breath catch in his throat – he coughs.

“next.”

“anterior jugular vein.”

you chose to start your path from the bottom, lightly pressing your finger over the button of his shirt – not yet undone, this one. you trail up.

“next.”

“external carotid artery.”

you chuckle at that. Ssomehow, you’ve moved closer to him. His hand has come to rest on your hip, steadying you as you trace the patterns that make up his life. you look up at him. he meets your stare, stark blue eyes darkening. pretty, deadly eyes.

“do you know the difference between the jugular vein and the carotid artery, snow?”

you move to his jaw, pressing your fingers lightly against the bone, until you’re all but cradling his face between your hands, a breath away from his lips.

“tell me.”

“the carotid’s harder to reach with a knife.” you lean forward. his eyes dart to your lips. “however, If i were to succeed, it would take you two minutes to die.”

when you lean back, you’re the one smiling.

"thank you for helping me study, snow. it's been most... enlighting."

[kasagia]

Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist

One-shots

I'll be back for you Part 2

The Moon Summoner ran away with Alina from the Little Palace with the help of Kaz Brekker's crows. The group successfully escaped from Darkling's hands, but that doesn't mean he will forget about his Y/N. He's going to chase her until she is in his arms again. However, Mr. Brekker did not let his childhood friend disappear without a trace from his life again. He will protect her. For all costs. After all, she was his newest investment.

My love will never die

You knew Aleksander before he was a Black Heretic, a foldmaker. You married him and promised to be by his side through thick and thin. And you never, ever regretted your choice. However, one day, your paths parted in an unfortunate way, and you both believed that the love of your lives was gone forever. After many centuries, you meet again with a man very similar to your Aleksander. And you start to wonder... maybe your love never die after all?

Familiar flame

Aleksander lost his Y/N the day he created the fold. The king's soldiers killed his one true love in front of his eyes. His despair and anger led to the creation of a dark fold. After centuries, Aleksander meets a girl identical to his beloved… her reincarnation. Will he be able to restore your memories? Could he get you back after centuries of mourning you? Or maybe Aleksander finally lost his mind…

Devoted

Aleksander and Baghra have been your family since you left the house of your father, who blamed you for your mother's death in childbirth. You and Sasha became more; he was your epic love interest and mentor. You wanted to be just like him… until one event radically changed your beliefs and led you to doubt your great purpose.

Second Waltz

For the Winter Fete, you were supposed to waltz with your friend the tidemaker and at the same time use your Grishas' power to entertain the king, queen and all the other self-righteous nobles. In your wildest dreams, you wouldn't have thought you'd end up dancing with General Kirigan...

Would've, Could've, Should've...

Your life would have been completely different if it wasn't for Aleksander. You regret meeting him... but saints only know that he is the one who can make you feel this way...

Innocent

You're not like the other Grishas. It took you some time to master your power, but you're still unsure of your control over it. That's why it scares you when you're chosen for a special mission in Fjerda. Luckily your general cares about all his people... or at least about you... actually way too much, but you're not going to complain at all.

In the darkness

After you and Alina destroyed the fold, she killed Aleksander and became queen at Nikolai's side, you took the place, tittle and chambers of the General of the Second Army. And then… strange things starts to happen in the darkness.

Between the bookshelves

It was so easy for you to fall for the Black General. It took him one visit to the library in the Grand Palace to catch your eye and make you fantasise about him - a dangerous, mysterious ancestor of the Black Heretic. But that was all that could happen between you two... fantasy, daydreaming, or dreaming at midnight in the privacy of your chamber. He was the strongest of all Grishas, and you… you were just a librarian woman. But maybe your fantasies and huge/little crush on Darkling can turn into something much more?

Lovers to strangers

The worst thing that can happen is to go from a passionate, ardent feeling to indifference. Turning the people you held dearest into strangers. But could YOUR Aleksander ever be a stranger to you again? You have to choose what is more important to you. Ravka and the crown that is rightfully yours, or the man who trampled on your naive, young heart. The choice should be simple... right?

His mortal saviour

You saved him. You took him from under the fold and healed him when he was in his most vulnerable state. He doesn't know you; he's hostile and distrustful of you, so he naturally runs away at the first possible opportunity. But somehow, he can't just walk away from you.

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

After the events of the fold and the fight against Aleksander, you, Alina, Mal, Baghra, Zoya, Feydor, and the Six of certain Crows join forces against the Dark General, who is trying to take over Ravka. But instead of hating YOUR Aleksander with all your heart, you still believe that you can influence him and stop the civil war in Ravka.

Secret affairs

Rumours and whispers are circulating in the Little Palace that General Kirigan has found himself a mysterious woman with whom he spends his nights. One morning Ivan learns that the rumours are true. Fedyor will not rest until he finds out who their Black General's new lover is—who is the one who makes him much less grumpy.

Series

I love you... I am sorry (comming soon)

According to Baghra, there is only one person who can save her son. You—his first love and a witch who can control the powers of the Darkling. Aleksander becomes a prisoner of the Sun Summoner and King Nikolai, and you are to control and watch over him as he works for his redemption... but does he have the strength and will to continue fighting? And while everyone is busy saving Ravka from Fjerda and Shu Han, you're busy saving Aleksander from himself. Even though he doesn't want you around anymore...

Part 1 - Would you return if I asked you? Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (...)

Mini-series

Bring me a dream (suspended)

I've been waiting a long time to meet you in my dreams…

I've never heard silence quite this loud...

And all I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life…

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love... The slowest way is never loving them enough...

But I don't know what to say since the twist of fate when it all broke down... And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now...

And I want you now, wanna need you forever, In the heat of your electric touch.

Everyone has their soulmate—someone they are meant for. This was due to Sankta Maradaia, who decided to connect two souls destined for each other during their sleep to show them their other half, Sankta also sent them a tattoo of their loved one name, so that souls thirsting for each other can finally be united. Aleksander never had even one, short dream about his soulmate. Just a tattoo that has taunted him for ages. The Darkling believes this is his punishment for creating the fold, another privilege of being condemned. To never know his soulmate. But one day, a dream about a sun summoner comes to him. Someone equal to him. Someone meant for him. And he promises himself to find you at all costs. Not just because of your powers.

❄️️Warm my heart❄️️

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

December. Everyone in the Little and Grand Palaces is excited about the upcoming holidays. Only the Black General seems rather... depressed. Like every year when these holidays are coming closer. Maybe this year, since you've been promoted to his second-in-command, you can make the general's holidays a little more enjoyable? And you're not doing it because you're in love with him and you want to see him finally careless happy... not even a little bit.

Can't catch me now...

Part 1 Part 2

The Hunger Games in Ravka. 12 districts. 12 tributes. 12 mentors. 11 young people die every year. 1 winner. Aleksander was a mentor to many. But only your face will haunt him for centuries.

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

If laoft characters hadn't already had names, what names would you have chosen?

ooooooh okay so ironically. they did almost, technically, kind of, have different names

in my VERY first notes reference for laoft, literally written in my phone the day after CLBG aired and i desperately wanted to make a really cool role for what i thought was the series newly introduced antagonist, was a list of characters "true names"

basically, i was going to take the idea of being careful with your true name to the maximal extreme, to the point that your "true name" in wickhills wasnt even your legal name, but a completely secret name that only you and your parents knew. Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman were all going to be "outer names" and these new names i wrote would be the true ones.

and also that these names got little add ons as you aged and met certain milestones, developed certain traits. i dont know if any of you have read eragon (and i dont reccommend you do) but it had a similar system

so Patton was going to be born "Adal" (righteous, sincere, noble), and then sometime in toddlerhood gain become "Adalwin" (Win meaning friend. He gained Eulalos (which i later reused the feminine form for Eulalia the parakeet!) when he got his gift, and "Clement" (Gentle) when he befriended Logan.

