#begging the higher powers to grant me peace of mind

[dango-daikazoku]

:(

i hate spending time with my mom, maybe it's just because our personalities are so completely different but i cannot enjoy being around her, she frustrates me so much

but she loves spending time with her kids, it's who she is, and even though i absolutely hate it i have to keep sacrificing my personal time and days off to keep her happy :(

i keep thinking i'm gonna look back and be grateful that i was able to spend time with her because she genuinely is a loving mom but we just... do not mesh well

she tries and gets things for me that she thinks i might like but i don't like a single thing because she doesn't know my interests

i tell her over and over "i don't watch TV" but what does she do every single time she comes over? she puts the TV on and gives me the control and tells me to put on something i want to watch

i didn't buy this TV! i said multiple times "i do not want a TV, i do not want this Roku, i do not want this DVD player, i do not want any of this"

and i don't use it! i do hook up my laptop to the TV to watch my workouts but don't actually watch TV at all, and i haven't since i moved in a couple years ago

at most i use my laptop to watch anime or occasional movies and don't touch the TV at all

she gave me that big bluetooth stereo for my birthday because she said she liked the one my brother had

i already have a hello kitty stereo and a google home and a coca cola can bluetooth speaker, i do not need, never asked for, never wanted a huge loud speaker that doesn't fit anywhere in my apartment

she tries to be attentive but fails so miserably that it irritates me so much!

we don't talk that much because none of our interests align, our sense of humor is completely different, the scary movie i loved she views as a silly comedy, we don't view things the same

when i try to complain about work she gives me "advice" and i so badly just want to cut off her rant and say "yes i'm a full grown adult that has worked for years, i know what could improve but i can't fix understaffing myself, i can't fix lazy coworkers, i can't fix incompetent management, just let me complain! let me voice my frustrations without trying to offer advice as if i could solve anything! just shut up and let me talk, just Listen"

she tries and gets me to be interested in something that i couldn't care less about

"look at these houses you could buy, just have them build it on a property you like!"

dearest mother, what in gods name are you talking about? what property do i own? what do you own? nothing

i'm not going to buy a tiny amish house so i could not live in it until it's finished on a property somewhere out there that i don't own yet

please just use your brain for 5 seconds and realize that i can't afford to spend tens of thousands of dollars and go broke on something that will take months if not years to set up

i want to save now, buy a real house later, i say it every time, i'm not interested, so why

after Years

gotdang YEARS, are you still trying to convince me

i don't know if you're just missing your brain, if you're just you know not thinking at all, or you don't have any foresight or planning skills whatsoever, but it's not going to work!!!

jeeeesssuuuuuussss

let me live my own life please

PLEASE

[aventvrina]

your future never existed- featuring Kakavasha & Aventurine

summary: to seize fate by the throat, we have no choice but to stake everything and kakavasha will reap for every chance (tw: descriptions of death & blood)

What's done can't be undone. All we can do is play the cards we're dealt with, and rake in as much time as possible.

When: 2157/8 amber era - ??? / ??? / ??? year

Where: [redacted] . [redacted] . Pier Point

"If I come back alive, you'll give me thirty Tanbas. Deal?" "Sorry, but that won't do. Don't forget your place, slave. You're not qualified to be at the table." "You're just a chip, a life thrown away in someone else's hands." "It's all or nothing. Don't embarrass me my lucky hound."

What toll does survival take?

Famine-boned hands clench dripping metal, the other lays flat where his body fell. It is still not a corpse, there is still breath, struggled, gurgling, weak, a pathetic show of desperation to cling onto something taken for granted. A life cut short is always a tragedy, but this is catharsis. Kakavasha takes great pleasure watching agony petrify over the slave master's face. A few system hours ago he had witnessed the same expression upon another, the last innocent who also fell by his hands, someone who had not deserved it but in the end it didn't matter. Out of thirty-five, he was the lucky winner, a feat he's forced to acknowledge for it was this victory that granted him this very moment.

He didn't do it to avenge them, corpses do not beg for retribution. He didn't do it for himself, his odds have been stacked since he first drew breath, misery written by others as a trial he must go through for a mission higher than him. He didn't do it for honor, that he never had, could never have again after all he's been put through at the hands of those who pass the chips. In the end, he did it for the seat. To steal the place at the table, to force himself upon it. To take by force the chance he was denied.

The moment feels infinite. Like a candle in the wind, life leaves the body, blood languidly spreading through the carpet much like smoke thins in the air, the only reminder that there was once a life. He can tell the exact moment it happens, there's a specific stillness to the dead, one he has grown accustomed to witness. Despite the brutality, death is a peaceful thing, it pauses time, forces it to a momentary stop, as it grants the soul a respite. Then, the eyes dull, the breath fades, and the dead is left in the quiet solace of whatever last thought crossed their mind.

His hands are cold, looking down he can see red turn copper as it dries, he wonders where he can wash it off. As it is now, there's still time before he has to move. No alarms have rang, he's smart enough to make himself scarce before the body is discovered.

But first, he must clean his hands if he's to play the game.

Death leaves a mark. It's invisible and tangible all at once, an irksome feeling that sticks to the skin no matter how many times it's washed. It's a parasite that plagues the host with it's presence. Irremovable, weighted, unseen, the subtle torment of a feasting leech.

Still, as he stands accused, unable to hide his hands, left fist shaking with the strength he clenches the chain, he cannot fail. The confidence of gambler masks even the guilt of a murderer.

The purpose was not to have him sentenced to begin with. This is, after all, where he'll finally partake in the game. All the suffering, all those corpses, all the people who pushed him forward, it was for this moment. The chip eyes the dealer in challenge. All he needs is thirty Tanbas, all he needs is that one chance that'll have him climb higher than ever. For that, the serpent must be fed. And he's willing give everything.

"Thirty Tanbas, I'll give you that, and much more than that. Wealth, status, power... the IPC will give you whatever you want, even what you don't want."

He smiles.

His name is buried. His chains are are bathed in gold. In an absurd turn, death leeches but does not kill. Still, it is felt. Aventurine's first gift to himself are gloves. Though unseen, they hide enough for him to feel that his hands won't stain the chips, at least not the innocent ones.

Aventurine is a sight. There's nothing in him that would make others question whether he's fit for the game. He's fuller, soft cheeks with color, hair clean and styled, adorned high brand clothes, expensive watches and heavy rings. He's everything he could ever hope to be. Were it not for his eyes he could almost divorce their image from one another.

He already lies so much about himself, to himself, what harm would it do to lie about his origins. But his eyes betray, the past, even buried, lingers in them. And with them comes the reputation, followed by the scorn. Still, he can work with that. If anything it's something he prefers. Were he to choose, he'd rather they hate him. At least then he can be sure there is no real interest in him. Eyes won't linger, hands won't seize what they shouldn't. He'll be free to act without giving and use them without remorse.

He straightens his jacket, the mirror reflects. Despite it all, he's still there. The blessed eyes, the exploited body, the broken soul, they're all still there. That's all he is, all he'll ever be. But it's enough. The miserable lying chip is enough to get him exactly where he needs to go.

However the destiny of the victor is that the rest are to lose. Only one player can win in the end.

"The Avgins in Sigonia... what happened to them afterward?"

"Unfortunately, there are no more Avgins in Sigonia. You're the last lucky dog."

"What about those people who helped me on planet ██? Now I can finally repay their kindness."

"They are no more, either."

The aventurine shines. They say the stones reflect their users and with that he must agree. In it's silver encase the cornerstone looks almost regal, were it not for it's natural dull shine, it could almost pass as precious. Just like him, this stone pretends to be higher, dresses for what it'll never be, yet deep down, it stays the same.

But if the stone is the same as him, then it's completely worthless. In the end, it'll be shattered beyond recognition, it's value diminish, it's color dull, abandoned, replaced. There's several fates for the mocking glint and it's aeonic power. Still, the stone's fate should not be his. It may reflect his heart but it's delusional if it thinks that he cannot live without it. The void it tries to fill is far more bigger than a cornerstone. So he lets it shine it's mockery, lets it whisper what he has always thought of himself. It doesn't matter.

He already buried Kakavasha, he can bury Aventurine too.

It was a success. In the end, Aventurine lives while the cornerstone is but dust. And even if that in itself would frighten even the higher ups, the sacrilege of erasing a part of Qlipoth's power themselves, he could really care less. He's back exactly where it started and his end hasn't changed. He cannot be afraid of what he has always known. As he did all those years ago, he'll wager for his place again.

There's a certain thrill that satisfies that hollowness, the leech feasts in delight with every gamble he takes. In the game of unexpected hanging, he wins by expecting death at every hour. Diamond won't sentence him, and even if he does, there's always a chance.

He has made it this far and he can go further. There's no bigger pleasure than testing the boundaries of his destined death.

And what toll does survival take?

The past? The future? Others? Himself?

At least he survives. At least he can say that.

Whatever he killed to survive, within or without, at least there’s enough left of him to say it.

At least he's still sitting at the table, he's still playing.

[quote-banku]

O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned,

Lookest from thy sole dominion like the God

Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars

Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call,

But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,

Of Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,

That bring to my remembrance from what stateI fell,

how glorious once above thy sphere;

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down

Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King:

Ah, wherefore! he deserved no such return

From me, whom he created what I was

In that bright eminence, and with his good

Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.

What could be less than to afford him praise,

The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,

How due! yet all his good proved ill in me,

And wrought but malice; lifted up so high

I 'sdeined subjection, and thought one step higher

Would set me highest, and in a moment quit

The debt immense of endless gratitude,

So burdensome still paying, still to owe,

Forgetful what from him I still received,

And understood not that a grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once

Indebted and discharged; what burden then

O, had his powerful destiny ordained

Me some inferiour Angel, I had stood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised

Ambition! Yet why not some other Power

As great might have aspired, and me, though mean,

Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within

Or from without, to all temptations armed.

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?

Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse,

But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all?

Be then his love accursed, since love or hate,

To me alike, it deals eternal woe.

Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will

Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

Me miserable! which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?

Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.

O, then, at last relent: Is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?

None left but by submission; and that word

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame

Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced

With other promises and other vaunts

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue

The Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know

How dearly I abide that boast so vain,

Under what torments inwardly I groan,

While they adore me on the throne of Hell.

With diadem and scepter high advanced,

The lower still I fall, only supremeIn misery:

Such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace, my former state; how soon

Would highth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore? Ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void.

For never can true reconcilement grow,

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.

This knows my Punisher; therefore as far

From granting he, as I from begging, peace;

All hope excluded thus, behold, instead

Of us out–cast, exil'd, his new delight,

Mankind created, and for him this world.

So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear;

Farewell, remorse! all good to me is lost;

Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least

Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold,

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;

As Man ere long, and this new world, shall know.

Paradise Lost, Book IV

John Milton

[mutatiio]

mayxthexforce:

His name... Someone said his name. Maul. He is still speaking to him. His comm. Where is it? Oh, right. Out of reach, just on the periphery of his vision– out of reach not because it's far away but because he can't move, can't turn. All it'd take to reach it would be to be able to push himself onto his side. But he can't force his body to. Can't will it into motion, even when the hand that didn't clutch his own stomach moves, trying to reach it, it's not close enough. If he strains himself to his limit, to the point that fresh pain blossoms from the wound and makes him feel as if something is tearing him apart from the inside out, he xan just brush his comm with the tips of two fingers. Pushing it further away. He stops trying to grab it. It hurts too much. Ending the effort hurts just as much. Relaxing loosens his muscles up, rips a breathless yet long and pained cry out of him. Tears blur his vision. So much burns inside. There is no blood, but there is so much damage. More than he can even attempt to heal. And yet, he tries. It's fruitless. In his mind, he prays, he begs, for that higher power he might have taken for granted his whole life to not forsake him, to come back. Just for a minute. That's all he needs. He makes so many promises, vows to never use it for selfish reasons again if he's granted just one last chance to use it. Just one last chance to reach through the veil. For Anakin, for Maul, for Ahsoka. There's so many others, but those three would do. He'd be able to go in peace with just that. To feel them there with him one last time. Nothing happens. The force isn't with him. Only the pain remains. Blurs his concept of time. How long has it been? He can't tell. He can't see the sun from where he hit the ground. Obi-Wan feels its warmth, behind him. A growing, uncomfortable sting on his scalp is the only way to measure the passage of time that he has. But when the pain begins to fade eventually, leaving him empty. Staring up at the sky. Then comes a sound he recognizes. His vision flickers back into focus, the growing dark spots giving way to the blue sky once more and there, he sees it: the scimitar. Maul... Obi-Wan doesn't need the force to know that whoever attacked him is long gone, content with ambushing him and leaving him there to suffer alone. They are gone. They can't hurt Maul. The air leaves his lungs in a weak yet heartfelt sigh of relief, and never fills them again.

it hadn't taken long, but it felt as though a lifetime had passed. anger soon turned to desperation. constantly met with nothing in both regards; verbal silence in hand with nothing from the force. growls and orders turned to quiet pleas. talk to me. say something. a noise, a word, anything. anything.

more nothing. such blankness where kenobi used to be rendered him weak, sickened. his hand started to shake as he began begging for a reply. any indication that he's alive, hurt or not. they could solve hurt.

it's the cry that sinks his hearts to the pit of his stomach. he's hurt, but alive. " i'm almost there!! hold on. "

breaking just about every speed violation, he arrives in record time. maul leaps from the docking bay while the ship is still landing, connecting with the ground below harshly, not quite remembering to do anything other than attempt to reach kenobi with the force.

maul smells him before he sees him. burnt flesh, kenobi's scent, nothing as strong as him. dread weighs him down, but it doesn't cease his movement. if he's injured, there's no time to waste. when he approaches everything is still. his chest does not move. his eyes do not move. that does cease his movement planting metal feet to the ground. he's not breathing. not breathing- not breathing, not moving, not speaking, not reacting.

he stumbles forward, toward him, losing footing and landing heavily on the ground, on his hands and knees. it's clearer now that kenobi is not breathing. so clear that he goes still, unblinking as he focuses on obi-wan's hand. covering the wound- he crawls the rest of the way, eyes remaining on the man he loves. loved.

" obi-wan... " tentative fingers touch his sickly-white cheek, cupping his jaw. cold- the other on his shoulder as he gently shakes him. an attempt to rouse. " i am here. right here- look at me. " but blue eyes remain looking up, towards the sky. unfocused and unacknowledging.

he cradles obi-wan against his chest, so gentle, as though what was already broken was so terribly fragile. what happened would be answered soon, discovered or die trying to. rage simmered even now. but at this moment, gentle hold around the lifeless as he rocks back and forward. softly - desperately - he mutters into hair; don't go. don't leave me. you're mine- mine to kill.

shifts only just to press his lips to obi-wan's. a kiss. something he had always found revolting, but rapidly turned to comfort with his jedi. the chill startles him, recoiling with a gasp. claws dig into him, as though fighting against what had already taken the man. denial and realisation at once. " no- " he croaks, his hearts clenching as though in an iron vice, a foreign sound rips from his throat. a broken sob-

head bows, buried in that tan tunic. he trembles even as his grip on obi-wan tightens enough to draw blood from crescent wounds. don't go. don't leave me-

he would give his life, he would kill anyone or anything for obi-wan. nothing deserves to continue living while he dies- while he is killed- maul's hand rests above obi-wan, pressing it against the wound. nothing deserves to live, only obi-wan. if the force is just, give him back.

eyes shut and face to his love's unmoving chest, maul is blind everything around them rotting. every blade of grass drying up, birds ceasing their songs, insects plummeting mid-flight.

if the force is just, give him back. give him back. give him back. give him back.

[cartierbin]

14 with lix 😭

thank you for requesting baby

『 14. “stop being so gentle damn it”

pairing — felix x reader

genre — smut + rough roommate sex with felix

word count — 1.324k 』

smut under the cut !

“why do you care so much felix!! huh? why do you care we’re not even together!!”. he clenched his jaw from across the room, it was almost 2am and you knew it was late but you hated the way felix was acting. you know everyone in the dorm halls probably hated you two by now. “you know why I care. And stop saying that bullshit every single time you get caught up in your mess”.

“I can say what I what I want to say”.

“no, you say bullshit that you think excuses you. you think I don’t know that we aren’t dating? Huh?! Do you think I want to be reminded of that every single time you go back to your stupid ass ex and I confront you about it?!”. you fold over the blankets on your bed, slipping under it. “whatever felix. I’m going to sleep I’m sick and tired of arguing with you about this shit. I go back to my ex because I can. I’m single. And until you make me anything other than that you shouldn’t have your nose in my business”. you turned your back to him, throwing the blanket over your shoulder. felix stared at you in disbelief, making a pft noise before he sat on his own bed, facing the opposite direction. he runs his hands over the expanse of his thighs, hanging his head low. the realization settled low in his gut. he knew you weren’t his and the fact that you kept sticking it on him hurt him.

“so? that’s what it’s going to be? you told me you weren’t ready for a relationship. yet you grant me relationship benefits. how are you going to lead me so far just to tell me that you want someone else? and expect it not to fuck with my mind?”. you listen, more than glad that you were facing the opposite direction so he couldn’t see the guilt scrawled on your face. he took your silence as a reply, meaning that you didn’t care how he felt and that you were done talking about the situation. he grips his own blankets and throw them over his shoulder as well, leaning his forehead on his fingertips before drifting off to sleep. you waited a while, unable to sleep due to how guilty you felt. you knew you hurt him. you were sorry and didn’t know how to say it. rather, you knew just what to do. it was another hour before you sighed deeply, pushing the covers away from yourself prior to getting out of bed. you stood over his, kind of admiring how cute he looked when he slept. so cute that it made you feel even worse for how you treated him. you drew his covers back positioning your body on top of his and attaching your lips to his neck, giving him tongue filled kisses all over his skin.

he was soaking them up for a little while until he was awake enough to feel the softness of your lips. his hands slid down the span of your back, creeping to the back of your thighs and pulling upwards making you straddle him. he groaned too, half because it felt good and half because he wanted to know what you were doing. he opens his eyes but you didn’t give him a chance to think about your vulnerability. you needily rut your hips against his groin, gaining a few small deep voiced groans from his throat. you sucked another hickey into his neck, apologizing countless times in between your wet sloppy efforts. he took a deep breath squeezing your ass into the palm of his hand, wondering if he should give in. your lips felt good and he knew that fucking you would be even better. you could tell that his head was lost in his decisions and instead you mushed his lips into a kiss allowing your tongue to roam his mouth knowing he was fond of tongue kisses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that just fuck me please”, he takes a hand a wraps it around your throat departing your lips from his own. his eyes looked cold when they bore into yours. fear flooded your chest. “you think you can just talk to me any type of way and then bribe your way out with sex?”. his voice was low and deliberate, throwing you into a nervous spiral.

