#east will flourish once again

[blorbosexterminator]

Imo, "free Jewish people around the world from Zionism" is a much more accurate outcry than the dumb shit that is "free Palestine from Hamas"

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing. 

For you, at least. 

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world. 

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted. 

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?” 

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back. 

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him. 

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room. 

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep. 

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever. 

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake. 

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread. 

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist. 

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you. 

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.” 

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.” 

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor. 

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands. 

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.” 

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles. 

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken. 

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.” 

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament. 

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.” 

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely. 

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again. 

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?” 

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.” 

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck. 

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak. 

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.” 

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.” 

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.

[whencyclopedia]

Kingdom of Axum

The African Kingdom of Axum (also Aksum) was located on the northern edge of the highland zone of the Red Sea coast, just above the horn of Africa. It was founded in the 1st century CE, flourished from the 3rd to 6th century CE, and then survived as a much smaller political entity into the 8th century CE.

The territory Axum once controlled is today occupied by the states of Ethiopia, Eritrea, Djibouti, Somalia, and Somaliland. Prospering thanks to agriculture, cattle herding, and control over trade routes which saw gold and ivory exchanged for foreign luxury goods, the kingdom and its capital of Axum built lasting stone monuments and achieved a number of firsts. It was the first sub-Saharan African state to mint its own coinage and, around 350 CE, the first to officially adopt Christianity. Axum even created its own script, Ge'ez, which is still in use in Ethiopia today. The kingdom went into decline from the 7th century CE due to increased competition from Muslim Arab traders and the rise of rival local peoples such as the Bedja. Surviving as a much smaller territory to the south, the remnants of the once great kingdom of Axum would eventually rise again and form the great kingdom of Abyssinia in the 13th century CE.

Name & Foundation

The name Axum, or Akshum as it is sometimes referred to, may derive from a combination of two words from local languages - the Agew word for water and the Ge'ez word for official, shum. The water reference is probably due to the presence of large ancient rock cisterns in the area of the capital at Axum.

The region had certainly been occupied by agrarian communities similar in culture to those in southern Arabia since the Stone Age, but the ancient kingdom of Axum began to prosper from the 1st century CE thanks to its rich agricultural lands, dependable summer monsoon rains, and control of regional trade. This trade network included links with Egypt to the north and, to the east, along the East African coast and southern Arabia. Wheat, barley, millet, and teff (a high-yield grain) had been grown with success in the region at least as early as the 1st millennium BCE while cattle herding dates back to the 2nd millennium BCE, an endeavour aided by the vast grassland savannah of the Ethiopian plateau. Goats and sheep were also herded and an added advantage for everyone was the absence of the tropical parasitic diseases that have blighted other parts of sub-Saharan Africa. Wealth acquired through trade and military might was added to this prosperous agricultural base and so, in the late 1st century CE, a single king replaced a confederation of chiefdoms and forged a united kingdom that would dominate the Ethiopian highlands for the next six centuries. The kingdom of Axum, one of the greatest in the world at that time, was born.

Continue reading...

[oliversrarebooks]

I've been thinking all day about Lex accidentally putting Fitz to sleep with his humming. Sleepy Fitz, calming the energetic puppy.... He's so cute when he's sleepy

I want you to know that I very much love this prompt. Sleepy Fitz!

Masterlist

TW: hypnosis (but consensual and very gentle)

"Hey. I need you for a minute."

Lex frowned, trying to finish the paragraph he was reading despite Fitz's sudden demand for attention. Normally, he was happy to indulge his partner's whims, but this particular book was incredibly engrossing and he was almost at the end of it.

"I've got this great idea for a new magic trick. I doubt anyone on the whole East Coast has done it before," Fitz chattered, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact that Lex was still trying to concentrate on the book. "It's perfect. It's new, it's fresh, it's got volunteer participation, it uses a flashy, eye-catching prop, and it's great for suspense. Audiences are going to go nuts for it, I can already tell."

"Mmm," said Lex, doing his best to keep his focus on his book.

"So I altered the magic cabinet -- you know the one, the one I used for the knife throw trick. I think it'll work, but I need a tester." He flopped down onto the sofa next to Lex, shamelessly occupying every inch that Lex wasn't. "That's where I was hoping you could come in. All you'd really need to do is stand in the cabinet and look like your handsome self while I do the hard work performing all the dramatic flourishes."