Roman was born "Wynne" (friend), which became "Hartwin" as a toddler ("hart" meaning brave, or a male deer). around the time he started hunting fae he gained the second name "Kemp" (warrior) and after the deal gained "Alcaeus" meaning "strength"

Logan i never settled on, but the top contenders were "Mattan" (gift), "Epiphanes" (appearing) and "Irenaeus" (peaceful). i also played around with the idea of matching twinny names for Logan and Thomas. Samson and Jericho (sun and moon), Florus and Thales (flower and blossom), Artemidoros and Apollodoros (gifts of the moon and sun, respectively).

And you've actually already seen what Virgil's was going to be, or at least part of it. "Brennus" the name of Virgil's character in the Fair Folk and Fortresses universe, was my pick for his first name, and the full thing was going to be "Brennus Aelfric Sitheach"

Brennus can mean king/prince or raven, Aelfric means elf-king, and Sitheach means fairy-like. i also had this idea i thought was clever that the reason the curse worked so well was because it changed his true name from "Aelfric" to "Aelfstan" (Elf Stone) ie froze him to stone

like i said this was literally my very first laoft document, so none of this really survived once i started worldbuilding in earnest, mostly because as you can see it would have been really just wildly impractical.

its so old that it still has the name of Thomas's IRL friends as classmates (joan valerie talyn etc) from before i decided i wanted to use cartoon therapy characters instead and save the fictionalized real friends for thomas to meet in college AND from when i was still assuming it was going to be moxiety and logince.

changing the two separate romantic plots in The Darkest Part Of The Forest to one poly love "triangle" was the point where i really started to diverge from "making a one-to-one DPOTF au" to making something that was more personal to me. im not even entirely sure if i'd call this particular document LAOFT LoreTM but its definitely a step in the process i think is kinda neat!

[plumbum-art]

Regarding this post.

I think I did come to a conclusion regarding this whole bishop!Aziraphale mess.

There could be a thousand reasons, why he was a bishop. Could be curiosity in human religion, could be his roleplay hobby showing, could be for a mission and so on. I don't think he was lying here. As far as we know, Aziraphale takes his jobs very seriously. He wouldn't do anything half-heartedly (for example: learning french the hard way or insisting to take a driving test, although he doesn't need one).

My personal hc is, that it was a disguise for a mission.

But let me explain.

So Neil did mention a scrapped “15th century papal” minisode for S2. This could refer to a lot of things of course. For my hc I'm choosing the following event.

At the beginning of the 15th century there was a split within the catholic church, also known as the Papal Schism. Long story short, there where three rival popes (Pope Gregory XII in Rome, Pope Benedict XIII in Avignon and Pope John XXIII in Pisa), who claimed to be the rightful head of the catholic church. The increasing secularization of the church in general was a problem too.

So to unite the catholic church again, a council was held (also known as the Council of Constance) to decide, which pope was the rightful one. The whole council was a single chaotic mess. The only pope, who showed up, secrectly fled again and was later put in jail. The other two didn't even appear and also disqualified themselves so to speak. Finally in 1417, three years after the council started, the joint Pope Martin V. was elected, which ended the schism.

Just some bishops and cardinals chilling together, debating with Pope John XXIII.

Anyway my point is, the council was attended by a large number of cardinals, abbots, bishops and archbishops from different nations, such as England, Germany, France, Italy, Poland, Hungary, Scandinavia, etc. One can imagine the council as some kind of medieval Wacken, the biggest party at this time with emperors, nobles, peasents, handyman, merchants and generally thousands of people from all around the world, who gathered in the small city of Constance.

It would be easy for a certain angel to dive in the mass and disguise as a bishop. Why? Maybe he got a strong word from Up ("Hey Aziraphale, what's going on with Gods representative on earth? Humans make a mockery of Her ineffability!" "Um, it gotten a bit out of hand, yeah." "Sort this out immediately!" "As you wish...")

So Aziraphale thought of a plan and attended the council as a bishop to make sure that this time a righteous person would be chosen as Pope. After the election though he was quick to get rid of his regalia. Human religion didn't fit what he envisioned and he decided that angels shouldn't meddle with it.

[maggiecheungs]

poems in episode one of the story of kunning palace

in episode 1 of kunning palace, xuening grabs a book of poems in order to trick her maids into thinking she keeps a ledger. my knowledge of classical chinese isn't particularly high level, but it's good enough to at least identify which poems are on the page that she opens to, and i'm certain they were deliberately chosen because of their relevance to the characters and themes of the show 👀 so i thought i'd do a post about them :)

this page contains three poems by the tang dynasty poet wang changling (698–756): 芙蓉樓送辛漸 (farewell to xin jian at lotus tower); 閨怨 (boudoir lament); and 春宮曲 (spring palace song). detailed analyses under the cut:

1 - 芙蓉樓送辛漸 (farewell to xin jian at lotus tower):

my translation

poem summary: the poet's friend came to wu on a night when cold rain was pouring into the river, and departs again at dawn. the poet accompanies him on his journey as far as the chu mountains [but cannot carry on journeying with him because he must stay at his official post in wu]. as he bids goodbye, he asks his friend to tell his family back in luoyang that his heart is still pure and resolute.

key themes: loneliness and solitude; duty; having a pure heart and noble character

analysis: this one is a fairly famous poem about parting before setting off on a long journey. it's particularly notable for its final line, 一片冰心在玉壺, which roughly translates to "my heart is as pure as a piece of ice within a vessel of jade"... which could easily have been written as a summary of zhang zhe's character.

however! while there's a definite emphasis on having a pure and guiltless heart, when you combine with the previous line, the couplet as a whole also gives a sense that the speaker wishes to be remembered by those they love as someone pure and righteous ("tell my family back in luoyang that my heart is still pure etc"). this seems to be a theme of xuening's second life: wanting to correct her past wrongs and treat the people she cares for better, and to prove to zhang zhe that she can be a good person in future

in particular, this poem makes me think of xuening's last moments in her first life. the poet's final request before he bids farewell to his friend? for his companion to tell his family that he is still noble at heart. xuening's final request before she dies? for xie wei to take her life in exchange for that of zhang zhe, as her way of repenting for being dishonourable and ruining his life... 🤔🤔🤔

2 - 閨怨 (boudoir lament):

poem summary: the young wife in her boudoir knows nothing of sorrow, but as she completes her toilette and ascends the emerald tower, she suddenly sees the hue of poplars and willows on the roadside and regrets letting her husband leave home to pursue official position and power.

key themes: love and marriage; abandonment; ambition (and the effect that ambition has on love)

analysis: it's essentially about how the husband's ambition causes him to abandon his wife to grief and loneliness, which seems like a clear parallel with xuening's willingness to abandon her faithful lovers for the sake of her ambition; there's also the implication that political status is ultimately less meaningful than a loving marriage.

i think it's worth noting that the character 怨 (yuan) in the title is fairly hard to translate, as it implies a mixture of grief and anger/resentment, or even hatred. it's fairly common in boudoir poems about women left behind by their husbands, and in that context it's often translated as 'lament' or 'grief', but i think the ambivalence of the term is fairly important, particularly if you apply it to kunning palace and the mix of grief and anger that xuening inspires in her old lovers in her first life.