“felix you know I just- I just say things I don’t mean. we both always say things that we don’t mean. that’s what we always do when we argue”. you stammer helplessly feeling pathetic. his expression remained unmoved. cold and conniving. even when he laughed. it wasn’t his normal laugh, beautifully contagious. but it was a laugh of irony. “I need you to make a decision because I’m sick of this shit”. he spoke narrowing his eyes, you could still hear the lumps of sleepiness in his voice. he cocks his head to the side. “do you want to keep running back to your toxic ass ex? or do you want to get fucked into this headboard of mine?”. your throat immediately ran dry and you wondered where your spit had gone. on one hand, your ex was someone whom you’ve known since you were younger. but on the other, felix meant everything to you and the way his dick kept twitching up against you through his sweats made your pussy throb. “you going to choose or what? because I’m tired and I have a class in the morning”. he spoke again still waiting for your response. “I want to get fucked felix”. he shook his head in doubt. “you’re only saying that because you’re on top of me right now”. “no. no please, I’m not. please. I want to get fucked by you and only you felix”. he stares at you a bit longer just before unleashing his tongue down your throat entrapping you in a slimy kiss and pulling away. he figured he’d make this quick considering you weren’t going to last long anyway. “get on all fours”.

you got into position and waited for felix who nonchalantly discarded his shirt and tugs down his briefs, draping his body over yours so he could clutch the top of the headboard. he settles his dick into you with a curse word leaking from his lips and with a purr of relief coming from yours. you shut your eyes for a bit feeling satisfied with the way his thick length filled you from behind. he pushes your head into the pillows and arched your ass up higher for himself and for better angles. he rolled his hips into you at a measured pace before gradually speeding up, watching your ass make his dick disappear with each thrust. you breathe heavy and hard into the pillows, feeling lost and euphoric all at once. felix bit his lips and pounded into you deeper steadily increasing, cinching his hand into the dip of your waist. the buildup caused the headboard to beat the wall, and the slapping sounds of your skin was so loud you knew the people who roomed next door had to hear it. but you didn’t care. “god I hate you sometimes but the way your pussy clenches around me—fuck”. he groans, fucking you a bit harder. he rocked his hips into you with a power that almost made you headbutt the headboard. you curved your head to soften the blow. “fuck felix. stop talking like that”. he took his other hand off the headboard and instead gripped your waist with two hands, pressing it against the bed and fucks you that way. “stop being so gentle, damn it. If we’re going to fuck like this we’re going to talk the right way”. he licks his lips each time your ass moves in a wavelike motion, starting from the bottom and making the top curve up against your lower back. you cry into the sheets in pleasure, gripping them and drooling against them. “nngh god yes right there— please”. you begged, needing it more than you thought you would. felix molded the palms of his hands into your lower back holding you in place so you couldn’t move.

he flipped pieces of his hair away from his face as the noises in the room only grew louder. he admired the sounds your pussy made each time he entered you, a thick river of gush waiting to coat his dick every time he invited himself in. “how in the fuck do you get this wet all the time? holy shit”. you were trying to reply but your eyes rolled to the back of your head and instead you were babbling nonsense that you hoped he’d understand. your head was being pushed against the headboard which was showing no mercy on the wall, denting it in all types of ways. “because you fuck me so good f-felix”. you murmur feeling your body tremble and your tummy cave in a bit. felix felt you contracting and he smirks. “aw? is your little pussy about to cum already? how long does it take your ex to do this?”. a throaty groan bubbled from your throat. you could only talk in shakey syllables with the way he was fucking you. “h-he doesn’t felix—fuck I’m going to cum fuck”. he leans off of you and smacks your ass with his hand. “cmon. let me see you fuck yourself”. You desperately pushed back against him trying to do more than you could handle but the way he stretched you and hit your weak spots the closer you became. he smacked your ass repeatedly almost as if he was spanking you, making it all worth while and making your cum drip down your thighs in the process. when you were finished you collapsed on the bed, gasping for air and a peace of mind.

“don’t you ever go back to his ass again”.

[kyotarou]

KISS ME GOODBYE

pairing: daishou suguru x gn!reader

genre: angst, smidge of fluff, historical au

warnings: major character death, mentions of blood, war, death, and vomiting

word count: 1.1k+

dedicated to: the lovely @oikirstein​ and @hajigumi​. i hope you both cry <3 

You were used to seeing men like this—bloody, bludgeoned, and hanging onto their last breath. The first time you were sent as a medic on the battlefield, you nearly vomited from the sight and the horrendous smell. Even worse was the agonized cries of men who swore they’d return home from war only to lie on a cot made of wood and linen, tears running down their dirtied faces, praying to the higher powers to grant them one last chance.

After months of the same sights over and over again, you grew accustomed to these painful circumstances, but the soldier you tended to now was a bit of an oddball. Rather than glassy eyes and dry wails, a coy smile remained on his face even as you pulled bits of metal and wood from his damaged skin. His scuffed iron and bronze armor lay at the foot of the cot, covered in mud, blood, and vines.

Daishou read his family crest, gold and shiny under all the grub. He didn’t once scream or yell as you pressed a clean cloth to the gash on his side where a sword had gone through, nor did you hear any prayers or pleads fall from his lips. You didn’t expect him to turn his head towards you, watching you treat him with delicacy. You didn’t care for the stares you received from these men, numb to their wistful eyes, but something about his gaze made goosebumps rise on your skin despite the humidity of the camp.

If it weren’t for the war, you could picture the type of man he’d be. Young, charming, and cunning. The snake-like features that appeared once you wiped the sweat and soot from his face made your heart skip a beat, and it was then that you realized he was no older than you were. You grimaced; he should’ve been out living his life, not fighting the battles of the so-called leaders who promised safety if the nation worked themselves to death.

As you reached for the medicine on your work table, the gentle weight of his fingertips fell upon your wrist. You hummed in response, and the sight of his eyes, now dark compared to how bright they were earlier, made a lump form in your throat.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

You raised a brow, brushing off his words as a product of his head injury, but his hand wrapped yours, tighter now.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Save it for someone else.”

You glanced around the camp, noting the other medics tending to the dozens of other soldiers. Most of them were in the same condition as he was, worse even, and you couldn’t think of anyone else to use the last of your resources on. What shocked you more was the fact that he even offered, compared to the previous soldiers you’ve had who begged for a little more ointment, a bit of gauze, or a drop of liquor to soothe the pain.

But Daishou pulled your hand away from your kit and kept it close to his chest where you felt the slow, faint beating of his heart. The longer you stayed, the weaker the beats became. You had a job to do, an oath you swore upon taking the job. There was no way you could let him die, not when the troops were growing smaller, and he had barely reached his twenties. Yet you couldn’t pull away, the gentle smile on his face locking your line of sight with his.

“Daishou-”

“Suguru,” he jumped in. “Call me Suguru.”

“Suguru.” Though you had only known him for less than an hour, his given name flowed naturally off your tongue, like it had been in your vocabulary for years. 

“That sounds better,” he sighed. “I like it when you say it.”

“You don’t even know me or my name,” you snorted to which he smirked. 

“Then tell me.”

You huffed. “L/N Y/N, and don’t you dare call me by my given name.”

“Y/N,” Suguru parroted. “That’s a nice name for a nice-looking medic.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me while you’re on the brink of death?” Your eyes widened as your teeth clamped down on your tongue. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“’S okay,” he laughed, voice weaker than it was minutes ago. You had to crane down to hear him, your ear grazing over his lips. “It’s inevitable now. I will say this is quite intimate, though.” 

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, equivalent to the glimmering sun that rose above the top of the camp’s tent. 

“Say,” Suguru whispered. “As a dying man, I’d like to have one last wish fulfilled.”

“Oh?” You leaned back to look at his handsome face, idly brushing away the strands of hair strewn over his bruised forehead. “What might that be?”

“A kiss from the medic sitting beside me before I go.”

If the request had come from anyone else, you would’ve fought the urge to crinkle your nose in disgust. But something about these last few moments with a man you barely knew, how he managed to share a handful of laughs and charm himself into your heart before his would stop beating made you tip your head down until your soft lips pressed against his rough, chapped ones. You didn’t care if he tasted like salt and blood, or if this would be the next topic of discussion at dinner—you hoped to bring Suguru some peace of mind in his final moments, especially if they were with you.

As your mouth moved against his (he was idle by then), the tears unknowingly clumped in your lashes fell down your hot face, down to his cheeks that began to lose their warmth. This was the job you chose, you reminded yourself. Suguru was one of many soldiers whose stories ended before they began, and he wouldn’t be the last. Once you sat up again, his eyelids covered most of his irises, but you could still see the playful shimmer in them before it faded.

“Thank you, Y/N” he murmured, keeping your hand against his chest. “Thank you.”

He gave his final breath as his heartbeat faded until there was nothing left to feel. It was after you laid the honorary white cloth over his body, adorned with gold trim, and carried his armor to the basin of water outside the camp that you let yourself weep. You wept as you scrubbed the grime away, polishing it for his parents who couldn’t see their son’s face for the last time. You wept until it pained your throat, and your lungs burned with each breath, for the tears you spilled would be the first of many for the young soldier whose final moments lay in your hands.

[lovelywingsart]

Apologies (mild 18+)

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

The 'part 2' to the small 'trilogy' of stories! The 'part 1' to this is Irritation. :D (I can't really say when 'part 3' will be posted, but of course it'll be added into the Masterlist when it is!)

There's still alot going on for me IRL, but I finally managed to do this... :'D I'm sorry if more entries take a while to upload...!

-----

*Warning?: Small regrets, aggressive speech, teasing, mild 18+ themes near end

Summary: Emelia doesn't really regret much, but seeing Karl's reaction to her words makes her hunt him down to apologize. But will he accept it? And how?

It felt like hours had passed, and Emelia finally made her way back up to the higher levels of the factory once her work was complete. Her words had been stinging her brain, and she felt worse and worse as time went by. She purposely avoided certain routes and hallways to prevent any more potential Soldat run-ins while thinking. Would HE even want to see HER?? She wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't... Hell, for all she knew, she could be killed as soon as she walked in the room when she found him. And that was IF she could find him... Where he chose to hide away was always a mystery to her until she actualy found him. She had learned that the hard way after multiple 'family meetings'; the thought made her physically cringe.

She kept her eye open and focused, listening for anything that could have clued her in on his whereabouts. Humming, pacing, swearing or muttering in rough German, even scraps and pieces being thrown in aggravation. But, save for the noises of the factory, there was nothing. Silence, so to speak. Even as she took the elevator floor to floor. Even as she looked in any door she could find on the way up. Even as she searched through every hallways, eventually risking finding the Soldats in order to find him. This apology thing was truly eating at her mind, and she couldn't stand it... But she couldn't leave it alone.

It took her much longer to look for the man than it took a full working 'shift', she thought, enough so to where she almost decided to give up. She was tired... She was exhausted. She was exhausted, and despite her initial irritation having lessened, a new irritation had flared. An irritation with herself, primarily. A desire to see him at least once before she managed to lay herself down to have yet another restless sleep. To apologize despite never having a reason to do so before. But the longer she searched, the more she wanted to just... stop. It had never taken her THIS long to find him... but perhaps she deserved it. She let out a sigh as she hit the elevator to the highest floor, making her way through the halls once more in a last attempt to find him. But alas, there was... nothing.

Thoughts clouded her mind as she finally made her way towards the small, personal workshop he had, going through her usual routine of climbing the pipes and slipping through the grate in the floor without being detected by the worst of the Soldats. Sure, there were definitely easier ways to get up to that level, but this was what she was used to. No, he wasn't here, either... Now she REALLY had no idea where he was. With a heavy sigh, she made her way to a hidden door on the other side of the workshop, pausing only to glance at the primary table. It looked as if he had been making... something. But small bits of recently crushed metal made her wince, and it wasn't until she caught sight of a small gear that she moved again, slowly nearing the table itself. It was the gear he had taken from the mould before she opened her mouth. She gingerly picked it up, noticing it not even touched by his powers. She could feel it... Metal moved by him had a certain... energy to it. It wasn't something she had started to notice until recently. The gear she held didn't possess this energy, and it made her feel even more guilty. Just how pissed was he to not even use the Cadou???

She took a breath before stuffing it in the pocket of her tied jumpsuit, hearing the small *clink* as it hit the other one she had pulled after he left. Why did she take them...? She didn't know... It was a mindless decision that she knew wouldn't have much of an impact.

Distant sounds of machinery could be heard as she finally made her way through the door, her footsteps silent as she made her way to the room she occasionally occupied when she wasn't in the factory itself. It wasn't HER room per-say, more like a resting place if needed. She reached up to take her hair out of the small tie and run her hand through it before opening the door with a sigh, only to freeze as she entered the room. She was met with Heisenberg on the 'bed', laying on his back with his arms behind his head, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. His jacket and button-up shirt were thrown across a chair, leaving him in the dark tank top he wore underneath. She watched his muscles tense as the door opened, his jaw tightening somewhat as she held her breath. A wave of nervousness flooded over her as she stood in the doorway, not unsure if she should even move.

"... Ah..." she tried, almost afraid to speak. "... H-Hey..."

She gulped as she was simply met with an acknowledging grunt. He said nothing... He didn't even look at her. She stood for a moment before holding her breath and slowly entering the room, mentally bracing herself for any kind of impact. But... nothing came. Even as she hesitantly made her way to the desk, jumping slightly as she heard the door close naturally behind her. She tore her eye away from him, instead focusing on the desk itself, looking over notes he had written. Or... lack thereof... The paper on top was filled with obvious, angry eraser marks over random words that had been written so many times that the paper itself was imprinted with them. Other miscellaneous papers were crumpled or bent, indicating frustration. There was silence until she spoke again.

"... Production ran smoothly..." she said quietly, only to flinch as she heard movement. She looked at him to see as he slowly sat up.

"Good." He said simply, lacking any sort of interest.

Emelia felt a twist in her gut as he moved to stand, his movements somewhat stiff as she heard soft clicking from his left leg once he stood. It was then that she knew, her words had hit him harder than she thought. It sounded as if the leg was going to give out on the poor man as he walked despite knowing it wasn't, nearly brushing past her on his way to the door. It sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. She held her breath, the twisting in her stomach not leaving.

"H-Hey..." she tried, her voice soft as she spoke over her shoulder. She heard the flick of a lighter before she smelled the sweet scent of the cigar.

"What." His voice was low as he glanced back at her. She couldn't face him... His eyes dug into her shoulders. It was an admittedly cold feeling... She didn't like it.

"Shouldn't... Shouldn't you... Relax a bit...?" She offered, trying to sound as hopeful as she could despite the feeling. She looked at him as she heard him move again.

"I already did." He replied, mere inches away from the door, itself. She couldn't help as she felt the smallest bit of panic.

"W-wait-"

"I have work to do, Emelia." He growled, reaching for the handle. It was then that she turned around fully, her face that of regret.

"Karl, please...!" She said, her voice nearly begging. He seemed to pause, his head turning slightly towards her. He said nothing, the smoke from the cigar flowing through his nose as if he were an enraged bull. But she kept her eye on him, her own jaw tightening as she took a breath.

"I... I'm..." she started, reaching to rub her arm slightly. He didn't move. "I'm sorry..."

Silence filled the room once more as Heisenberg stared at her, his hand hovering over the door handle. She then took a breath, opening her mouth to speak once more.

"I... I really am..." she sighed, looking down. "I just... I wanted to be alone... Those damned Soldats haven't granted me any peace all week, the bloody Lycans have been running me ragged outside of the factory, and I've been so damned angry and I just... I wasn't thinking, and..." she paused, taking a breath before looking back up at him and sighing. "No, I... There's... there's no excuse. I shouldn't have said anything... I'm sorry, Karl... I'm so sorry."

Silence.

More silence.

'Please say SOMETHING...' she thought, watching as he finally looked at her. She couldn't tell WHAT he was thinking behind the shades he wore... It worried her. Her breath halted as he slowly moved his hand away from the door, turning his body to face her entirely, his movements slow.

"You really think I can forgive you just like that?" He asked quietly, his shaded gaze burrowing into her skull. Smoke came out of his mouth with each word. She nearly shrank back, lowering her own gaze to the floor.

"No..." she answered, shaking her head. "I wasn't expecting you to..."

"And what's stopping me from leaving this room, or even crushing you?"

"Nothing."

Her answer was immediate, and she glanced up at him to see him left his chin. He seemed to think for a few moments, his gaze flicking around her form. But to her surprise, he relaxed.

"The gears you have are defects." He said simply, nodding to her hip. What?? She stared at him, now incredibly confused.

"What...?" She asked, unintentionally backing away and leaning against the table as he walked to her. He stopped in front of her, raising a brow at the confused- and now nervous- look she gave him.

"The gears in your pocket. They're defects. Check around the edges." He repeated, holding out his hand. The gears... She reached down to pat her side, feeling the pieces of metal against her leg as they made a small noise from the movement.

Oh.

She reached into her pocket and pulled both of them out. She looked over each one for a moment, frowning as she saw what he meant. There were holes... Not the usual holes, of course, and not where she'd notice immediately unless she had closely inspected each one beforehand. They were along the insides of the gear edges, nearly going through the metal itself. There were multiple holes in each gear, indicating odd air bubbles when the metal had set. In other words, anything they were used in would have ended badly. That must have been why he had taken the one in the first place... She then groaned, thinking back to the amount of them she had made.

"Damn it..." she growled, only to jump as Heisenberg nudged her hand with his.

"The others are fine, if that's what you're worried about." He said casually, nodding to his hand. "That also means you took one off my work table."

Emelia looked at him before giving a sigh, carefully setting one of the gears in his palm.

"Sorry..." she said quietly, her eye moving to his hand as he inspected the gear he was given. "I just thought-"

"Thought you could fix a mistake with a broken gear?" He asked, watching her face. She hesitated.

".... maybe... I just... didn't know how." she admitted, looking at her own. She was quiet for a moment. "You didn't touch it with your powers, I thought maybe it could be used for something..." she mumbled.

Her words seemed to make him perk up somewhat with a newfound interest.

"I didn't what?" He asked. She froze.

"... You... you didn't use your Cadou...?" She repeated carefully, looking up at him.

"How can you tell?"

How COULD she tell??? She knew it was a recent thing, but...

"It... I don't know, it's... It's hard to explain." She managed, reaching for the one In his hand and gingerly taking it as he opened his palm for her. "There's... almost an energy to the things you've used your Cadou on, if that makes sense... Almost like a small... fuzzy electric coating... Sort of."