"I can help you once I finish this book."

"There's no possible way that book is more interesting than my magic." Fitz had the audacity to worm his way onto Lex's lap, disrupting the book, as though he were a house cat. "Besides, you've read one book, you've read them all, I'm sure."

"Mmmhmm." Lex knew very well that Fitz was just trying to get a rise out of him to get some attention. And it wasn't as if he didn't want to provide, just --

Fitz had stopped talking, actually. And he was looking up at Lex with a dazed expression.

"Hmmmmm?" He drew the word out purposefully into a hum to confirm his suspicions, and was rewarded with a sleepy, slow blink. That's when he noticed the dark circles under Fitz's eyes. He'd been having nightmares again, a fact that was obvious to Lex but which Fitz still relentlessly denied. Once more, he was trying to cover his stress and exhaustion with excitement and demands for attention. 

"Mmmmm." Lex drew out the word into a hum, petting Fitz's hair a bit. His eyelids fluttered, looking so sleepy that it seemed like he might doze off right then and there. How had Lex not noticed? Lex hadn't even put any real hypnotic power into his words -- just the trace amounts that always tagged along on his voice -- and Fitz already seemed ready to hand over the keys to his mind.

It was awfully endearing to watch the chatter and bluster devolve into calm, sleepy submission.

Still, Fitz hadn't been a thrall for a long time, now, and Lex knew better than to invade his mind without permission, no matter how much his subconscious clearly seemed to want it. He snapped near Fitz's ear. "Wake up, love."

Fitz nearly toppled off the couch as he startled awake. "Hey! Were you trying to hypnotize me?"

"I certainly was not," said Lex. "I wasn't doing anything with my voice. I honestly think you're just so tired that you can't listen to me without starting to drift away."

"I'm not that tired," said Fitz, the barely concealed yawn betraying him. It was clear that discussing the subject, or perhaps even just listening to Alexander's speaking voice, was slowly but surely putting him to sleep.

"You don't have to be 'that tired,'" said Lex. "If you're tired, then I can help you sleep."

Fitz glanced away, and Lex could see the temptation in his eyes. "I'm not a thrall or a child. I don't need a lullaby to sing me to sleep. I'll be fine. I'll keep myself busy working on the magic  trick."

"As I said, I can help you once I finish the book. And until then, why not have a bit of a nap? I don't mind singing to you. In fact, it would be my pleasure."

The struggle behind Fitz's eyes was short-lived. He really must be tired to consider this so readily. 

"I'll ensure you don't have any nightmares."

A second yawn escaped Fitz as he conceded this. "All right, you win," he said. "Just this once, I'll let you pied piper me into a restful sleep."

That was all Lex wanted to hear. He cupped Fitz's cheek and sounded a low note, one filled with the command to relax, and drank it all in as the anxious energy in Fitz's eyes began to fade, his shoulders slumping, his jaw going slack. Relax, relax, relax.

Lex's singing was far more powerful than simple verbal commands, nearly irresistible to ordinary humans. The primary downside was that he couldn't give complex instructions that way -- his song was limited to very simple ideas and strong feelings. That was ideal for putting someone to sleep, though.

Relax. Calm. Peace. Setting aside his book for the moment, Lex continued to stroke Fitz's face and guide him down so that his head was resting in Lex's lap, golden ponytail spilling over his thighs. Relax, relax.

Fitz's gaze was both focused on him and so far away. Lex was making absolutely certain he had drained all of the unpleasant thoughts that were keeping him from true rest before he went to sleep. He kept his voice as soothing and quiet as possible as he washed Fitz's mind with the command to relax, rest, let go.

"How are you feeling, love?"

Fitz looked up at Lex with sheer adoration, and Lex hoped it wasn't all due to the song's influence. "That does feel real fucking nice," he said. "Gotta be careful, I'll want you to do this all the time."

Lex understood the temptation so very well, knew how uncharacteristically trusting Fitz was being to simply allow Lex to do this. And if he were simply some human thrall, Lex probably would keep him in a half-entranced state for perpetuity. But Fitz had always been, and always would be, an exception. 

