#das 5. element

[bodie-r-hart]

The fifth Element (1997) - Leeloo's Jump in HD

Das fünfte Element

AI upscaled by Bodie R.Hart

[danielnelsen]

well this is what ive been doing for the past 2 weeks

[sanchoyo]

i promise i will read the manga!! but um. well. now i’m just so curious i gotta know. just how blorbo can cara go. i wanna take a graceful step backwards and head-first into the rabbit hole. please i gotta know

- saguaro anon pt 2

(i promise it’s me again i swearzit. not that it isn’t easy to lie of course i just think that’d be the funniest thing in the world. there can only be ONE saguaro liker everyone pass the original anon message around the circle if you’d like a turn with the saguaro anon.)

(speaking of i’m chewing on the art of them. i love them so bad they make me wanna draw swords. obsessed also with the dichotomy of physical/spiritual prowess that contradicts a more common “pacifist priest” archetype through swords. still a very graceful way to slay but between that strength/faith dichotomy and their dichotomy with the queen’s science... it’s so evocative of a righteous paladin. but they are also so eepy.)

not u sending this right after I sent a friend a 10000+ word essay to a friend on discord abt cara. pls. the timing is incredible im bouncing cara around in my brain…

SAGUARO ANON!!! HI!!! (wait thats cute. naming urself as an enjoyer of them. my heart will explode fr thank u sm for enjoying my ocs ;_; u are the champion liker of them….this is ur burden to bear)

I mean, don't feel obligated to read the manga/watch the show(s)(either of them! still so happy we got a reboot 20 years after the original…) its just. would fill on context for Some Things (also is a gateway into magical girls if ur not already into them) and I always take a chance to rec it. but..I do try to make things understandable w/out it? I hope?

Cara…im trying to think of what I can say publicly abt her without spoiling her whole story. (I plan to probably make it a novel-sized fanfic and...with 2-3 illus per chapter…it works better as a comic, but the energy to do it + how little reception I got when I tried it…TwT </3) this got. erm. long. so under the cut? I dont THINK anything is TOO spoilery, but if anyone wants to wait until the story is actually being written, maybe skip this one :3c

ok so. my sweet caroline (ba ba ba) 'cara' testout-seebauer, (god what a good name)...… she's like. my wildcard character. full of surprises. full of anxiety. as someone who is also full of anxiety I can say sometimes getting too anxious makes people lash out, seem irritable. get this girl some noise-cancelling headphones tbh. she's also quiet, which, people around her misinterpret as 'oh shes brooding and mysterious' but she's 15. she's the Most 15 Year Old, and all that entails.

She, uh…let me just say she is about as aware as magical girl tropes as Mira is. she makes a point to declare herself as the 'dark magical girl rival' to Mira's heroine persona. which is totally a Normal Thing for anyone with Normal Motivations to say, obviously. (mira aggressively turns a blind eye to how absolutely weird that is because it fits with what she also wants, but other characters are even like, hey thats..questionable? why is a human working with the Aliens Who Want All Humans Dead?? you might ASSUME tragic backstory, but I Love Subverting Expectations. she has a pretty good family life!) she's not as much as an edgelord as this type of character should be in theory, but she IS dramatic 🤔

she's actually somewhat naive and makes the worlds most questionable judgement calls and has the worst sense of who to trust. she's a nerd. she speaks like 4 languages because she was moved around a lot up until she was about 13 and has lived in a handful of countries (if you ask her, she'd say shes american bc thats where shes lived the longest, but her dad is half british half japanese raised in japan and left when he was 18 for america, and her mother is afro-latina american. she strongly takes after her mom in looks but got her dads hair texture :> )

it's a running gag that she knows how to do an improbable amount of things and she always brushes this off her parents were very indulgent and she had a hard time sticking to anything. why does she know origami and karate and how to make balloon animals and ballet and sword fighting and art?? oh but she can only do the very basics of any of the various things, she's not like, outstanding at very many things admittedly and cannot commit to anything. she has...approximate knowledge of many things...It must be said, for the majority of the alien ocs I have...shes the first human theyve met. so u can imagine this gives them very skewed idea of how many things humans can do...

a lot of the characters n plots in tm2 are things I think were tragically underused and under-explored in tmm. in particular the things about her that I draw from are largely things from tokyo mew mew a la mode. (which as of now is free to read on archive.org and is only two volumes!! its the sequel to tmm ^_^...) anyway regarding that...there's a hint in her full name no one as picked up on yet and I shant say more on that. (...do people not pick up on certain naming schemes in tmm aside from the girls having food names? I dont know. this is one of those 'would only pick up on it if ur familiar w tmm things but! I dont even think ppl who HAVE read it have noticed yet.. tbf I only revealed her full name last year I think!)

all of the girls have symbolism with the animal dna they're infused with. cara's a snake. which is such a double sided thing. a lot of people are scared of snakes, lots of imagery of being two-faced or deceitful BUT also, like, 'transformations/rebirth' (shedding of the snake skin) and the caduceus!!! (hermes association, loosely :)) fun. her weapon being a shield + gramophone combo thing now reflects a lot about her too :)

shes SHORT. shes freckled. she cuts her own hair. shes objectively just really funny in a messed up way because everything is extreme when ur 15, its seriously so. just. shes so so so dramatic and gay, my god. its painful to watch. its painful to WRITE. rancid at just COMMUNICATING. she doesnt necessarily even want to be a magical girl its rotten work but my god she'll do it she DOES like the genre but she is so so scared and would probably rather NOT be doing more than like, cosplay. fighting things or people = scary. anxiety is real. but here she is! for some ungodly reason! eeey exposure therapy amiright fellow anxiety sufferers. queen put her and sapote together because sapote was the only alien whod volunteer to get infused and become a mew mew lol sapote is outgoing and queen figured this would offset cara's...*vaguely gestures* everything pretty well. and that sapote would be able to sus out anything cara might be hiding. queen knows sapote's smarter than expected and trusts her a lot cara and sapote are SUCH a funny duo 😭

cara is like. she has problems. and instead of solving them in any rational way she ends up creating 15 more severe problems about it. pitiful little meow meow mew mew

also I'm glad u enjoyed the lil doodle of them, had to toss them in after ur nice message :) (+I will take any excuse to draw or talk abt my ocs r u kidding. i love them)

replying to the very last bit of ur message abt our friend saguaro: WAAAA THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY THAT THEY MAKE U WANNA DRAW SWORDS!! (do it. swords are fun to draw) u hit the nail on the head with: 'the dichotomy of physical/spiritual prowess that contradicts a more common “pacifist priest” archetype through swords. still a very graceful way to slay but between that strength/faith dichotomy and their dichotomy with the queen’s science… it’s so evocative of a righteous paladin.' the. understanding. the analysis. u are so correct. holding ur hand about this. thank u. thank u.

since u arent a tmm watcher/reader. I have to tell you. deep blue, their god? is the main final bad guy in tmm. we have SO SO SO little info about him. I had to make up so many stupid little headcanons surrounding him + the religion and what would possibly happen post-canon. which is only vaguely tangentially related but I have Many Thoughts. he uses a sword, so of course saguaro would Want To as well! and as far as 'gods' go, deep blue is. hm. a violent one. saguaro is incredibly nice! but is still a devout cult member follower of a violent god who they WILL spill blood in the name of. they WILL tell queen to her face that no, she should NOT be the leader, that should be someone who follows deep blue-sama! and they are only following her for a good view from the top to spot carry out his will, because surely deep blue guided them to be so skillful for a REASON, they MUST be useful to him when he finally reappears! and there is NO room for doubt in their mind he WILL. (jaws theme ominously plays in the distance)

queen and saguaro are both ppl who pride themselves on being civil and well-mannered, so you can imagine the sheer passive-aggressiveness in their convos. they're useful, they're probably the BEST swordsmaster, and they've proven to be very diplomatic and can bridge the gap queen sorely needs to with the other straggling deep blue followers, and queen isn't one to throw away a pawn, so she ultimately sees it as putting up with an annoyance for the greater good. (its not like deep blue could possibly return or anything! jaws theme sounds louder and closer)

everyone else in queens little upper posse thinks theyre super weird. …except cara! (we've come full circle!) because shes human! and! has no frame of reference! for deep blue related things! (well…at least, not in the way everyone else would've) shes dealt with like, mormons or thse door to door religious ppl, to her its like. whatever. same difference. saguaro isnt mean to her solely because shes a human like SOME people in queen's upper circle are. in fact, they're really actually very nice to her! and hey, she likes swords! and they have a calming presence, which is GREAT when u are a little shaky chihuahua abt everything.

I have this scene planned out where cara wakes up from a nightmare SCREAMING, sapote's room is right beside her and hey thats her little buddy so ofc she runs in. but cara wont talk to her, and sapote is like. kid I Am Not Leaving You Alone rn I Am Vaguely Worried and you need someone Adult Shaped to talk to. so caras like. whatever get saguaro then. and sapote is BAFFLED, but it makes perfect sense. because unlike sapote, they won't badger her or try and get her to spill anything, they won't try forcing her into a hug, if she asks them to just talk and distract, they're happy to. they aren't going to go spill her secrets and they CERTAINLY wont rat her out for saying anything untowardly about queen.

sapote accuses them of trying to yank cara into their little cult over this of course. kadskj

oops. thats a very long ramble about nothing very clear. I'm trying to be GOOD about not spoiling my own darn story, but the temptation to talk about it is so strong. I'm always super happy to share stuff on it and when ppl show interest it makes my heart explode. thank uuuu so much again TwT

[digi-lov]

—Digimon Fields—

Digimon are sorted into "Fields" based on their physiology, habitat or powers. Many Digimon have been associated with more than one Field accross time and different media.

Fields were first introduced to the franchise through the orignal Pendulum v-pet series starting 1998 and the original Card Game (AKA Hyper Colosseum) in starting 1999. The Pendulums versions 1-5 were Nature Spirits, Deep Savers, Nightmare Soldiers, and Metal Empire, with the addition of Pendulum ZERO, Virus Busters. In Hyper Colosseum, up to Booster 6, the field was initially only indicated by the background, but starting Booster 7 a symbol was added. Later releases eventually opted to use plain text.

This line of Fields are Nature Spirits [NSp], Deep Savers [DS], Nightmare Soldiers [NSo], Wind Guardians [WG], Metal Empire [ME], Virus Busters [VB], Unknown [UK] and Dark Area [DA]. In 2006, the new Digimon Card Game alpha released, and dropped the Unknown and Dark Area Fields, and added Dragon's Roar [DR] and Jungle Troopers [JT].

—Nature Spirits [NSp] This field covers many Digimon living in greenery, around lakes or desert areas. They're often considered simple and gentle. Starting the 2006-Savers-era this mostly only contains beast-like Digimon. —Deep Savers [DS] These Digimon live in the Net Ocean of the World. With the 06-era all water based Digimon started being included in this. —Nightmare Soldiers [NSo] Ghost and Demon type Digimon are in this field, as well as Digimon releated to Halloween. Many of them have a relation to darkness, but some are related to super natural themes. —Wind Guardians [WG] This field contains Bird Digimon, and generally Digimon associated with air or sky. Sometimes Vegetation-type Digimon are also included. —Metal Empire [ME] Machine, Cyborg, or Mutant type Digimon belong to this field. Later many "material" based Digimon or Filth Digimon get sorted into this field too. —Virus Busters [VB] Angelic and Holy Beast Digimon are in this Field. —Unknown [UK] This Field would include Mutants or Filth type Digimon. While a lot of modern media spreads these across other Fields, the Digimon Web still acknowledges it. —Dark Area [DA] Evil Digimon, namely Villains from the series, are in this field. —Dragon's Roar [DR] As mentioned above, this Field got introduced in 2006 and includes Dragon and Dinosaur type Digimon previously included in various other Fields. —Jungle Troopers [JT] Just like Dragon's Roar, Jungle Troopers had several Digimon from Nature Spirits and Wind Guardians added to it. It covers Insectoid and Vegetation Digimon.

While most Games don't include Fields, but rather some form of elemental classes based on primary attacks, Digimon World Data Squad does include the Fields as such, and the the DS games have "Species" categories that line up with the Fields: NSp > Beast, DS > Aquan, NSo > Dark, WG > Bird, ME > Machine, VB > Holy, DR > Dragon, JT > Plant/Insect. While the early DS games had one catergory for Insects and Plants, starting with Lost Evolution a Plant species was added.

What kind of elemental types are included and how they relate to each other varies strongly from game to game, the only constant being Fire. There's also multiple ones that overlap. Water and Ice are often grouped up, Electricity often includes Wind or vice versa. Nature, Earth and Combat often cover the same or similar ground too.

These elements also don't always refer to the Digimon themselves, but often only attack moves. And in Digimon World 3 and 4, and Survive, the Digimon don't have elemental types associated with them, but instead their resistance to each one.

[haguenauisforlovers]

♡ TO ALL WEBGOTT WRITERS ♡

First of all, you are loved. Second of all, as announced, this event will in fact be hosting a fic collection on AO3: Haguenau is for Lovers 2025 and it is now OPEN FOR SUBMISSIONS.

FIC SUBMISSION DATES TO REMEMBER Fic collection reveal: Feb 12, 2024 Fic collection close: Feb. 20, 2024

It’s highly encouraged that you post your HifL Webgott fics in the collection so that in 20 years, when we all look back at this year's Valentine’s Week, we can all collectively say, wow, it really was terminal. Please read this event's fic rules, submission guidelines, and FAQs by clicking on ‘Keep Reading’!

How do I post a fic to a collection?

1. Head on over to the collection profile page (just click the link, babes): Haguenau is for Lovers 2025. 2. Click the “Post to Collection” button, as seen in the screencap below. You will be led out to the usual Publishing screen area.