"And when did you realize this?" He asked, legitimately curious as he blew out more smoke. She stopped, her eye widening slightly.

Of course she knew when. Or, at least what she assumed started it. 'The first time you touched me like that', she thought, her cheeks going slightly red at the thought. The metals in her own body had felt different since then, setting off a small change in feeling to every metal around them daily.

"Since we... uhm..." she mumbled, her eye moving between the gears as she pushed them together slightly. She flinched as Heisenberg gave a soft chuckle, knowing exactly what she had meant. It was an interesting development, he thought, as well as a highly amusing one.

"I guess that makes sense." He said, a light smirk crossing his features.

"... It does?" She asked quietly, only to jump as he took a step closer and leaned forward, setting his hands on the edges of the table beside her and effectively rendering her unable to move. She could feel his body heat once more, though was slightly more concerned about the cigar that was ever so close to her face despite him being careful to not let the burning embers close to her skin. She clutched the small gears to her chest, watching as he studied her face.

"Back to the original topic..." he started, noticing as her cheeks reddened just slightly. "There might be a way I can forgive you."

Emelia stared at him with a wide eye, watching as he backed away enough to take the cigar from his mouth without it touching her.

"... there is...?" She asked quietly, watching the smoke curl into the air as he nodded and spoke.

"Yup." He said, gesturing to her hands. "Find something to do with those gears. Something that WON'T destroy my factory, preferably."

She paused.

"That's it...?" She managed, utterly confused. He shrugged.

"For now."

He held out his hand to offer the cigar to her. There was a moment of silence as she stood still, only moving as he gestured to it. She hesitantly reached up and took the object from his fingers, nodding her thanks before slowly putting it between her own lips. He removed his glasses before nodding to her hand.

"Think you can do that for me?" He asked, watching as she exhaled smoke from between her teeth with a nod.

"Of course." She replied, almost too eagerly for her taste. But she meant it... Something in her mind told her she wanted to appease him in any way possible now. She didn't know WHAT she'd use them for, or how long it would take, but she'd find a way.

More smoke came from her mouth as she took another drag, handing it back to him carefully. He took it back, but simply kept his position in front of her and gave a hum.

"Maybe one or two more things." He said suddenly, the smallest smirk forming as more nervousness filled her face.

"What...?" She asked, moving to set the gears on the table next to her, only to jump with a surprised noise as he suddenly leaned forward and nearly crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was somewhat rough, a decent amount of aggression behind it as she was pushed backwards against the table and nearly losing her balance. Her hands few back to brace herself against the table as not to fall backwards, just barely managing to keep very balance. small shiver ran down her spine as she returned it, and another came as he let out an angry growl.

"Sit." He grumbled against her lips. She let out a confused whine as he gripped the table behind her, and she thought he'd toss the thing with her on it. The small cogs clattered to the floor as he suddenly swiped everything away from the edge of the table while keeping her against him.

"I said SIT." He growled louder, earning a surprised yelp as he suddenly grabbed her hips. His fingers dug into her sides as he lifted her and shoved her on to the table, feeling her hands fly up to hold onto his shoulders in attempts to balance herself once more. He didn't let up, another growl leaving his throat as he sent a rippling pulse through the piercings in her body.

Emelia let out a squealing whine at the feeling, though was kept locked to him as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist. Her back arched into his chest with the pulses of electricity, attempting to hide the muffled whines that escaped her throat. But they only encouraged him. He felt her nervous hands travel to hold his jaw, her fingers trembling. Not with fear, however, very obviously proven as she welcomed the kiss and touches with every movement he made. She gasped into the kiss as he suddenly tugged her forward, pressing his hips to hers. Her thighs tightened slightly around his sides as the pulses grew in power, and she was suddenly molded to him and soaking up every bit of warmth he gave.

"Not used to it and you already want more, yeah?" He said, pulling away from her enough to speak, yet still close enough for his lips to brush hers with every word. He could see her face, taking pride in the redness of her cheeks and the near begging glint in her eye.

She was silent, only slightly nodding with a single, embarrassed whine as her thighs trembled against him. Heisenberg chuckled, the tone dark a he smirked almost evilly.

"Didn't think you were so eager." He started, leaning down to press rough kisses and bites against her neck, marking the skin almost immediately. A chill ran down her spine as her breaths came in light pants while he bit up to her jaw, her hands gripping his shirt straps.

"You pissed me off, Emelia. I don't take that shit lightly." He growled lowly, his lips nearly against her ear. He tugged her shirt from its tucked position, enjoying as she nearly melted into putty in his hands. He continued. "You pissed me off, so here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want with you and to you." He stated, moving one hand up to brush his fingers along her neck as he allowed the pulses to cease for the moment. He felt her breath hitch as he pressed his fingers just below her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken. "You're gonna do what I say and you're not gonna say a god damn word about it. Do you understand?"

Emelia felt another large shiver down her spine at his words, feeling his palm rest against her neck as she swallowed nervously. Sure, they made her just she smallest bit scared. But it was also... exciting? It sent her mind into a frenzy, and she legitimately wasn't sure if she should have been afraid or aroused. Either way, she nodded almost immediately, taking as deep a breath as she could without making any other sudden movements. He grinned with an evil chuckle.

"Good girl." He grumbled, leaning to bite down on her neck once more before backing away fully, chuckling at the quiet whine of protest he received in response as his hand left her throat. Emelia froze for a moment once she realized his warmth had left her, covering her face in near embarrassment with her legs almost immediately closing together as he adjusted his shirt.

"For now, you're gonna wait." He said simply, standing up straight as she looked up at him with disbelief. How could he just-

"H-Hey...!" She started, only stopping as he reached forward and grabbed under her jaw, pressing his fingers to her cheeks and yanking her forward just slightly.

"Shut up and stay here, Doll." He purred, watching as she squirmed slightly on the desk. "Relax yourself, you're gonna need it-" he then paused, only to smirk, "- Or make yourself worse for me. This is the last choice you get until I come back."

Emelia gave another whimper, gulping as he shoved her back against the table before letting go.

"What are YOU doing...??" She asked, unable to hide the slight pout in her voice. Oh god, what in the hell WAS this?! What was she reduced to? POUTING?!

"I've got some work to do. Now stay in this room." Heisenberg chuckled, finally retreating back to the door. "It'll be worse for you if you leave. Trust me, I'll know."

She opened her mouth to speak, only to get cut off as he left the room almost too quickly. But even then, her voice was caught in her throat once the door clicked shut. How... How did he...

She finally pushed herself off the table with a shaky breath, nearly feeling her knees collapse under her from the warm feeling between her legs. It was a feeling she knew she had to get used to despite knowing what it was... While it usually irritated her, this time it filled her with a near excited anxiousness. It took a few moments to regain her composure, finally managing to walk with shaky muscles. She made her way to the 'bed', nearly flopping down on it with her legs hanging over the side as she got lost in thought. He didn't SEEM incredibly pissed anymore... Granted, he wasn't happy either.

Her hands covered her face, rubbing it slightly.. It COULDN'T have entirely been a way to 'forgive', could it...?? If so, what were his plans when he got back? She had no idea how fully experimental he was... Hell, she didn't know what SHE could do. The idea of him using her was terrifying and admittedly arousing at the same time, but she couldn't help but relax just slightly. At least he forgave her... Or, he would. Partially. That fact put her mind at ease somewhat, knowing that going out of her way to find him afterward to apologize wasn't all for naught. But for the time being, she let her mind wander to what he could possibly do. Or maybe she shouldn't... She barely knew what to expect from the subject alone much less from him, especially when he was upset. He pushed her hard enough without the aspect of sex, but now... She really didn't know what to expect.

Oh well... It would be fine.

Maybe.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Preacher.

italics are Preacher/Jebediah’s thoughts

bold italics are ‘The Beasts’ voice inside him.

next up is the big four.

When you’ve made a mistake, most peoples first instinct would be to beg for forgiveness.

For the imprisoned Evangelist Jebediah, he spent every moment praying to God, hoping that he would get his chance.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he remained trapped in the asylum.

Some of these sinners taunt me for my devotion but I know I am above them all.

Bowing his head as he remembered his place, Jebediah ceased his prayer.

The Beast had taken me over in my moment of weakness. That one moment has removed me from Grace.

Jebediah then heard a demonic voice from within, the voice that visited him for two years.

Fear not, my child. He may have abandoned you, but you are not alone. I am always with you.

As the voice played in Jebediah’s head he screamed in defiance, saved from the torture only by his door opening.

“Jebediah, Sir? It is time for your therapy.”

His voice rattled, Jebediah retrieved the hat that had fallen off in his panic and stood up.

“Yes, of course.”

As he made his way to the room, Preacher avoided eye contact with the staff as he played bible passages in his brain to try and stave the voice.

As he entered the room, he felt something strange about the therapist, but he couldn’t quite focus on it as he spoke.

“Ah, Jebediah. My name is William Sparks. I hope this will be a pleasant time.”

Giving a smile despite his circumstances, Preacher sat on the chair.

“How are you feeling?”

Wringing his hands, Jebediah took a moment to put it in a way that wouldn’t sound insane.

“I am still remorseful for my moment of weakness, and I keep hearing a strange voice in my head, often leaving me frantic.”

“Has your medication helped?”

“Sometimes, I’ve found that reciting Bible Passages seem to stave it off.”

Mr. Sparks wrote something down before asking his next question.

“Do you feel you could re-enter society?”

“I was weak before; I cannot rejoin the others until I have returned to the light.”

“Do you remember the night at the church?”

His eyes widening, Jebediah lowered his head as he gave his answer.

“That is a complicated answer. I know what happened through murmurs outside the cell and other inmates, but I can’t remember myself. My mind must be deceiving me.”

“Is it possible that your mind may be suppressing the traumatic event?”

“Perhaps, but I fear that I am in need of a higher power to grant me peace.”

“You seek The Lords forgiveness?”

“Are you one of his disciples?”

Holding his hands out with a joking chuckle, Mr. Sparks denied the assumption.

“Oh, no. I’m nowhere near that level. I just give people someone to talk to. Sometimes I get a little fun to go with it.”

Despite Mr. Sparks lightened tone, Jebediah couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he heard the voice again. It was faint but there.

He’s using you. Like everyone else here. He thinks you’re insane.

“Jebediah?”

Interrupted from the assault, He investigated the concerned face of the therapist.

“Perhaps we should cut this short.”

Rubbing his glasses, Jebediah nodded in agreement.

“Just one more question if you don’t mind.”

“Very well.”

“If you could have a wish, what would it be?”

If I found the truth, I could make my steps towards accepting my weakness and redeeming myself.

“To learn the truth.”

Nodding, Mr. sparks motioned for the guards to re-enter as Jebediah was taken away.

“I hope you get your peace soon.”

“I hope only for His Grace.”

Returning to his cell, Jebediah returned to prayer.

Forgiveness will come one day.

I must be patient.

[indiavolojones]

CONGRATS ON 1K @obeysme​!! I am your humble servant, m. please, anything you want to exist, I will do my best to bring to u. *choked sobbing*

2.5kish words, T for blood mentions, human sorcerer!Asmodeus/demon!Solomon. 

#lil bit of gore, lilith dies here too. 

the main difference in this AU is that Solomon (and MC, but they don’t appear here) are demons, and the seven brothers are powerful human sorcerers. this is a wildly indulgent AU with a ridiculous amount of unnecessary lore already existing in my brain lmfao.

this is also... mostly just snapshots of a relationship. hopefully it’s not so jumpy than it doesn’t make sense!! but if anyone cares, lmk and I’ll clarify anything!

~~

The first time Asmodeus asks Solomon to make a pact with him, he tells Asmodeus that he’d rather pick his teeth with Asmodeus’ bones. The second time, Solomon chokes Asmodeus until the other nearly passes out, only letting go when Diavolo’s disapproving frown appears in his mind like an unfortunate conscience.

The third time, a tipsy, bold Asmodeus dares to take the empty seat beside Solomon at the party, and Solomon is ready to snap. 

“Would you make a pact with me, Solomon?” Asmodeus asks, as if that is their hello. 

I should kill you for speaking to me, Solomon nearly says, but manages to bite it down.

At Solomon’s silence, Asmodeus reaches a wavering hand out towards Solomon, expertly painted nails catching the light. Solomon does not flinch back, too proud of his status to move--Asmodeus stops inches from his chest, before he clenches his hand into a fist and pulls his arm back. 

Solomon cannot promise he wouldn’t have ripped Asmodeus’ nails from their beds should the other have touched him.  

“Is this part of your attempt to work your way up through the ranks of Hell?” Solomon asks, exasperated--it would be foolish of him to not know of Asmodeus, the insouciant, flirtatious sorcerer who has charmed his way through much of the Devildom’s upper echelon. Asmodeus blinks at him, before he laughs. 

(Asmodeus has a laugh like tinkling bells, and Solomon refuses to acknowledge the sound isn’t wholly unpleasant.)

“There are much easier ways to work my way up than by seeking a pact,” Asmodeus says, filled with innuendo, and Solomon tilts his head to the side, wondering how mad Diavolo would be if he just killed a human out of sheer annoyance. 

“Your Prince of Hell,” Asmodeus begins, and Solomon’s eyes glint dangerously in warning, as if daring Asmodeus to speak ill of Diavolo, “He’s trying to bring peace to the three Realms, isn’t he?” Solomon blinks, before nodding stiffly, interest piqued. 

“My brothers and I are some of the strongest sorcerers in the world right now. My oldest brother, Lucifer, could find a way to charm the King of the Devildom himself should he put his mind to it.” Asmodeus is drunkenly praising his brother, Solomon wants to roll his eyes.

“Then perhaps I should go make a pact with Lucifer,” Solomon says loftily. Asmodeus merely grins back, and waggles a finger with his other hand on his hip. 

“Lucifer would never make a pact with a demon. He’s too proud to give anything up in return.” 

“And you aren’t?” Solomon can’t help the soft snort. 

“I’m not so proud that I’ll turn away the kind of power you offer for something as pointless as my soul,” Asmodeus shrugs. Solomon stills, the offer mildly exciting. 

“It is a bold act to readily offer up one’s soul as payment,” Solomon begins, wondering if he should add ‘suicidal’ to the ‘idiot flirt’ to his mind’s profile of Asmodeus. Asmodeus tilts his head to give Solomon another smile, dripping with all the charm of his previous ones, but there’s something more there. A fervor that Solomon might have missed amidst Asmodeus’ flirtation, but unavoidable now that the other is loosened by drink. 

“We’ll see. But in the meantime, with however much time you higher powers grant me,“ Solomon might have laughed at Asmodeus’ higher power jibe, were it not for his interest being held by the ambitious glint in Asmodeus’ eyes, “...there’s some hell I’d like to raise.” 

How curious. 

-

-

-

Obviously, he says no. 

Asmodeus calls for him many, many times. As they do not have a pact, Solomon isn’t required to answer, and he takes malicious delight in turning them down. Unfortunately, as a Lord of Hell, Solomon doesn't get to completely avoid the other’s presence. More often than not, Asmodeus has somehow sweet talked his way into all of their important events in the Human Realm. 

Solomon is revolted to find that some people find him… charming. 

However, when Solomon feels the curl of someone’s magic around his wrist, he hesitates before banishing the tendril. Instead, he lets the tendril swirl in his palm, brings his nose down to sniff at the magic. 

Usually, Asmodeus’ summons feel like a song; haunting and sickly sweet. Tonight, it sounds like a whimper, and Solomon’s inherently wicked nature stirs in interest. Iron, salt, the stench of death, of suffering that sings to Solomon. He allows the magic to take his hand, and it carries him through the realms.

-

Asmo casts a slim, striking figure in the center of the dark room in his fitted black suit. The glass bottle of human liquor has fallen to the side, dark liquid spilling onto Asmodeus’ carpet. Asmodeus does not look like he cares, does not look anything like the provocative, teasing sorcerer he occasionally crosses paths with.

Ah. So it finally happened.

Asmodeus’ arm stretches out between them, blood dripping from his clenched fist over Solomon’s seal burned into the floor. Solomon’s breath catches at the beauty of it in the flickering candlelight, all of his senses sizzling at the barely contained wildness of Asmodeus’ magic. Asmodeus, with his red rimmed eyes, the smears of eyeliner and mascara dirtying his face--he can taste Asmodeus’ pain just by parting his lips to the air. 

It calls to him. 

For the first time, Solomon touches Asmodeus; delicate, clawed fingers curl around Asmodeus’ bloody hand. Solomon wants to pry open Asmodeus’ hand, lavish his tongue to the wound he’d find in the other’s palm; he settles for pushing his thumb on Asmodeus’ wrist, feeling his quickened pace. 

“What are you looking for, Asmodeus?” Solomon asks, quiet, as Asmodeus’ blood drips onto his own hand.

“Immortality,” Asmodeus says, and Solomon can’t help the incredulity in his voice.

“Really?” 

“No, but it will have to do,” Asmodeus sniffs, full of young, brazen gusto--but Solomon is old, and knows that willpower will only get Asmodeus so far. Solomon cannot help but think of Asmodeus’ younger sister, still warm in her grave. 

At once, the confirmation settles in his head; Asmodeus is a fool. The words do not leave his lips. Instead, he steps closer. Asmodeus watches him with stunned wonder, obediently letting Solomon open his fist. 

“Very well. I swear myself to you, Asmodeus.” 

Solomon brings Asmodeus’ hand to his face, presses the bleeding, open palm to his cheek. His lips part, tongue flicking out to lap at the wound. Solomon allows the shiver to run through his body at Asmodeus’ powerful blood, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“Your soul for my oath, until death takes you.”

Asmodeus’ eyes do not leave Solomon’s, even as he nods. 

“If death takes me,” Asmodeus says, his fingertips skimming across the heights of Solomon’s cheekbones. 

It is almost too easy. 

Asmo’s perfect skin will break under his teeth, Solomon will suck the marrow from his bones, and his soul is an assured delicacy. No matter how far Asmodeus reaches for his goal, there is no way he will be able to achieve what no other human has before.  

But… Solomon thinks, a wicked, undeniable pleasure curling low in his chest… What if he does? Asmodeus, with his bright eyes and soft, loose curls--could he achieve the impossible? 

Solomon realizes that he would love to see Asmodeus try. 

How curious. 

“I expect great things from you, Asmodeus.” 

“Likewise, Lord Solomon.” 

-

-

-

Solomon should have prepared himself for this, but honestly, how the hell does one prepare for someone like Asmo? From the beginning, he should have never expected someone like Asmodeus to act as predicted. Solomon should have just never made the fucking pact in the first place.

Mere moments earlier, Solomon had been overseeing the renovations for the grand ballroom in Diavolo’s palace--and now, he squints up at the ghastly human sun. 