3 - 春宮曲 (spring palace song):

poem summary: the wind is mild, the flowers are in full bloom, the moon is full and bright. the emperor has fallen in love with one of his sister's singing serving women, and is showering her with imperial favour and bestowing brocade robes upon her to keep out the spring chill.

key themes: happiness, success, security. (however, with contextual knowledge, there's also the implication of future doom, and that nobody can stay on top of the world forever)

analysis: i didn't quite catch the full significance of this one until i googled it and realised it's a poem about a real historical figure: wei zifu, a song-and-dance girl serving the princess pingyang, who wins the favour of pingyang’s brother, emperor wu of the han dynasty, eventually becoming his second empress (the second-longest serving empress in chinese history!).

wei zifu's story is essentially about a young woman of humble origins who survives numerous palace intrigues and eventually manages to ascend to the position of empress, trusted by the emperor to the extent that she was allowed to rule in his absence. however, after maintaining her position for over three decades, she eventually fell afoul of a conspiracy against her and her son, and committed suicide rather than allowing herself to be deposed.

i mean… the way this links to jiang xuening's first life is so obvious i don't even feel the need to explain it.

[greenteabelle]

orv au based on one thousand and one nights where kim dokja is the sacrificial bride of his town to be wed to the kingdom's tyrannical king yoo joonghyuk .

kdj is used to being alone . ever since his mother left without a single word after she was accused of dabbling in the dark arts , he's left to bear the scrutinising gazes of the villagers . rumours circulate in whispers , though he hears them all the same , accusing him of inheriting his mother's curse because why else does he have that strange gloominess surrounding him ? he becomes an easy target for bullying , but he never goes down quietly . after all , he has fought better with words .

because if one thing is for certain , kdj is observant . he will listen to their self-righteous words and hear their venomous secrets , take in their luxurious robes and see what they try to hide , endure their beatings and find their weakest spots . no matter how badly he aches nor how suffocating his heart , he finds the right words and strikes where it hurts .

and once they throw the first punch , well , it's self defense is it not ?

and kdj is resigned to his fate . he doesn't expect to find kindness in others , for life as a mundane citizen in a kingdom constantly on the brink of war makes no room for generosity .

but he meets good people .

yoo sangah who sneaks him bread for breakfast every morning ;

han sooyoung who throws him stolen books from the scornful librarian ;

lee hyunsung who defends him when the fights get too rough ;

jung heewon who offers him a place to hide when running is the only option .

so kdj is content .

until one day , the village head wants to rise higher in the ranks of nobility , and secretly makes a deal with the party that opposes the supreme king . the laws of the kingdom mandate that the king's bride must be chosen by the council of nobles , so they scheme to find a bride who can remove the king once and for all .

so the village head thinks of kdj , rumoured to have inherited his mothers dark arts , and offers him up as a sacrificial bride .

before kdj can even try to escape , he's drugged and whisked away to the supreme king's castle .

when he wakes up to the glint of a blade aimed directly at his throat , kdj does the only thing that comes to mind in his desperation to see another day .

"let me tell you a story , before i go . "

momentarily stunned by kdj's bravado , yjh allows it with cruel amusement .

so kdj just talks .

he tells him the story of a gamer who is thrown into an apocalyptic world where death comes knocking at every moment . he rambles on and on , scrounging every nook and cranny of his brain to glean each detail to bring the story to life . as each hour passes , yjh slowly lowers his sword and sits back to hear the story .

and just as the first slivers of sunlight start to break over the horizon , kdj says this :

" and that is the end of the protagonist's first life . "

" ... first ? "

" yes, your majesty . "

" how many lives does he have after this one ? "

" one thousand more . "

the corner of yjh's lips quirk up slightly , though kdj doesn't dare to call it a smile . it's obvious that the man has seen through his plot , though he doesn't comment on it .

" to a thousand nights of our marriage , then . nothing more , nothing less . "

then night after night , kdj is brought to yjh's chambers to continue his story . their interactions begin to bleed into daylight , as yjh seems to gradually integrate kdj into his life . he gets to know lee jihye , commander of the royal guard , lee gilyoung and shin yoosung , caretakers of the beasts etc. and he grows attached to them .

for some unfathomable reason , yjh even allows kdj to contact his old friends .

as each day passes , kdj gets to know the elusive king a little more . their banter never gets tiresome , and it is always a delight for kdj to see a glimpse underneath that cold mask he hides behind . he starts to genuinely care for him .

perhaps a bit too much .

so when the deadline of their marriage arrives , kdj makes a decision .

" ... and that is the end of my story . "

" kim dokja , why won't you look at me ? "

" why are you doing this to me ? "

" doing what ? "

" doing such cruel things to me . i have no more stories to tell , meaning that my time , no matter how delayed , is now up . today is the date of my execution , yet you still look at me as if I were your most prized possession , when I no longer hold any value . "

" your stories do not equate to your value , kim dokja . "

" do you mean for me to believe that you will continue to keep me by your side even when I have no story left to tell ? "

" why would you believe anything else ? "

" my story is finished , what other story is there left for me to share ? "

" then , my beloved , perhaps we shall write our own story . together . "

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

I was talking about the last Airbender with one of my friends and how the whole "ending the cycle of violence" actually works really well and serves the story and the message it wants to send. it's one of these only instances where the choice of not killing the big bad guy makes SO much sense beyond the "murder bad".

It's the air tribe SURVIVING the genocide the fire nation despite all the hurt. It's so thematically powerful.

But having the supposedly anti imperialist show KEEP the military at the end? Is misguided at best. We're talking abt the same military that is built upon the blood and exploitation of others. Like the point is RIGHT THERE, and yet...

And gen I think that's what Arakawa is; misguided.

Cause she gets so many things right in her works that I don't get how else she could've chosen to end Scar's arc like *that*.

I just think she hasn't been properly introduced to intersectionality and radicalism and thus she's stuck in the liberal limbo. But then again, I might be wrong idk ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/���¯

ATLA shares a similar anxiety towards the oppressed who become "too violent" ala Jet and Hama. Pulls the classic "make the radical/angered victim of genocide behave cruelly to their fellows in order to equivocate the violence of entrenched power with those lacking".

Though I can give it to ATLA that, narratively, Aang defanging Ozai rather than killing him is an act of reclamation of his culture, as the sole surviving Air Nomad. Though we can ask how the meta-narrative uses this cultural context to soften the blow against an empire. But, given the homage to existing pacifist practices and ideologies, it feels more earnest and less nakedly protective of imperialist institutions compared to mangahood. But the cycle of violence is the growth of the Fire Nation as an imperial power, not the retaliation against the war machine; if Aang had chosen to kill Ozai, that's not a perpetuation of a cycle. Empires don't arise simply because someone took one down, and empires don't conquer and slaughter people because an empire had been quelled. The cycle of violence doesn't really map onto such things as imperialism, not without flattening all violence to "bad always".

It's been a long time since I watched the show; contrasting it to Brotherhood would work well, but who has the time? If nothing else, ATLA at least follows the victims and survivors of the Fire Nation's imperialism and massacres, rather than mangahood which largely stars genociders and imperial citizens. From what I can recall, it also has better pacing, doesn't squander its more serious and sombre moments with ill-timed gags, and the comedy/gags are more seamless/less intrusive than Brotherhood in particular. So hey, there's that too.

The supposedly "leftist", "anti-imperialist" show (Brotherhood) sure does a lot of excusing, coddling, and valorizing the military as an institution. It rests on a juvenile conception of noble idealism that, surely, all proud upstanding soldiers want to achieve for the nation. Positive nationalism! That's good and righteous, yeah? (No.) We sidestep the fact that no amount of 'noble' propaganda changes the exceptional violence that a military is literally meant to wield against those the state governs/wishes to govern/wishes to eradicate because, actually! It's the homunculi! Father makes the military and the nation it controls bad!

So there, problem solved. Anti-imperialism achieved.