3. Input your fic elements as per usual by adding your fic title, tags, relationships, characters, body of text, etc. Note: You can, in fact, save your work as a draft and the collection will still be saved in your drafted fic settings. If you find any stray typos or sentences that you want to rearrange after publishing the work to the collection, you’re free to edit away as you would a fic that’s published outside a collection. 4. Hit publish, and ta-da, you have imprinted Webgott into your soul and shared your work with like-minded sickos. Congratulations and thank you for your service. *At any point between Feb. 12-20, Webgott fics are welcome to be posted and published into the collection. 5. All fics (regardless of prompts followed) will be revealed and published by the moderators starting Feb. 12, 2025 (Webgott Wednesday). So if you submit early, and you don’t see your work appear on the collection, don’t worry! It will be appear on the date mentioned.

*For early fic submissions:

If you publish or draft your work before Feb. 12, 2025, we encourage you to change the date of your work once the collection is opened to the latest date. That way, your work will be bumped up to the latest works in the fandom/ship tag. 

E.g. You drafted/published your work into the collection on Feb. 10, 2025. Follow these steps to edit the date:

1. Go to your fic and click the “Edit” button. 2. Scroll down to the “Associations” area. There you will see a toggle button that says “Set a different publication date” (See screencap below). Click the check box to allow the date change.

3. Change it to the current date. 4. Scroll down and click “Post” to save your changes.

Can I submit more than one fic to the collection?

Yes, you can! Write out your Webgott heart’s desires. There is no limit to the number of fic submissions per person. The more the crazier. ♡

Is there a minimum/maximum word count limit?

There is none. Drabbles, poems, long fic, multi-chap if you have them are all welcome.

Can we include other ships?

This is a Webgott event so they must be The Main Relationship. Joe Liebgott/David Webster, that’s what it’s all about, baby. Ships apart from Webgott are welcome as background/implied.

Can we do AUs? 

AUs can be incorporated in, but fics should be set primarily in Haguenau.  e.g. Post-war is allowed but they have to be reminiscing about Haguenau. Modern AU but they’re thrown into a time machine and land right smack behind enemy lines. You get what we mean.

Are AI-generated fics allowed? 

Aww hell no. All Webgott works found here will be organic and free-range. RPF is honest work for real, beautiful, flesh-and-blood sickos. AI generated fics will be excluded from the collection.

Do you have any prompts?

Yes we do, friend. You can find them here!

Will you reblog my fic post on Tumblr?

Of course! Mention @haguenauisforlovers in your caption and/or tag your post with either #haguenauisforlovers or #webgottvday and we’ll be sure to reblog it on to our page.

Any more questions? Feel free to send over any inquiries you might have. This event’s inbox is open! Soooo excited to read everyone’s fics! Yayyyy. ♡

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Bloody Sword

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, bloody sex, fingering, profanation, smut, angst, violence, beheading, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of the moment of their nuptials and coronation itself, hearing only the loud thumping of his heart, a host of doubts running through his mind. He had waited so many years for this moment that he decided it couldn't be real, that something had to happen to shatter it all.

He thought that her younger brother would not bend the knee, that he would have to kill him and then she would hate him, that he would have to take her as his wife by force and watch her wither and fade before his eyes for the rest of his days.

He could not describe the relief he felt when he heard the loud words from outside the temple of young Lord Walford announcing that he was relinquishing his claim to the crown, only to see his sister a moment later in the gown he had gifted her, red and black, the colours of his house.

He lifted his chin higher, looking at her with a kind of pride − she looked beautiful and dignified, not a trace of fear or doubt on her face. She was looking only at him − he could see in her eyes that she was doing this of her own free will and he allowed himself to be enveloped at last by the peace he so much desired.

The crown that Criston had placed on his head appeared heavy and uncomfortable, but he thought that was what it was meant to be, to remind him that nothing was certain and given forever, that he had to be vigilant, that he could not afford to put his mind to sleep like his father.

Riding his horse towards the fortress amidst the cheers, he imagined with a tightened throat that his mother was already waiting for him there, ready to throw herself into his arms and embrace him, telling him how proud she was of him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, knowing it would never happen.

That night her body and her closeness blurred in his mind the weight of his crown, the grief of feeling lonely and empty, her warm hands clenched on the skin of his back as he rooted into her again and again, his lips joined with hers in lazy, hot, sticky kisses, her soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their arms.

His restless nights were filled with silence and warmth; he was finally able to sleep again, and although he was sometimes awakened by nightmares, seeing and feeling her body snuggled into his, he only sighed with a sense of relief, pressing his face into her hair, thinking only of her scent and the softness of her body until his eyelids closed again.

To him, his wife was like a lit candle in the dark, cool chamber of his heart, emanating a warm, pleasant light that did not blind him, but showed him the way, made him regain his sight.

Watching the helpless efforts of the ladies of the court to catch his attention, he felt amused − their desperation made him grin ironically, causing them to blush in embarrassment, their cheeks rosy with shame.

They did not comprehend his nature, the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind, his coldness and distance, his bottomless desire to remain in the shadows, to hide even as he remained king.

His wife understood him, his need for solitude, allowing him to spend his days on his duties, patiently waiting each day for the evening when they were reunited.

Although he would never admit it openly, he adored missing her, adored suffering at the thought that, however much he wanted to, she would not come to him without a reason, would not interrupt his training or council, would not seek his attention, focusing on her own affairs.

A few hours of anguish without her presence each day was enough that when he saw her lying in his bed, bare, waiting for him, he would simply sink into the pleasure and relief of her body.

Being deep inside her, he felt safe.

She was his refuge − inside her he would hide when the heavy crown he carried on his head overwhelmed him.

Apart from her, he had nobody and trusted no one.

It seemed to him that she was a lost part of him, that years ago something inside him had shattered into pieces and it appeared that what was left of her fitted into his parts, creating something entirely new and satisfyingly certain.

He appreciated the strength of her character, her maturity and her wisdom, the fact that she knew when to be silent and when to speak, that she never undermined his authority, that she always listened to him with concentration, advising him as best she could.

"All Lord Marrey wants is gold coins. He flaunts his wealth and his position at court. However, that is not what worries me, but what will happen if someone dares to offer him a better price."

She said wrinkling her eyebrows, her face turned to him in profile − she gazed thoughtfully out of the window into the night, stroking her arm involuntarily, her body clad in a richly decorated gown of blacks and reds, her beautiful shoulders bare, her sleeves reaching almost to the ground.

He lifted his gaze to her face, stirring with his hand in his goblet the remnant of wine that was left there, only to lift it to his lips and tilt it, drinking all that was in it, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"What do you propose, wife? Should I, in your opinion, kill or lock up anyone who might betray me in the future?" He asked coolly, leaning against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood, stretching out on it comfortably, the wine he had drunk so far making him feel warm.

Although he tried for a moment to focus on what she was saying, his gaze stopped on her bare back, emphasised beautifully by the bold line of her gown, wondering if she had been walking around the fortress like this all day, letting the guards shamelessly stare at such a large part of her exposed flesh.

He licked his lower lip at the thought, running his hand over his chin musingly.

"Aemond." He heard her impatient voice and felt himself shudder, lifting his gaze quickly to her face − it was extremely rare for her to speak to him like this − she only did it in private and only when he frustrated her with something. "His case really worries me. If you wish, I'll speak with him myself."

He pondered her words in silence for a moment, tapping his fingertips against his armrest.

"And what are you going to do? Ambush him?" He asked impassively, crossing his legs with a loud creak of his chair, leaning to the side with a loud sigh of fatigue, looking at her back again.

Just like when he had the mask on, he could watch her all day from hiding, look at her expression, her profile, her long eyelashes, her eyes and mouth, her agile, light movements full of dignity and serenity.

While he was like an aggressive flame burning everything, she was like the surface of a lake, letting him extinguish himself in the coolness of her reason, in the tenderness of her heart, making him manage not to cross the thin line that separated him from madness.

"I can propose that his daughter become my lady in waiting, and also suggest that I help him find a suitable candidate for her husband." She said calmly, playing with the three ruby teardrop necklace that adorned her beautiful long neck, his gift to her after their wedding night.

He loved fucking her when she was wearing nothing but this, the colour of their red combined with the black of her hair and the light of her body beneath him made them glow with fire in his eyes, the same kind he felt when their bodies connected in a tight, sticky, hot embrace.

He hummed under his breath, lowering his head, looking away, staring at his hand, playing with his fingers.

"Do as you see fit, wife. I will not interfere with your choice of ladies in waiting or the reasons that guided you." He said lowly, rising from his chair with a loud creak of wood and approached her with a confident, lazy step − her eyes grew large, a warmth and trust in her gaze, something that invariably surprised him.

He grasped her chin in his palm and lifted it slightly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Let's go to bed. There are a few things I want to convey to you. Among them, what I think of your bare back."

The next day there was to be, as there was every month, a gathering in the throne room, the lords and the townspeople could bring their issues and problems before him.

His Queen, to his satisfaction, willingly attended these meetings, at first standing by his side.

Later, however, he found it undignified that his Queen was not allowed to sit for so many hours, so he ordered a smaller throne to be created and placed next to his, on which she took her place from then on.

She never interjected without being asked, only speaking up when he requested her opinion in public, which was often when the matter was delicate, involved someone's hurt and misfortune and required a more understanding, compassionate approach.

He was pleased each time to hear that the words coming from her mouth were thoughtful, filled with wisdom but also with empathy and concern, without sounding hysterical or despairing, maintaining the solemnity of the situation.

He knew that outside the walls of the fortress, despite the fact that many lords were hostile to her, the people of the kingdom feared and respected him, but it was her they loved, seeing in her gestures of mercy and her support for the poor her value, which he also recognised.

He raised an eyebrow when a woman was brought before them, surprised that from afar he could see how unnaturally green her eyes were, her gaze sharp and assured, her black hair loose, her dress, though the garb of a typical bourgeois woman, perfectly accentuated her mature, feminine shapes.

"Your Grace. This woman I present before you is Alys Rivers, better known to some as the Witch of the East. She is known to foretell the future. I have brought her here because I thought the skills of someone like her might be of use to our King." Said Lord Ronwell, the same one who expected him to marry his daughter.

He refrained a grimace of amusement with the last of his strength, finding it difficult to restrain himself from glancing at his wife, knowing that a fire that could burn cities down probably shone in her eyes.

His words seemed to him a poor excuse for what he had been trying to do for a long time, which was to lessen her influence over him as Queen, to divert his attention towards another woman.

He hummed under his breath, crossing his legs, stretching comfortably on the throne, deciding he would take his time with the situation − the thought of his wife, whom his guards were surely thinking of at night, being jealous of him pleasantly tickled his ego.

"Speak, Alys, Witch of the East. Foretell me my future." He said with a sneer, cocking his head − he heard his wife let out a quiet breath of air with impatience.

She knew why he was doing this, that it wasn't even about this woman, that he was teasing her.

Alys Rivers walked boldly forward, climbing step by step higher, startling him and his wife, a brazen look on his face. He pressed his lips together, feeling discomfort and rage, wondering whether to stop it or not, and then the woman spoke.

"Your Queen will bear you a son with dark hair, a future King, beloved by the kingdom. You will have six children, but only two with your wife." She said softly, looking at him with a slight smile. He felt a squeeze in his throat, involuntarily glancing sideways − his wife was pale, her eyes open wide, her lips clenched into a tight line.

He laughed, running his hand over his face, unable to believe that she had allowed herself to say such a thing in her presence.

"And the daughter of which lord will experience the pleasure of carrying my children inside her?" He asked with a sneer, guessing that she had surely been ordered to say such a thing.

"I shall receive that honour, my King." She said with a sensual smile and he froze, lifting his gaze to her in disbelief, looking at his wife again, regretting that he had allowed her to speak at all. He licked his lower lip, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen, looking away with rage.

"Hold her." He said dispassionately to his guards, rising from his throne − they immediately grabbed the woman by the shoulders and forced her to kneel, her gaze changed, her confidence gone from her face, her breathing loud and ragged.

"− my King − I −"

"− give me your sword −" He ordered dryly, extending his hand to Criston, who looked at him horrified, but reached for his blade without a word and slid out his weapon with a loud clatter of steel.

"− please, my King, have mercy − I have been ordered to say so −" She mumbled out, seeing the determination and coldness painted on his face.

The most important thing he had learnt over the years of observing people was when they lie.

When she stood in front of him she was not at all frightened, what she said was not uncomfortable for her − she truly believed that with her words he would destroy his wife's trust in him and eventually become his lover.

He was not going to rely on fate in this matter.

However, it was not his opinion or her plea that mattered to him. He looked over his shoulder at his wife's face − she was staring at him, pale, her eyes red, full of tears, full of pain caused by this cruel humiliation she had suffered because of him, her breasts rose and fell quickly in a shuddering breath, her nostrils twitching restlessly.

I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to offend my Queen.

He had never lied to her.

"Who ordered you to say such things, woman?" He asked impatiently, leaning the tip of his sword against the stone floor, placing his hands on the hilt, towering over her, complete silence reigned around them.

The woman swallowed loudly, no longer daring to look at him, feeling that he stood over her like an executioner.

"− Lord − Lord Ronwell −" She mumbled quietly, all around them he heard sounds of disbelief and argument − someone shouted that Lord Ronwell was a traitor, the man however shook his head.

"This woman lies, my King!" He said enraged and horrified, clearly not suspecting that the situation would take such a turn.

Loud arguing and shouting echoed around him, which quietened immediately as his blade swished through the air and the woman's head tumbled down the stone steps to the floor below, several ladies of the court squealed loudly, horrified by the sight.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said extending his hand with a sword towards Criston, surprised and horrified, his tunic all dirty with blood.

He turned to look at his wife's reaction − she was staring at him with her eyes wide open, her lips parted in disbelief, the heat in her gaze from which his cock throbbed hard.

She wasn't disgusted or afraid of him.

She understood that he had defended her honour.

That he had done it for her.

"My Queen. Forgive me that you had to listen to those disgusting words. Take her body and let us move on." He said indifferently, sitting down on his throne again, expecting them to continue as if nothing had happened.

His wife surprised him as soon as they were alone in his chamber, clinging greedily to his lips, grasping his cheeks in her hands − he groaned low, feeling the throbbing in his breeches, reciprocating her kiss with a loud click.

"− let me wash my hands − they're filthy −" He breathed out into her mouth, but she shook her head, grasping his hand in hers and pressing it to her face, in her eyes heat, longing, gratitude and desire from which he felt himself get completely hard.