“Solomon~,” Asmo croons, and Solomon--with all the patience he can muster to not immediately assume his demon form and tear apart this entire godforsaken beach--looks down at him. Asmo flutters his eyelashes at him from over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“You cannot keep doing this, Asmodeus,” Solomon stares down at the bottle in his hands, absolutely furious--but Asmodeus tosses an amused glance over his shoulder at the other. 

“Solomon, please, call me Asmo,” he purrs, and Solomon’s response is immediate.

“No.”

“I’ll stop calling you for things like this if you call me Asmo?” Asmo grins. Solomon gives him a glare that says he clearly does not believe him, and Asmo pouts. 

He touches his forehead, the center of his chest, his left, then right shoulder, kisses his index finger, and points upward, “Promise!” He winks. Solomon’s jaw nearly drops at his audacity. 

“Now come on,” he says, pushing his glasses up to obscure his face and presenting Solomon with his pale, bare back, and whines, “I’m going to get sunburned, Solomon,” Solomon looks back down at the sunscreen in his hand. 

Damn the pact, Solomon is going to kill him. 

-

-

-

“I summon you, Solomon--” Asmo’s voice is a whirlwind in his ears, as it drags him through the world.

“What now, Asmo, I’m bus--” The sharp retort dies on his lips the second Solomon answers the summons, hit with the sudden, unmistakable stench of burning flesh. 

“Lend me your power, Solomon,” Asmo begs, desperate, and Solomon’s eyes widen at the tears in his eyes, the blood dripping from his split lip. Curled up on the floor, his older brother Lucifer is staring at Solomon with sheer hatred in his eyes. 

“What are you doing, Asmo,” Lucifer snarls, but it’s not as intimidating as it could be when Lucifer starts to choke up blood. Asmo scrambles over, leaving his own streaks of blood on the floor after him. He holds his older brother close, hands pressing against a growing dark stain on the other’s midsection.

“Shut up, Lucifer, just shut up,” Asmo laughs, hysterical, “You can lecture me later.” 

Solomon breaks his gaze away from the two brothers, turning to face the center of the room. A blond man stands in front of a terrifying monster of a devil, hands dripping with his angry magic as he tries to stop the devil’s approach. Repulsive, Solomon thinks, the acidic scent of the human’s magic sickening him more than any amount of human gore could. 

“What are you doing here?” Solomon asks the demon, and the blond man swirls around to face him.

“Who--” The blond says, but Solomon does not give him a second glance, stepping forward to stare down the beast, seemingly frozen in place with a strange purple glow around it. It snarls mindlessly, lost to its base desires, struggling angrily against the invisible restraints. 

“Did someone summon you?” Solomon asks, hand running up the ugly, marred scales across the front of its draconic features. 

“We didn’t. They did.” The blond man spits, and Solomon sees the barely distinguishable form of bones and viscera in a pile nearby. He sighs; typical humans. 

“Die with the damned, then.” Solomon says.

The devil screams as it dies, and Solomon feels nothing. 

-

-

-

“This… this is not the way it should be,” Asmo stares down at the carnage in front of him, eyes obscured by his long curls. Satan has long taken Lucifer to a healer, and now it is the two of them amidst the smoldering room.

“And how should the world be, young Asmodeus?” Asmo flinches at the words, frowning at Solomon. 

Another moment passes. 

“Different. Not this.” Asmo sighs, gestures at the blood. Solomon is surprised to see a hint of Diavolo in Asmo’s expression. Briefly, Solomon wonders if there are any of their other personal quirks that would mesh. He quickly shuts that down, lest some bastard higher power be listening. It would be his own personal hell should the two ever become acquainted. 

“I see your eldest brother is not happy about our pact.” Solomon muses, boot kicking idly at a charred piece of rubble. 

“Probably just upset I got to do it first,” Asmo laughs, but Solomon is not so sure. There’s still a tremor to Asmo’s movements, a distrust in his eyes at every dark corner. Silence lingers between them, now that Asmo is not speaking to fill the space. 

Asmo’s search has seemed to bring nothing but misfortune, a friend would be concerned; Solomon is… not that… but… 

“Perhaps you should give up on your quest, Asmo,” Solomon does not quite know why he says it, but it comes out regardless. 

“I bet you’d love that. How boring would that be?” Asmo sniffs haughtily, one hand combing through his dirty curls, “I’m not getting any younger, now am I!” 

An unknown emotion paces in Solomon’s lungs--his hand presses on his chest, startled by the unfamiliar tightness. Asmo blinks, and looks at him, expressive eyes big with something that resembles concern. The very thought is laughable to Solomon, but Asmo leans over to nudge him with his shoulder before he thinks about it any longer.

“Come on, help me burn the rest of this place to the ground.” 

-

-

-

“My lord,” Solomon says, trying to mask the dawning horror from his expression, “Surely, you aren’t thinking of--”

“Seven of the most powerful sorcerers this century, all of whom are highly regarded in both human and Devildom hierarchies for my exchange program? Why wouldn’t I?” Diavolo grins, fist pressing against his cheek as he props up his head. The profiles for each of the seven lay splayed out in front of Diavolo, and Solomon’s dread grows at the familiar wavy curl on one of the photos. 

“Are you not excited to see Asmodeus again?” Diavolo drags out Asmo’s page from the pile, and pushes it towards him. Solomon bites his cheek to stifle the grimace, opting for a neutral, hopefully believable smile. Asmo’s cheerful face grins up at him, as well as a long list of the other’s accomplishments; the list is sizable, and if Solomon weren’t so damn horrified, then perhaps he would have maybe felt a spark of pride. 

“You could say that,” Solomon grits out, but Diavolo is already rattling off another round of orders for Barbatos. 

-

-

-

“Asmo, it wouldn’t do for you to get eaten on your first day,” Solomon laughs, but there’s an annoyed twitch to his eyes. Asmo reaches out to tug Solomon’s tie from the jacket, and steps closer to examine the color. The glance he gives Solomon through his thick lashes as he does so is irritatingly impudent, but it still stirs a wicked heat in his lungs. 

“Isn’t that what you’re for, darling?” Asmo hums, before deftly tucking the tie back into place, and patting him on the chest, “I prefer your turtlenecks.” Asmo sighs, putting his cheek in his hand as he looks over Solomon. One of his brothers calls his name from across the hall, and Asmo’s gaze snaps to them with a wide smile, waving his arm in recognition. 

Asmo turns back to Solomon, reaching a hand out to cup Solomon by the cheek. Solomon does not flinch, has never flinched, but he’s never been pleased by Asmo’s touch. Asmo tilts his head, gives Solomon a coy smile that Solomon supposes others may find attractive. 

“I’ll see you around, Solomon.” Solomon brings his hand up to brush against where the ghost of Asmo’s touch still lingers. 

This… will be a trying year, Solomon sighs.

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany longing for a home, people to belong to and peace and safety in general

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

 *Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

Power is what Daenerys wants and that's really all she wants. She lusts after the Iron Throne with a hunger that is truly baffling. She's not from Westeros, or at least she's never really lived there her entire life. (x)

~

Why does she want to be queen so badly? Is it to bring a more just era of rule to the land? [...]

Why? What will she do with this power? Will she be a good and just monarch or will she be more like her father, the Mad King? More and more I suspect that she will be a very bad queen, only interested in doing what is right only if it helps her secure the Iron Throne. (x)

~

Her ruthlessness can't just mean nothing. She's far too power-hungry and far too cold to end up as a good person, ruling magnanimously over a peaceful land. (x)

Never mind that demanding that Dany asks herself why she wants to be queen is not understanding how the Westerosi pseudofeudalistic system works (or that she outright states that "justice ... that’s what kings are for" in ASOS Dany III).

Is power really all Dany wants, to the point of "lust[ing] after the Iron Throne" (particularly gross wording)? Is Dany "only interested in doing what is right only if it helps her secure the Iron Throne"? Is Dany "far too power-hungry and far too cold to end up as a good person"?

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but the show can be all over the place and ... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she’d been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him.

Dany knew the lure of home.

~

Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the Dothraki sea, the great ocean of grass that stretched from the forest of Qohor to the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. She had seen it first when she was still a girl, newly wed to Khal Drogo and on her way to Vaes Dothrak to be presented to the crones of the dosh khaleen. The sight of all that grass stretching out before her had taken her breath away. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I was full of hope. Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. She’d had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.

~

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost. She might live for years amongst the sunbaked rocks of Dragonstone, riding Drogon by day and gnawing at his leavings every evenfall as the great grass sea turned from gold to orange, but that was not the life she had been born to. So once again she turned her back upon the distant hill and closed her ears to the song of flight and freedom that the wind sang as it played amongst the hill’s stony ridges. The stream was trickling south by southeast, as near as she could tell. She followed it. Take me to the river, that is all I ask of you. Take me to the river, and I will do the rest.

The hours passed slowly. The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly. Take one step. Take the next. Another step. Another. What else could she do?

~

“Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was ... her name ...” Dany could not recall the child’s name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. “I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons.”

~

In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.

Except it wouldn’t, not truly.

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy’s city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

ADWD Daenerys IX

She pushed herself to her feet, splashing softly. Water ran down her legs and beaded on her breasts. The sun was climbing up the sky, and her people would soon be gathering. She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

~

Treachery on treachery, the queen thought wearily. Is there no end to it?

~

In Westeros the septons spoke of seven hells and seven heavens, but the Seven Kingdoms and their gods were far away. If she died here, Dany wondered, would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands beside her sun-and-stars? Or would the angry gods of Ghis send their harpies to seize her soul and drag her down to torment?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves … “They call to me. Come.”

~

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

Her noble husband was soon fast asleep. Daenerys could only twist and turn beside him. She wanted to shake him, wake him, make him hold her, kiss her, fuck her again, but even if he did, he would fall back to sleep again afterward, leaving her alone in the darkness. She wondered what Daario was doing. Was he restless as well? Was he thinking about her? Did he love her, truly? Did he hate her for marrying Hizdahr? I should never have taken him into my bed. He was only a sellsword, no fit consort for a queen, and yet …

I knew that all along, but I did it anyway.

“My queen?” said a soft voice in the darkness.

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

“Crying? I was not crying. Why would I cry? I have my peace, I have my king, I have everything a queen might wish for. You had a bad dream, that was all.”

“As you say, Your Grace.” She bowed and made to go.

“Stay,” said Dany. “I do not wish to be alone.”

“His Grace is with you,” Missandei pointed out.

“His Grace is dreaming, but I cannot sleep. On the morrow I must bathe in blood. The price of peace.” She smiled wanly and patted the bed. “Come. Sit. Talk with me.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

If she had been some ordinary woman, she would gladly have spent her whole life touching Daario, tracing his scars and making him tell her how he’d come by every one. I would give up my crown if he asked it of me, Dany thought … but he had not asked it, and never would.

~

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain.

~

“...Bring your frog to court tomorrow. The others too. The Westerosi.” It would be nice to hear the Common Tongue from someone besides Ser Barristan.

~

She went to the parapet and stood there gazing down upon the city as she had done a hundred times before. It will never be my city. It will never be my home.

~

It was close to sunset before Daario Naharis appeared with his new Stormcrows, the Westerosi who had come over to him from the Windblown. Dany found herself glancing at them as yet another petitioner droned on and on. These are my people. I am their rightful queen. They seemed a scruffy bunch, but that was only to be expected of sellswords. The youngest could not have been more than a year older than her; the oldest must have seen sixty namedays. A few sported signs of wealth: gold arm rings, silken tunics, silverstudded sword belts. Plunder. For the most part, their clothes were plainly made and showed signs of hard wear.

~

When she saw the name Ser Willem Darry, her heart beat a little faster.

~

This was done in Braavos, while we were living in the house with the red door. Why did that make her feel so strange?

ADWD Daenerys VI

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace? Daario’s announcement had sparked an uproar. [...] “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

[...] She wanted to scream, to gnash her teeth and tear her clothes and beat upon the floor. Instead she said, “Close the gates. Will you make me say it thrice?” They were her children, but she could not help them now. “Leave me. Daario, remain. That cut should be washed, and I have more questions for you.”

[...] He kissed her.

[...] “I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys III

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me.

~

That only made him chuckle. “The Dothraki horselords call the Lhazarene the Lamb Men. When you shear them, all they do is bleat. They are not a martial people.”

Even a sheepish friend is better than none.

~

Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all.

~

Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city?

~

The next morning Dany woke as full of hope as she had been since first she came to Slaver’s Bay. Daario would soon be at her side once more, and together they would sail for Westeros. For home.

~

Take these ships and sail away, or you will surely die screaming. You cannot know how many enemies you have made.”

I know one stands before me now, weeping mummer’s tears. The realization made her sad.

~

Dany seated herself upon her bench again to gaze across the blue silk sea, toward distant Westeros. One day, she promised herself.

ADWD Daenerys I

She had been dreaming of a house with a red door when Missandei woke her. There had been no time to dress.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

~

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

~

She looked away until she heard the doors open and close. Then she sank back onto the ebony bench. He’s gone, then. My father and my mother, my brothers, Ser Willem Darry, Drogo who was my sun-and-stars, his son who died inside me, and now Ser Jorah ...

~

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

ASOS Daenerys V

“Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! [...] Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe?

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her.

ASOS Daenerys I

Across the still blue water came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the galleys. The great cog groaned in their wake, the heavy lines stretched taut between. Balerion’s sails hung limp, drooping forlorn from the masts. Yet even so, as she stood upon the forecastle watching her dragons chase each other across a cloudless blue sky, Daenerys Targaryen was as happy as she could ever remember being.

~

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives. She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well. She liked the dolphins that sometimes swam along beside Balerion, slicing through the waves like silvery spears, and the flying fish they glimpsed now and again. She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor.

~

They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

It was not by choice that she sought the waterfront. She was fleeing again. Her whole life had been one long flight, it seemed. She had begun running in her mother’s womb, and never once stopped. How often had she and Viserys stolen away in the black of night, a bare step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives? But it was run or die. Xaro had learned that Pyat Pree was gathering the surviving warlocks together to work ill on her.

~

Her bloodriders would sooner have returned to their great grass sea, even if it meant braving the red waste again. Dany herself had toyed with the idea of settling in Vaes Tolorro until her dragons grew great and strong.

~

It was good to hear men speaking Valyrian once more, and even the Common Tongue, Dany thought as they approached the first ship.

ACOK Daenerys III

Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference.

~

“...The Qartheen have a curious wedding custom, my queen. On the day of their union, a wife may ask a token of love from her husband. Whatsoever she desires of his worldly goods, he must grant. And he may ask the same of her. One thing only may be asked, but whatever is named may not be denied.”

“One thing,” she repeated. “And it may not be denied?”

“With one dragon, Xaro Xhoan Daxos would rule this city, but one ship will further our cause but little.”

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men.

ACOK Daenerys II

She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys VIII

Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”

~

“All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning.”

Her words were a knife through Dany’s breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all ... “No,” she pleaded. “Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way ... some magic, some ...”

AGOT Daenerys VI

“The stallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs.”

[...] “It was prophesied that the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth,” she said.

“The earth ends at the black salt sea,” Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin of warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. “No horse can cross the poison water.”

“In the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand,” Dany told him, as she had told him before. “Wooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of wind.”

Khal Drogo did not want to hear it. “We will speak no more of wooden horses and iron chairs.” [...]

Savage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something foul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing. Drogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in half a hundred ways, she had found ... but not in this. If only she could get him onto a ship ...

~

“My princess. How may I serve you?”

“You must talk to my lord husband,” Dany said. “Drogo says the stallion who mounts the world will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water. He talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around the Jade Sea.”

[...] “The khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. [...]

“But he must ride west,” Dany said, despairing. “Please, help me make him understand.” She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.

“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,” the knight answered. “Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother’s mistake. We will go home, I promise you.”

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door ... was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?

~

You could never tell what treasures the traders might bring this time, and it would be good to hear men speaking Valyrian again, as they did in the Free Cities.

~

If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old ... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman ... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.

~

But the Western Market smelled of home.

As Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. Under that she smelled the heady sweet perfumes of Lys. She saw slaves carrying bolts of intricate Myrish lace and fine wools in a dozen rich colors. Caravan guards wandered among the aisles in copper helmets and knee-length tunics of quilted yellow cotton, empty scabbards swinging from their woven leather belts. Behind one stall an armorer displayed steel breastplates worked with gold and silver in ornate patterns, and helms hammered in the shapes of fanciful beasts. Next to him was a pretty young woman selling Lannisport goldwork, rings and brooches and torcs and exquisitely wrought medallions suitable for belting. A huge eunuch guarded her stall, mute and hairless, dressed in sweat-stained velvets and scowling at anyone who came close. Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from Yi Ti was haggling with a Pentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey tail on his hat swaying back and forth as he shook his head.

“When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar,” Dany told Ser Jorah as they wandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. “It was so alive there, all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at ... though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything ... well, except for a sausage now and again, or honeyfingers ... do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind they bake in Tyrosh?”

[...] Her handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed to Doreah, “those are the kind of sausages I meant.” She pointed to a stall where a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onions on a hot firestone. “They make them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.” Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of her khas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. “They taste different than I remember,” Dany said after her first few bites.

“In Pentos, I make them with pork,” the old woman said, “but all my pigs died on the Dothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat, Khaleesi, but I spice them the same.”

“Oh.” Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well he decided to have another one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more, belching loudly. Dany giggled.

“You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.”

Dany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.

~

She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more.

AGOT Daenerys IV

Every khal had his bloodriders. At first Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki Kingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught her that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal’s brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. “Blood of my blood,” Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a single life. The ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when the khal died, his bloodriders died with him, to ride at his side in the night lands. If the khal died at the hands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then followed him joyfully into the grave. In some khalasars, Jhiqui said, the bloodriders shared the khal’s wine, his tent, and even his wives, though never his horses. A man’s mount was his own.

Daenerys was glad that Khal Drogo did not hold to those ancient ways. She should not have liked being shared. And while old Cohollo treated her kindly enough, the others frightened her; Haggo, huge and silent, often glowered as if he had forgotten who she was, and Qotho had cruel eyes and quick hands that liked to hurt. He left bruises on Doreah’s soft white skin whenever he touched her, and sometimes made Irri sob in the night. Even his horses seemed to fear him.

Yet they were bound to Drogo for life and death, so Daenerys had no choice but to accept them. And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard. ~

“Please, bring me one of the dragon’s eggs.”

Irri fetched the egg with the deep green shell, bronze flecks shining amid its scales as she turned it in her small hands. Dany curled up on her side, pulling the sandsilk cloak across her and cradling the egg in the hollow between her swollen belly and small, tender breasts. She liked to hold them. They were so beautiful, and sometimes just being close to them made her feel stronger, braver, as if somehow she were drawing strength from the stone dragons locked inside.