We can only speculate on Arakawa's personal political beliefs. One's works are not necessarily indicative of every thought, belief, and action you hold or wish to see in the world. So no doubt she is simultaneously misguided on some things, liberal/nationalist/reactionary in others, and perhaps holds some quality beliefs as well. People are multifaceted messes, all of us. But, at least while looking at the politic of this one work of hers, it is boldly pro-military, pro-nationalist via reformism and the maintenance of the hegemon of powerful nation, and, frankly, racist towards brown people. Arguably mangahood is orientalist in its treatment of Ishval (exotified and negative/"savage"/"primitive"), Xerxes (exotified and 'positive', excuses and exemplifies the protags and their heritage, "advanced"/"civilized"/tragic in contrast with Ishval which is seen as aggressive on par with Amestris), and to an extent Xing.

Tbh, my biases prevent me from shaking the thought that she hated that Sho Aikawa et al had Amestris be shone in the hideous light of its systematic cruelty. That she resented Scar being made to be the enemy of Amestris as an entity, and a direct enemy of its military. (Oh no, he's an enemy of all the "~good~" that militaries stand for! 😱😱😱/immense sarcasm)

Perhaps she always planned for her version of her character to be 'reformed' (I have to hold in my bile). Perhaps that plot beat only blossomed in her mind after witnessing Scar kill off 7000 soldiers in his final act, 1) because she thinks that's cruel to the soldiers (🙄🙄🙄), and 2) because waaaah Scar died 'evil' (🙄🙄🙄🙄). As Brotherhood carried forward in its plot, all I could see were direct inversions of 03. And Liore (as well as Scar) is a prime example. Look at how Brotherhood assures us that actually the Liorans are fiiiiiiiine, they all banded together to work as a team to rebuild, they just got all turned around and violent but it's no one's fault except the nebulous sins of humanity, haha whoops! They're super happy, their outlook bright and cheery! No more military aggression here, and all without the violence of resistance fighters! We don't even blame the guy who upended the theocratic rule of the city, no sirree. All is well! Rose even thanks Ed for showing them "the way". All of this is a direct rebuttal to the horrific violence of the military invasion shown in 03, of the mass slaughter, of the rape, of Ed being shown the part he played in this destruction. Edward surrounded by the crowded graveyard of murdered Liorans as Scar stands above him, having been right all along about the role people working in the military will play, is one of 03's clear-eyed condemnations of the sabotage and subterfuge powerful states use against their targets. Rose doesn't thank Ed for what he did, for what happened to Liore, and the mass suffering caused on behalf of the state, for which his meddling accomplished.

It couldn't be more clear that Arakawa was not ok with any of this. I could chalk it up to "she simply wanted to set her manga apart from the first anime" which I know to be the case more broadly, given her statements on the matter. But it's the way she ignores Liore in her version of the story, the way everyone is oddly... fine. The way Rose assures Winry that they've improved as a people as a result. And the way Scar is just routinely tarred and flogged until he bends to the military while decrying his own actions as "terrorism" (I won't dive into the numerous meanings of such a loaded term for now). It's all of that that makes me see her work as a more active, intentional political statement rather than an accidental, incidental one.

As I stated before though, neither of us can be certain on what she believes within herself, let alone what she would claim. (People have a tendency to feel one way but their actions and reactions may claim otherwise. You can say you're against imperial violence while making millions of excuses for imperial nations.) It's still worth dissecting what can be seen, directly stated, and interpreted from mangahood itself, sans the author. Because regardless, the works themselves do have a voice. And that voice is often heard without the context of 03. Because I'm sorry, but mangahood would not be so stringent on its reformism without 03's more stark, relatively realistic take on militarism and imperialism.

Yet mangahood purists would have us believe that it exists not in conversation or rebuttal to 03 but instead in a vacuum. Pure. At best some fans see mangahood as a 'correction' of the 'mistake' of the 2003 adaptation, simply because the source material is king even when that source material doesn't fully predate the 03 anime. And that's fucking ridiculous and warps the chronology of fma's history as a franchise all for the convenience of ignoring mangahood's glaring contrivances and issues.

[mychemicalraymance]

i’m really curious to see the connections between gerard and joan of arc that people make, because their interest seems twofold, but i see a lot of people only making the connection of like gender non conformity (which is there!!! and huge). but to me, a larger part of it is like.... the intermixing of contemporary reaction and myth (and like, martyrdom) with a modern context of what was probably “going on” with her. i also think it’s important to not dwell on christian symbols TOO much when making these connections, because while the root of this is a connection from mental illness to a certain sense of spirituality that comes from ideas within christian mythology, i don’t think any of the notions here are meant to be taken as fundamentally christian concepts, or that gerard necessarily believe joan’s crusade to be righteous in the fact that it’s christian. i think we can take the baby out of the bathwater here. 

Gerard is a spiritual person, and like,  seems to have a huge relationship with christianity (obviously, and a very catholic, righteous one at that). I think in that quote where he is describing joan of arc as “probably fucking crazy” and touched by the hand of god at the same time is really important. The connection he seems to make with his own mental illness and a sort of chosen-one narrative feels directly influenced from his understanding of stuff like this, of apostles and oracles, etc. We know he later on  connected Maya the Psychic with a personal experience of auditory hallucinations (though the major source i can find on this is the genius annotation with a link to a concert video where he doesn’t actually say what the annotation is claiming, so it’s up for debate?). It feels like you can make a much deeper connection between the two (gerard and joan) when considering the fact that he seems to be overlapping and mixing the idea of being a spiritual and religous martyr with being a mentally ill person who feels so strongly about something that they make themselves a target for what is right. i feel like gerard perhaps understands or understood himself as someone who in a previous era would be receiving visions and then being persecuted for it. that makes themes of like revenge and mortality also tie in nicely to the joan narrative but that’s probably less related. 

I think it’s not uncalled for also to draw out a discussion of gerard’s gender non conformity as a sort of “martyrdom” via the hands of the popular consensus. Like to me it really feels like gerard being so sort of flagrantly a target in the public understanding of mcr in order to be a figure for gay and/or fucked up teens is like. his noble cause that he was burned at the stake for. like literally a social martyr for the cause! i think he knew that the whole time. and if he wasnt doing that he didn’t want to do it anymore. 

so like to me joan is more of a philosophy than anything else to gerard, and there’s far more loops than just the fact that the two sort of overlap in terms of androgyny or gerard has an interest in her. and gerard HAS become a myth to us just like joan. gerard did sort of burn at the stake a little bit and you can honest to god see people understand gerard either as “Gerard” or like the person he actually is day to day. and “Gerard” is Joan of Arc. the gerard that isn’t aligned with the way we see him in terms of mcr isn’t “Gerard” to a lot of people, which is why you see people reacting to recent mcr so strongly, he’s “Gerard” to them again, and it’s like seeing a dead saint. 

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

An infographic of the Nine Realms for those that love Norse mythology. It is an abstract representation that is designed to show the realms in a way that closely resembles the descriptions of the Eddas. Each shows some features and inhabitants that make the realm distinct, and it shows how the realms connect to each other and Yggdrasill. In reality, all realms would be nested within each each other and fit somewhere on our planet (either in a physical location or in an invisible spiritual location).

Heavenly Realms (upper level):

_____________________________

* Ásgarð - Home of the Æsir. Each God rules over a kingdom and has his own palace within Ásgarð. Óðinn rules the realm from his high throne. The Einherjar make the palace of Valhall their home. 1/2 of the greatest slain warriors are chosen by the Valkyries to join Óðinn's army and await their final battle against the invading armies of Giants at Ragnarok.

(In this image you can see Óðinn standing at the entrance of Valhall, monitoring the training of his warriors)

* Vanaheim - Home of the Vanir. Once enemies of the Æsir, but now their tribes have been unified. Freyja rules over this realm and other half of the Einherjar join Freyja in Fólkvangr where they train until Ragnarok.