His thumb, all slick with the blood of this brazen woman ran over her lower lip − he shuddered when he felt her run her moist tongue over his skin.

"− fuck −" He growled, grabbing her jaw with his hand, clinging aggressively to her lips. She bit him and he groaned low, surprised, lifting her gown, hitting her bare buttock with all his strength. "− how dare you − how fucking dare you treat your King like this −"

He hissed, turning her violently to face the table, clamping his hand in her hair, forcing her to bend over, her cheek pressed against the table top. She panted loudly along with him as he lifted the fabric of her gown with a swift movement, revealing her naked hips before him, her womanhood all pink and swollen, glistening from her moisture.

"− fucking knew it − my little wife is bloodthirsty, hm? − isn't she? − so jealous −" He gasped feeling his heart pounding like mad − he slid his finger deep inside her without warning and groaned weakly, feeling how her walls clenched around him, how aroused she was, her thighs trembling whole before him.

"− please, husband − please, I need it −" She mewled sweetly, innocently, her face and buttock dirty from the blood from his hand − there was something frightening and at the same time so arousing about the sight that he felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− what do you need? − speak, sweet wife, your King listens to you intently −" He said mockingly, sliding his finger in and out of her, once in a while pressing and massaging the spot hidden between her folds, each time bringing out of her a loud, pathetic cry, her body trembling all over, her lips parted wide in pleasure.

"− g-gods, take me − fuck me − please −" She begged desperately. He gasped low at her words, unable to deny her, sliding his finger out of her, quickly untying and lowering his breeches − she whimpered loudly when his swollen manhood slapped against her buttocks.

"− quiet − lay still and let me in −" He growled, with a sure, deep thrust of his hips pushing the head of his cock into her hot interior. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and began to slam into her with a loud moan of relief − she whined loudly in pleasure, clenching her fingers on the table top, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyebrows arched as if in worry.

"− gods, you're leaking − the sight of me beheading that whore made you so fucking wet? − hm? −" He gasped, rooting into her even faster, squeezing her soft buttock with his hands, watching with delight how his fat, swollen manhood stretched her tight, fleshy core with his every thrust.

"− p-please, don't stop, keep going −" She mewled, responding with her body to the movements of his hips, her wet, hot muscles sucking on him greedily, wanting to keep him inside − he was horrified at how sacrilegious and intense this experience was.

"− I'll kill anyone − anyone, gods, just say the word − I'll give you everything −" He burst out and she sobbed loudly. He felt a wave of pleasure shake her body, her walls were clenching around him so tightly he was running out of breath − he slammed into her like mad, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− my beloved King −" She whimpered with difficulty quivering all over, his heart pounded so hard he felt like it was going to rip his chest open, a convulsion shook his body.

"− just like that − oh, fuckkk −" He exhaled, clenching his eyes and tilting his head back, panting hard, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his seed spilling deep inside her at last.

They were both breathing loudly and shaking, unable to believe how strong their fulfilment was − he put his hands on either side of her head, trying to calm himself, his cock twitching all over deep inside her.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked horrified, breathing heavily, reminding himself that they had fucked each other so hard that they could barely get the words out.

He sighed in relief sliding out of her when she nodded, he heard her hiss quietly. He stared for a moment wordlessly at the trail of his spend that trickled down her thighs, his hand reached up to her hot buttock and squeezed it tentatively.

"Let's take a bath."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[cheerleaderman]

“I just join the one with music I would mostly listen to”

[SR] Yuya Florence- Music week

Fan event by- @raguiras2

Voice lines under cut

Groovy: [locked]

Home: You want to hear me sing….just ask a savannaclaw member they heard me sing plenty

Home idle 1 : I’m mainly working behind the scenes but I still need to look the part.

Home idle 2 : Deuce has been very excited leading Hazard/Riff , I’m proud of him I have faith he’ll manage

Home idle 3:Ortho showed me all the designs he came up with for his new gear! All were so cute, we got down to the final 3 maybe we should take elements and combine them

Home idle- login: Da da da-da-da da-da-da da pop

Home idle-groovy :[locked]

Home tap 1: This lighting is all wrong! The recording won’t come out good ugh! I’ll go readjust them

Home tap 2 : I done Idol dances with Idia before…If he gives you a hard time I’ll put him in his place don’t worry

Home tap 3 : I would listen to GLOWCHAIN music too but I’m not helping manage with Vil unless he pays me big time.

Home tap 4 : Even if I won’t be on the scene dancing with the others is still kinda fun.

Home tap 5 : Floyd and Jade have been raving about my shoes, I’ll let them get a closer look later.

Home tap-groovy: [locked]

Without the lighting

Doodle of Yuya’s outfit + reference

[dcdreamblog]

How many metal men there were? I remeber them being 6 when i was little but then a bunch appeared and dissappeared and stuff.

And does Steel from metropolis have anything to do with them?

There are 7 siblings in their family and 6 members of the team. Which is the interesting part.

(A publicity shot of the Metal Men and their creator, Dr Will "Doc" Magnus.) Doc Magnus is one of the foremost minds in both robotics and elemental chemistry, creating a lot of more mundane marvels that you and I use everyday. However his famous magnum opus was the Metal Men, showing off his invention of a device called the Responsometer. Now the science of it all is WAY above my head but down to brass (hehe) tacks, basically when a Responsometer is implanted into a sufficient amount of a pure metal, the device is able to animal that metal into a thinking, feeling robotic automaton. The personality contained within the Responsometer is able to animate every part of the metal body independently, allowing each of the Metal Men to shapeshift as if they were made out of a stable liquid and then instantly resolidify without limits. All of this without losing any property of the metal in question. The original six Metal Men were Gold, Lead, Iron, Tin, Mercury and "Platinum" (although her chosen name is Tina, which is how I will refer to her from now on). They're the hometown heroes of New Jersey if you happen to live outside the Gotham Metro and despite the unfortunate mental stability of their creator, father and patriarch Doc Magnus, the team is still getting up to their super scientist shenanigans to this day...save for that one little lady on the left. THAT, is Copper. She is the team's "baby" having been created well after the rest of the group during a manic episode of Doc Magnus' run in with a cult of super scientists (another time maybe). Helping him to escape that situation she was introduced to the rest of her siblings. ...and then almost instantly discovered she had no interest in the superhero life. Don't get me wrong, she did what was needed of her. She saved lives. I'm not calling her a coward, or a screw up. I'm saying that after about a year fighting alongside her family she found that all she got out of it was stress and injury and heartache. So she quit.

(Copper Magnus' official staff photo at STAR Labs of Gotham. OOC: phil-cho on DA)

This story isn't as tragic as you think, it's not like she walked out on her family or anything. She just decided to go to college, she now has a major in Security Services and she works at STAR Labs in Gotham where by all accounts she's a model employee and makes the same commute into and out of the suburbs as the rest of us. It's just interesting that the odd on out in their family is the one who went to college and got a respectable 9-to-5.

[vertigoartgore]

Dave Johnson : "Blah,biddy,blah,blah,blah. What's there to say ? I did design the new Punisher logo. Pretty happy with it. The cover itself is OK. Not my favorite by any means. But then they can't be all my favorites."

Dave Johnson : "Tried to get that quiet mean vibe. The 'he's so bad, he doesn't need a million guns to kill you' look. And yes, after doing it I realized the Venture Bros. skull thing going on. Wasn't my intent. But what are you gonna do? It was bound to happen.

100% real paint on rough watercolor paper."

Dave Johnson : "Half traditional/ half photoshop."

Dave Johnson : "This one feels a bit like Steranko. I guess I could have sealed the deal by adding a swirling , hypno graphic to one of the backgrounds to really drive it home, but that really wasn't what I set out to do. I'm really enjoying the fact that since I re-designed the logo, I can now use it in the overall design as opposed to letting it just sit there on top of the page getting in my way like most comic cover trade dress. Too bad I still have to deal with the horrible scourge called the UPC box. I mean, seriously !?! Does it have to be so freaking BIG ! Not at all. But nobody wants to rock the boat in the name of beauty."

Dave Johnson : "Red, red, red. Why do I love that color so much? It dominates my work like skulls dominate Mignola's work. My chair is red, I got 2 cars that are red. Devilpig is red. My homemade Samurai armor is red. 

Oh well, why fight it. We all like what we like. It's just that simple.

Damn Equis !

*note* X-Ray is a photo that was manipulated to show all the broken bones. Except the pinky. Because Punisher can kill you with just his pinky. He's just that bad ass."

Dave Johnson : "Ahhhh, Bullseye. You really know your way to my heart."

Dave Johnson : "What a crazy cover. To me, it just screams "insane" ! Maybe I was inspired by a certain DA member that entered into my life recently. Even though I did it before he started sending me death threats (haha) I guess I had an episode of fore sight."

Dave Johnson : "Even though I haven't posted the cover to no.7 yet (because I still need to finish it) I'm posting this. It's a 5 issue story arc involving the character Bullseye. So, I'm trying to do 2 things.

To have every cover involve a bullseye graphic element (so far, so good)

To do all the covers using a blue color palette to reference the original costume of Bullseye (even though the character in this story never dons the outfit)

Also, I realize this cover is kind of a book end cover to an earlier Punisher cover. This one… [link]

But hey, it just worked out that way. If I'd have know that Bullseye was coming up in my future I might have not done the earlier cover. But that said, I wasn't about to NOT do this cover because of that. It fits to well with the story.

But maybe I'm thinking about it too much because the reality is, that it's a stupid comic book cover and the world will go on as is, no matter what I do, haha."

Dave Johnson : "I really had a good time on this one. Bullseye looks like he's really lost it and has become obsessed with getting into Punisher's head.

I gotta say, in some ways this cover assignment has been more fun than 100 Bullets covers. And that's saying a lot. Plus, about a week ago, I was talking to Tim Bradstreet. He said that if I ever needed a fill-in he'd be happy to do so. I told him 'he's have to pry it from my cold, dead hands'. Hahaha."

Dave Johnson : "Ahhh, the Bullseye motif is in effect for one more cover. Actually, I have one more to do with this story line. The writer (Jason Aaron) said that Frank wears a gas mask in this issue. Which is crazy timing because I had started to write back and forth with this guy :icondarkasylumxxx: about a trade. Art for a gas mask. He had asked if I could use his gas mask design on a cover, and I told him that kind of stuff was in the writers hands not mine.

Crazy how the universe works like that."

Dave Johnson : "Hot of the presses. The last cover for the "Bullseye" story line. The bullseye motif was fun to play with. And I can't wait to see what comes next for ol' Punisher. I'm willing to money on the fact that whatever happens, it'll be mondo violent."

Dave Johnson : "Man, this cover fought me all night. I started around 11pm with a basic idea of Punisher holding prison bars so tight that blood was coming outta his hands. But the execution eluded me until 4:30am. The angle I liked, but how to make it say 'Punisher' ? Then the idea of the key brought it all home. Finished it up by 6am and off to Marvel on the East coast just in time for them to get it when they open up the doors. Yeah me!

I think this is my favorite Punisher cover so far. Not sure what you'll think, but I'm sure you're tell me, haha.

Going to go to bed now. I feel like a vampire.

Update Got this response from :iconprimeless: "I'm nobody, so I guess my words will mean nothing to you. Also, my art won't ever be as good as yours. I love this cover as I'm fan of your work, but I continue thinking that your work for 100 bullets is the best you ever did.

The reason is that i find that the Key is saying that "Punisher got somebody into jail" not that "punisher is in the jail".

Sorry. My english is not very nice."

And here's my response: "The cover is not meant to be taken as a literal statement. It's main purpose is to tell you 1. It's a Punisher book 2. It takes place in prison. Obviously, the key isn't a real key. It's a story telling device. Whether or not you personally see it "Punisher got somebody into jail" or "punisher is in the jail". Without the key, it's just a guy holding onto prison bars. With it, it's a guy who, may or may not be Punisher. The goal is to make you pick up the book and find out."

Posting this because I thought it would clarify any future questions. Thanks"

Dave Johnson : "It's a simple cover with a simple idea. Punisher is prison, prisoners not happy about it. Rinse, repeat. Call me in the morning."

Dave Johnson : "You know what sucks ? The way I work. I agonize for 2 weeks to come up with a cover design that I don't hate, and then it only takes me 1 day to do it from start to finish. Imagine if that were the other way around? I'd probably be over rendering and adding so much detail it would make your eyes bleed. But instead I wait until one day before the deadline to force me into doing something. 

Bah! I guess it is what it is. 

This one was hard because I've already done a Punisher cover dealing with Frank's origin story. Seen here [link]"

Dave Johnson : "Mmmmm, Electra vs. Punisher. Sure, why not."

Dave Johnson : "This cover kind of turned out to be a little partridge family bus art style or if you please the art that inspired that art style on the bus [link]

Well, it's not my best cover, but it's not my worst. I really dig how Punisher's face turned out though. But maybe you hate it.

Discuss."

Dave Johnson : "Punisher cover time. Mostly photoshop if you're wondering. No real paint was harmed in the making of this cover."

Dave Johnson : "Another Punny cover. Enjoy.

*note* if you notice, no blood on Frank in the photo. It's the little things."

Dave Johnson : "Sadness."

Dave Johnson's cover run (+ commentaries for nearly each of them) on Aaron/Dillon's Punisher Max Vol.1 #1-22 (2009-2012). Source

[kaija-rayne-author]

Thoughts on upcoming Veilguard AMA.

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played it. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

Heard there was an AMA coming up on the 4th of December.

Given how the devs weaseled out from every actually important question in every other AMA, I don't have a lot of hope that we'll get any answers as to why DAV is so bad.

I just want to know why they scrapped Joplin. It had almost everything committed fans wanted. I want to know why every single decision they made somehow managed to make the game worse. I think there was pressure from EA. But rumour has it that BioWare has always had a lot of control over the games they make.

It's probably partially EA's fault. But I think the blame for the DAV mess belongs firmly on the devs and the people who decided to fire their (often) best writing talent.

But I'm not going to go. Because of said weasely behavior.