She was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her ... as if he were reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. “You are the dragon,” Dany whispered to him, “the true dragon. I know it. I know it.” And she smiled, and went to sleep dreaming of home.

AGOT Daenerys III

“Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.

~

“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.

“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.

“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.

Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”

But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.

AGOT Daenerys II

Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down.

There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his bloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him. They had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal knew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her.

So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself.

AGOT Daenerys I

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

 [...] “We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

~

“Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”

The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”

“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.”

“What is he doing here?” she blurted.

“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”

“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder.

~

“I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

“Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know ...” she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

[acosmiccomedian]

OK long ass Hollowknight post because I've been thinking about this for actual days now

So this is gonna be a long ass splurge and all but bare with me here, I'm writing this up as a timeline from hallownests sort of beginning up to where the Pale king would show up based on all the lore my nerd ass consumed from obsessive playthroughs

So, in the beginning hallownest was split into 7 sort of kingdoms, but only 5 "Higher beings" existed, and we will start with them

The first is Unn, the Verdant god of leaf and vine, taking up her place within green path and what would become the queens gardens as her territory, her mosskin held to a sort of traditional kingdom structure, with knights and priests and other such stations

The second is what would become the Radiance, her peaceful tribe of moths taking their residence within and on the crystal peak and what would later become the resting grounds, her subjects linked via their dreams in a sort of communal intelligence

The third is the White lady, and while there's nothing that explicitly would say so, I personally believe she originated in the cavern that would become the city of tears, the pale god of root thriving in the endless downpour.

The fourth is likely the King of Deepnest, who may have been known as the Blackwyrm but that's speculation as well, either way the king and queen of Deepnest held strong in their own section of the world, their kin described as among the most intelligent of bugs on their own.

The fifth and final "higher being" was Vespa, queen of the Hive, her subjects unified in a hive mind with her at its head, creating a great civilization in their own right.

While not lead by higher beings, 2 other civilizations came to be during this era of hallownest,

The shrumal, a fungal kingdom of a truly communal intelligence. Larger shrumal having larger portions of this communal mind, with smaller ones having less, but all were truly connected and communicated via the prevalent spores throughout the wastes and what would become the waterways, feasting on the runoff and waste of the other civilizations above them.

Then was the final and most obscure kingdom I only really refer to as "the ancient caste" or "Void kingdom" who did not devote to any higher being or communal sense but instead worshipped the very darkness within the bowels of the world, the Void. This kingdom likely originated in the ancient basin or potentially within the abyss although that seems unlikely.

(Its sorta worth mentioning that kingdoms edge may have been ruled by the lord fool even at this time but there's nothing saying he didn't come later either or that he was a higher being or anything)

For some time at least, these 7 disparate civilizations remained in a stable lock-step. All keeping to their own spheres of power.

The Ancient caste, likely as a result of the all-consuming nature of the very force of nature they worshipped, one day shattered this stasis by seeking to expand their dominion across the whole of hallownest, their knowledge of the Void and Soul giving them an edge against the bugs they would face, but they faced 2 major obstacles right away: Deepnest and the Hive.

I base this on the prevalence of soul-totems, which we know through lemm are the work of this kingdom, throughout hallownest, of which few to none existed within these locations. However they were able to push up through the Shrumal kingdom, the shrumal not being as fierce or strong in any was as the beasts of Deepnest or the Hive.

Once through there, it's likely the White lady wouldnt have put up much resistance to their expansion, potentially even letting them through without resistance as she is a fairly passive entity and many of the totems can be found within this cavern even when it becomes the city of tears.

Circumventing the hive the ancient caste sought to go under it, reaching as far out as the caverns beneath where the nailmaster would eventually take up residence.

However their progress upwards continued strong, pushing into the leafy groves of Unn, but her kin resisted with much more force than could be said of the moth tribesmen.

The pacifistic moths would likely have been as lambs to the slaughter before this all-consuming army, eventually forced to beg the Radiance herself to save them. (Keep in mind this is heavily speculative, but I base this on the Radiance recognizing the Knight, a being of void, as an "Ancient enemy", and the word ancient is used most often in reference to this kingdom).

The radiance would have brought victory, blazing a path through hallownest and shattering the Ancient caste's civilization, driving them to obscurity into the abyss.

The Raduance herself however was greatly affected by this, I believe she was so injured from the fighting that her physical form was "killed" forcing her to retreat into the Dream-realm, giving her followers the final command "Remember Light". The moths would build the statue at hallownests crown and seek to further unlock the secrets of the dream realm as a result of this, eventually crafting the dream nail. This is also likely when the first moths began to take up arms, although still few would do so.

So at this point hallownest was in a sorry state, the Radiance was more or less dead, Unn would have been severely weakened from the fight and retreated to her lake to recover, and the White lady was further isolated within her forest of root (probably), the Shrumal had lost a great deal of Biomass. Both Deepnest and the Hive however were in fairly good shape and could have even expanded, but for the wisdom of Vespa and the King of beasts to not expand beyond what they could reasonably control.

It was during this time period then that the Pale King would arrive. Whether he knew the weakened state of the kingdom or not, there was no other power that could or would resist his sudden arrival and rapid expansion of the lesser insects that lived within Hallownest, those that may have been overlooked by the other higher beings and their tribes suddenly had minds with which to think, and all were drawn to his immense power and pale light.

The White lady, also a Pale being, would be taken for his Queen and the cavern she inhabited would become the City of Tears, and She would be gifted the Queens garden area as a personal retreat, further Weakening Unn and assuring her Gradual fade from power.

The moths, Seeing this new, more bright light forgot the radiance, Sealing her away and devoting themselves to the Pale king (if you want to blame anyone for the infection, its them).

The subjects of Unn, weakened and no longer in contact with their god, yielded to the king, but maintained their devotion to her.

The shrumal also yielded to him, believing his Prescience able to shield them from yet another catastrophic war in which so much of them would die.

Deepnest and the Hive utterly rejected the new King, Deepnest going so far as to go to War with the king when he attempted to expand into the territory, while the Hive merely cut themselves off entirely.

The Mantis tribes also resisted, but struck a deal with the King to guard against invasion from deepnest in exchange for their Independence.

The Pale king built his palace away from the city, in the Ancient basin, likely to keep an eye on the Abyss and to grant himself the privacy to devote to his own projects.

And thus came the Era of the kingdome of Hallownest, the Pale King controlling and Leading the vast majority of the region into a sort of Golden age, which would last until an experimental mining operation in search of a possible new energy source would infect the mind of one miner with the Image of the Radiance, her light distorted and Angry after being forgotten, sprung forth as the plague and brought the Kingdom to ruin.

[daydreamdanganronpa]

Upon enrolling Hopes Peak Academy for Gifted Students, you were granted the title Ultimate Radioshow Host. You were commended for accumulating hundreds of thousands of fans for your station, as well as saving the life of a listener that had called in at one point.

there’s really 21 pages im sorry mobile readers.

under the cut for the luckier desktop readers!

Upon enrolling Hopes Peak Academy for Gifted Students, you were granted the title Ultimate Radioshow Host. You were commended for accumulating hundreds of thousands of fans for your station, as well as saving the life of a listener that had called in at one point.

AMAMI

It was often during the late nights where boredom would plague him, supposed dangers of the dark leaving him confined to the same four walls of his room.

Sighing at his restrictions to freely travel, Rantaro flipped on his radio after seeing no one was online for him to chat to. A lively voice began to pour out of the speaker, which he assumed was from a radio show.

“Good evening! We’re doing a call-in bit now where for you guys who can’t sleep will get too scared to sleep at all! You’re going to ring in and tell me all about what scares you~ Fufufu.”

The segment was cheesy, but he listened to the answers of other people anyway; spiders, dolls, heights. Although they were normal fears, they weren’t exactly ones he resonated to-- his talent gave him exposure to these sorts of things and he considered himself brave when he needed to be. Thoughts of giving an answer himself crossed his mind, and he picked up his phone, shrugging. He may as well; he had time and loneliness to kill, plus it was anonymous.

“Aaaand, you’re on!”

“Hey.” Rantaro called out. “‘This live?”

“Yup!” You answered back. Unlike most people that called in who were usually overexcited, talkative fans, his voice was smooth and casual. You were glad this was taking place over the radio so people wouldn’t see the light blush dusting your cheeks. “Night’s Fright is live until midnight!

“Hm…” He crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, letting his phone sit on his shoulder where he tilted his head to press an ear against it. “I’ve a lot of fears, really. Messing up at Hopes Peak is a big one.” He began to speak.

Rantaro himself had never opened up about his problems before; he was a secretive, guarded person, and so he surprised himself by doing it for the first time in front of a crowd. He guessed it was the night making him sentimental and talk-- or was this your influence as a host?

When you went quiet, he laughed, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

“Ahaha. Sorry, this isn’t that suitable for a popular radio, is it?”

“...Did you say Hopes Peak?” You said suddenly.

“Huh? Yeah.”

“Oh, my. We go to the same school, caller-kun!”

Realisation dawned on him-- of course only the station of the Ultimate Radioshow Host would be buzzing with activity at this time of night.

“What year are you in?” You prompted, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He chuckled before giving you a response. “You might’ve seen me around-- I’m a freshman.”

“Me too!” You gasped.

This was the beginning of a long conversation-- Your radio show schedule was discarded for chatting with Rantaro, and your listeners were made to listen to the two of you until midnight.

Soon enough news spread quickly online and on tabloids that the infamous ___ had gotten a date overnight with a mystery caller and were now together. While they were lies, both you and Rantaro secretly didn’t mind them; it could very well be a truth in the near future.

GONTA

“Eh? Who __-chan talking to?”

“Everyone! All the world’s a stage, Gonta-kun!” 

You were always acting like you were on set at any given moment, much to Gonta’s confusion. Sometimes you’d throw a peace sign in a random direction where Gonta thought a camera would be, or press your headphones as if you were speaking into a microphone.

Occasionally you carried around a recorder with you for impromptu sessions, and it was quickly filled with Gonta’s numerous accounts of confusion-- you found his flustered nature cute. When you randomly interviewed him for impromptu question and answer segments, he’d hit peak confusion.

“Everyone’s dying to hear your answers, Gonta-kun!” You’d encourage enthusiastically.

“Everyone!? Who? Who in danger?” He’d cry in response. “Because of Gonta? Gonta sorry!”

When you laughed and said you were kidding-- just exaggerating things-- he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh… Good. Gonta still not know what __ means, though…”

The boy wasn’t customary to technology, so you began to teach him things. You explained how to use the recorder you carried, what a broadcast, and everything your job entailed as the Ultimate Radioshow Host.

“Erm, so Gonta just press this button?” He said, tilting the recorder to inspect it. “Then Gonta talk?”

“Yeah, you can just talk about your thoughts and stuff! Whatever you want.” You explained. Raising a finger to your lips, you smiled slyly. “But nothing you wouldn’t want a secret~ I’m going to listen to it, after all.”

“Gonta understand!” He said earnestly, and raised the device to his lips.

“Um! Gonta think __ very nice! And fun to talk to! Yes, Gonta love ___ very much!”

When he handed it back to you sheepishly, you wordlessly took it back, embarrassed.

You were definitely going to save that recording forever.

OUMA

Ouma was the one person who embraced your quirkiness, returning your ‘showbiz’ like expressions with some of his improvised own. He quickly found his way to your side at all times, and two of you become known as an unofficial duo.

Everyone at Hopes Peak either adored your broadcasts over the public speakers, but when Ouma chimed in on some days a collective groan would sweep over the school.

“Gooood morning, Hopes Peak! I’m your __-chan—“

“—And I’m your Kokichi Ouma~!”

Giving him the key to the broadcasting room proved to be a mistake, as the boy would often make fake announcements about free lunches or costume events and trick the school.

Personally you thought it to be amusing, but this didn’t seem to be the majority opinion.

A poll was held to determine how the broadcasts should be run, and the results practically begged for Ouma’s voice to be taken off the speakers.

He was consequently banned from making any sort of public service announcements.

“Noooo, don’t do this to me, __-chan!” He whined as you took away his key. “We’re perfect together!”

“I know.” You said sadly. “I didn’t want want this either. But hey! You can still send me song suggestions for me to blast randomly~”

“You’re right!” He grinned. “See you round, __-chan.”

But of course, he was going to do much more than that.

You were walking and chatting with Angie in the hallways casually when you heard the familiar tone of the broadcast opening bars. That was odd.

“Huh? Isn’t the broadcast committee your responsibility?” Angie questioned you.

“...Yeah.” You confirmed slowly, confused at who was operating it. You were the only one who had access to the room after Ouma was kicked out. It must’ve been a mistake.

You were contradicted when hearing a familiar laugh over the speaker made a chill run up your spin.

“Nishishi~ Helloooo, Hopes Peak. You hadn’t heard the last of me yet!”

Ouma. Of course.

You mentally slapped yourself as you recalled his ability to pick locks-- it didn’t matter if he had the key or not.

“This is a suuuper special announcement from your very own Kokichi Ouma to the one and only __-chan!”

You lifted your head to look up at the speakers. What could he possibly want?

“Listen up! I’m giving you the once in a lifetime opportunity to go on a date with me. You want to, right?” Ouma spoke confidently as ever.

“So meet me under the cherry blossom tree in the courtyard after school, ‘kay? Don’t make me wait!”

And with that, the broadcast ended, leaving you a blushing mess of confusion.

You felt everyone’s eyes in the hallway staring at you. This was going to be one hell of a story.

KOREKIYO

He found your influence over such a large crowd to be highly interesting.

When he asked you questions about your field of work and radio station, it surprised you how much he knew— he didn’t look like someone who’d be a frequent listener.

“It’s a wonder how much power words have on people.” He remarked one day. “Stories, music, advice— I’ve noticed these frequent your radio shows.”

This flattered you considerably, as you had taken a liking to his work as well.

“You tell anthropology stories right, Kiyo?” You asked him, eyes glittering. “I should have you appear as a guest speaker on my show someday!”

He chuckled in response. “My, what an honour that’d be. But I’m afraid the others find listening to me rather dull.”

You pouted. “I find them interesting! And your voice is really nice, too…”

With a polite smile, he continued to turn down the many offers you made him to join you on-air, saying he wasn’t well-practiced in entertainment.

But Korekiyo had done his research on you, of course, in an attempt to understand why you had amassed such a large following. You had a reputation for being well-loved and irresistible; the latter of which he took as a challenge to oppose your charms. He insisted upon devoting his energy to the entirety of humanity, not just one person.

However, all reason flew out the window one day when you had noticed him staring at you while you were having a conversation with Kaede and Shuichi.

Without drawing attention from them you glanced at Korekiyo, giving a little wave as you flashed him a smile.

Taken aback at finding your sudden act of kindness quite cute, he quickly moved to lift his mask higher to conceal a blush creeping onto his face.

He surely understood your appeal now.

KIIBO

For some time Kiibo lived in solitude, but being a robot had its perks to combat this. His professor installed a radio into him, mostly for communicative purposes, but he quickly learnt how to use it for entertainment purposes. He was flicking through the channels idly one day-- rapidly switching from classical to jazz to talk shows, quickly growing bored until…

A lively, refreshing voice graced his ears.

“As always, I’m your __-chan and host tonight! Let’s get started~.”

Your voice always so upbeat, and he felt that it was genuine. Soon enough your channel had become his favourite, and his internal radio was permanently tuned to your broadcast, letting him listen to you every chance he got.

He longed to hear you in person someday. But he brushed away the thought, knowing he’d never be able to meet a celebrity like you.

When he found out you were going to be his classmate for his high school life at Hopes Peak, he flipped.

During the class introductions, he didn’t recognise it was you until you spoke. It was unmistakably you. He stopped dead in his tracks when he realised this-- your voice was so much more lovely in person, just as he had always thought. You noticed him being flustered over your presence and threw him a wink.

“Oh! A fan, I take it?” You smiled.

“Y-Yes!” He stammered, nodding rapidly. “I love y-- I’ve loved your station for so so long, and…! Ahh, if you could you sign something for me, I--

Suddenly, his excitement and shock rendered him to useless to speak and he hit a malfunction, causing him to shut down and overheat, steam pouring out of his ears. His body slumped over, looking like the life was drained out of him.

“Hello?”

You waved a hand in front of his face, tilting your head in confusion when he didn’t answer. Shrugging, you took out a metallic marker from your pocket anyway, signing Kiibo’s chest plate before walking off.

KIRUMI

Being in the same class as the Ultimate Radioshow Host had its ups and downs. Some days she found your loud nature to be quite overwhelming like Ouma, but she found you were much sweeter, and was pleased when you offered assistance. She found your popularity and influence useful, and from time to time she would tap your shoulder and whisper into your ear a message for you to relay to the rest of the class.

“Alright~!” You’d say after Kirumi pulled away from you. “Listen up! Everyone’s gotta put their dishes away when you’re done eating, ‘kay?”

You were met with groans of annoyance in return, but it didn’t matter. You turned around and gave Kirumi a reassuring nod, a gesture that she returned with a bow in response. With her head lowered at that angle, she was grateful you wouldn’t be able to see the blush on her face whenever you smiled at her like that. She’d tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear before standing to her full height again and resuming her normal activities, a little happier this time.

Your friendship started when you noticed her trying to gather the attention of the class, but over the commotion went unnoticed.

“Everyone, if you could please…”

“Excuse me--”

“Please listen…”

It bothered you to see Kirumi overshadowed by everyone’s noisy chatter, and you knew you had to take action. Standing on the table and breathing in, you pulled out a megaphone from seemingly nowhere and began to yell.

“Heeeeey!” You yelled, in a voice so loud it could shatter glass. “Listen to Kirumi, you idiots!”

Silence.

Everyone slowly turned their heads towards you, eyes wide as you pointed to Kirumi behind you. “Don’t make me say it again!”

Although Kirumi was well recognised, she had always felt more of a background character helping behind the scenes and whatnot, and so this sudden spotlight on her surprised her.

Slightly panicked, she looked back at you, where you were giving her a smile and a thumbs up.

Without another word, you leapt off the desk and grabbed your bag, it swinging from your shoulder as you promptly left the room with everyone’s eyes staring at your back.

As for Kirumi?

She was starstruck.

KAITO

The poor boy had tuned into your station by accident when he was fixing up a makeshift radio to communicate with aliens in outer space.

He had a receiver and transmitter prepared to make contact— if only he could pick up anything.

But when he hears the static dissolve into words, and words to conversation, he jumps.

“Goooood evening everybody!”