(In this image you can see Freyha and one of her cats leading her warriors in drills)

* Álfheim - Home of the Álfar (Elves). Noble nature spirits that are allies of the Æsir Gods. Elves have dominion over nature and inhabit sacred hills, streams, or groves where they keep the land healthy and prosperous with their magic.

* Gimlé - In Ásgarð nearbye Álfheim exist other minor heavenly kingdoms, like Viðbláinn. Here a palace sits high in the mountains called Gimlé, where the souls of the righteous go after death. It is also where the last surviving Gods will seek shelter from the fires of Surtr in the final days of Ragnarok.

* Bifröst - The Rainbow Bridge. This brightly colored bridge provides a path for the Gods to quickly travel from Ásgarð to Miðgarð. It burns with magical flames that will incinerate any Frost-Giant or Hill-Giant that attempts to invade the home of the Gods. But the Sons of Múspell are immue to the flames, since they are Fire-Giants, and will collapse the bridge as they charge over it to destroy Ásgarð during Ragnarok.

_____________________________

Yggdrasill:

_____________________________

* Yggdrasill - The World Tree. This mighty Ash has roots that run far and wide, connecting all the realms. Yggdrasill also houses a pair of humans that will emerge and repopulate the world after Ragnarok. Long ago, Óðinn hanged himself from this tree to learn the secrets of the magical runes

* Urðarbrunnr, Mimisbrunnr, & Hvergelmir-

Yggdrasill stands next to the Urðarbrunnr (well of Urð. Urð is the eldest sister of the 3 Norns, Giantesses that weave the strands fate into an intricate tapestry, which reveals the destiny of all living things. The waters of this well have healing properties and the 3 sisters anoint the roots of Yggdrasill daily to stave off decay.

(In this image the 3 Norns can be found standing beside the Urðarbrunnr)

One of Yggdrasill's primary roots travels into Jotunheim, where it drinks from the Minisbrunnr (Mimir's Well). This is the well where Óðinn sacrificed his eye in order to gain his great wisdom by drinking from the well.

The final primary root of Yggdrasill runs into Niflheim, to the Hvergelmir. This well of boiling water is home to numerous serpents and the terrible wyrm, Niðhoggr. These beasts gnaw upon the root, slowly killing it with their venom.

* Hraesvelgr, Ratatoskr, Niðhöggr, Veðrfölnir, & Eikthyrnir - These creatures live in or near Yggdrasill and interact with each other and the world's -

Hraesvelgr sits high in the top-most branches, flapping his broad wings to create the winds. Veðrfölnir is a hawk that sits between the eagle's eyes and he may act as an informant for the eagle, like Huginn & Muninn.

Niðhöggr periodically travels to the opposite shore of the Hvergelmir, near Helheim. This shore is known as Náströnd (the Corpse Shore) and while there the wyrm drinks the blood of the newly arrived damned souls (oath-breaketlrs, adulterers, and murderers).

Ratatoskr is a squirrel that runs up and down the roots of Yggdrasill, so he can relay hateful messages between Hraesvelgr and Niðhöggr.

Eikthyrnir is a stag that feeds upon the leaves of Yggdrasill above Valhall. Dew gathers on his antlers and drips down to the Hvergelmir where it becomes the source of many rivers. In some accounts there are 4 stags, but this may be a later alteration to the story.

_____________________________

Mortal Realms (middle level):

_____________________________

* Miðgarð - The realm of men. The Gods frequently travel to Miðgarð to entertain themselves, influence humanity, or slay invading Giants. Thór, the Bane of Giants, is the protector of Miðgarð.

(In this image you can find Thór, the protector of Miðgarð, has just made his way across the Bifröst)

* Niðavellir - Home of the Dvergar (Dwarfs). These magical beings are nature spirits, related to the Elves, but not divine like their cousins. They shelter under the earth where they are safe from the deadly sunlight and craft marvelous magical weapons and tools for Kings and Gods. Sindri, the most famous of Dwarfs lives in this land.

* Svartálfheim - Home of the Svartálfar (Dark Elves). These Elves are craftsmen like the Dwarfs and are frequently identified as Dwarfs due to their similar appearance and lifestyle. The most well-attested Dark Elves in the Eddas are the smith brothers, onown as the Sons of Ivaldi.

* Miðgarð Sea - This vast body of water surrounds Miðgarð to protect the world from the vicious Giants on the other side. Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, makes this his home after being tossed into the water by Óðinn. Over the centuries he has grown so large that he now encircles the entire world. Beneath the waves lay Rán's Hall, the Goddess of the sea makes ready her home for the poor souls that drown at sea.

* Jötunheim - Home of the Hill-Giants. The Kingdoms of Útgarð (King Útgarða-Loki) and Thrymheim (Skaði) are found here. In the Eddas we hear how Thór and Loki have travelled to Jotunheim many times seeking adventure or revenge.

_____________________________

Primordial Realms (lower level):

_____________________________

* Ginnungagap - In the beginning there was a vast yawning void, a featureless plain standing in the darkness, and absent of life. From this land emerged 2 realms: Múspellheim to the south and Niflheim to the north.

* Múspellheim - This volcanic realm is home to the primordial Fire-Giant, Surtr. His army, the Sons of Múspell, is the most powerful and destructive army in the world. Surtr patiently waits for the day he is destined to lead the invasion of Ásgarð. After the world was created, the Gods and Dwarfs gathered sparks and embers from Múspellheim and used them to craft the Sun, Moon, and stars, so that the sky would be illuminated and men could track the seasons.

* Niflheim - This frozen realm is the home of the dead. All humans that are not granted access to one of the other realms to live out their afterlife are destined to reside here. Hel was banished to Niflheim, where she rules over these damned souls. But she was not the first ruler of this realm. In the beginning, the enormous Frost-Giant called Ymir became the first living being to inhabit the world. He would father the tribes known as the Frost-Giants and Hill-Giants, but he was slain by Óðinn, Vili, and Vé. These 3 brothers re-purposed his massive corpse, fashioning it into Miðgarð.

Source: Aaron Chapman (2023)

From: Everthing Norse & Vikings Culture [Facebook]

[attackfish]

5 hcs for any Avatar AU, idc which, all of the ones I've read from you are great!

I have chosen my airbender Mai universe. Continued from: [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], and [Link].

1. Azula does not keep Mai and Ty Lee at the Boiling Rock. The Warden is Mai's uncle, after all, and her treason saved his life no less than Zuko's. The two are instead taken to the tower prison at the capital. Azula does not visit them on the journey back to the capital, spent, perversely, locked in their shared well appointed cabin. For all they have committed treason, Mai and Ty Lee are left with the trappings of their noble, privileged childhoods, locked in their room like naughty schoolgirls. It gives them time to think on what will happen to them, on the enormity of the choice they both made. It gives them time to wonder when, if, their trial will take place, whether they will be sentenced to death, what will Azula do? So they wait and they worry, and Azula doesn't come.

2. They are marched up to the prison tower, stripped, searched, Mai's less obvious knives are finally taken from her, and they are handed the prison rags which will serve as their uniforms. Mai's brain is buzzing and spinning with a thousand thoughts, a thousand ways she could break out, shove themselves to the forefront of her mind, nearly all of which would involve airbending. The prison feels like it's made out of paper. But she can't airbend. She doesn't know what is happening to her family. She can't risk them. But she doesn't know what Azula is doing to them. This whole time she has traveled with Azula, the threat that she would hurt them, kill them, if Mai stepped out of line, has hung over her, and now, well, she sure stepped out of line. But she can't escape, because what if they're fine? The prison is made of paper, and Mai has to be careful not to tear it.