Maybe I just have to be done with games from huge corporations. I'm playing Greedfall now and loving it. It’s an RPG from an indie studio. It's a wee step back on graphics, they reused a couple of sets, but generally, it's a very solid RPG that feels like an RPG. They aren't staying away from sticky ideas and awful behavior by people. I find that incredibly realistic. The main/player character is a diplomat, who lies like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

I kept expecting Rook to burst into song and bluebirds to fly out of their ass. Maybe big corporates just can't give me what I want in RPGs anymore. I want truly morally grey choices. I want sticky political shit. I want passionate Romances with happy endings. I want to feel when I play games like these. Which means I need games with solid writing, good characters, and excellent world building. It means the OST has to be good. Not something that had the dedication to it as if Zimmer scraped it off his boot. Greedfall has all that. Plus the morally grey choices.

I've usually purchased and played AAA games from bigger companies because I do like unique maps to explore, and I'm an admitted graphics slut.

But holding DAV on one hand and GREEDFALL on the other? Greedfall wins, hands down. And it's a 5 year old game that very likely didn't have the 250 million dollar budget DAV had. I haven't even finished it yet, and it still wins. I played Subnautica Below Zero just before this one. It's more survival sandbox, but has plenty of RPG elements to it. When Unknown Worlds made both Subnautica games, they were still indie.

Perhaps, after loving BG3 as much as I do (Larian is also Indie) I should've gotten the message to check out indie produced RPGs earlier.

Message received.

DAVs utterly disastrous showing... It's likely a result of late stage capitalism and Disney polluting everything, and people in charge thinking MARVEL actually has any relevance since Disney bought it. Among a lot of other things I'll probably never know about.

But those are excuses. If BioWare truly has as much control as rumoured... it's on them. All of it.

I tried watching Loki. I utterly adore Tom Hiddleston, and even he couldn't get me through that disaster.

I already picked up a few more indie RPGs in the Steam fall sale. Looking forward to exploring them.

Maybe BioWare is just too corporatized to produce anything truly good anymore. Corporations don't have any room for true creativity.

It doesn't really matter. DAV broke my heart and landed BioWare on my boycott list for several reasons I detailed in my review series. I'm just done with them.

[inoreuct]

What if, in some circumstances which I cannot even think of, Sanji cannot cook himself and has to tell Zoro what to do.

And Zoro's sword skills are NOT equal to his knife skills 😭

Sanji also would use fancy chef vocabulary to give commands like "now sauté those onions until they're godlen-brown" or something and Zoro's like da fuck's a co-lander. why would you need like 5 different pans.

BADABING BADABOOM HERE YOU GO REG MY DEAR technically pre-rs but they act like they’ve been married decades. ANYWAYS enjoy 🤭🤭

Zoro swore as the knife slipped again, skidding flat against the chopping board with a dull scrape that made him wince. 

In hindsight, this was all the stupid cook’s fault. Bastard just had to go and break his arm; Sanji had tried to do things one-handed for a while before he’d evidently gotten fed up and stuck his head out the galley door to scream for Zoro to help with lunch at top volume, apparently under the assumption that since Zoro was a master swordsman he’d be able to handle knives.

And by all rights, he should. He was the demon pirate hunter. He carried his best friend’s dream like a talisman in his pocket. He wasn’t going to let himself be bested by a fucking vegetables and a knife.

But Zoro was quite certain that barring his sense of direction, he had never been quite this bad at anything in his entire existence. 

The garlic had been miniscule, the celery had been too fucking slippery, the onions had made his eyes burn, and now this stupid carrot kept trying to run away from him. He could handle rough chops, sure; but when Sanji was being all picky about— 

“I said medium dice, marimo, not mutilate.”

“I don’t know what that fucking means, shithead,” Zoro gritted, not even bothering to turn around where Sanji was sitting at the dining table. He re-aligned the knife and felt inexplicably betrayed when it slipped again, slicing diagonally into the carrot. It was a miracle he hadn’t taken off a finger yet. 

He felt stupid. Awkward and useless and out of his element, it was just cooking, for fuck’s sake—

“Marimo.” 

“What,” he snapped, fingers tightening around a wooden handle. Sanji’s tone had gone soft around the edges and it rankled him, made him feel irrationally angry like a tiger pacing around in its cage, trapped and seething—

“This one’s on me,” Sanji murmured, coming around to hover by his side, something Zoro couldn’t identify in the set of his face. “Shouldn’t have assumed that you’d be good with knives just because you’re good with swords.”

The words sent a wave of panic through Zoro, stomach dropping fast enough that he ran his mouth. A need to please he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Desperation not to disappoint. “Shut the fuck up, I am, I just—” He snapped his jaw shut, pressing his teeth together hard. “Just… Give me a minute to figure it out.”

“You’re already doing better than I was, when I started,” Sanji said lightly, hair falling across his face as he tipped his head. 

“You were a child,” he ground out. The knife clattered as he put it down to shake out his hands. “S’not saying much.” 

The cook hummed, strangely gentle. “Still. It’s alright—”

“I don’t want your pity.”

And, oh. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Pity. Zoro felt like a dumb kid again, and it was so much worse because it was Sanji. And he didn’t want to think about the implications of that, so he sneered, “Don’t look down on me, shitty cook. You and your fancy-ass cooking terms and your hundred and one pans and—”

Sanji cut him off with a bark of a laugh, tossing his head back. His left arm was immobilised in a sling, tucked close to his body as he moved behind Zoro and reached around him to pick the knife up again. “Your brains must really be full of moss if you think I’m looking down on you. Come on.” He offered Zoro the handle, and the swordsman didn’t need to look to know that Sanji was smiling over his shoulder. “One last try.”

He worked his jaw for a second, and huffed through his nose. “I fucking swear, curly, if I get cut—”

“You won’t,” Sanji replied, resolute as he watched Zoro take the knife. 

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not stupid and I’m not careless, especially not with you.” 

The last part had been a little quieter, riding on a rushed breath, and Zoro eyed the cook pensively as slender fingers wrapped around his hand.

“Here. Like this.” 

With Sanji’s help, he cut the carrot into lengthwise sticks and then neat cubes, chopping up a few more before dumping the whole lot into a bowl with most of what he’d already cut. Sanji shifted away, poking a chopstick into the oil he’d left to heat.

“See the bubbles?” he murmured, peering down into the pot. “That’s how you check if it’s hot enough.” He twisted one of the knobs down before grabbing the vegetables and dumping them in, shifting the pieces around with a wooden spatula as they sizzled gently. “This is a mirepoix,” he said, pronouncing it meer-pwah. “It forms the flavour base of a lot of dishes. The aim is to use low heat, cook it down really slow— so that it doesn’t burn and you bring out the sweetness.” 

He was speaking softly enough that it could have been to himself, but the commentary was obviously for Zoro’s benefit, and Zoro. Did not like how that was making him feel at all. 

They were quiet for a while as Sanji did his thing, and the swordsman crossed his arms as he leaned his hip against the counter. The sun filtering in through the window was lighting Sanji’s hair up gold, washing his features in a subtle glow that emphasised the softness of his expression, relaxed and so entirely in his element that it made Zoro’s chest ache. Made something press up beneath his lungs, made it hard to breathe, and it ached.

Impervious to his inner turmoil, Sanji continued, stirring frequently as the galley started to smell really good. “When the onion turns translucent, that’s the sweet spot—” The chopped (more mushed, if Zoro was inclined to be honest) garlic from earlier went in with a vicious sizzle, then a few dashes of different sauces and a good pour of chicken stock. “Could you get the black pepper?” 

Zoro grunted, grabbing the grinder from the corner and putting a few good cracks into the pot as Sanji added salt, stirred one last time, and propped the lid on partway. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it,” Sanji confirmed, smirking, but not unkindly. “Once that simmers down it’ll be our soup, and I’ll just have to cook some noodles. I was planning for mussels in a garlic butter white wine reduction and seared scallops with this delicious spiced pomegranate and herb glaze, but— I think that might have killed you.” Something must have shown on Zoro’s face, because the cook laughed, bright and easy. “You did good, marimo, all things considered. I’d probably be horrid at sword fighting. We’re even.”

Zoro scowled, fighting back against the spark that flared in the depths of his chest at that thought. Sparring with Sanji, in his element, giving the cook shit for it but also helping. Teaching. “Hurry up and get better, and we’ll see.” 

Sanji groaned, rolling his eyes even as he chuckled. “You’re gonna kick my ass, aren’t you.”

Maybe. But even more than that… He thought about how Sanji had held his hand over the knife, patient but not condescending even though he could have been, the skin of his wrist cool against Zoro’s forearm. The look on his he face as he did what he loved and the way it had made something warm bloom behind Zoro’s sternum. The swordsman let his teeth peek in a lazy grin as his chin tipped up; an entire challenge. Half of the bite. “We’ll see.”

fin.

[valgeristik]

'Tis the dragon age season, and i am here with a DA Oc Lore Post.

Not about every single one of them (yet? question mark?) but a general...timeline. Mostly about Zea and Lora. An explanation of why i keep saying 'its honestly a wonder Zea turned out as well adjusted as they did'

putting it under the cut 👍 it got LONG (also, Veilguard Spoilers Tm closer to the end of the text, so uve been warned)

Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List

E-sims donation

So basically, in my heart in my mind all three of my DAO wardens exist at the same time:

Lora (elf mage), Nikolai (dwarf commoner) and Noel (human noble)

(for those unfamiliar with DAO, each of those have their own origin story. i linked the wiki but tbh tbh tbh i highly recommend playing DAO for urself instead. is it old with old graphics? yes. is it an absolute banger regardless? YES.

I tweaked a few things here n there for each of the backstories, but maybe i'll elaborate on that in a separate post. who knows!)

Anyway. Somewhere along the way the team would come across a village in the middle of a darkspawn attack. They get there early enough to save some people, but too late to save the village itself. You know, Blight things.

This is where they'd find Zea, who survived only because, well, turns out they're a mage! and the magic got triggered by the fact that they were sosososo scared. They are also 5 years old at that point in time.

Lora is the one who finds them, which is fortunate, because they DO try to hit her with some lightning. Which she's well-practiced with redirecting. (u know those big AOE elemental spells you can get in DAO? my main tactic while playing as Lora was to just stack those three on top of each other. So.)

Anyway, she calms them down n gets them out of the building that used to be their home. Whatever family they had is dead, and Lora does realize that

1. Zea is a mage

2. and also an elf

So the chances of them being raised in a nice loving environment are pretty low. And let's be honest, Lora would feel incredibly opposed to the idea of this little kid suffering any more than they already did (<- already getting attached)

It's like finding a blind baby bird on the ground and not being able to put it back in the nest.

Zea would also immediately latch onto Lora as the first like. Adult that they can rely on now that their own mother is gone. (i have not thought about their family too much, but leaning towards the idea that they were being raised by a single mother. )

Lora would make them feel safe, even if she isn't the best parental figure, being 19 (JUST had her Harrowing) and this being her first time in her memory that she gets to leave the mage tower and travel the world. And, you know, having to help stop the Blight. She's got a lot going on.

The initial plan is to either find someone in some town who could help, or give Zea to the dalish, possibly. Wynne suggests the mage circle, but Lora is very much against it, for reasons mentioned above. (and some others. like the fact that the Fereldan mage circle was just completely fucking wrecked.)

But they don't find anyone in town, and by the time they get to the dalish everyone kind of decides that it's not been too bad, actually, and maybe the kid should stay with them. Especially because Zea would probably (definitely) cry a lot if they were to be left somewhere with yet another bunch of unfamiliar people.

Zea is pretty much being raised communally. Nikolai is actually the one who's the best at being a parental figure, as Lora...again, does not think of herself as a parent for the longest time. (Which, who can blame her, really)

And Noel is. Well. Noel.

A brief aside.

Zea, being 5, is old enough to remember things from before the darkspawn attack. They would know

their name and surname

exactly two lines from a song their mother used to sing to them when they were scared or upset

enough of their childhood for the memories of it to haunt them on n off forever ✌️

along with other things that will fade away with time, like their mother's face and what her voice sounded like. etc.

Anyway, that is to say, they will develop a habit of singing those two lines from the song to themself when they need to calm down or distract themself or the like. A self-soothing method, if u will. (<- link to a thing i drew about it)

I have this image in my head of this toddler noticing that Lora is having a rough time at some point (maybe just got woken up by one of those archdemon nightmares) and coming over to sing it to her....because even at that young age, they want to help (foreshadowing)

(the song is actually this one bcs those two lines got stuck in my head while i was playing DATV for the first time n then i was like hey. i could use that....... the specific lines are from 0:37 - 0:49, if u care)

Anyway.

The wardens do what wardens do and end the 5th Blight. Yuppie!

The group splits, with some going their own ways, and some sticking together.

Nikolai and Alistair become like the Normal Uncles to Zea, who occasionally babysit them when Lora is off in the deep roads or whatever.

As for their primary caretakers. well.

My opinions have changed many times over the years regarding the question of Who Would Lora Romance.

At first the answer was. No one.

And then i thought it would be really funny if it was Zevran.

And THEN i thought that it would be even funnier if Noel was their occasional third.

She is the cool aunt who comes over a few times a year to give Zea the most expensive ass gift and to flirt with their parents and then fuck off again.

So Zea is essentially being raised by Thedas' weirdest polycule.

No wonder they can't help but disrespect authority. And. Well. [gestures vaguely in their direction] Other Things.

Now, you can sigh with relief, i'm not going to describe every year that follows.

But there are a few Key Events.

1: The Accident

As mentioned before, Lora did not really consider herself a parent. She wasn't cold to Zea or anything, but she did not take a lot of responsibility, and also did not consider how much her actions and demeanor might influence Zea. Who, let's be honest, would kind of end up idolizing the lot of them, but Lora especially.

So, a couple of years after DAO ends (or maybe During? I haven't quite decided yet, but it's before they turn 8), Zea gets it into their head to try and imitate not-mama.

They've seen her stand in the middle of a lightning storm she summoned on the battlefield, and they were like. Well, lightning kinda comes easier than other things, so let me try that too!

And it goes terribly wrong.