"I don't mind," said Lex, burying his hand in Fitz's hair and rubbing at his scalp. This time, he laced into his song feelings of safe and comforted along with commands to relax, enjoying the effect as Fitz simply melted in his lap. A soft groan escaped Fitz's lips, and Lex couldn't resist adding in the urge to drop your defenses, let go, surrender.

Watching Fitz succumb to the siren song was always so beautiful, whenever Lex had the opportunity to do it. 

"Relaxed?" Lex questioned.

"Huh?" Fitz looked up at Lex as though even processing a simple question was a herculean effort. "Mmm, yeah. You're doing a number on me."

"Want to sleep?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," came his easy answer. No denying his tiredness, no trying to escape his nightmares by keeping himself up far too long. 

Lex hummed a soothing tune, this time filling it with the desire to go to sleep. Go to sleep, go to sleep, he commanded. So sleepy, so drowsy, shut your eyes down...

The effect on Fitz was immediate, his eyelids blinking slowly as the need to go to sleep took hold. Lex's sleep song was impossible to deny, he knew. He could easily stop a hostile human in their tracks just by casting his spell on them. Lex wondered what it felt like. He wasn't sure he could bear being that vulnerable around anyone.

All the more reason to protect Fitz.

Lex sang to sleep, go to sleep, as Fitz's eyes fluttered close and his face went slack. He brushed the heavy bags under Fitz's eyes. This would be good for him. He needed this sleep so badly.

Fitz curled up in Lex's lap, utterly unguarded and peaceful, as Lex stroked his hair and sang. He was like an energetic puppy whose motor had run low. Lex felt comforted himself, knowing that Fitz was content and safe. He picked up his book and resumed reading, this time petting Fitz's hair as he read the final chapters.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 18

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

Warnings: hey did u know this slow burn has some smut in it ;)

A/N: dividers by me, many many thanks to @desertbcrnnobody for the beta assist and PetrichorBather for help on the line about shipwrecks <3 y'all r priceless and ily. also, HAPPY 100K BROKEN ON COMMON GROUNDS I DIDN'T THINK WE'D GET THIS FAR

series masterlist

chapter 18: yet hanging in the stars

Qimir drove them east out of the city. Osha never needed to leave the city limits, what with the infrastructure supporting millions of lives that never needed to leave. In fact, Osha never left the city except for the tournaments—she had not attended the funerals following their orphaning, and Mae had stayed with her instead of attending herself.

They didn’t talk about it. At least, Osha didn’t talk about it. She didn’t talk about the frigid, impersonal visits to the frigid, impersonal graveyard where their mothers and two dozen other women were buried alongside them. She didn’t talk about how there was a strange disconnect between her mind knowing they were dead, and not knowing they were laid to rest. Anybody could be lying in a grave if there’s no proof of it.

Mae didn’t talk about the screaming nightmares she suffered for years. Sol certainly didn’t talk about it with them.

In that apartment, silence always spoke louder than anyone who dared break it.

They passed the graveyard as they headed east, and Osha said nothing.

They passed the exit that once stood for almost home, the one that led to a dirt road that would take them to the charred, decrepit husk of what was once a flourishing, colorful homestead.

She still said nothing.

Yet—

The scent-memory of smoke and gasoline lingered.

If her mood was markedly subdued for that stretch of highway, Qimir didn’t comment on it. He didn’t ask her how dinner with Sol and Mae went, but she told him it went fine anyway. Osha didn’t ask him how the drive back from Khofar went, but he told her it went fine as well. According to him, she knew him better than anybody else knew him, but in the moments of silence like this where they were both lost in thought, she could still call him a stranger.

I’m an open book. For you.

It made her questions all the more frustrating. There was some kind of block in her head, some barrier preventing her from just asking about all the confusing things that had been kicking around in her head since—well, since meeting him. Why were you even renting a place out in the middle of nowhere? The fuck is up with Idise? What are you lying to me about? What aren’t you telling me?

Weakly, she supposed whatever answers those questions would yield could only spell disaster for the uneasy relief between them. Why are you complaining? He’s back, isn’t he? Why risk running him off again with the reminders of whatever pushed him away in the first place? 

More and more questions, less and less answers.

…spoke a lot of words; I don’t know if I spoke the truth—got so much to lose, got so much to prove… God, don’t let me lose my mind…

“It’s not far,” he said, breaking the quietude that settled like snow even on the soft music from his iPod. “Have you never been out here?”