3. They are locked in their cell, together, which feels like an oversight. Wouldn't it be better to keep them alone and isolated? But no, they are together. And one room over, that Ty Lee can hear through the window at the back of their cell, are the Kyoshi Warriors. Predictably, Ty Lee starts trying to make friends. With the people who they helped Azula capture and imprison. Of course she does. And because she's Ty Lee, she succeeds. She weathers their anger, and self-righteous well-what-did-you-think-would-happens, and smiles and laughs until they soften to her. She's a wonder, honestly. Mai has no idea how she does it, only that she never would be able to pull it off, not in a million years.

4. Through it all, Azula doesn't come. She stays away, and Mai is glad for it. But she also isn't. It scares her. She didn't expect it. It leaves her on edge. She paces their little cell long into the night. Then, one evening, Azula turns up like a bad coin, disheveled, hair ragged, looking like neither of them have ever seen her, her air of untouchable perfection nowhere to be seen. She yells at them and blames them for everything that happened since she put them in there, her voice more and more... out of control. Her tone, her volume, the pitch, are as wild as her hair and her eyes, and as she rants, she lets more and more slip about the world outside the prison, and Ty Lee tries to soothe her, practically on instinct, and Mai doesn't. She tries to stay quiet and in the back. It's also on instinct. But Azula never mentions their families, and Mai starts to hope that Azula forgot their families exist. Either way, after Azula leaves, Mai feels even more on edge than before. That night, she whispers her secret to Ty Lee. When Ty Lee gasps in the darkness, that soft little sound is as loud as a thunderclap. And then Ty Lee squeezes her, and Mai tries to push her away and tell her she doesn't like hugs, but just this once, Ty Lee holds her, and tells her she will never tell.

5. And then the world turns on its axis once again, and Mai, Ty Lee, and the Kyoshi Warriors are set free, and Ozai takes their place. The prison guards scramble around like termite-ants whose mound have been kicked over, and Mai, Ty Lee, and the rest beat a hasty exit before anyone can change their mind. Mai runs to her family townhouse while Ty Lee goes off with the Kyoshi Warriors to meet Suki, their leader. She stands in her room in an empty house, and washes and dresses as quickly as she can, her hands putting her hair into order with quick, practiced motions she doesn't have to think about. Zuko knows. Zuko is Firelord now, and he knows about her airbending. Zuko's friends know. The Avatar knows. And in a few minutes, she's going to have to walk out the door and deal with that. The metal knob is cold and hard under her fingers as she turns it open.

[sun-and-moon-mushroom]

Day 27: Left For Dead

AO3 link

(Continuation of day 22, BingQiu/QiJiu swap)

The last time Luo Binghe had seen Shen Yuan, his shizun, the man who had found him on the streets after his mothers death and had chosen to teach him cultivation, was when he’d smiled down at him and promised to be back soon, before leaving on a night hunt that he’d never returned from.

Luo Binghe had waited at the inn they’d been staying in until the money started to run out, and after that he’d tried to find his missing master. He’d gone around the local towns and villages asking after him, only to learn that the beast he’d been after had been taken down by a group of Cang Qiong cultivators which meant… Shen Yuan had probably died while fighting it. That was one of the better ideas Luo Binghe had anyway, after he’d spent a month searching to see if his master had simply been injured in the fight. The only other thing he could think of was that the promise he made might have been a lie, something to let him abandon Luo Binghe — but no, his shizun would never do something like that.

Luo Binghe would later claim that it was his exhaustion over searching for Shen Yuan that had caused him to slip up and be captured by demonic cultivators, but the truth was, he had only been cultivating for a year, and with the help of a master who was mostly self taught, out on the roads instead of on a qi-heavy mountain peak. Luo Binghe was just a human, so he went down easily to a demonic poison slipped into his drinking water. When he next woke up, he was in chains, with his cultivation bound.

At first he expected to be cut into pieces for his parts, or have his cultivation stolen — even such a young cultivator could prove valuable to those willing to hurt them — but it seemed the demonic cultivators who caught him had a different plan. They unbound his cultivation, but only slightly — just enough for a few small tricks — and sold him to a noble family looking for a pet cultivator to show off their wealth.

The young mistress, Qiu Haitang took a liking to him immediately — something he tolerated, if only because it kept him away from her older brother, Qiu Jianluo. He was delighted by the idea of having a cultivator at his beck and call, and was constantly ordering Luo Binghe to show him things, punishing him harshly for anything he hadn’t learnt how to do. He even called back the demonic cultivators that had sold him in the first place, forcing him to learn their techniques, no matter how much he hated it. Sometimes he still thought back to Shen Yuan — was he still alive? Had his body been found, was he buried properly? Without being able to leave, he’d never have the chance to find out.

Luo Binghe isn’t sure what the final straw was for him. It could have been Qiu Jianluo announcing his engagement to Qiu Haitang — something he wanted no part in, since his heart had only ever belonged to one person — or it could have been the sight of a group of Huan Hua disciples in the marketplace on one of the few days he was allowed outside, standing there with their gold-rimmed robes and easy cultivation. Whichever one it was, Luo Binghe finally found a way to snap the restraint holding back his powers, using the small amount he’d been allowed to force the way open.

Free at last, his cultivation rapidly spiralled into a qi deviation, and when he came back to himself, he was holding a sword slick with blood and the building around him was burning. He fled — right into the arms of one of the demonic cultivators who’d sold him in the first place. Apparently, they’d sent him to the Qiu as what they called a ‘test’ — to make him one of them. He didn’t have much of a choice but to go along with them — to anyone else, he’d simply look like a murderer, a young disciple who’d left the righteous path in search of power.

This was how he’d found himself in the middle of an Immortal Alliance Conference, attacked by demons on all sides, trying to protect anyone he could — surely his current master wouldn’t mind if the goods he’d stolen had come from already dead bodies? — and then face to face with Shen Yuan once more. No, not Shen Yuan, but Shen Qingqiu, in the elaborate green robes he’d seen on the distant peak lord of Qing Jing, and wearing the face of his first master like Luo Binghe had ever actually mattered to him.

Luo Binghe… had never really been his beloved disciple, had he? Just a brat off the street he could trick into carrying his things and cooking his food. How foolish of his former master— when given the chance to become part of a proper sect, to achieve the power and wealth he deserved, he’d had to come up with an excuse to get rid of him. He’d have rather been left for dead.

[goddessesofeverything]

Third Gift for Miss Raven

Greetings to Miss Raven! (@raven-at-the-writing-desk) I hope you enjoy! Happy Holidays to you! Your confession, during the post about Jade being jealous of Rollo, about how Rollo replaced Rook in your top three Twst boys had me wondering whether I should have included Rook, but I decided to throw him a bone, and he gets to join. 

Rollo Flamme

Although he loathed having to visit the dreaded Night Raven College, it was best to present gifts in person. Tradition dictates that one should be gifting a gift for the holiday season with the recipient present so that one might see their reactions in person. The Righteous Judge himself would present gifts to his charges in person, and Rollo could do no less if he wished to follow such an inspiring example. 

Luckily, there was no shady, filthy eel to taint your interaction with Rollo—this time. Rollo had managed to find you in the courtyard of Night Raven College, scribbling some notes that assaulted your head and wouldn’t let you go. Furthermore, even more luck on his side, you had just finished your writing when you spotted him coming up the way. Rollo deigned to remain standing, but, nevertheless, put out a hand for you to grip so that he could assist you in standing. You placed your gloved hand in his and let yourself be pulled up to your feet.

He made sure to limit his contact with you, despite the glove on your hand, to remain as professional as possible. It’s not like he wanted to hold your hand more with how dainty it was in his hold. Nope. Not a single desire to continue holding your hand until he whisked you away to Noble Bell College instead. It’s not like he actually wanted that. 