They end up almost dying, but Lora is quick enough to react and get them help. (Which, it had to have been someone else. Maybe Wynne. Because I don't think Lora would know or be any good at healing magic, and I'm SURE she felt so normal about that fact in that moment.)

And this is the event that really hits her over the head with the realization of just how much influence she has on the kid.

So, when Zea recovers, Lora takes it upon herself to teach them how to use magic Properly. Which, hey, ends up working out great.

This is kind of a pivotal moment for her, because she realized just how attached she's gotten, and how easy it would be to lose them. And if she becomes a bit over-protective for the next few years...well. Who Can Blame Her.

This is the moment when she starts thinking of herself as a parent.

2: The Talk (the birds and the. archdemon blood)

As mentioned previously, and even several times, I believe, Zea would idolize Lora and the others, and by extension, would think that grey wardens are the coolest people in Thedas.

Zea is also what I would describe as a bright-eyed idealist. They want to leave the world a better place. They want to help people. And most of all, they want to prevent what happened in their home village from happening again, wherever they can.

They also think their mama is Stronger That God And Will Never Die, and they want to be just like her! 🤗

So they voice as much, when they are about 11-12. They tell Lora that they want to become a grey warden when they grow up.

Now, her plan for them was simple: she wants them to live a long and happy life. Which does not go hand-in-hand with being a warden. She also knows she won't be around forever, even if she's actively searching for a way to prevent the Calling. And also also, she couldn't give less of a shit about the secrecy of the order when it comes to her kid's safety.

So she tells them everything. From the Joining to the Calling, every little detail of being a warden, every drawback. She makes it sound as unappealing as possible, trying her best to discourage this dream of Zea's.

What she doesn't consider is the fact that...Well.

Even if they know they will suffer, they will do it anyway.

Zea has an uncommon relationship with death, lets say. They know that it will happen. To them, and to others. It's not something to be afraid of, necessarily, on the grand scale of things. Suffering must be prevented as much as possible, of course, but death itself does not bring suffering with it on it's own. And so, if they're going to die anyway, what's 30 years or so if they can help save so many more lives? To them, it sounds like a sweet deal.

Sure, they could dedicate their life to saving people in some other ways. But the topic of the blight and darkspawn is particularly personal.

And, knowing about the Calling now, they know that Lora will not be around by the time it's their turn, and so will not be hurt by it.

If they survive the Joining, that is, but eh. Details.

(Although they were fully aware they might die. And they prepared accordingly. With a letter to their family and all, in case things went bad.)

They join the wardens when they turn 20, without telling anyone.

Lora only finds out afterwards.

Obviously, she's not happy about it, but it's not like she can reverse it (yet?..).

So, they talk, they argue, they make peace, and she supports them as best she can, while also redoubling her efforts to find a way to prevent the Calling.

The events of Veilguard happen when Zea is 27.

(spoilers start here)

Lora and co. are in the south of Thedas, helping fight the blight there, and so they cannot come and help out.

And Zea doesn't want them to. They want to prove that they can handle it all on their own. They don't even tell their family that they're involved with All That until shit really hits the fan.

Even after Weisshaupt.

(They try writing a letter to Lora to tell her that they're alive, after. They can't finish it, because they hate how it keeps spiraling. They don't need her to come over and fix everything, they can stand on their own two feet, they have a Team, they WILL handle it.

But, damn, they do want that Mom Hug.)

Before all that, they never really encountered a situation in which they thought they will die. Not since they were 5.

It tests them, their bright-eyed idealism, their inherent urge towards kindness above all.

(Yes, they did punch the First Warden. And yes, they did feel incredibly bad for him once they found him in the underground Weisshaupt replica later. And yes, the memory of his death does haunt them sometimes, even if killing him was an act of kindness.)

But in the end, no matter how angry they were at Solas, or how much they wanted to punch him, too, they chose to talk him down instead.

Because, despite it all, they still want to leave the world better than they found it.

Thats it, thank you so much for attending this lecture 🫡

(and also, yes, Noel DOES teach Zea how to stab people so so so well. It's her own way of caring)

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You–Ch. 7 [3zun Raise Jingyi Prequel]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Ao3 Link]

[Holy shit, how has it been 2 years since I last updated this fic?? ANYWAY HELLO HI I MISSED YOU. We're keeping the baby, guys. CW: Disjointed, slightly nonlinear narration; negative self talk; more talk of battle aftermath, bodies (gross but no more graphic than prev chapters), and death; focus on lots of trauma to do with death and grief; general Twin Jade parental trauma; vaguest mention of child death, in that he repeatedly tells himself there isn't one and remembers part of his nightmare about Wangji/A-Fu dying]

Who are you?

‘Wen Baiqi.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Say goodbye. Tell her goodbye.’

It’s raining in Qishan. It’s nothing like the rain in Gusu.

Who are you?

‘Hei Xuecen.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘All my fault all my fault ALL MY FAULT--’

This rain isn’t crisp, but disconcertingly warm. It doesn't bring life. It soaks into the ground, milling the dirt back into the blood and gore bloated mud of that night, sucking at their feet. Reeking of putrefaction. It coats Xichen’s tongue and throat.

Who are you?

Each time, there is a chance he will receive a reply from the Yiling Patriarch himself. 

‘Ye Qian.’

He never does.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Never apologized--’

What would he do if he did?

Who are you?

What would Zewu-jun do? Clan Leader Lan?

What must be done?

Would he soothe his spirit?

Who are you?

Ghostly fingers pluck at his sleeves constantly. 

Who are you?

‘Nie Zixing. Never knew him, tell them--’

When he had first arrived, the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s Wen contingent still hung from the gate to the battleground. Or what remained of them. After scavengers, time, and the elements had had their turn. Swaying in the warm, wet breeze along with carrion birds’ cries and the distant tunes of the guqin language. Grisly pendulums. Dripping.

There is no small boy among them. He had hoped against hope, but now he knew for sure. This secret is tucked deep, deep down beneath his heart.

Who are you?

The corpses on the ground are Wen. They are Lan. They are strangers. They are Da-ge, lying bloody on the floor of the Scorching Sun Palace. They are A-Zhan.

"We should burn them like they did to our people. Scatter their ashes, so they will never rest." A venomous whisper from his own disciples, a young man, face twisted in rage.

(“They’re killing everyone,” he had choked his sobs into A-Yao’s arms. “My people--my family are all dead and I did nothing.”)

A-Yuan had been so, so pale against the sheets. So tiny compared to the infirmary bed.

“These people?" Xichen’s voice is quiet. "These cultivators that studied healing? Miles and miles from Qishan?”

Silence.

“Did they destroy our home? Did we fight them in Sunshot?”

Too little, far too late.

There is no small boy among them. There isn’t.

A-Zhan, gray and slack, eyes glassy, head lolling--

He pushes the dream-memory away.

Who are you?

‘Jin Mingni. 

My father--’

"We will bury them and hold the proper rites, as we have the rest of the fallen. And I will ask you to swear yourselves to secrecy regarding their exact resting place. In case anyone later shares your thinking.”

‘Zhou Sanniang. Never wanted to come. Save me.’

“Help me bring them down.”

There may be no small boy among the Wen, but he sees corpses all day, every day. They're in his dreams. He cannot stop seeing them. And he cannot stop seeing a boy (Afuyuanzhan) among them, from the corner of his eye.

He can never quite catch the face before he realizes there is no one actually there.

A skeletal hand is unearthed when they lift a body--a remnant of the Sunshot Campaign, years before. There were plenty of partial skeletons from that time that the Yiling Patriarch had raised to fight them. It seems some didn't have the strength to fight their way out from the mud. The death here has layers. A slow growing mountain of violence and dead and blood instead of stone. The building of the Burial Mounds’ successor.

Do the Burial Mounds have as many crows? Is it a feasting ground, as this has become?

They carry the quiescent dead, cover them with cloth, lay them in rows. Those whose spirits have passed on easily. They lie with their Sect members--when they are able to discern who they are. Still, fields of undyed cloth mounds, waiting to be retrieved by their loved ones, if they still live. Somewhere out there, there must be people still alive, families whole and happy, living in the sunshine. Somewhere.

Who are you?

His fingertips bleed from days playing Linhai and Liebing.

What must be done for you to rest?

Even those here that are living shamble like the dead--the rogue cultivators, his Lan disciples, the handful cultivators from other Sects, all here for the same goal, all hollow eyed and pale. He is supposed to be here for morale. 

They work deep into the night, far from familiar, ingrained rules about schedule and tidiness, here. Adrift.

What must be done--?

The fierce corpse is not a powerful one, merely tenacious. Shuoyue snakes out. It crumples immediately with a muted splurch into the muck, halved.

‘Tell her I loved--’

The top half of the corpse writhes, still scrabbling for him. The sound it makes from its ruined face is horrid. It's a wonder it can sense his yang qi at all; no eyes, no nose. Its robes are a splotchy black and rusty brown-red, but the Lan ribbon around its forehead manages to show a ragged white through it, here and there.

The talisman sears, blinding. It is enough. The body slumps for the last time. He can settle into that mud, summon Linhai from his qiankun bag for the Songs of Rest.

Who are you?

‘Lan Ruicai.

Show them all--’

The blood of the walking dead is no longer life-hot, but the same, unnerving lukewarm as the rain. He cannot feel it. He can’t tell where it’s stained him until he reaches his tent each night. 

He is efficient. He is in control.

The rain here doesn't cleanse anything. It hasn’t stopped for days.

Everything is the same color; the sludge, the thick haze of lingering resentful energy, palms, boots, the hems and knees of robes. That old clotted wound color. Dirt repelling talismans can only do so much before they are overpowered by the sheer weight of yin energy permeating everything. Stained.

There's no use cleaning. He tries anyway.

‘I was so scared, so scared--’

Who are you?

Sometimes, the spirits do not answer. Sometimes, they speak first, before he can even start the questions, raking the strings repeatedly in their anguish. Sometimes, they try to tear the guqin from him, try to rend his clothes, squeeze his throat. Sometimes, banishment is the only way. 

The sudden shrieks and roars at night startle everyone from sleep. If Wangji was well, he would be here. He is known for going where the chaos is.

Is that what had led him to this? To Wei Wuxian? An affinity for soothing chaos? For chaos itself?

Who are you?

‘Don’t know. Want to go home--’

"I can't anymore, zongzhu, I-I--"

"It's alright. Return to the Cloud Recesses. You’ve done enough."

Sometimes, he wakes in the night to find that he is in the middle of dressing, having no memory of doing so, a clump of cleansing talismans clutched in his numb hands. He has cut down so many fierce corpses, he’s lost count.

Who are you?

Food is tasteless glue in his mouth.

Who are you?

Every night, he is sure to take the medicine that gives him no dreams.

‘Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgods--’

Every night, he prays that he has not left Uncle overwhelmed, that his people are being cleansed and healed back home, that Wangji has stopped bleeding, that A-Yuan is healing, that A-Fu is….

Who are you?

(What right do you have?)

What must be done?

He has been here for days that run into one, long, dark, meaningless drain. 

‘Son. Baby. Where is he?'

Who are you?

‘Pan Liu.’

His raw fingers pause on Linhai’s strings, still humming. Rain patters quietly on the hat that shields his face from it.

He knows that name. How does he know that name.

There have been plenty of others he had recognized among the dead, from different Sects and his own, from childhood, from Cultivation Conferences, from class. But each time, he must pull himself back to that life to remember, away from the rain and the red and the dead.

He can’t place it.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘My baby. Safe.’

The spirit is a thin wisp of light, playing about the strings, shining on the dark wood. Focused. Waiting.  

Who is your son?

‘Lan Fu.’

His mouth is dry.

("A-niang?" A hopeful little voice. The memory of a crumpled form in the blood-churned muck, a shoe print between shoulder blades….) 

It is cruel, endlessly cruel that he is the one alive. That he is the one sitting in the mud across from this poor young mother’s spirit. That he is the one with blood enough in his hands to leave rain blotted stains on the strings as he tells A-Fu’s mother; He is safe.

(Shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.)

A hesitation. Then, ‘Who are you?’

Lan Xichen. Zewu-jun.

‘Zongzhu.’

He will be safe. I swear. 

‘...Safe.’

Rest, now.

‘...Rest….’ The notes are quiet, exhausted. Longing.

Then, silence. That pale light is gone. 

She is gone.

He sits, still and silent as the soft caverns in the clotted mud continue to patter around him. His face is wet--mist and rain and blood. He almost wishes it was tears. 

He aches in a new, terrible way, now.

Oh, little one. You were so loved.

He has been witness to both sides, now, of this small, destroyed family reaching for each other through the dark. And how useless he has been in the task of bringing either of them lasting peace. 

To bring anyone lasting peace. 

(Useless.)

And do you serve anything so fiercely that it would be your last thought, taken across into death? 

It is irrelevant. The soul quieting ceremony had been performed on them as children, with all the other inner disciples. He will not linger as a ghost, even if he were to be struck down by a fierce corpse this instant.

He finds himself trying to remember if his mother had ever mentioned having had such a ritual performed on her….

Selfish. You would have your own mother suffer and linger as an unquiet ghost for some sort of twisted confirmation that you were loved? 

Xichen remembers childhood before the death of his parents. The infinity of all of it. It probably never crossed A-Fu’s mind to beg her to stay with him. (“No, no go! P’ease!”) She had always returned before. 

The memory of A-Fu clinging to his hands so tightly he had drawn blood with his nails is inescapable. 

During that final farewell at the Jingshi, A-Huan too had had no idea it would be the last time he would ever see his mother’s face. He didn’t know what creeping death looked like, then. She was simply her, smiling, twinkling at them.  He had kissed her cheek and taken Wangji’s hand and waved to her through her ornately carved window screen as Uncle led them away. Wangji had always been the one to pull back, to fuss over leaving. Uncle had always made sure that Xichen set a good example for him.

The snowy day she had left this world, cold and dry, so far from the warm wet muck he was in now, something in him hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t believed that someone could just…no longer exist, just as suddenly as a storm might blow over the mountain summit with no warning. 

He saw her so sparingly, it seemed impossible that she wasn't just simply waiting in her front room for them to visit with a smile and open arms.

How? he had asked. When? Why?