A loaded question. Osha clicked on the metaphorical safety for her answer. “Not this far, no.”

“The competitions were always more up north, huh?” he said, drifting back to shared (if uncomfortable) territory—the competition circuit.

“Yeah. The comp team is caravaning to Theed tomorrow, so I’ll have four whole days to myself. Kana offered me so many shifts,” she chuckled.

“Four whole days, huh?” he said, eyes flicking briefly to her though his focus remained on the road. “And what are you going to do with all that time to yourself, birthday girl?”

“I was hoping to make it your problem.”

A slow smile crept up his lips as he smirked out through the windscreen. “That so?”

“Is so.” Maybe four whole days will get me to just fucking ask one single question—

“Maybe we should have a sleepover one of those days. While the cats are away, so to speak.”

Her heart leapt in her throat. “A sleepover?”

Instead of clarifying, laughing it off, or any number of deflections, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “A sleepover.”

Infuriating man.

She turned the tables on him, bringing his hand to her lips so she could press a kiss to his knuckles. Against the smooth skin there, she murmured, “I can think of a lot of things to do at a sleepover, stranger.”

His eyes burned as they caught her gaze now, and slowly, almost daring—he brought his hand down to rest on Osha’s thigh. It was warm, and huge, and she knew the strength of it from many hours spent in the gym together. He brought her hydroplaning mind back to earth as he squeezed her leg once.

“So can I.”

It felt like all the air in the car had been sucked out with those three little words. She was vaguely aware of her gaping expression, the speechless stupor he’d sent her into with nothing but his hand.

“Is this alright?” he asked, thumb twitching against the outer seam of her jeans.

She nodded dumbly.

“Use your words, Osha,” he teased, voice dropping to depths only known to shipwrecks. He knew what he was doing to her, and she loved it—as much as it flustered her.

She cleared her throat. “It’s alright.”

For the rest of the drive, Osha was aware of little else but his hand—the minute fidgeting, his thumbnail scraping idly over every thick stitch through denim, the gentle flex and tap of his fingers moving in time with whatever song was playing. What little conversation they’d been having had ground to a full fucking stop, now that his hand seemed intent on melting her every thought from the inside out.

If he hadn’t needed to take his hand off of her to do so, she wouldn’t have caught the fact he was exiting off the highway. They went back and forth down a winding, tree-lined road that he drove with the utter confidence of a man who knew where the fuck he was going, despite not using a map or GPS or anything. It made the random-ass stop on a deserted road confusing, however.

“Where are—whoa!” she exclaimed, bracing herself with the handle as he took a right—

Straight into a field.

Qimir only laughed, driving further and further into the field. “Almost the-ere,” he said, sing-song.

“This is absolutely ‘taking the victim to a secondary location’ behavior!” she protested, but laughter bubbled up at just how silly it felt to dip and bump up and down in his little shitbox car. She would never have been able to drive as confidently as he did—not to mention, her cute little two-door sedan would never have made it past the shoulder.

Qimir stopped just as abruptly as he’d plunged them off the road. He hummed, pleased with himself. “We’re here.”

“Where the hell is here?”

He didn’t answer, killing the engine and getting out to get something from the trunk. Osha attempted to put herself to rights, using the mirror on his visor to check her makeup. She regretted the lengths to which she attempted her makeup: if they were going to be in the dark, he couldn’t appreciate it.

You can dress up for yourself, you know.

Medora’s words brought a smile to her face, and she snapped the visor closed before she could convince herself back into regret. 

Her door opened. “C’mon,” Qimir said. The light from the car’s interior only shone onto the lower part of his face, leaving his eyes in shadow. He had a few blankets in his arms and a little box she couldn’t readily recognize. Qimir and his weird little machines. She joined him in the cold and dark, offering her hand to share some of the burden. Qimir instead shifted all of his load to one arm and took her hand.

Well then.

They didn’t walk too far from the car. The field he’d driven them into was full of dead grass, rocks, and loose dirt, which made her wonder—“Are there snakes out here?” Osha was suddenly paranoid about the possibility and strained to listen for rattles or hissing. She focused on her footwork, not wanting to lose her new, precious ankle strength to a stray snakehole.