Rollo simply presented an immaculately wrapped gift to you with a simple, “For you.” The gift was wrapped in alternating purple and red paper with golden bells patterning the alternating stripes. 

You curiously took the presented gift and carefully unwrapped it, lest his delicate sensibilities be offended by ripped open wrapping paper. After you meticulously peeled away the bell covered wrapping paper, a box revealed itself to you. A set of his quills, inks, and papers that he personally used for letters was nestled in tissue paper. He had chosen this set so that you both could exchange letters. Not that he was secretly praying you would write for him to take you away to Noble Bell College. No, these letters were merely so that you could keep in contact and you could update him on your stories. 

You had told him that you admired that he still wrote handwritten letters to others because it reminded you of your own writings. There was a time in which someone had told you that “letters are not just pieces of paper. They contain powerful emotions from those who wrote them” (I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the anime Violet Evergarden but this quote is from there). You had told Rollo about this quote that you’ve heard before and he sort of sees letters in a slightly different light because of it. 

Jade Leech

Your form shivered as you shook the cold snow off yourself. What rotten luck. You had just walked under a lower branch on the path to Mr. Sam’s Mystery Shop when it gave under its weight and dropped all the snow that blanketed the branch onto you. 

What is a poor you to do? All that cold and wet slush that graced you would quickly settle into your skin and give you a cold if you didn’t change quickly. 

Luckily, who should arrive at that very moment but a bundled up Jade. Jade, wrapped up in his outfit from Harveston, saw that you had been unluckily hit with some falling snow. He cooed at your perfect, pouty face with cheeks already turning pink from the cold. You shivered and he immediately took your arm in his and steered you away from the path. You protested, of course you did. But how could you compete with Jade’s strength? He was mightily determined to get you to Octavinelle to warm up. Jade dragged you all the way to his dorm room. Luckily, Floyd had Basketball Club at this time and wouldn’t be back for some hours. This was the most perfect opportunity to present you with your gift.

He toweled you down as best as he could which turned your hair all fluffy. Leaving the towel with you, he went to his wardrobe to pull out this elegant box. A box from Harveston. 

Inside the large box, there was an entire outfit, perfectly folded to fit, all ready for you. Beautifully woven scarf, a fleece hooded cloak in dark colors, leather gloves, snow boots, and a beautiful winter dress. Everything was in dark shades of blue or black to match with Jade. 

You suspected that he was just waiting for a moment such as this: when you weren’t in a position to refuse such a gift. You still allowed him to leave the room to give you the privacy needed to change into your new outfit. With every piece, you could feel the softness of the fleece, the smoothness of the leather, and the warmth of the boots. As soon as all the elements came together, Jade knocked on the door and asked if you were done (did he have a sixth sense for this?). 

You flustered at his impatience and told him to wait a little longer, to which he chuckled. Once you had a moment to yourself, you allowed him to enter once more. The look on his face when he came in was priceless. His eyes soften and a sincere smile paints his lips. He takes a couple small steps your way to admire the alluring image of you wrapped up in his gift up close. You were too cute to resist! He smoothly tucked your hair inside the hood of the cloak and tilted your face up to meet his. Surely you would accompany him on a stroll now that you were properly adorn in appropriate winter gear.  

What you didn’t know was that the branch was heavy with snow but it still wouldn’t have come down on you. It just needed a slight push to fall off the branch. The hit from an expertly thrown snowball perhaps? It’s not that you needed to know such a detail. Not when you were so lovingly cozy in your new cloak and boots now, right? 

Leona Kingscholar

Leona didn’t really do much to invite you over to his dorm as any other suitor of yours would have. A simple “Oi! Meet me in my room tonight,” was really all he gave you before he wandered back to his napping spot in the botanical garden. If Leona himself was taking the time to request that you come see him, instead of getting Ruggie to deliver the message, you were certain to be there. You were barely in front of the door before you heard Leona say, “Come on in.”  

He chucked a gift box into your hands as soon as you got close to the bed. You might not have been the best at catching things, but Leona made it an easy one. The small box wasn’t wrapped but the brand engraved on the box was one that you recognized to be a high-end jeweler that even Vil had a hard time getting jewelry from. And Leona had just gifted you with a box from them. Your eyes widened, but nonetheless, opened the box once you spotted the expectant eyebrow raise from Leona.  

Cushioned inside was a pair of earrings. Earrings made of a magestone that he personally had dug out during his time inside the mines during the Camp Vargas trip. He saw a magestone that reminded him of you and just yanked it from the wall before taking his nap in there. He took it back and had someone craft the magestone into the shape of a feather and set it into gold. Both earrings were made to be simply classy. 

“If you’re done admiring them, come here so I could put them on for you.” Leona patted the place next to him. You crawled onto his bed and presented the earrings for him to grab. He took one out of the box and gently inserted it into your ear. You could feel the soft breaths that emanated from him as he leaned in close to see your pierced hole. He clasped the earring in before taking you by the shoulders and maneuvering you to turn to your other side so he could insert the second one. He placed the second earring in your ear and pulled away, but not before he brushed your hair behind your ear so that the feather-shaped earrings were on display for the both of you to see. 

In the mirror he handed to you, you could see the details of the feather and how it complimented your look. He informed you that the earrings also had a protection charm on them because earrings with magestones should also serve some kind of function. You were startled at finding the protection charms engraved in the gold settings in a way that made them seem like part of the design already. 

He took the mirror away before you had any other time to admire your new accessories. Instead, you were pulled to his side. He laid back down on the mattress and lifted a fuzzy blanket to cover the both of you. Pulling out a book, he asked, “Didn’t you want to hear the stories that they told us as kids in the Sunset Savannah?” 

You, of course, had wanted to hear those childhood stories he read growing up, but you never expected for it to be done this way! He wrapped an arm around you and flipped through the book that Cheka left behind on his last impromptu visit. With that deep, mesmerizing voice, Leona read to you about meerkats and warthogs making friends, of puppets having adventures, and how a certain King of Beasts brought prosperity to the hyenas. With each story, the pleasant atmosphere lulled you closer and closer to sleepiness. Before you knew it, Leona was admiring the slight rise and fall of your breaths as he put the book down. He pulled the blanket up higher so that it covered the both of you before wrapping his other arm around your soft figure and resting his head next to yours. 

Rook Hunt

You weren’t expecting to be kidnapped (not really as you were headed to Pomefiore anyway), but you were whisked into the sanctuary that was Rook’s room with just the two of you in the room. He wanted to give you his gift in the intimate privacy of a space that was just the two of you. 

Just like Vil, he had written at least 100 different poems all about you to celebrate the holidays. It was all bound tastefully together in a small book that you could easily hide in any small drawer. Each poem was accompanied with a little doodle or sketch that captured the essence of the theme of that particular poem. You had only unwrapped the gift and riffled through the first few pages when he launched into an impromptu poem that he made up on the spot. It turned your cheeks pink and gave warmth to your heart to hear him singing the praises of this cozy moment with you as you opened his gift. 

Pretty as a picture,

Your delightful visage flickers

With adoration for my poetry. 

I fall further in love hopelessly

And you can claim me a victor.

His poems for you are full of heart. You know his sincerity is unparalleled. Even if some of them are a tad more flowery than you would have preferred, it makes them more treasured because of how much thought went into them. One of the poems that he wrote for you, he recited to you himself from memory.

I am invigorated with each

Lovely writing that turns your cheeks

Outstandingly pink. I admire squeaks, 

Vivacious, with fiery wit, courageous. 

Enchanting moments are advantageous.

Yearning to spend even fleeting moments

Only serve to remind me of lovely accomplishments.

Unique, unforgettable, utterly unprecedented you.