Uncle had said that it was not for children to know. This pulled it even farther into the unreal, stretching his comprehension. It felt like a dream, a lie. A story. But if he could just see her…if he could just prove that this was some sort of…misunderstanding--

(Xichen had never asked again after that first refusal sat in his gut like a chilly stone. He suspected that Wangji had not either. Even now, decades later, he still did not know how his mother had actually died. 

He suspected enough, however. 

He knew it was sudden. He knew it was unexpected. He knew no one spoke of it. He knew it had broken his father beyond any hope of repair. Uncle had not volunteered the information, even now, when they were both grown. And Xichen will not allow useless rumination. Rule 60.)

 He remembered he hadn’t been able to stop crying. A-Huan had always hated crying--he always tried to hide away and not bother anyone with it, but this had been constant. 

Uncle had squeezed his shoulder and spoken softly, and reminded him after hours of stopping and starting that he must not grieve in excess, that he would make himself sick, that he was agitating Wangji, that he needed to calm himself, death was a natural passing, like the moon or a river, one must not let their emotions control them.

But still, that something in him that just knew it wasn't true waited until it was dark, until curfew set in and the snow lit the night full-moon-bright, reflecting the stars and lanterns. He had pulled on his boots and slipped from his window, cautiously darting across the paths of the Cloud Recesses in just his pajamas and his blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, shivering from more than the cold. 

This had to be a trick that he didn’t understand; a joke or a punishment for something he had done wrong. When he figured out what to apologize for, he would be able to see her again. 

The fear of being caught breaking the rules was washed away when he crossed beneath the familiar bower wound with skeletal winter vines. His mother’s house stood dark. All around it, snow was churned and broken, as if many people had been there. In all his memory, no one else had ever visited the Jingshi. The door was unlocked. 

It opened onto emptiness and moonlight. 

Everything was gone.  Her plants. The blue cushioned couch. Her desk and papers. Her dragon incense burner. Her tall candlesticks. Her big, thick, round rug they laid on and played games. The pictures he had painted for her.

He had drifted, stunned, through the shell of his mother’s home. The only proof that she had ever even been there were the scratches on the floor from where furniture had been dragged. That, and the scent of her that still lingered underneath the smell of whatever they had scrubbed the floor and walls with. They had erased her completely. Like she was never there in the first place.

Then it had settled on him like a cloak of lead, dropping him to his knees; the understanding, the true deepness of what this meant.

She was really gone. Forever. 

The ‘always’ was gone. The ‘next time’ and promises. That warm, constant presence on the rim of the Cloud Recesses, the visit that marked his days as cyclically and surely as the sun had simply...vanished. In just one moment, the world was made completely lightless. Incomprehensible. It had a hole ripped in its center, cold and inescapable.

She would never brush back his hair and kiss his forehead. She would never pout when she lost a game. She would never squinch up her nose and do an accidental snort-laugh.

If he had only known that it could happen so fast…if he had only known that people could leave so quickly and completely, he would have taken something. A set of her dark, weighty chopsticks, one of her bracelets, a letter; anything. But there was nothing.

Somehow, he had found himself in front of the Hanshi, his feet numb, his face and hands frozen. Thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember what his 6 year old self had planned. He wasn’t sure that there had been a plan. Maybe he had just wanted a parent. Maybe he had been seeking out the one adult that might have cared as much as he did that his mother was gone. Uncle didn’t understand--A-Huan and A-Zhan had always known that he didn’t like her. He was always polite, because that was important, it was in the rules--but he was always stiff and short. He frowned the whole time--every time--picking them up. He hated talking about her.

But the father he had hardly met, that distant, hidden figure--he had married her. He had loved her.

He would care.

The Hanshi, too, had been dark--and he panicked. Had his father left--or died like his mother and no one had told him? He had yanked the door handle--and to his shock, it slid open. He had been expecting a lock like the one that he saw being done up behind them when he and A-Zhan left the Jingshi. (A choice, not a prison, he had realized as he got older. Not in the same way, at least. Other things kept Qingheng-jun bound.) 

It was dark inside, curtains drawn, vague shapes of things illuminated by the light creeping in behind him. He stood in that doorway, frozen in body and mind, unable to trespass that much farther. It smelled unfamiliar and sharp. He had never been in his father’s home before. 

It was so dark.

He had called into that darkness, choked and quiet; “Fuqin?“ 

Silence. 

“...Diedie?”

(“They made choices. These are consequences,” is all Uncle had told him when, younger, he had asked why both of his parents were locked away from him and refused to say more.

Afterward, A-Huan had always been afraid that he might accidentally make those same choices, that he would be kept from his brother and his Uncle and nannies for it. Because no one would tell him what those choices were, he studied the rules obsessively so he could be sure to follow every single one. So he would never be locked up.)

There was a rustle, a clink. A shape had formed in the shadows, someone sitting up from being slumped on a table. A pale hand swayed into the pool of silver moonlight, pointing. The voice that followed had been rough, slurred like a mouthful of rocks. “You are not supposed to be here. Go.”

A-Huan had fled as fast as his numbed legs could go. Stumbling, breaking through the crust of snow, falling and rising and falling, back up through his window to collapse on the floor. His breath had burned in his lungs as he coughed and sobbed as quietly as he could, hot tears stinging his frozen cheeks.

Not quietly enough, though. A-Zhan had eventually crept into his room and curled up next to him on the floor without a word, arm wrapped around his middle.  When A-Huan had rolled over and held him more tightly than he had ever held anything before, he realized that A-Zhan was the only part of his mother he had left in the entire world.

And now, what did A-Fu have left of his parents, of a life he knew? 

A story, at the very least. A reason. A goodbye. The truth. It was all he could offer. It was all he had left for the boy. These other spirits and their wishes can only be passed along to others, if they were attainable at all. But this, this he can do; this, he can set right. To make absolutely sure that her will is found and executed, that the family who cares for her son is told the story of her last farewell, so he will know, too, in time. 

So a son will never have to wonder.

This much peace, he can provide. With those who can bear this place no more and an endless caravan of cloth draped bodies, he returns to Gusu, leaving behind Qishan’s bleeding sky.

-

The quiet of home stuns him. There are no screams, no groans echoing down the mountain. The trees don’t muffle sounds of sword or talisman sizzle, merely birdsong and wind. There is beauty here, something he hadn't known his soul craved like water in a drought until he saw it in rich blues, blooming whites, lush greens. The coolness, the clarity of the water and the touch of leaves. Nothing here is red-brown. All that bleeds is hidden away behind pale bandages and pale walls.

It's almost too much. 

(His hands feel filthy, no matter how many times he scrubs them. Discontent among such blessings is an insult to those that can no longer come home to them. He will kowtow in the shrine for this disrespect later.)

Time has meaning once more. In theory. There are places to eat, to rest. 

(It hardly makes sense to him anymore, despite the schedule being as familiar as the stone beneath his feet.)

Home, in the Hanshi, surrounded by familiarity and comfort, sitting at his desk as the incense burner next to him delicately permeates the air with sandalwood and the trees outside rustle and no one screams at all, he holds Pan Liu’s will in his hands. It is a brief, frail little thing in the face of such sorrow. It must have been hastily written after her husband’s death, as she willed A-Fu and her remaining possessions to the care of her younger sister. Who upon brief investigation of his ever growing list of the dead was found to have been killed in the battle against Wei Wuxian as well. The sister, yet unmarried, had no will of her own--probably too young to have begun to even consider death as a real possibility before life and Wen and war swept their way in. Their house had been one destroyed in the Wen’s sacking of the Cloud Recesses, their personal possessions few. No one else remained of their immediate family.

Pan Liu clearly had not expected to die before she could update it.

In his heart, somewhere, he had known that something like this was the case; that A-Fu was truly alone. Xichen had carried him for days and no one had come looking? No one had wondered where he was, wanted him home safe, with them? 

He had not wanted to look directly at this, at the time, knowing he would have to give A-Fu back to that loneliness, that uncertainty. Even though A-Fu is not the only child in the Cultivation World or even the Cloud Recesses with the same fate, it had been…different. He couldn’t have said why--still can’t--but it had felt like a betrayal to the boy. A loss, savage and personal. Even when he knew any other choice came nowhere close to making sense.

Still. Even he and Wangji had had their uncle and the small, rotating cadre of minders that were familiar to them. He saw his mother once a month and knew his father was there, somewhere, out of sight. There had been a thread connecting them to their parents and the life they could have had with them. 

A-Fu has none of this. 

And yet he still cries, still calls out, because he trusts that someone he knows will come. Of everything in these last few days, this is what is almost too much to bear, a knife stuck in his ribs that gouges with every breath. He does not feel sadness or regret; only pain. Everything else has been out of reach for a while now.

The rattle of his door opening onto seeping sunshine and fresh, bloodless air has him looking up. His Uncle steps over the threshold. “You’re back,” he says warmly by way of greeting as Xichen rises.

“Shufu.” He bows, then offers him his customary seat, more out of habit than necessity; this teatime visit was a familiar ritual in a life not too long ago.

 They take their places at opposite ends of the low, square table at the center of his sitting room as Xichen opens his tea cupboard. “It’s been a while since we have been able to simply sit and have tea together,” Uncle observes, easily.

Yes; nothing has been right or normal for a long time. “Mn.”

When he continues to set out the cool porcelain cups and the dark pot with no further elaboration, Uncle watches him work, expression a thoughtful blur in his periphery.  “...The library is not where I expected your first stop to be.” 

He sounds only mildly curious, but Xichen knows that it is unspoken approval that he had not gone straight to Wangji.

He hesitates, then continues his methodical ritual of movement. “There was a time-sensitive matter that I wanted to attend to.”

In truth, after the bath he had taken upon his return--where he had had to call for 3 rounds of water (Do not be wasteful, Rule 23; broken) before it was no longer clouded dark with dried blood and mud and rot--Xichen had stood on the Hanshi’s front porch, staring down at the blindingly white path before him, forking off through the trees. 

His heart had tugged him one way and his cowardice in the face of pain another. The thought of seeing more bodies just lying there, of seeing those dear to him--Wangji, A-Yuan, those in the infirmary--suffering while he could do nothing to prevent it was….

It was not something he was capable of, at present. Just for now. Just for these first few hours. It was selfish, but true. And so, he had gone to their records room in the library to request Pan Liu’s will. Pain had won. His heart was weak, choosing the easier duty.

Unable to stop himself, though he knows it will cloud his uncle’s relaxed and pleasant demeanor, he asks; “Is Wangji…?” He trails off. 

Awake? Improving? Well? …Alive? A sharp internal rebuke at this last. Do not exaggerate. Rule 671. Uncle would not be so calm if things were dire. He is angry, not cruel. He would have been told.

(A heavy hand on his shoulder. An empty house. Churned snow.)

He would have been told.

Uncle’s face does, indeed, darken. “Hmph.” A mirthless, scornful snort. “He wakes on occasion. He refuses to speak, refuses to acknowledge anyone. He is simply lengthening his own punishment.” Uncle eyes him, adding, “You should be able to talk some sense into him. He always has listened to you best.” 

‘And so how could you have let this happen? How could you have let him do this?’ 

(When will you stop being angry and start being afraid for him?)

Xichen lowers his gaze to the dark wood of the table and scoops the tiny, furled up leaves of the tea into the pot, the smokey green scent tickling his nose

It’s true. Of everyone--their caregivers, teachers, and relatives, Wangji has always responded to him best. He would not always necessarily disobey outright, but he might frown or hesitate before complying or pretend not to hear--especially if he were called to come away from Xichen’s side. “Your class is this way, xiao-gongzi,” the minder would call and A-Zhan would continue his resolute little stride beside him, hand squeezing tighter around Xichen’s fingers the only indication he had heard anything at all. 

It was when Xichen squeezed back and knelt down to straighten his robes, smiling up into his serious face, saying, “It’s alright, ZhanZhan; I’ll ask if I can come out early to pick you up, mn? Go on, be good,” that he would allow himself to be led away with no further fuss.

 He had been the only one who could finally convince him that kneeling in the rocky ground every month when they should have been visiting their mother would not force anyone to bring her out to them. The first time, he had asked him to come in, come home. But knew his brother. He was not surprised when he silently refused to even show he had heard him. 

And so he hadn’t asked again, never having the stomach to fully destroy the hope that he would be let back into the Jingshi if he just waited long enough. 

But Uncle had become frustrated, their teachers and nannies muttering. They were impatient with his refusal, seeing it as disobedience. They didn’t see his mourning, only his stubbornness. So A-Huan had had to protect his brother's soft heart from those that didn’t understand. “We can kneel together, back at home,” he had whispered, his fingers screwed tight around A-Zhan’s cold hand. “I’ll wait with you as long as you want. But niang would--” his throat had caught and he had wrestled his tears from his voice. “Niang would hate if you got sick, sitting out here in the cold all day.”

A-Zhan’s dark eyes had bored into him, thinking. Reason and punishment and demands from adults had not moved his stubborn frame one inch, month after month after winter-to-spring month. 

Then, finally, this second and last time, A-Zhan had listened to him. Whatever it was about him was what finally got his little brother slowly, stiffly to his feet to hobble back home with him. Xichen remembered that he hadn’t felt relieved at all. He just felt like he had taken their mother from him all over again.

“I will speak with him, shufu.”

 Uncle nods, then heaves a sigh. “What news is there from Qishan?”

Mechanically, as if operating his own mouth from across the room, Xichen relays numbers, movements, and times. He almost reflexively scolds himself for lying; the mundane description of dry duty and the lived horror so far from one another that they were entirely irreconcilable. Just words passed across a shining table over fragrant tea, cool wind brushing the sun-pale windows serenely with tree shadows

When he reaches the final fate of Wei Wuxian’s executed Wen contingent, Uncle approves. “It was wise to swear the disciples to secrecy. This has all gotten so inhumane. Denying them burial was an unnecessary cruelty,” he says heavily as he shakes his head, eyes closed in weariness. “I pray that we are done with this madness at last, with that Wei Ying finally taken care of. What a mess.”

There is silence. Xichen cannot fathom what his response to that could possibly be. Should possibly be--as Wangji’s brother, as the Lan Clan Leader, as his uncle's nephew. As Wei Wuxian’s…what. Friend? 