He was especially surprised that this voice was speaking in a language he could understand, no less.

“Woah!” He yelled. “This works!? There are aliens out there?”

“Huh? Kaito?”

Kaito was shocked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know your name! We’re in the same class, remember? It’s __. And hey! I’m no alien!”

Oh. It was you-- __, the Ultimate Radioshow Host.

...Radioshow Host. Shit.

Your talent repeating in his head, realisation dawned on him and his face paled as he figured out what you were going to say next.

“More importantly, what are you doing and how!? This is my radio show, you know!”

Trying to contain his urge to scream he smacked his forehead and held his transmitter tightly. “U-Um! It was-- It was just a prank! Yeah, a prank! Ouma put me up to it, hahaha!” He laughed forcefully.

He had really just embarrassed himself by spouting all that nonsense about aliens in front of you and about a million people. Abort mission.

“S-S-Sorry __-chan! See you tomorrow! Or not! Or never!” He screamed, stammering a barely coherent apology and disconnecting as quickly as he could.

His unorthodox method of disconnecting went noticed by you as you heard the unharmonious crashing of metals before ceasing to hear his voice again.

ANGIE

The girl thought your many fans were a cult, and she was highly invested in you. While this made you happy, it came with a lot of questions and refusing her many times to not use the radio to advertise for Atua.

“So you’re a God, huh, __!” She asked-- more like announced-- one day.

Her sudden outburst confused you. “No?” You answered. “I’m just me!”

“Huh?” She tilted her head. “But you’ve got control over all these people who’d do anything for you. And you speak to them constantly too!”

“I don’t control them!” You said quickly. “They just happen to like what I do.” You said the last statement a little bashfully with a light blush on your face, which Angie noticed.

“You can’t be so humble, __!” She said, putting her hands on her hips. “That’s not how a God is-- they’re powerful and fierce!”

Without warning, she suddenly grabbed your phone and started a recording. “Like this!” She prompted, grinning into the front-facing camera.

“Good evening everybody!” She mimicked your time and catchphrase. But similarities were lost with her next words. “This world is mine! I, __ order you all to surrender to my will!”

You had to admit, it was quite amusing to watch her try to imitate a more evil rendition of you-- Angie’s take on ‘God-like.’

“Now you try!” She encouraged, holding up the camera and zooming in on your face.

Striking a pose with your thumb and first finger under your chin, you gave a haughty laugh. “To all those tuning in; the __ has spoken! You’ve all been brainwashed to listen to my every order! Fuahaha!”

“That’s more like it!” She grinned, and you watched as she opened up the Instagram app.

Lunging for your phone, you yelled, realising what she was intending to do.

“Wait, don’t post that!”

MIU

In her current state, Miu was a hopeless mess. Arms sprawled atop the desk, she was gazing at her radio desperately as she listened to your voice.

She wanted to hear it every day in person. She wanted you to be hers— but if only you could just notice her. You were always preoccupied with your radio show duties and swept away by fans. She had to have her voice stand out from the rest.

That’s when, Miu Iruma, inventor and girl genius, has a sudden strike of inspiration. Swiping the radio off her desk, she grabbed her toolbox and got ready to work.

She had prepared an interceptor device to interrupt your broadcast with her own. Miu grinned into the receiver, knowing she had been successful.

Hacked.

“Sup, fuckers!?”

On your end, you were shocked at the sudden interruption; you hadn’t taken a caller or expected a guest. You looked at your producer for any confirmation but they appeared just as shocked as you are as you listened.

“Surprised, arent’cha? This radio station was fucken eaaaasy. You’ve just been hacked and whacked!”

You froze, recognising the voice. Was that— Iruma? You knew those profanities anywhere.

You rushed to lean over to the mic, hand pressing against your headphones as you knitted your eyebrows in confusion.

“Miu, really!? W-What are you doing-- you know this is live, right?”

“Fuck yeah I do! That’s exactly why I’m doing this.”

“Huh?”

“Call me an exhibitionist, but there’s something I gotta tell ya right now!” You heard her inhale before she spoke again.

“__-chan! I, the great Miu Iruma, am asking you on a date. ...Lemme be your girlfriend!”

And with countless viewers listening in anticipation, you happily agreed, much to Miu’s joy and your producers anger.

TENKO

Tuning into you became routine for her; her daily rituals of stretching, exercise and meditation were accompanied by your voice pouring out of the radio.

Today you had just announced you were taking in callers by random, and Tenko was crossing her fingers wishing to be picked. She wanted this badly; she’d do anything for a chance to talk to you.

When you addressed her for the first time, she almost screamed.

“Hello, listener dearest~ You’re live with me!” Your enthusiastic voice was like a beacon of hope to her.

“R-Reaaaaaaally!?”

Immediately, she threw her phone across the room with a shriek of excitement.

Realising in horror at what she had just done, she stumbled across the room to retrieve her phone, tripping over her chair in the process.

Still laying on her stomach, she reached for her phone, and started babbling into it in a hurry to interact with you.

“Hello!? I-I-I’m such a big fan, and wow! This is so cool!”

Tenko waited to hear your refreshing reply back-- praise, enthusiasm, anything. As long as she could hear your acknowledgements of her in conversation, she would be ecstatic.

When she didn’t hear anything after a few moments, she tilted her head in confusion, and gripped her phone.

“Hello? Can you hear me!?” She yelled.

Looking down at the phone to see her connection, her eyes widened in shock as she realised just how tightly she had been clutching her phone.

Chunks of metal and glass shards in her hand, she screamed as she saw her now broken phone. There was no repairing it in time to talk to you either-- In her excitement she completely missed the fact that she had ruined her one connection line to you.

Throwing it again, she covered her face with both hands as she raised her head to yell in embarrassment and shame.

“AAUGH. I really blew my one chance to talk to __!”

KAEDE

Occasionally you’d dedicate a segment of the show to Kaede and play piano tracks— most of which were her own playing. She’d giggle as she listened along, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she did.

“What you just heard was Clair De Lune played by our very own Kaede Akamatsu!” You said cheerily.

“We have a lot of talented musicians at Hopes Peak!” You continued. “Special thanks to Ibuki-san and Sayaka-san who featured earlier today, too.”

Your voice dropped and became more humble noticeably, as you began to introduce the next segment.

“And well… I’m no musician but this last song… Will be performed live by me!”

Kaede perked up at this, and she could imagine your several other thousands of listeners doing the same thing. You’d never sung live before.

“This is dedicated to Akamatsu Kaede. I hope you’re listening~”

The girl in question gasped as you began to play the track, and she recognised the tune immediately-- it was her piano rendition of her favourite love song. Kaede was surprised to learn that you had saved and recorded that, too.

A blush crept onto her face when she realised what was going on. 

You were singing along to her playing. This was your confession.

On her end, Kaede had to muffle a scream into her pillow to contain the volume of both her joy embarrassment.

She surely wouldn’t be anything less than a blushing mess when she saw you the next day at school. 

SHUICHI

You had invited him to co-star the host with you as a guest, and with how anxious he was being, he was almost regretting it.

He accepted almost a little took quickly at the chance to spend time with you alone, but he soon realised that there would be no real alone time at all.

“So how many listeners do you have, usually?” He asked as casually as he could on the way to your studio.

“Hm…” You tapped your chin. “I couldn’t say for sure. I’ve got a looooot of fans, but only a few hundred thousand of them would be tuning in every show.”

Only? Oh god.

Today you were doing an advice segment where you interacted with your callers, so there were more people than he anticipated. He was reserved for the most part, but made witty comments every now and then that made you laugh.

He felt warmth whenever you did and a sense of confidence-- he wanted to be the one to always put a smile on your face.

Amidst the discussion, a follower of yours tuned in crying over her mother-- they described it to be an incident deemed unsolvable, and they

“I’m sorry for your loss…” You said, unable to find words to this unexpected call-in. “If it helps, we can--”

“Hey.” Shuichi interrupted. “You say that’s an unsolvable case but… Could it be there’s something going on with your aunt..? Especially with her relationship to your mother and the fact that she’s a butcher--” He elaborated on his theory, and soon enough everyone including you quickly became stunned.

The broadcast had to be terminated immediately as you had just uncovered incriminating information. Shouts by your production team and manager sounded through the room as there were calls to police stations being made and team members rushing about to calm down listeners already outside your station.

Amidst the chaos, you put your hands on a stunned-looking Shuichi’s shoulders.

“You did it, Shuichi!

“Um, I think I’ve just caused trouble for everyone, though…”

“No, no!” Your eyes were sparkling. “Not at all-- you’ve just solved a case, and saved a life on air!”

“Hey, you know?” You chattered excitedly. “That’s exactly how I got my Ultimate. You could be the Ultimate Radioshow Host too!”

Shooking his head fiercely, he decided he’d had enough attention for one day.

He’d rather stick to his detective work.

HIMIKO

She adored having someone else in the entertainment business to talk to.

You'd often get coerced into advertising for her magic shows that wouldn’t have an audience had it not been for you.

Today she was sitting next to you in the broadcasting room at Hopes Peak-- you were teaching her how to use the equipment in there and to have a more ‘showbiz’ type of energy in general to help with her magic shows.

“Aaaand a message from our sponsor; Himiko Yumeno!” You ended your lunch announcement jokingly.

“Um..! You all better get down to the gym after this, ‘cuz I’m gonna put on a show! It’s real magic, you can’t miss it!” Himiko said enthusiastically as she could.

She looked to you for validation after that, and you nodded reassuringly, motioning for her to close the broadcast to finish and go off-air.

“Haah, that was nerve-wracking.” Himiko exhaled.

“You only said a few lines.” You pointed out with a giggle.

“But still… Sometimes I even get shy talking to you… A lot of people gets embarrassing…”

“Oh? To me?”

“Yeah… ‘Cuz you’re really cute and super talented and all that! I think you’re really cool!” She exclaimed.  “And well… I really like you, __-san.” Himiko said more shyly this time.

You were stunned at the sudden confession, but you smiled warmly at her. “I like you too, Himiko-chan.”

You looked behind her as you did, noticing a blinking red light on the tabletop. ‘ON AIR’, it read. Oh god, you were still on the P.A-- Himiko didn’t turn it off properly. Realising this, you gave out a scream of embarrassment, and quickly slammed the button to turn off the broadcast.

There would surely be news about this all over the school.

RYOMA

By choice, Ryoma preferred the solitude. He often took pleasure in long walks

Your radio station had a glass window that was more like a transparent wall, letting people see into your workspace and observe you making broadcasts. There were people peering into it and crowding the path Ryoma was walking, and they seemed to line up the entire street.

Begrudgingly, he pushed past your fans outside holding up signs and screaming for your attention. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow to see what the commotion was all about. Beyond the glass was you, speaking into a mic with a headset on as you smiled.

He recalled your talent, the Ultimate Radioshow Host. It was no wonder you had gathered all this attention.

“__-chan, notice me!” Your fans were babbling as they waved erratically.  

“Heh, good luck with that.” He mumbled as he continued to walk. The two of you were in the same class and even then you didn’t notice him. He recalled the one and only interaction you two had together; you had bumped into him when you forgot who he was in your profuse apology.

“Ah, sorry um… What was your name again?” You tried to smile.

“Don’t worry, it happens. Ryoma Hoshi; Ultimate Tennis Player.” He shrugged.

“Ryoma Hoshi?” You repeated. “Oh my, you’re that--!”

“Yeah, that’s me. Don’t suppose you want an interview?” He said sarcastically, but you interpreted his question to be genuine.

“Ah, no sorry, I um-- My show’s not that kind of…” You trailed off, embarrassed at the situation.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said again. “I get it-- no one would want to listen to me anyhow.”

Awkward.

Since then Ryoma had seen you in class every now and then, but didn’t bother to interact.  

He’d never be able to match your energy, and he didn’t think you’d reach out to someone as pessimistic as him.

He was soon contradicted however when unexpectedly, when your eyes made contact, and you flashed him a smile, waving as you did. Stunned, he didn’t get to return the gesture-- you had already looked away to focus on your job, happy and relaxed expression still on your face as you chatted energetically into the mic.

He walked away pulling his beanie down, and a soft smile tugging on his lips that no one would ever get to see.

MAKI

As someone who could never be direct with her feelings, Maki was always too shy to talk to you sometimes, much less ask you out. With this, Maki made a habit of listening to you on air-- it was her way of ‘investigating’ your interests and hobbies; what kind of food you liked and what kind of gifts you liked to receive. She used the information wisely, and was pleased whenever it worked in her favour.

“You really made me a bento?” You squealed one day when she gifted you one. “Oh, and there’s even tempura-- my favourite! How did you know?” You exclaimed, pulling your eyes away from the lunch to look at her in

“Ah, I didn’t…” She lied, looking away to stroke her hair in embarrassment. “I just happened to make whatever and had a spare.”

“You make that much food? Wow~ The Ultimate Child Caregiver sure has a lot of mouths to feed.”

Truthfully, that was the only one she made specifically for you after she learnt it was your favourite on air among other things. It wasn’t stalking, she convinced herself. It was similar to the preparation she did for hits, only her assessments of you were for more… Personal reasons of interest.

You were currently on air discussing topics with random callers, when one in particular made Maki want to snap.

“__-san, are you currently dating anyone?” Someone had asked you.

“Hm~ Not right now! I’m waiting for ‘the one’, you know?”

Maki nodded a little smugly at this-- this meant she had a chance.

“Buuuuut, I do have someone I like. You want to know more about them? Well, sure.”

Maki’s smile dropped instantly. She absolutely didn’t want to hear the explanation of whoever you were interested in; it’d give her too much of an urge to kill. It was likely it was someone in your class; Shuichi or Shinguuji or someone equally irritating. Ignorance was bliss; she’d prefer to not let her image of any classmate get tainted by her bias.

It was unfortunate for Maki that she chose to abruptly turn off the radio, however, as your description would only be more information she’d take interest in:

“Long raven hair, deep cherry eyes, and a scowl that would make a chill run up anyone’s spine…~”

TSUMUGI

She gasped immediately when she saw you holding your recording device one day.

“That’s from that one show, isn’t it?” She exclaimed, and pointed to it in excitement.

“Huh?” You looked up. “Oh no, this is just my recorder!”

“But the detail on that thing!” Tsumugi was swooning. “It really looks like it could unfold and unveil your trap cards!”

You held it up, sweating profusely a little. “No really, it’s just a recorder… I don’t know what a ‘trap card’ is… It can pick up sounds and play them back to you. See?” You hit record and spoke into the machine, then hit play to demonstrate.

When she perked up hearing your voice play back, she suddenly grabbed it.

“Wooow! You could even have summoning voice lines on this thing! Seriously, __-chan, this is so cool~ ...If only it weren’t so plain looking.” She frowned. Her smile was quick to appear on her face again as she made a suggestion.

“You’ve gotta let me borrow it!” She said, starry-eyed. “I’ll just make some modifications-- decals, stickers, the works, you know!? It’ll only take a day or two!”

“What!? No, I’ve got a show tonight-- I need my recordings!” You said, trying to swipe it back. Her height rivalled yours however and she stood on her toes with the hand she was clutching the device in outstretched to the ceiling.

“That’s okay! I won’t let you go into battle without anything to summon!”

“Leave it to me, __-san!” She said enthusiastically as she dashed away in the direction of her lab, trying to shake you off her trail.

“Seriously, come back with that!” 

[dogmapod]

01 Falun Gong

Hey everyone, welcome to the show Dogma: A Podcast About Cults, I’m your host Denis Ricardo.

This show is about cults. The origins, practices and abuses of cults. So, if you are uncomfortable with descriptions of sexual, physical and mental violence and abuse, this is not the show for you.

I’m gonna try to keep it light and fun, but this stuff can get kind of dark… so you’ve been warned.

Today we’re gonna look into a cult by the name of Falun Gong. It’s one that not a lot of people have heard of, but are surprisingly very familiar with.

It’s a fairly young cult, not more than 27 years old. It began in 1992 in the northeast of China and was founded by a guy by the name of Li Hongzhi. I’m going to apologize on the pronunciation of some of these proper nouns, I am really bad at pronouncing the tones in Chinese languages.

The cult all began with Li Hongzhi running a public qigong seminar in the city of Changchun.

Qigong is an ancient Chinese practice of meditation and slow movement for the purpose of self-healing. It was and is still used in many Chinese communities as a form of alternative medicine.

The modern qigong movement started in the 1950s, shortly after the Cultural Revolution started by Mao Zedong.

Mao was a pretty hardline atheist, and believed that superstitious practices were not good for the advancement of China and communism. So, soldiers in Mao’s army adapted qigong to just be about meditation and focus, taking out all the of the spiritual elements of it. The practice was pretty popular and remains very common to this day.

Li felt a little differently about qigong, though. He feels as though the spiritual elements should be restored. So, he did just that.

Falun Gong was actually in the Chinese Communist Party’s favor, and initially saw it as a good movement. But they quickly changed their mind after they thought the movement was getting a little too independent. The Chinese government is notorious for monitoring the religious practices in China. So, in 1999 the Chinese Communist Party branded Falun Gong as heretical and began a massive propaganda campaign against the group. It mostly focused on negative articles in state-run press, which Falun Gong was quick to protest.

In April of 1999 10,000 Falun Gong protested outside a government compound in the capital Beijing demand that the government recognize them as a religious movement and stop persecuting them.

In China there are only 5 officially recognized religions because it is an atheist state. Those are Buddhism, Taoism, Catholicism, Protestantism and Islam.

Side note, just because I’m formerly Catholic,

China’s relationship with Catholicism kind of interesting, China does not recognize the power of the Holy See’s authority to appoint bishops. So Catholics in China aren’t “Roman” Catholic or “Orthodox” Catholics they’re “Chinese” Catholics. Their relationship is contentious, but China has granted the Pope the right to reject any of the Chinese appointed bishops.

But moving on… at this point, the leader of Falun Gong, Li, was already in New York at and he was getting the cult off the ground here in the US.

But things were pretty bad for Falun Gong practitioners in China.

Reports of forced re-education, extrajudicial executions, harvesting of organs and attacks by the Chinese police at the behest of the Communist Party against Falun Gong practitioners surfaced. But, it’s not the easiest to corroborate these claims, because neither Falun Gong or the CCP are necessarily the most upfront about their practices. The New York Times has said there has been at least 2000 deaths in 2009, though Falun Gong claims that number is nearly twice that. An independent investigator, Ethan Gutmann estimates there were at least 65,000 Falun Gong members killed for organs based off of interviews. Chinese authorities do not publish statistics of Falun Gong members killed or not killed.

OK, do some less depressing stuff, Falun Gong’s main practices.

Falun Gong is a blend of traditional Chinese beliefs, Taoism, Buddhism and Confucianism.