“It’s past deadwinter, but not so far past that the snakes want to hang out.”

“Deadwinter?”

“Have you never heard someone call it that?”

“I’ve heard the dead of winter, but never deadwinter.”

“They mean the same thing: high summer, the height of summer, the middle of summer, midsummer. There are many names to describe the same thing. Haven’t you read any Shakespeare?”

“Only when forced, and like almost ten years ago.”

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / by any other name would still smell as sweet.”

“You’re reading me poetry on my birthday?” Osha said, a little flustered by the subtle flex.

Qimir turned to her with a smile she could barely make out. She could only really see the glint of his teeth. “Yes, I am. Poetry from a tragedy, but poetry nonetheless. And in quite the romantic setting, if I say so myself.”

“A frozen field of dead grass and sleeping snakes is romantic to you?”

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her, his lips finding hers like iron found a lodestone. Osha briefly forgot about the cold and the snakes and the field. When he’d kissed his fill of her, he tilted her head back with a finger beneath her chin.

The stars stared back at her, beckoning with twinkling lights—so far away, yet within the reach of her gaze. Osha’s jaw dropped open at their brilliance. No wonder he drove them out so far; he wanted to escape the light pollution.

Where would you go?

If I left the city?

Hm.

I don’t know. Somewhere I could see the stars, maybe?

Even the moon was brighter than she’d seen in ages. In the city, she could occasionally see the moon through the smoggy sky—and when she was lucky, she saw a few bright stars. It wasn’t worth looking up when the skies were so disappointing—compared to her childhood memories, at least.

Her mother had taught her the names of the constellations: Orion, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, Cygnus, Taurus, Gemini—that was the one she pointed out first to Qimir. She couldn’t remember many others (and perhaps it wasn’t the right time of year for that anyway) but she would always remember the lesson where she was shown Gemini. One pale, slender hand, pointing into the cosmos, and a lilting, accented voice, saying—

The Twins, like you. The Hunter, Orion, stands guard while they sleep, or perhaps he is following them. What do you think, my love?

“There’s Gemini,” she said, breaking the silence at long last. “Castor and Pollux. The Twins.”

“Which is which?” Qimir asked softly.

“I thought you could tell twins apart,” she smirked, shaking off some of her bewildered awe to tease him.

Qimir pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Only some,” he murmured. “Happy birthday, Osha.”

He’d given her the stars.

Her heart did flips in her chest the entire time they set up, their progress interrupted by the ensorcelling awe of looking up every few seconds—as if she had to constantly remind herself the stars hadn’t moved. The small device he brought with them revealed itself to be a portable space heater, which he set on the tarp and not among the dry, dead grass.

They rolled down onto the pallet together and Osha squeaked when he pulled her whole body against his, deftly maneuvering her how he wished. The ease with which he moved her made her go a little lightheaded with want. Fuck, he can manhandle me anytime he wants. She rested her head against his chest, and he squeezed his hand against her ribs. “One more thing.” He tugged a blanket over them, enclosing them in a cozy, dark warmth that fought against the chill of the elements around them.

“There. Comfy?” he checked.

“Very,” she said, melting into his side. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, and she worried it would carry her to sleep if she wasn’t paying attention.

Nobody had done such a thing for her before. Her birthdays in childhood were full of warmth, bonfires and sweets. But those were celebrations of more than just herself, or even her and her sister. This was a gift solely for her to enjoy, all because he thought she would like it. She didn’t know how much she would like such a gift until she found herself rambling about the stars above, memories of those lessons with her moth unraveling like thread around a spool. What’s more, Qimir listened to her. She was slightly amazed that she remembered as much as she did. But she quietly named individual stars, planets, and constellations until her voice tired out.

“Is your heater gas-powered?” she asked, sniffing a little. “It smells like gasoline.”

He sighed, and it sounded more like he was disappointed—in himself. “No, it’s the blankets. My gas tank has issues, and I kept the blankets in the trunk a little too long; I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said sweetly, trying her best to ignore the scent on the blankets while she continued to speak. “The moon looks so beautiful, doesn’t it?” she asked.

She didn’t know why his heart started racing, but she could practically feel it tapping her cheek. She shifted and turned her head to look down at him.