…As one who cannot delight in his death, in any case. 

Despite the period of kneeling before the Jingshi, Wangji had never been a troublemaker growing up. He was always the Jade who grasped the Lan way of life more easily, molded himself to the rigidity of the rules with that same stubborn tenacity. 

It was Xichen who failed in that, who smudged the black and white lines to gray, bent them so they were slightly more comfortable around him; bearable--once he discovered that they could be. 

He was the one who accidentally got drunk trying to see if he could filter out alcohol with his core, he was the one to kiss Mingjue first in the Jin Gardens during a Cultivation Conference. The one to urge his brother to befriend a talented teenager who was gleefully and repeatedly stomping all over their Clan’s ancestral rules.

He was the one who had told Wangji to step outside his rigid view of the world, to see people for their hearts. And then Wangji's own heart had been torn out. As his uncle said; Wangji had always listened to him best. This much would never have happened without Xichen's deliberate meddling. 

All those years ago, when Wei Wuxian had first cannonballed into their lives, Xichen had just wanted Wangji to be happy. To have friends. Alone didn’t always mean lonely, but he knew he saw it in his brother. Saw Wangji with peers who were merely in awe of his talent, who respected but did not like him, love him, know him, want to spend time with him. He knew the difference, no matter what Wangji showed the rest of the world. The older he got, the less he smiled--the soft, secret ones that so many others failed to see. Xichen had missed them, dearly. And so he had pushed.

Everything that has happened sense feels as if it’s unshakably all his fault.

As the tea is poured, they speak; it passes over him like clouds. Which elder is still in which stage of recovery. The smith they called to repair swords and assess the spirits of those now without a handler. 

Something touches him.

 “Xichen!” 

His hand burns. He is on his feet. Shuoyue’s naked blade buzzes, ready in his hand. He does not remember moving. Every fiber of cloth on his skin feels alive and writhing. Blood courses. Scalding tea is cooling, dripping from his knuckles.

The touch had been spiritual, not physical. From the corner of his awareness and the Cloud Recesses boundary wards at once; a warning, tasting of wild metal (close to blood, so close). 

The Western Wards, crossed.

“Do not unsheathe your blade in a residence!” Uncle’s face crinkles from shock to a wince. “And contain yourself, this is not a battlefield.”

It takes a moment. His killing intent is up, streaming from his core like a river of blades, of blood. 

Sucking in a breath, he takes the torrent in internal hand and yanks it back, firmly, like the reins of a horse, winding the silk rope of it over again and again in the palm of his concentration, until the thrum of it eases. The pressure that had filled the room with the promise of death ebbs. Shuoyue hums warm, expectant. When he does finally sheathe her, the connection between them flickers, confused. 

Above his hammering heart, he hears Uncle continue, frowning, “I felt it, too. Was it someone passing outward or inward?”

His tongue, his mind is mud-stuck slow.

Focus. There is no battle here. You are home. Get a hold of yourself.

“...Outward. Less resistance. Nothing powerful.”

Oddly, at this Uncle’s frown deepens, shadows of concern replacing mere puzzlement. “Hmm. Those were in the West…far….” After a moment of thought, he rises.

As he steps out the door and calls for a servant from the Hanshi’s porch, Xichen continues to try to pull in slow, deep breaths.

Have you regressed to being such a novice that you cannot control your own qi? Your own battle intent? Are you a child? Though his uncle's voice is low and his attention is divided, the words ‘searchers’ makes it through the pounding blood in his ears. Strange.

When Uncle slides the door back open, Xichen asks, “Searchers?”

His silhouetted form hesitates, framed by the sunlight that pours in behind him and dazzles Xichen’s eyes, leaving his expression briefly in shadow. “...Yesterday evening, a child managed to wander into the woods alone.” A spike of cold worry threatens to heighten the wild surge of energy within him once more as his uncle continues, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “We have had several teams scouring the backhill and the whole of our land since then. They are young enough that their spiritual signature isn’t strong enough to register on normal tracking talismans.”

“Why was I not told?!” 

It burst from him, harsher from shock than he had meant and Uncle blinks, pausing in settling himself back onto his seat, brow furrowed.

But he cannot bring himself to care about disrespect, just now. Any child alone and lost is terrifying, awful. There is something, though…something about his tone, his expression that has breath caught in Xichen’s throat as slow, glacial horror creeps up from the depth of his gut. He is avoiding specifics. 

Why.

 “It is being handled already; why would I distract you from your duties? You’ve only just returned and you must--”

“Who. Which child.”

He huffs in irritation, brow furrowing further. And he shuts his mouth, lips compressing.

Xichen no longer needs an answer.

Behind him, he can hear Uncle’s voice raised in startled alarm, but he is already out the door, already leaping from the porch onto Shuoyue. The wind howls in his ears as shoots upward, speeding west to where he had felt the wards ring within him. To where A-Fu has just crossed beyond their safety.

He knows. He doesn’t know how, but he knows.

Xichen can barely breathe around the air battering his face and his own terror. The shrieking sky threatens to rip him from Shuoyue’s blade. Everything at once feels heightened, his awareness expanding to notice how chilly it is despite the sun, how the damp of the wind tearing at his hair and clothes tells of rain in the past day, how dark the woods look beneath the thick canopy blurring by below his feet. He had been alone and cold and terrified, out all night. Had the boy been trying to find his mother? Xichen? The thought made his gut writhe within him.

(They peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams…)

Please please please please please

How could this happen? How could he have ever allowed this to happen? There were rivers, cliffs, steep slopes of scree, ponds, caves, animals--gods, animals alone would--

He is well enough to move, to cross the wards.

If it was him. If it were not a strong enough spiritual animal to trigger the alarm. 

There is no boy hanging among them THERE IS NO--

The invisible boundary rears up in his senses, mere seconds full tilt sword ride from the Hanshi but so, so far for a tiny child, wandering in the night. Beneath the canopy, before Shuoyue even manages to drop to a reasonable height and speed, he has already leapt off, landing at a sprint. Internally, the memory of the disruption in the web of the spell warps around his spiritual awareness like a broken arch as he crosses in that exact place. The ground is not suddenly more treacherous, the trees no more menacing, but beyond the relative safety of the Cloud Recesses, his hammering heart sees the whole world is a death trap for this little child.

(He cannot bear to see a tiny body, he can’t, he can’t--)

Skidding to a stop, he wheels in place, eyes scouring everything at knee level and below. “A-Fu!” his throat is pinched, his mouth bone dry. “A-Fu?!”

The ground cover is thick with bushes, shrubs, trees both young and fallen. The sun shines spots into his eyes through the swaying leaf cover above, dappling the floor with shadow and light, dancing, blurring. Silence. Even the birdsong had stopped when this strange being had suddenly crashed into their peaceful little clearing. He sucks in a breath to call again--and then he hears it.

There is a small child crying somewhere nearby. 

Quiet and hoarse but unmistakable.

He isn't slow, gentle, or cautious or anything that a terrified child might need right now; something else has a hold of him, now. He blindly crashes through the brush towards the sound, half skidding down a slope until--until! There! 

A blur of white amongst tree roots halfway down, a curled shape and-- “A-Fu!”--a little face, smudged and red cheeked and tear stained raises and his little eyes light with recognition and he scrabbles, fumbling and crawling out as Xichen tears back up the slope--slips, rights himself--and reaches and the boy throws himself off the lip of the hollow and into his arms, colliding hard with his chest like his heart coming home. 

He staggers, momentum and sudden weakness buckling his knees. A gnarled tree catches his side and he slides them down into the huddle of its roots, curled around him. Against his chest, wrapped in his arms, A-Fu is damp and chilly. He is covered in muck and sticks and burrs but he’s alive--alive--safe and hiccuping and piteously hoarse, tangling his hands through Xichen’s hair as he clutches him back, gasping.

He can breathe. He can finally breathe again.

Some unnameable agony, like some wild beast, is thrashing, welling up, bursting from his chest. It shakes him, tearing at his throat, his heart, his lungs, burning. It’s not relief. It's not fear. It’s…

Heedless of stitches cracking and bursting, he yanks his thicker outer robes open and over the child, tucking him deep into the pocket of warmth. He can feel him shivering, his tiny heart speeding.

He had forgotten that his head is so warm, that his hands are so tiny, just how real his weight is in his arms. When he buries his nose in the baby fluff of his hair, under the dirt and musty forest chill is that wild-sweet child smell he remembers from carrying him for days beneath his chin--and long ago from when Wangji was young. 

He tries to pull back to check him for injuries, for bruising, but he latches onto his neck and sobs. Mere minutes before, Xichen had never wanted to hear another scream again--but now he wishes A-Fu’s cries were as loud as the first day he held him, deafening and demanding, sure and strong in their conviction. These sobs are private, weak, exhausted little things. Not calling for attention. No longer certain of a trusted adult’s return.

“P’ease,” he croaks and that pain, that pressure bears down on Xichen and it feels like drowning; it feels like dying.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m here,” he whispers back, thick and choked (that thing inside him that aches, that wails, that loves is strangling him), and he draws up his knees, he wraps his robes tighter and rocks and rocks them both as it breaks--all of it, calving and crashing and surging and molten and ugly and broken--and he wants to beg ‘scream, little love, scream your heart out; someone is coming, someone will always come,’ but he doesn't have enough breath as it tears from his locked throat in silent sobs, because with unworthy hands and heart, he holds this blameless little life that has wandered through the halls of his heart leaving muddy fingerprints, and does the cruelest, most selfish thing he can ever recall doing. 

He realizes that he cannot let him go again. 

[santoschristos]

The 9 Octaves of Chemical Elements teach us is that everything in the universe is interconnected. We learn about levels of existence or consciousness, drawing parallels between music, chemical elements, and spiritual principles.

Music as Universal Language

Music transcends cultural and linguistic barriers, embodying a form of communication that resonates on an emotional and spiritual level. Just as musical notes can harmonize to create beautiful melodies, the elements of the universe are seen as interconnected forces that contribute to the greater whole.

Vibrational Frequencies

Every element has its own vibrational frequency, much like musical notes. Sound and vibration are used for healing and meditation,everything in existence vibrates at certain frequencies.

So what are The 9 Octaves as Levels of Existence?

1. Physical Realm: The first octave represents the physical elements (earth, water, fire, air) that compose the material world. This is the foundation of existence where everything is tangible and measurable.

2. Emotional Realm:

The second octave corresponds to the emotional aspects of life, where feelings and energies are exchanged among beings, resonating with the vibrations of the surrounding elements.

3. Mental Realm

The third octave represents the mind and intellect, where thoughts and ideas form. This realm can be likened to the creative process in music, where inspiration arises and manifests.

4.Spiritual Realm:

The fourth octave embodies spiritual awareness and consciousness, where individuals seek to connect with higher truths and the essence of the universe.

5.Intuitive Realm:

The fifth octave symbolises intuition and inner knowing, where individuals tap into their instincts and the deeper wisdom of the universe.

6. Collective Consciousness:

The sixth octave represents the collective consciousness of humanity, where individual experiences contribute to a shared understanding and unity.

7. Cosmic Connection:

The seventh octave symbolises the connection to the cosmos, aligning with universal laws and the greater mysteries of existence.

8. Transcendental Realm:

The eighth octave represents transcendence, where individuals move beyond the physical and emotional realms, seeking enlightenment and unity with all that is.

9. Unity and Oneness:

The ninth octave embodies the ultimate realization of oneness, where the illusion of separation dissolves, and individuals experience themselves as part of the larger fabric of existence.

Understanding these octaves lead us to a greater sense of integration of self, as one recognises the interplay between the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual aspects of life. Just as musical harmony creates a beautiful sound, aligning these realms lead us to a more harmonious existence, fostering peace, love, and understanding.

This framework encourages awareness of the interconnectedness of all beings and elements, promoting a sense of responsibility and stewardship for the planet and each other.

The 9 Octaves of Chemical Elements are a powerful metaphor for exploring spirituality, consciousness, and the unity of existence through the lens of music and vibration. Understanding and embodying these principles help us to a deeper connection with oneself and the universe.

Music is the highest vibrational frequency

— Liliana Da Cruz

Image: Walter Russell - Periodic Table of the Elements, consisting of 9 Octaves, showing 2 dimensional representation of a 3 dimensional concept of a 4 dimensional Reality, “The Universal One”, 1927.

[stupidgalaxybrain]

If there's one thing I'm proud of as an artist, it's the fact I'm a style chameleon. I decided to sit down and recreate 4 artists I really love, and who better to do it with than with the most varied character in the entire franchise: King Dedede! This isn't just for appreciation though, but a study on how other people translate DDD's design, since character design is a passion of mine!

Let's start with @miniiieevee!

Oh my gosh their art is super great, and I think the most important part of getting the style right was the sparkles. I have never seen someone do highlights this way, and it's both super recognizable and super cute! For the King himself, we have a nice round beak, visibly blue eyes, a distinct head, pointed crown jewel, an undershirt, and stripes along the top of the belt. Like most of us, they use the (owo) kind of mouth and really fluff up the coat. Separate fingers can also show up for posing, following Spongebob physics. The stitching on the gloves and the little round eyebrows are another really cool touch! Out of all of the styles I looked at, this one has the most pastel colors.

-

Next is @das-a-kirby-blog!

Das-a-kirby-blog has such a cool variety in their work, from really shapey sketches to super abstracted color schemes, which while super amazing, didn't provide me the best ref material. The colors here are frankensteined from a few sources, so I hope they capture their actual base color palette. They go for the pin-shaped route for body shape, with the undershirt (though sometimes there's no under layer), typically black eyes, extra belt stripes, and a chunky diamond shaped crown jewel. My favorite touch is the cottonball on the crown. Like I said at the top, they excel at shapes in their art!

-

Third is @jojo-schmo!

I've been silently reading their roleswap comic, but I should've been loudly reading it because I super recommend it! I'd also say design wise their Dedede is the most unique! Besides myself they're the only one here to pick the kimono, they have a single blue stripe at the top of the belt, a triangular jewel, and the coolest element of the style, spirals! I've not seen anyone stylize the trim this way, and it's so cool in execution. Another unique element that really adds to certain expressions is the spiky teeth (which matches real life penguins! ...Don't look it up).