They have three central tenants of power Truthfulness (真, Zhēn)*, Compassion (善, Shàn)*, and Forbearance (忍, Rěn)*. Thank you, Google Translate. These are achieved through meditative exercise and performance.

*these words were reproduced with Google Translate pronouncing them

Falun Gong’s teachings say that everybody is innately good and divine, but that we have descended into darkness and accrued bad karma. Reincarnation is handled by different gods for different people and ultimately the goal is to be released from the cycle of samsara and to reach enlightenment.

This sounds pretty normal for an Asian religion like Buddhism. So far so good? [With hesitation in their voice] Yeah, it gets a little weirder.

Falun Gong emphasizes traditional Chinese teachings and disregards scientific claims like evolution. This also explains why they are vehemently against communism because it is not Chinese, it’s a European philosophy.

As I said before China is an atheist state, and typically Buddhists do not have an issue with evolution and Buddhism. I couldn’t find any numbers specifically citing the public acceptance of evolution in China, however. But I have found that it is taught in school like here in American coastal elite public schools without much of a hitch.

David Ownby, a professor at the Center of East Asian Studies at the University of Montreal interviewed the leader Li Hongzhi and said that Li claims there are 10,000 supernatural powers, such as clairvoyance, precognition, levitation and transmutation and these can be achieved by humans.

Li stated at a lecture in Australia that

“…homosexuality, organized crime and promiscuous sex are not the standards of being human.”

His stance on homosexuality lead to the rescinding of a Nobel Peace Prize nomination by San Franciscan legislators back in 2001.

Li and Falun Gong have also been criticized for their teaching of mixed-marriages. A New York Times article from 2001 states

“[Li] said interracial children are the spawn of the ‘Dharma Ending Period,' a Buddhist phrase that refers to an era of moral degeneration. […] he said each race has its own paradise, and he later told followers in Australia that, 'The yellow people, the white people, and the black people have corresponding races in heaven.’ As a result, he said, interracial children have no place in heaven without his intervention.”

Many practitioners of Falun Gong have denied this and have pointed out that many of its members are in mixed-race families.

But, let’s not forget the aliens.

So Li in general seems to be against most modern things. In a 1999 TIME Magazine interview in he said:

“The aliens have introduced modern machinery like computers and airplanes…everyone thinks that scientists invent on their own when in fact their inspiration is manipulated by the aliens. In terms of culture and spirit, they already control man…the ultimate purpose is to replace humans. If cloning human beings succeeds, the aliens can officially replace humans”

Li also thinks very highly of himself. The BBC, quote:

“…he is a being from a higher level who has come to help [mankind] from the destruction it could face as the result of rampant evil.”

Having a leader proclaim to know the way to save humanity is one of the signs that the leader’s group is a cult.

So, remember when I said that another one ways to get to their three central tenants was performance? Well, you know how they do it? By selling you $150 tickets to see the spectacle of 5000 years of traditional Chinese dance while listening to anti-atheist, anti-communist propaganda… it’s Shen Yun.

So apparently Shen Yun ads popping up everywhere is now a meme, but I’ve grown up in California all my life, and I swear I’ve been seeing these things since at least 2008. These things aren’t new to me. But I guess they’re finally getting to middle America, so people can joke about it.

I said before Falun Gong was anti-Communist and anti-evolution? Well, it shows up in the performance

Here’s a sample of lyrics from a song in the show called “Awaken”

"So long ago you came down to this world For millennia you have reincarnated here Fighting to get ahead, the true you has faded Self-interested actions have cost you your purity Atheism is a pack of lies The heresy of evolution now eclipses the Divine word Amidst disaster, people complain that the gods have forsaken us Do not use science to drive humanity toward danger You came to this world for salvation, your destiny To return to heaven is your soul's deepest wish You came to this world for salvation, your destiny To return to heaven is your destiny."

And, as I said before, the group is condemned by the Chinese government. The Chinese embassy made a post on their website, calling Falun Gong an anti-communist cult, that it undermines US-Chinese relations and that Shen Yun is a political tool for this cult and is anti-Chinese agitprop. This was all in English, and I find it a little weird they’d call it “agitprop” because that’s typically reserved for communist propaganda. So I found it a little strange.

But clearly this is also propaganda, it’s a statement by a government body, and all reports on its more outrageous beliefs are from western publications so there is a bias. But straight from the horse’s mouth is the anti-evolution message and we know that these performers don’t get paid.

In the end, it’s hard to classify this as a cult. It has cult-like elements, like surveillance by a government, a savior-leader. But it lacks a hierarchy and I could not find anyone who had left the movement and faced consequences for it, which are typically signs of a cult.

It’s got some very out-there, potentially dangerous beliefs, but is it a cult? [With hesitation in their voice) Personally, I’m gonna say yes, though I don’t think it necessarily ticks all those checkboxes, so maybe it can’t really be classified as a cult.

Now comes the fun part, where I get to beg you for money. I come to you hat in hand to maybe just consider throwing a dollar or two to my Patreon. I can’t offer much right now as far as donor rewards go, but I will try my best to give you access to episodes early and maybe some other fun side projects that I have available that are still loosely related to cults. That you so much if you decide to be ever so gracious.

Thanks so much for listening, that was the first episode. I will put all of my sources in the description. Most are from Wikipedia, but I checked to see if those sources were legit, so lay off me.

New time, we’re going to be focusing on a cult a little closer to home and maybe some of you remember this cult very vividly.

All right, take care and goodbye.

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falun_Gong

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Falun_Gong

http://www.atheistrepublic.com/forums/atheist-hub/shen-yun

https://culteducation.com/group/1254-falun-gong/6922-is-falun-gong-a-cult.html

https://www.jewishpolicycenter.org/2010/11/30/china-conundrum/

http://faluninfo.net/category/persecution/killings/individual-cases-of-falun-gong-deaths/

https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/

https://books.google.com/books?id=Bwqkwx4SWS0C&printsec=frontcover&dq=ownby+falun&client=firefox-a&cd=1#v=onepage&q&f=false

Song Credits:

“Frozen Jungle” and “Dreaming of You” by Monplaisir under the name Komiku (http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Komiku/)

“我们是毛主席的红卫兵 (We Are Chairman Mao’s Red Guard)” found at Songs of China’s Cultural Revolution (http://academics.wellesley.edu/Polisci/wj/China/CRSongs/crsongs.htm)

“Dies Irae” found on Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/GregorianChantMass

“Ride to the Party” by Monplaisir under the name Anonymous420 (https://chezmonplaisir.bandcamp.com/album/this-is-not-you)

Consider joining the Patreon!

[buri-art]

Evil Plans for the Four Dragons

Synopsis: Gobi tries to convince Kuervo to capture the Four Dragons. Conveniently for the writer and unfortunately for Gobi, a handful of other minor characters with an interest in the Four Dragons are also present.  Genre: CRACK FIC.  Spoilers: Up to Chapter 160. Also, this will probably make no sense after 160, assuming we see any of these characters do anything else.  Word Count: 2,790 "Ha ha ha," Gobi cackled to himself. Ever since his mortifying encounter with the king of Kouka, cackling had become such a self-soothing habit that it slipped into his every day conversations, even at inappropriate moments. There was a time to laugh, and a time to smile, but also a time to be serious.  

Facing the warlord of Northern Kai, it was a time to be serious. He coughed to cover up his slip.  

"Ahem. A-he-hem."  

"I hear Xing is a humid country," said Kuervo, raising a rugged eyebrow fitting of a power-hungry tribe leader's face, particularly a face shadowed in candlelight. Gobi couldn't stand the sight of that face, if he was honest. This seemed like a man of simplistic ambition. However, Gobi recognized the merits of single-mindedness in building a charismatic leader that the masses would rally around, so he set aside his distaste. He needed Kuervo's help, and the man did have his good points. 

"It must be too dry for you up north. You, give the man a drink," he motioned to one of his soldiers, and the soldier nodded and poured the priest a drink. 

"Yes, it--it's--a ha--an adjustment," Gobi smiled politely and accepted the cup, eager to wet his throat with the cool water--a water that burned. That wasn't water, nor was that wine. It was pure burning alcohol. He stifled a cough and kept the tears in his eyes and went on, his voice a little higher. "But this is a time for flexibility, so it's no trouble. I chose to come all the way up here, after all."  

"That's not what I heard," a stubbly man in the corner with curly hair narrowed his eyes at him.  

"Excuse me, and you are?"  

"Me? Just a merchant, don't mind me. I don't know anything. Carry on. Of course you chose to come here. Why? I love to hear about a good opportunity."  

"Yes! An opportunity!" Gobi perked up at the perfect segway. He spun back to face his host and continued, "Lord Kuervo, I hear that you have your sights set on Kouka--and if you can attain Kouka, you'll attain the most miraculous, stupendous power!"

He yawned. "Yeah. I heard they've got a formidable army. It'd be a boon." 

The one-eyed man on a smaller chair next to Keurvo eyed him with the one eye he had. "You heard because they stomped on your troops the other day. Literally. In the face. With white boots."  

White boots? That sounded terribly specific to Gobi's ears. It sounded like one of the details of that day he would never forget. "Aha! Ha ha ha! You--you know them! You've seen the Four Dragons too?"  

"Oh, them," Kuervo grew a wide grin. "I have yet to see them myself, but this guy has--"  

"Gulfffpph--" the merchant gagged on his liquor. Kuervo stopped and blinked at him, and the merchant waved his hand in the air to say he was alright, and that he should continue.  

The warlord looked relieved, and turned his attention to the one-eyed man, but Gobi, who was excellent at reading the character of others, took kind notice of this. Kuervo had some honor in him, showing concern that a guest would not die in his care. That boded well for Gobi too. "Go on," he said to the one-eyed man, "Have you seen them too? The Four Dragons?"  

"Yes," he said. He stared at the layers of carpets instead of at anyone's faces.  

He said nothing else, so Gobi turned back to Kuervo. "Then you must have heard about their remarkable strength, and divine powers! But then again, perhaps you have not? You have been so busy learning the military arts that I would not blame you for not being familiar with the powers beyond. But I can see it in you, ha ha, you are a man who respects the awesome powers that be. Not like those punkish young rulers of Xing and Kouka."  

"I beg your pardon," a snide voice cut into Gobi's eloquent appeal, and in came a tall, thin, pale man. Based on the quality of his clothes Gobi would have guessed he was a man of rank, but the sheer lack of regard for combing his long tresses in any sensible way made that impossible. He was likely some uncultured merchant like the curly guy choking on his alcohol. This tall, dark stranger shot his eyes directly to said merchant and said, "There! I was looking all over for you. I know you have very direct inside information on the princess and--," he stopped, mouth pursed as he looked around the tent and its other occupants.  

The curly merchant cocked his head a couple abrupt times in the direction of Kuervo, pointed at Kuervo with his side to the warlord, and moved his lips as though to silently shout at the new stranger. The tall dark stranger got a few shades paler.  

"Who's this?" Kuervo asked.  

"I'm lost," he replied, stiff as a corpse.  

"He's really, really lost," the curly merchant sputtered. "And crazy. Don't listen to a word he says. I'll get rid of him."  

"Hahaha!" Kuervo roared. That was a handsome laugh, Gobi thought. "Let him stay. Warm the fellow up with a drink." So saying, he motioned to the soldier again, who poured a cup. The man accepted it with shaking hands as he sat on a pile of animal furs next to the merchant.  

"Careful--" Gobi raised his hand to warn him, but it was too late. The man downed it and turned so red that Gobi was afraid he'd soon turn purple. But that was no matter, there were greater things at stake than this man's esophagus. Gobi’s cape whipped about him as he turned back to demand Kuervo's attention. "My Lord! With your most capable armies, surely you can form a plan to ensnare the Four Dragons! Under my counsel, surely you will be the one capable of wielding--" 

There came a cough so strong from the dark stranger that his whole body sounded like it turned into a ceremonial horn.  

Peeved but still determined, Gobi went on. "--Capable of wielding their mysterious power! I have borne witness to a most fantastic display myself, and with your permission, I will impart upon you that which I have been humbled to behold."  

Still more coughing. The curly merchant shushed him.  

"Go on," Kuervo said, getting comfortable. His seat was the only one in the tent with armrests, and he flaunted it. "I can't say I know the first things about these characters, besides that they're the stuff of legends."  

"Aha! Ha ha ha ha! Good, then, let me tell you! The Four Dragon warriors of Kouka, the White Dragon, who possesses a claw that cut through anything--"  

"Ah--I know about that one."  

"You do? Oh. Well. Very well. Where was I? The Blue Dragon! Who can see for great distances!"  

"That's... nice, I guess."  

"The Green Dragon! Who flies through the air!"  

"I take it that's the one with the boots."  

"The Yellow Dragon! Who... um... is... strong? Hmm? Maybe I'm forgetting something, I know it sounded more impressive than that. Anyway! That's truly not all! That's not even the half of it indeed!" his voice picked up. It felt good to be back in a position of people listening to him, and Gobi's body felt more limber as he started making sweeping gestures through the air. "When their master is in peril, they combine their powers to take the shapes of the dragons themselves!"  

"You--ahem--hhghhacckk--you forgot more than a few details," the dark stranger with even darker eyes said. "That Blue Dragon, for instance--" 

"Sir!"  They all turned their attention to an entering soldier. 

"Report," ordered Kuervo.  

"There is an emissary here to see you. Well, not an emissary. The person himself."  

"Who is it?"  "Kan Kyoga, General of Kouka's Fire Tribe."  

"What?" the dark stranger stood straight up. He didn't look happy. But he was crazy, Gobi didn't have to care anything about him.  

He looked to Kuervo instead, who looked intrigued but unsure what to do with this information. To Gobi's surprise, the one-eyed man spoke. "From what I've heard of him, he wouldn’t do anything shameful. If he's here to talk, then he's probably here to talk."  

"Have you met him?"  

"I knew his father."  

"And here I thought he was the trustworthy one!" the dark stranger fumed. "Now he's following in Soojin's footsteps to--"  

"Quiet," the curly merchant pulled him down by the wrist. It was perhaps too low for Kuervo to hear, but Gobi heard him whisper, "If you want to know what's going on, you shut up and listen." Although seething, the other man settled back down, and pulled more hair in front of his face, then hid his nose and mouth behind his sleeve. Gobi inwardly scoffed at what a terribly suspicious look it was.

"This is getting interesting. Bring him in," said Kuervo.  

"But--but Your Lordship, I haven't finished telling you about the Four Dragons--"  

"The Four Dragons?" a young man in noble attire gasped immediately upon entering. He had long forelocks and could be said to be a handsome man, aside from the enormous purple bruise protruding from his forehead. "I came here to discuss peace, but I had not taken them into account. Are they here?"  

"No," said Keurvo. "Are they yours?"  

"Far from it," he bared his teeth. "They've been causing me almost as much trouble as your impending attacks have. I had planned to deal with them next."  

"Well, how about that? I could start these negotiations by offering to take them off your hands."  

"Oh! Ohhhhhh! A ha ha ha ha! Have I convinced Your Lordship of their value? We must make a plan to catch them!"  

"Yes, yes, that's already the plan, thanks."  

"They're not mine to grant to you," said Kan Kyoga, a little taken aback. 

"If I were you," said the one-eyed man, who seemed to view the young general with kindness, "I'd consider the enemy of my enemy my friend."  

"Friends? I could never be friends with them! First of all, I am loyal to my king, and befriending them would mean... well, I'm not entirely sure what it would mean, but I get the sense it's complicated. Rather than taking any chances, I will retain my honor."  

"Oh," Kuervo raised both rugged eyebrows, "I always heard Kouka's military was dashing and manly. How cute."  

"And second of all," he went on, pointing to his forehead, "How could I befriend the White Monster that did this to me?"  

"He got you too?" the one-eyed man stood up, almost smiling. "How did you get away with only a bruise?"  

"I--er--had the blessings of Hiryuu on my side."  

"Ha ha, how humble. Look what he did to me!" he pointed to the scar covering the right side of his face.  

"What? You survived an encounter with his claws directly?"  

"Of course. I look downtrodden now, but I'm still Li Hazara."  

Gobi blinked, unsure of what he was seeing and hearing. It sounded like bragging over injuries. Gobi would never understand these violent types.  

"Li Ha-what??" the dark stranger sputtered, but he backed down when the curly merchant put a hand to his shoulder.   

"Li Ha---you're the man who conspired with my father and led to his downfall!"  

"There are many things your father never told you, for he loved you too much. Sit down, let me tell you more about him," Li Hazara sighed, motioning for him to join him on the rugs at the side of the tent. Kan Kyoga, with eyes like a child, followed obediently.  

Well, that took care of that distraction. Gobi used that shift in the air to approach Kuervo's arm chair. To appease the warlord's ego, he got on his knees at Kuervo's right side and peered up into his face, pawing the arm of the chair like a cat. "Lord Kuervo, I'm very pleased that you are so wise as to use the power of the Four Dragons. With my help, of course, such a spectacular future awaits you, and of course, all of the Kai Empire that you'll overtake, to say nothing of this little peninsula!"  

"Sounds good. So what do you think?"  

"What do I--ha ha ha--you're asking me? Oh! I think so much. I have so many plans for how to use them--" 

"Yeah, that's great, and so do I. But if you know so much, how do we catch them?"  

"Oh! I did that once. You just need some rope."  

"Only rope?" a rugged eyebrow raised.  

"Well, no, that, and troops, stronger troops than the pitiful little Xing army. Ones that can fight off the Four Dragons' bodyguard, the scary black beast."  

"Alright. Ropes and men, sounds fine and vague. Then just a chop here and a chop there and we're done, right?"  

"Yes, then--what? Did--did you say, 'chop'?"  

"Chop." 

"Like, 'chop, chop, snip-snip,' like..."  

"Like lopping off body parts. Those parts are the weapons, right? Just toss away the rest."  

"Toss away the---no, noooo, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, noooooooooooo, M-My Lord, you must have misunderstood, the--the Four Dragons, they, they're a living power--"  

Kuervo shrugged. "Sharp is sharp no matter who's holding the sword, right? Easier this way than trying to convince them to abandon their master or something. Koukans are notorious pains about that."  

"Nnn--no no no no no, Lord Kuervo, please, the Four Dragons' power doesn’t work that way--"  

"Go ahead and kill them," the dark stranger hissed. "But those weapons are property of Kouka and must legally be handed over to King Soowon. Seeing as he is, after all, the king, and if anyone should have them, it should be the king. Not some bratty meddling princess."  

"Sssssh! For the love of Won, shut up!"  

Kuervo eyed him, less amused. "You're still pretty lost if you think you can call the shots here, huh?"  