He only asks for a hug from you more. One you gladly give. For who could resist the adoration of a person on the hunt for beauty in everything he sees.

[themournwatcher]

Kyr Farwhisper - The Dark Urge

"Everyone has unseemly thoughts. Being able to quieten them is what sets us apart from the beasts."

Sharing some screenshots from my Dark Urge playthrough, which has just about hit 21 hours. BE WARNED. EVERYTHING BELOW THE READ-MORE LINE IS SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE PLAYTHROUGH. There is spoiler content, gore, and violence beyond! I tag with "#durge spoilers" if you want to block.

[Narrator: *You have nothing in your skull, besides your name and a headache. But you are in danger.*

Curse whoever did this to you.

Say your name aloud. You have a part of yourself.

Take a deep breath, shake your head, and start anew.]

The Dark Urge, in my opinion, is an origin that is preferable even to the custom ones that a player can make. Like the origins we get from the other PCs, such as Shadowheart or Astarion, there are custom cutscenes, content, and dialogue options specifically tailored to the Haunted past that you bring to the party. The Dark Urge isn't a play-through I would recommend if you want the feeling of a Noble, Righteous Hero. In some ways, it can be very stereotypically "edgelord"; you have little memory of your past, and are prone to violent and grotesque proclivities.

I suppose if you wanted to truly run an evil route and see how many dear companions you could kill along the way, you could play this route as Indulgent, or giving into the Dark Urge. I chose to play Kyr as a hopeless struggle; he is frightened by himself, and does his best to resist his dark temptations and try to do good. Resistance. It's made for a delightfully fulfilling roleplay experience, especially because I have chosen to romance Wyll on this play-through.

Even recruiting Astarion can be a little frightening.

The intro runs about the same, except when you wake up on the Nautiloid, you are bloodied, frightened, and have no memory of how you got there. In fact, there are no real signs that there is anything wrong with you, at least not in the dialogue you get until after the crash. Everyone's a little nervous, on edge, and then you have the chance to recruit Gale from his little portal. If you give into the Urge... it goes poorly. Fantasize about chopping his hand off?

I didn't make this canon for Kyr's run, but I was curious what would happen. I don't know what becomes of Gale, if you can recruit him later--if you can, how strange. You did just remove his hand for seemingly no reason. Astarion, too, has something to say about it immediately after.

This is your first sign that the Dark Urge run is going to be, well.. full of dark urges. Kyr seems to have a strange and compelling urge to commit harmful, violent acts--but doesn't seem to be aware he's doing it. I went back and he recruited Gale normally, resisting the weird desire to fantasize about chopping a man's hand off. Things were quiet--for a little bit.

Lots of dialogue choices specialized for the Dark Urge present in one of two, maybe three ways--commit this horrible act, or be shocked by your perversions and resist. Along with all of the usual options, such as based around your skill checks and your class. You have fewer culture rolls--you don't remember your past, after all (but you can imply to be Baldurian later on in Wyll's conversations, which I did). The lack of backstory and the amnesia is meant to heighten the strange horror of your situation, but I like building on what Kyr could be missing. A father, maybe, and a mother he never knew.

You can even tell Withers that you don't think your life is worth very much--something that he has a sage rebuke for. It's implied that he might know a little bit more about your circumstances than he's letting on, but if he does, he doesn't deem it fit to share with you.

Back at the camp, you do have options to speak with your party members--even so early--about your concerning affliction. Two new choices are available to you: concern about your memory loss, and concern about your violent urges. So early in the game, I decided I would start to bring up the memory loss. They are... quite flippant! And quick to dismiss your concerns on having to do with the mind-flayer tadpole.

It's late, and I'm getting sleepy, so that's all I'll add for this post. More is to come.

Part 1 | Part 2

[fortifice]

If he closed his eyes long enough he could have been convinced that this was peace. their superiors told them to anticipate death, it would lurk in the apertures of their life until one day it chose them, it was noble to die for someone else. Gepard had never held reservations about this path, it was fated that a Landau would serve as belobog’s indomitable shield, that it could be him chosen was an honor, one he should wear with pride. Leo had teased him about it endlessly, that even before he was granted the rights of a soldier his gait held the haste of combat in its stride and his eyes were keen, adjusted for scopes and gauging the distance in strikes. He would shake his head, laugh a little under his breath, he had been trained for years for this cause it made sense that it was ingrained into him. “ You could just protect some people, you know ?” Leo rolled onto his side, his fingers absently traced the line of Gepard’s jaw and he had that look he got in his eyes when he was going to say something absurd and almost always profound. “ You could just protect some ? your people, not everyone.” Gepard scowled at him, it didn’t make sense to be selective when it came to his duty, the very prospect did fall under the expected absurdity from his bunkmate. “ You know I can’t do that, as the shield of belobog -” Leo hushed him by pressing a finger to his lips “ it’s not all about belobog you know, what about you ?” Another sour, classic Gepard Landau expression. “ It’s not about me.” the other makes an exasperated noise, one that was usually reserved only for him. “ well it should be, you can’t give away your whole life to other people you know ? even if we fight shouldn’t it be for more than just some vague idea of saving everyone.” it was late into the evening and Leo had snuck down from his bed and slid his way under Gepard’s blanket, making sure to steal as much of it as possible for himself. “ Go to sleep.” he said, finally, not wanting to play this back and forth game of whose righteous ideals were actually sensible and whose were fundamentally misguided.

He should have listened, before, he had deluded himself into believing it was just, that the battle they waged was a good one, it was arduous to hold onto such tenuous faith now. It all happened so quickly, even his trained eye couldn’t catch the moment the dark, eldritch mass plunged through the snow banks. Two, firm hands thrusted against his chest sending him toppling backward into the snow. The air was stagnant and acrid with blood and death, the corpses of his comrades decorated the snow plains, their blue banners undulating in the glacial wind. Gepard tilts his head back and all the air is heaved from his lungs, a blunt impact between his ribs but there was no force behind it, just, Leo looking back at him his eyes wide and distant. “ No..No…No..No.” all of that self sacrifice meant nothing when it was someone else who was taking shuddering breaths, the front of his pristine livery soaked through red, a long, black spinose limb pierced through his lower back and then arched up violently emerging just below his clavicle. It was a fatal blow meant for Gepard, Leo’s eyes met his and they softened a little, glossy and vacuous. “ it’s not … your fault..” it was, everything was. In that moment every loss on the front line was his, every blazing life snuffled out was his, Leo was his. desperate, trembling hands reach up and hold both of his cheeks, he was cold. How could this happen ? They were the silvermane guard, they had put years into honing themselves for this, how could their lives be extinguished one after another until only the proud Landau flame quivered high and lambent. There was so much blood. Leo drags in a breath, coughing, spluttering, blood smeared across his teeth and dripping down his chin. “ run..” he murmured, his voice all but swallowed by the lamenting wind and the bone - chilling howl of a Fragmentum monster. It was pulling back, with it lodged in his chest Leo was hauled back with it and Gepards hands were left empty, reaching, hopeless. The snow surged up to meet him, his muscles keened under the searing agony of running and he hated himself, each step was inundated with fear and anger coalescing into a thunderous crashing in his ears. Run.. run.. He was running, he didn’t know how many men were still fighting, if any still drew breath and until he was sheltered between a craggy outcrop and a distance away from the battle did air flood his lungs. Each breath was excruciating, his face was smeared with blood, his hair matted with it, Leo’s… it was Leo’s blood. Just hours before they had been curled up together and the steady rhythm of his breathing had lulled Gepard into believing, if only for a moment, that maybe he was right - there were precious things worth protecting. his blood flooded with ice, his mind reeling with the truth, Leo was dead, he had died because of Gepard. It was all his fault.