-

Last but not least, @cosmicwhoreo!

God, their art is everything. The flow of the lines is so clean and smooth and everything they draw is super expressive. Their Dedede is by far the hugest, and also marks the 4/5 DDDs with a separate head, and 3/5 with black eyes. We have the belt stripes, occasionally a shirt, and a smooth tear drop jewel, but a uniquely shaped crown band. This design sees a lot of influence from the anime unlike the others here, so the color scheme is the most unique.

-

As a conclusion, it's really cool to see all the different design elements that we pick and choose for DDD. Some give him his smash outfit. Some people give him a body type closer to K64 or KATFL. Some people draw his eye color, or separate eyebrows, and others don't. There's no detail that's the same across every version, but they're all our lovable king. If you don't recognize one of these artists, check them out! I can only do a fraction of the incredible work they do, and let me know if there's any other characters or artists you'd like to see this exercise with!

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Itmf best brother nmj/nmj is everyone’s da ge.

🧡 Where's Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

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2. I randomly came across this video recently of the Japanese Rabbit Hopping Assc. today, and I immediately felt compelled to ask if anyone has written (or possibly is inspired to write) 'actually very serious rabbit agility racer Lan Wangji'

Video link if anyone wants it lol:

Tumblr story by @/mondengel2 I took it as a prompt

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3. Hii!! I am really looking for fics with angst with happy ending (happy ending for wangxian mostly) coupled with Jiang Yanli betraying Wei Ying if there are any? Thanks!! @yilinglaobunny

~*~

4. Hiya!!! I've got an IIMF request: fic where Wen Yuan is actually a blood heir of the Wen and that somehow factors into the story importantly (like, he's Wen Rouhan's grandson, has special Wen powers, etc). Thanks for all the hard you you all do! @kimboo-york

sami's 'Dream of Youth' and 'Hand in Hand Together' has A'Yuan as Wen Xu's bio son. It's a minor plot point though.

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 85k, WangXian, YZY/TLJ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Family, Not Lan Sect Friendly, Bad Dads, good dads, JFM's A+ parenting, Qingheng-Jun's F- Existence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Canonical Character Death)

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, WZL/JC, WangXian, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn)

When Flowers Spring from Killing Things by windsweptice (B0redaf) (Not rated, 100k, wangxian, Wen WWX, Demonic Cultivation, WWX Has No Golden Core, he's got a resentful one instead, Yīn Iron, WRH pov, LWJ pov, WWX pov, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Sentient Burial Mounds, XY Is A Little Shit, WQ pov, Protective WWX, Protective WQ, Cinnamon Roll WN, Protective WN, LXC pov, BAMF WWX, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ, Good Person WX, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Weddings) might not be everyone's cup of tea cause he's literally wen ruohan's son

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5. Hello! ITMF a fic where WWX survived the siege at Burial Mounds and remembers that LWJ saved him that night at Nightless City. Then WWX finds out about the punishment LWJ had to go through because of that. And WWX takes LWJ to Burial Mounds to mend his scars and they end up together.

I saw a fanart of wangxian with Yilling Patriarch!WWX treating LWJ's scars and that was all I could think about.

❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX) pls pls read this because based on ur request this is amazing (pls don't hate wwx in the beginning)

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6. Hello! I'm in the mood for fics where wwx is experiencing some kind of delusion or psychosis and lwj (or other characters) try to help him through it. I don't mind wether it's canon universe with the demonic cultivation being the cause, a curse or even modern au.

Thanks!

From Underneath by steppjes (M, 15k, wangxian, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Supernatural Elements, Demons, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Grief/Mourning, Blood and Injury, Depression, Hospitals, Mutual Pining, The Troubles of Baby Acquisition, Very on brand self hate from wwx, he's going through a lot okay)

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, Protective JC, POV LWJ, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Soft JC, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels)

let me sing to you by greybird_crookedbranch (T, 61k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, adorable Juniors, Minor Original Character(s)for plot purposes, Minor Violence, Demonic Cultivation, resentful energy, Trauma, Guilt, Protectiveness, BAMF WWX, Hurt wwx, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Baby Lans, WWX loving and being loved by tiny Lan babies, LWJ being utterly whipped for WWX, Mental Instability, Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, a tasteful seasoning of Yunmeng Bros Reconcilliation, CQL canon except LWJ is not chief cultivator, Nightmares)

out in the garden, there's things you hid away by saltyfeathers (E, 121k, WangXian, Possession, Animal Death, mass death event, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt(s), lotta hurt lotta comfort, wwx-centric, unfortunately there's also a bodily fluids warning, just like a lot of bodily fluids, there is sex and it is all in the last chapter, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post canon)

Something at the Door by Pip (Moirail) (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, background 3zun, Background Yi City trio, Intrusive Thoughts, Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mystery, Urban Fantasy)

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7. Helloooo mods! It’s been a while! 💜 for the next itmf can i get some completed fics that explores wen ning in a romantic way? Like fluff and falling in love? Aside from JC , i don’t mind who he’s shipped with.

Thank you! 😊 @jikcf

the height of summer by la_dissonance (G, 8k, WN/LWJ/WWX, Getting Together, Romance, Accidental Courtship, On purpose courtship, Polyamory, Fluff, a small amount of pining, Love Confessions, WN/Happiness forever otp, Gift Giving, Secret Admirer)

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8. Can you please find a au marvel or Wwx as Wanda or black widow ! Thank you 😊 @brighterthanmagicalfluff

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9. Ok guys, I'm in the mood for your favorite Good Uncle LQR fics. I don't care for any other details besides that, please & thank you

小兔子 | Little Bunny by dragongirlG (T, 6k, LQR & LWJ, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LSZ & LQR, minor wangxian, POV LQR, love language: acts of service, Caring LQR, Character Study, Canon Universe, References to Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Comatose QHJ, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Podfic Available, Good Uncle LQR)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 742k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Supportive LQR, Light Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, WWX learns about his parents, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, LWJ is confused, Then he is 100 percent on board, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Bisexual WWX, Dual Cultivation, Slow Burn, Fix-It of Sorts, Not JFM friendly, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Blood and Gore, Supportive LXC, Protective LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Eventual Smut, Possessive LWJ, Genius WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Scheming NHS, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Minor Character Death, NHS gets himself a beard (not the facial kind), POV WWX, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Skate Happy by cinder1013 (E, 12k, wangxian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Skate disco waiter outfits, booty shorts, Inappropriate Marriage Proposal, secret wedding plans, Good Uncle LQR, Good Friend JGY, not entirely evil XY, wwx has low self-esteem, but it works out in the end, They buy a farm, wwx wears what he likes, Panties, Anal Sex, A+ parenting all around)

🔒 Baby, Beard and Birds by mondengel (G, <1k, LQR & LWJ, Fluff, Babyfic, Family)

🔒 An old kettle, a tiny teacup, and a new pot. by mondengel (G, 2k, LQR & LWJ)

Between the rotten apples lies a fresh grave by hamlets_ghost (T, 12k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics, Canonical Character Death, (Madam Lan), child LXC, Child LWJ, Child Neglect, implied kidnapping, (madam lan), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, (also madam lan), this is not a happy fic so mind the tags please, passive suicidal thoughts (but not really?), Angst with a Happy Ending, non-linear timeline, semi-explicit discribtion of a corpse (chapter 3), Slightly hinted 3zun)

When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, Implied WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Good Uncle LQR, Neurodivergent LWJ, Baby LWJ, Baby WWX, Parenthood, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst)

through the eyes of elders series by Fleetling (T, 13k, LXC & LWJ, LXC & LQR, wangxian, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, CQL Canon Compliant, LQR's perspective on wangxian, mainly him being frustrated at wwx wasting his talents and then realising that oh no that backfired wangji's in love, the homeoroticness of sword fights, wangxian DOES NOT get together there's just ust and longing glances like in canon, LQR isn't bad he just wants the best for his nephew, LQR pov, LQR is a good uncle, LXC recovering from the whole JGY thing is a major part, Wingman LXC, good brothers!!!)

Good Guy Lan Qiren series by thunderwear (T, 28k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ's POV, Fluff, Everyone Lives AU, LQR finds out about WWX's core, wwx and lqr are friends?? In My Fic? its more likely than you think, lwj in the bg like whats happening?, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

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10. OMG I REALLY WANT TO READ REVERSE ROLES LZ AND WWX (ex: cold WWX and troublemaker LZ, Top WWX and Bot LZ) IDK 😭 @naoenowa

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11. hi! I'd like to make an itmf req for canon era fics that feature a dark(ish) gusu lan/lan zhan, such as "hoards and treasures" by apathyinreverie which i loved. for instance, fics where the gusu lan interpret their rules with a darker lens, and where they might turn to manipulation/deceit to achieve what they consider right.

i know about "A Matter of Time", which is on my read list! but I'm also esp interested in seeing the dark gusu lan/lan zhan trope explored without time-travel elements. thank you very much! @potatokunst

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12. Hola :) , For the next In the mood for, I'm really, really interested in Lan Sizhui fics centric, specially related to Gusu Lan or his relationship with Clan Lan.

you are my chosen family by jinyinhua (T, 14k, LSZ & LJY, wangxian, LJY & LSZ & LWJ & WWX, 5+1 Things, Good Kid LJY, Good Kid LSZ, Blood and Injury, Night Hunts, Drinking, Age Regression/De-Aging, Married Wangxian, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

Revolution by mrcformoso (T, 8k, WangXian, ZhuiYi, Light Angst, Happy Ending, POV LSZ, Found Family, Toxic Elders, Fatherhood, Growing Up, The Lan Juniors, LWJ Adopts LSZ, WWX is LSZ's Parent, LSZ is a polite menace, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Good Uncle WN) You might need to read the other stories in the series but if you just want LSZ feels then this can stand alone :)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, POV LXC, Post-Canon)

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13. Hi!

For the next IMTF, I'm looking for fics where LXC finds himself a new passion and is hilariously bad at it, much to others' amusement & secondhand embarrassment. Especially lwj or lqr is suffering.

His partners, be it jgy, nmj, jc or anyone, is very supportive of lxc's passion. It could be baking, gardening, cooking, dancing etc.

For example, "The evolution of the heart" by Uglybeautiful, Radiencia..(lxc takes up magic/the art of illusion and joins a circus) @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

Magic Mishap by Regency_Bunny (T, 8k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Meet cute, Love at first sight, Himbo LXC, Magic tricks)

The Shape of Your Love (is Horny) by Vamillepudding (T, 25k, WangXian, XiYao, Urban Fantasy, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, WWX is Bad at Being a Demon, LWJ is definitely a Monsterfucker) had a running gag about LXC taking up new hobbies that he is horrible at, including ceramics, perfume-making, knitting, etc. JGY is very supportive and LWJ and LQR try to ignore it out of politeness

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14. Hi! I’m itfm

a) tattooed lwj agenda. Specifically when his arms are tattooed and they show when he pulls up his sleeves, but anything and everything is fine

b) Ceo lwj where his employees find out he’s married or dating wwx or regular office worker lwj and his coworkers find out

Thank you! @wangxian-is-my-life

14A)

(our friendship) up against the ropes by daltoneering (E, 36k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, lan zhan FUCKS, Fluff and Smut, Experienced LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Spit Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, Praise Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Kink Negotiation, Pride and Prejudice 2005 (dir. Joe Wright), mentions of Wei Ying/others and Lan Zhan/others)

🔒 Craquelure & Coverups by Inessencedivided (E, 27k, wangxian, Modern, Tattoo Parlor AU, Reincarnation, Tattoo Artist WWX, Tattooed LWJ, Dreams and Nightmares, Past Lives, trauma discussions, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, First Kiss, First Time, Body Worship, Non-Penetrative Sex, Happy Ending, further tw in the notes)

Tattoos for Broken Hearts by TriviasFolly (G, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, LWJ has a Tramp Stamp Tattoo, that's the fic) lower back tattoo

14B)

like strawberries on a summer evening by ritualist (E, 15k, WangXianChengYi, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Modern AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Choking, Light Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Bratting, Light breathplay, Wei Ying says no when he means yes (and everyone understands this to be the case), Mild S&M, Spitroasting, Rimming, Porn with Feelings, Polyamory) lawyers, poly 4some

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15. Hi! For ITMF, could you recommend me a heavy plot fic in canon era before WWX died and revolve around him. It can be fix it/time travel/canon divergence/etc. No bashing except several character like YZY, JFM, LQR, JGS, WC, WLJ. You can bash them but i prefer not.

Thank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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16. I saw a lwj whump in the itmf some time ago but I can't find it.

I believe it was physical lwj whump specifically, can u help please?

hope you're having a nice day

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) LWJ is taken as a sex slave by the Wen, so definitely counts as whump

Bring Your Wonder (Lose Your Faith) by kianspo (M, 75k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Different Sunshot Campaign, straight boy wwx, Feelings Realization, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, BAMF WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Jades of Lán Feels, POV Multiple, LWJ Whump)

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17. Hi! I know this isn’t your normal ship, but could I itmf WWX/NMJ fics? I recently read “Better Things To Do With A Flute In Wartime” (a WWX/NMJ/ eventual also LWJ fic) and really liked the dynamic between WWX and NMJ. Particularly how blunt NMJ was, how he valued WWX’s mind and strength from a kind of unbiased viewpoint as a sect leader and war general, and also that they bonded over unorthodox cultivation methods. Would love to see more of this couple! Thank you so much!

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut)

Crowned in Glory (fear no more) by Pip (Moirail) (E, 19k, NMJ/WWX, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Loss of Virginity, Size Difference, Sunshot Campaign, Sexual Tension, Certified dage fucker, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Rimming, Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious interpretation of resentful energy)

Resent & Blossom by manaika (T, 26k, NMJ/WWX, JC & WWX, LWJ & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, Love Triangles, Pining, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, eferences to Fatal Journey, Strangers to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Murder Attempt)

Pastime (With Good Company) by nirejseki (Not rated, 25k, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is very thirsty, and not straight at all, same for LWJ, WIP)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***