"Hmph," he stood up and tossed his inky tresses over his shoulder. "Maybe the Fire Tribe is scared enough to make concessions, but I'd have thought your new little underling Li would have warned you by now that Kouka's king is not to be underestimated. Not anymore."  

"This is not the time, this not the time," the curly merchant said, sweating profusely.  

"This is not the conversation we need to be having either, Kouka's king doesn't even want those weapons. N-not if they're lopped off the Dragons' bodies, anyway, because surely they don't work that way," Gobi said as he rapidly switched his glance between Kuervo and the dark stranger, but neither one looked back at him.  

They all heard voices picking up from the side of the tent.  

"Agreed?"  

"Agreed."  

"Agreed what?" gulped Gobi.  

Li Hazara and Kan Kyoga stood up, proud and injured, smiling straight at Kuervo. "We're joining forces," announced the one-eyed one, "to reclaim our honor by annihilating the Four Dragons."  

"No!!" the priest shrieked. "No, don't kill them! That--that is not at all what we came here to discuss today, please--"  

"Oh?" grinned Kuervo.  

Kan Kyoga smiled back. "But only after we defeat you!"  

"Holy dragon flames on a riceball, that's enough, I'm out!" the curly merchant screamed and darted for the exit. The generals unsheathed their swords, and the dark stranger started pointing fingers and screaming, and Kuervo roared like a lion as he took to battle. Someone knocked over the liquor, someone else knocked over a candle. Both of those fell not on the abundance of animal skin rugs, but all on Gobi's cape. The candle and alcohol birthed a stunning blaze.

The priest screamed and ran out of the tent, ran and ran and ran from the heat that followed him, he knew there was a river he passed on the way in, if only he could reach it before the flames reached his head. They did, they reached his hair, good bye hair--and splash, he managed to salvage his skin.  

Gobi was not a bad swimmer, but he was not a good one either. He was unsure how far the river took him downstream before he finally made it to the bank and crawled out, hardly clothed. Out there, alone in the night, he reflected on this predicament. It was a new low in his life.  

But once he attained the power of the Four Dragons, someday he would look back on this and laugh.  

A ha ha.  

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.  

[dwestfieldblog]

Q ONAN IN THE AEON OF HORUS

Insanity is contagious in the Aeon of Horus. Hope you all had a happy and healthy Sirius day on 23rd... I wasn’t going to write another screed until late September but I might well be trapped on the festering cesspool prison island of guinea pigs in three weeks time where the oven ready Boris variant runs wild, and will have very limited access, if any, to the matrix. And I needed to rant off as catharsis on current popular topics. Arf arf arf and fnord as well.

Climate report Doom...fires, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes on the rise, watch the Texans and Arabs and all those aligned with oil continue to deny global warming in the sweating face of the evidence.  The tyranny of the driller killers has been disabling those with clean solar power ideas and the mass use of limitless superconductive  energy for decades, while they work out how ‘to put a metre between us and the sun’. Blame greed. Perhaps they think Bezos will have enough rockets for them to plunder other worlds and leave the future desert of earth behind. Climate change deniers usually have the same mind set as those who are anti vaxxers, it seems to be a typical item on their lists of dislike. Right alongside all the other bollocks and twaddle they don’t believe in, despite the enduring and building testimonies of the majority of professionals.

‘To prevent yourselves doing and seeing and coming into contact with this, that and the other...lock yourselves up in a monastery where you’ll be safe. Immunity...it teaches us how not to be affected by the countless vicissitudes of life; not how to avoid them by running away...The philosopher adapts himself to the exigencies of life, not the exigencies of life to himself.’ The Initiate in the New World by his pupil. Book two of a fascinating trilogy. Hello Cecil Jones.

America...the gurning evil one (‘I love the poorly educated’)  doesn’t seem to be back in the White House quite yet, Q Onan and the boys can’t seem to get their insurrection up. Been there eh? White guys just take the blue tablet and avoid getting redpilled.  ‘We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men evolved differently, that they are born with certain mutable characteristics, and that among these are life and the pursuit of pleasure.’ Yuval Noah Harari-Sapiens.

However, the Onan boys have exported their rabid drivel abroad...A shameful group of wannabe prophets in London a couple of weeks ago were spewing dire craziness and waves of silliness dearly wishing to become important and individualised particles by being observed and applauded. One of their brilliant ideas is that the Great Reset, New World Order of children’s adrenochrome drinking liberal reptiles will be a QUOTE’ An authoritarian socialist government run by powerful capitalists.’ UNQUOTE. Howls of derisive laughter turning into the growl of a wolf with a curled top lip and my left eye twitching for a blackout minute. When sentience returned, I was fairly sure there is no way in this lifetime of me attaining Satori while consumed by this spite. Fear and self loathing in England part 23. To attempt to counter...

Putting the con into conspiracy theories... 1. IF the vaccine is; (A. A poison to cull the overpopulated millions, that would mean that every single decent doctor and nurse in the world is in on it and not one of them is spilling the beans. Neither scenario seems plausible in any way, therefore the first premise appears to be excrement. If Covid doesn’t exist and the x rays are ALL faked (showing the difference between pneumonia, cancer and covid lungs, that also aggressively suggests a high level of implausibility. If you truly believe medical professionals are mostly freemasons and/or serving the Illuminati in the name of genocide etc, you are just a MORON. A DUNGHEADED IDIOT.

As God tweeted last month; It’s always the really dumb who make life hard for the moderately dumb.’

Drug companies and politicians have always been deeply corrupt, some would say with great justification, evil.  Their foul business is as usual. But every nurse working a 16 hour shift in intensive care, do you honestly think they are doing it for the kicks to kill, for the (ha) money or to serve the Devil? Again, if Covid IS real but only the plebs are getting the bad vaccine and the here today gone tomorrow (unless they are Putin types) omnipotent holy world leaders are getting the good stuff...again this would be mighty hard to cover up. And it isn’t only the old, obese and those with ‘underlying health problems’ who are dying, teens and workers are too. No government wants to wreck its economy (apart from Brexit England) by murdering its workers, students and quarantining hundreds of thousands.

If the vaccine is a shot of death and the toll rises twice higher than it already is, governments will know that nobody will believe them the next time round when a new virus mutates...which is not good for mass control. (That said, I feel a deep grim certitude that step by blatant step, totalitarianism is coming to democracies as they realise the only way to dominate the drone masses is to do as China and Russia do.) But ‘why am I drifting into negativity’ eh?

And IF folk think the vaccine is a brain control agent by which we can be spied upon and controlled by our puppet masters via the ubiquitous spooky G5 masts, then the science of how the jab’s ingredients work (And could not possibly be activated with sound waves) should be explained in primary schools so the kids can go home and teach their elders with crayon. At the same time, the anti maskers need to watch videos (with their eyes held open (a la Clockwork Orange) of droplets in breath, the distance they travel without protection, the length of time they hang in the air and in what concentration. Humans react well to moving pictures, it might help. Yes that is dripping with rancid sarcasm. And as for those ranting that wearing masks causes illness, tell that to all the healthcare professionals of the last 100plus years who wore masks most of every bloody day, not just a couple of years. Did they all die of lung problems? I don’t have the actual statistics and I am damn sure you don’t either, so shut up and sit down. As Bill Hicks would say...

‘YOU SEE, IT MAKES NO SENSE’.

Beautiful to see so many holy men in the main religions, priests, rabbis, imans and pujari telling their flock to refuse the vaccine because it will (deep choking breath) make them impotent, gay and/or that it has cows blood and human foetuses in it. For the 23rd time, your shepherds will lead you to butchers again. Very spiritual blokes. Are any women as full of manure as this? Well actually...

One talking blonde cow on the London stage mooed about the vaccine being created by Bill ‘I think it makes sense to believe in God’ Gates, with the patent 060606, so was clearly ‘satanic’. Brilliant detective work and a rational conclusion. Except Bill didn’t formulate the vaccine and the patent was for an entirely different shot with an ACTUAL micro chip to measure if work had been completed and pay wages with Bitcoin. (Which, granted is creepy as fk, but nothing to do with Beelzebub or covid, unless you are going to bang on about none being able to buy or sell without the mark of the beast. So the antichrist is a protestant eh? I saw a video last year of an American ‘Christian’ woman blogger saying Bill was the devil, because of ‘the GATES of hell.’ That’s what we are up against and sidestepping the fk away from.

Those not vaccinated are walking time bomb laboratories of new variants.  Making their own beliefs real as they will be able to say ‘See, told you the vaccine doesn’t work’. Listen to the doctors and nurses begging you.

Once yet again with even more feeling...These demonstrations of hogwash moonshine bullshit theories, mixed in with a fine blend of ahem, ‘patriotism’ are ripping the country apart. On one side the increasingly corrupt English government and their lies and on the other, the deranged and deluded with their falsehoods. An empty vessel makes the most noise and both sides are ripening the fields for populism.

Using the enemy’s own strength against them, well known to Judo black belt KGB pretty boy Putin...widening and deepening internal divisions in democracies, using the basic mistrust of half the people against their governments and encouraging it...works like a charm in times of stress/ fear/ anger. Just let them do most of the work and their own momentum will destroy them...at very least weaken them for the kill. Britain, America, Europe  et al, you are being suckered and you bloody well deserve it for being so thick.

(Sidebar...By the way...Congratulations on 100 glorious years of Chinese communism and now all in the Middle Kingdom are being told, taught, trained, ORDERED to think just like Winnie the Pooh. Perfect unspoiled socialist paradise where millions wonder (as they do in most other places) ‘will there be any hunny for me?’ Unlikely...Communism doesn’t really work that way... another self righteous scam by those who seek power and to maintain their privilege. So the stick makes you keep plodding on for the promised carrot until all you believe in is the stick because it hurts and pain is real. (To greatly paraphrase Sir Terry Prachett, may he remain creative wherever he is.)  )       

Or...The Bilderbergers met a couple of years ago, discussed overpopulation and a threefold plan of how to deal with it...Release an airborne virus in several countries; allow it to spread for a year, Allow fear to rise. Use algorithms to predict the percentage of the obedient and those who will suspect conspiracy. When the vaccine is ‘found’ it will calm the believers for a while and enflame the rebels all the more who will look for ways to make it fit their own schemes of disbelief. This will cause a degree of expected demonstrations and rebellion...which will have the effect of enabling governments to create and quickly pass new laws on freedoms, including peaceful demonstration, to ‘protect’ the law abiding masses that need to believe all is for their own good.

The B boys talked about phased genocide, vaccines, drugs, supplies of medical equipment, government tenders to similar friends, knowing they will survive, and be well positioned to financially ride out the deaths and bankruptcies of lesser protected groups. Who they will then be able to buy out with ease and thus expand. The goldrush thrill of disaster capitalism! When all of this is (temporarily?) over, food and energy resources will be a little less stretched and/or  stricter controlling laws will be in place and democracies will be far easier to control . A sadistic lack of empathy from the richest sociopaths.

There doesn’t need to be anything weird in the vaccines now, people’s minds are doing the paranoid job in their imagination, either with fear or with anger. The rich will remain rich empowering themselves with their inhuman business as usual. Populists will appear to take the side of the people as long as they are rewarded with money and power...and are allowed to join the club. All ethics and morals sacrificed for the temporary glory of pretend immortality.

This was written very quickly over a period of a couple of nights but at least it is a page shorter than usual eh? J I have to concentrate on booking tests (150 pounds in England for a PCR test is RIP OFF. Bastards. The outrageous weight of my suitcase with all my cds and books plus some pants and socks, the forlorn hope of getting a free seat or at least cheap for one of my guitars. The fear I might not be allowed back in to where I am now because the UK still seems to be Boris covid red. And Brexit and being a tourist again. Love the way the brexiteers are pissed off they will have to pay a few Euros to enter Europe as a third country citizen. The Tories voted yes to this idea in 2016 and you voted to become a third country you idiots. So now, you get to stand for a looong time in a longer queue with all the brown people you so disparage. In your nostalgic pride for something which will never be again, you have relegated England to the status of a failed state and voted for the worst government in my lifetime. You should be ashamed but you will just double down.  Disgusting.

Anyway, late summer ‘holidays’ ahoy.  Stay sane and in rude health...hope to see you again, spreading my cosmic rays of great happiness, comfort and joy. Outside of the insanity, keep visualising...Female male left right brain...Yin and yang let’s do our thang...

Y=01=FIRE...WANDS...ADENINE

H=00=WATER...CUPS...THYMINE

V=11=AIR...SWORDS...CYSTOSINE

H=10=EARTH...DISCS...GUANINE

[msyvonneministries]

WISDOM WEDNESDAY

So yesterday I spoke on the Ms Yvonne Show Podcast about how God has delivered me and broke the chains of a stronghold over my life. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I wasn’t able to elaborate as much as I wanted to about the situation on the show, so I decided to write about it....

God help me because I really don’t like sharing this kind of information, but I do want to edify the body of Christ. I want you to know that someone cares and understands what it’s like to live and walk as a Christian. We have to face a lot of battles, darkness, enemies, and strongholds over our life in order to grow up in the Lord and that's not always easy. For instance, God is calling me to higher heights, which means that some things, ways and old habits can't come with me. The biggest one of all for me right now is: 

DATING FOR THE SAKE OF DATING!!!

Now the girly girl in me loves to date. I love to be wined and dined and shown a good time. I love to see a man happy to be in my presence. I love to be with a man that knows how to take a lady out and plan a good date for her. These are things that I enjoy. Not to mention I love good company and good conversation. 

So I considered dating a blessing. But now I’m starting to look at it from a different perspective. I feel like I can't date at this time during my walk with God because I don't like it anymore. It's not good for me and it serves me no purpose unless it's my husband.

This last battle proved that to me. I was seeing someone for a little while and things were going okay for the most part, until I thought it would be cool to “play around” with him. I did not go all the way with him because I’m continuing my celibacy journey, but I definitely took it to the edge. This man was something, you hear me. He had enough to make me throw in the towel and say “God I’ll take this one”.

He was much like Saul I would presume. Tall, built well, fully stocked he looked like a King. He was caring, thoughtful, considerate, and chivalrous. I was like ohhhh weee this is nice! Not to mention I feel like he liked me a whole lot. He even mentioned us getting married and eloping.

How would he know that eloping was something I always wanted to do? 

But I love the Lord and I really enjoy studying his word and listening to the prophets. While listening to them one of them said something that stood out, she said “watch out for the counterfeits”. When she said that it really hit home for me. Why? Because God already told me and showed me who my future husband is. But to be honest that was almost 5 years ago. I thought I was going crazy because this man doesn’t even seem remotely interested in me. We haven’t spoken in years and some of his decisions to be honest, I detest. 

I started to feel like Sarah. Like God you promised me this Husband, but it’s taking too long. I’m getting older. I don’t see any signs of you working with Him. Like what is going on?!? Should I just step up and pick out my own man? Am I tripping??? Much like Sarah when she just felt too old to have a child and probably like God is taking FOREVER so she decided to help God out by dragging her maid servant into the scenario (you can find that story starting around Genesis 15).

All of that extra stuff that Sarah threw in the mix just added more unnecessary pain, agony, and resentment; which could have been avoided had she just kept the faith. Well much like Sarah, I too was beginning to become “frustrated” on my wait for my husband. So I decided to “date”.

Dating seemed like a good idea until all of the usual problems started to arise. The lies, the deceit, the disappointment and the let down. All the emotions that I really wasn’t in the mood for. I was looking only at the bright side, but forgetting about the dark side. Forgetting that just because I’m dating from a pure heart doesn’t mean someone else is doing the same.

I felt stupid in the end and begged God for mercy and forgiveness. I didn’t leave God, but I decided to lean in closer to Him. God gave me the strength to overcome that disappointment. He helped me to see quickly who I was dealing with, THANK YOU JESUS!!!! Because of that I was able to rise above the negative emotions, the hurt feelings, the back bitting and the attachment to dating in general. I’m not cut out for that. Not unless it’s my husband. 

I don’t want to waste my time. I don’t want to defile my body. I don’t want to disappoint my Father. Although dating seems so tempting, I would rather resist. I thank God for breaking the stronghold of dating and desiring men with “big egos” off of my life. I don’t want to go back and live in the world. I don’t want to do it the world’s way.

One thing I’ve learned about being in the world and coming out of it, is that they don’t really tell you or “glamorize” the REAL dark side. They make it seem like being sexually active and having multiple partners is fun and the thing to do, but it’s not. 

They don’t tell you the tears that they cry when they’re all alone. They don’t tell you about the mean, hurtful  and disrespectful things that people can say. They don’t tell you how people are only encouraging you to do it because misery loves company. They don’t tell you how you can lose a piece of yourself, if not all of you. They don’t tell you about how you can feel drained and empty. They don’t tell you that it only feels good for a moment, but the pain can linger a lot longer. It’s not as fun as society makes it seems. It’s deeper than that. 

You have to guard your heart and your temple (your body) until you meet a spouse that is worthy enough to receive all of the good love that you have to give. Not having sex before marriage and focusing on the things above and not below is the true way to go. It’s for our own good and trust me when I say that it will save you a lot of pain and agony.

Hold on to God’s unchanging hand as you fight the good fight of faith. Don’t be scared to make a mistake. Don’t be afraid to slip and bump your head sometimes. But rather be grateful that we have a merciful, loving and forgiving Father who understands and is always ready to welcome us back into his loving arms. He is a Good Good Father and He can make your crooked ways straight (Isaiah 45:2 NKJV). He will lead you beside still waters (Psalms 23:2) and renew a right spirit within you (Psalms 51:10).

It’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to admit that you were wrong. It’s okay to hit rock bottom. It’s also okay to start over, to hit the reset button, and to turn from your old ways. See a lot of times we try to fix ourselves in our own power, but that’s what God is there for. He will be your strength even when you are weak. Just talk to him, honestly.

Keeping it real with Him will be one of the most beneficial life changing blessings that you could ever ask for. Why? Because God knows how to lift the weight of burdens off of your shoulders. God has a way of granting you peace in the middle of a storm. God has a way of fighting for you even when you miss the mark, He’s got your back. He’s loyal, faithful, understanding, a good listener and a great defender. 

When it comes to walking with the Lord, if you slip or fall just remember to get back up again, for there is no condemnation in Christ (Romans 8:1 NLT). So I encourage you to do as I did when I slipped and that is to run back to your father, repent, and make up in your mind that if you ever fall again, that it won’t be for the same reason. That is what we call growth :) 

Congratulations Child of God you’re growing up!!! Quite nicely if I must say so myself :) I wish you much peace and many many blessings along your walk and journey with God. May you live long and prosper. One Love!

Peace,

Ms Yvonne.