He looked a bit dumbstruck, though he was just staring up at the stars. He turned his head to look at her, mouth somewhat agape. A shaky breath sawed out of him, nearly a wheezed laugh of disbelief. How strange.

“What?” she laughed.

“I… yes. The moon does look beautiful,” he agreed.

He wasn’t even looking at the moon.

Qimir and his… well. His whole deal.

She told him about her childhood. Her mama taught her to read, write, and do math, but her mother taught her to read things unseen by the eyes: stars, cards, palms, and the like.

Osha told her of the nights they would sit on the roof, naming constellations until the sun chased them all to bed. Osha remembered the way her mother used to look at the stars. It was the same way she looked at her and Mae when she thought they couldn’t see: glowing amber eyes full of all the love and joy she did not often show to them.

“…The compound always had someone casting a spell, performing a ritual, or crafting charms. Unplan kind of reminds me of that time. I haven’t followed the moon phases in almost 20 years, but I love getting to do it again. It was such a beautiful place to grow up. Women weaving at looms, countless voices harmonizing in songs, laughing with one another. I didn’t know any of that was weird or other back then. I didn’t know it was strange until Sol—” A sudden wave of sadness crashed over her, and the happy memory she’d been holding onto began to slip from her grasp. “I just thought—yeah, this is normal. Home was always more like… a coven, than a—”

Well. The newspapers had called it a cult.

All at once, the atmosphere changed. She could feel the cold again, and the sticky-uncomfortable sweat that had crept beneath her socks and her arms. The invading silence threatened to stretch on forever, but—

“They were your family,” Qimir said, offering an escape from her sudden despair.

But Osha couldn’t grasp that lifeline again. She tried to hide the single tear that slipped from her eye, but Qimir was too close not to catch it. “Are you alright?” he murmured.

She nodded, sniffling a little. “I think Mae had a point, seeing their graves earlier this week.” She swallowed down the growing thickness in her throat. “We lost them when we were 10. The summer after we turned 20, I think I could feel that I’d lived more of my life without them than with them. But we didn’t… we don’t talk about them. That’s why it was so shocking to me that she went at all. It’s just not something we do—we’ve never talked about what happened, not really.”

He hummed softly, a noise of understanding. “You can talk to me anytime you want, you know,” he said.

She snuggled in closer. “I know,” she said.

More silence passed, and the pressure in Osha’s heart built and built. The stars now looked a little dimmer overhead. If she let herself think how she used to, she could imagine they were giving them privacy.

The stars look back upon you as well, her mother had told her. The lucky stars only shine on the ones who see their light. These are the eyes of the ones we grieve. When I die, I shall be among them, looking down and watching over you and your sister. So look up, Osha. Look up.

Her heart ached with the effort of holding back her pain. A part of her still felt ashamed to grieve her mothers, to miss them at all. She’d gained a father from the deaths of her mothers, and Sol tried his best to fill in the gaps in her jagged, broken heart. Mae always seemed fine, connecting to Sol much easier than she had. It felt like, for that week she was in the hospital, Mae had completely rebounded from the life they lost—and from all the lives lost.

Sol had never adequately filled the hole in her heart where her mothers had been ripped away. She no longer had that warmth and togetherness she remembered from her birthdays in the beautiful, resplendent Before. All she’d been offered after was cold money and colder crystal—just the memory of what used to be.

Qimir held her while she cried into his shoulder, arms coming up to hide her from the universe where nobody could see her, not even the stars—hidden from her mothers, eternally waiting for her to look up. She sobbed against him, setting free out a flood of long-imprisoned emotions until her voice sounded as raw as she felt.

He did not shy away from her feelings. He did not flinch from her tears as Vernestra had. He did not run from her grief as Sol did. He did not find her emotions daunting or intimidating, as Mae did. But their fear did not mean she needed to change for their comfort. Osha felt her emotions so deeply. They were like a trench dug in her heart, their depths so dark and overwhelming that she’d only ever felt loneliness at the bottom of it all.

I promised myself I would never love someone who wasn’t willing to go as deep as I can.

A peek at Qimir showed a sight she never thought she’d see: tears on his face, illuminated by starlight above. His face was pained, but not from anything physical—it wasn’t the mask she remembered from training. This was an emotional pain, one she remembered from that first day in his apartment when he told her about his childhood. She remembered seeing him like this when dancing, asking him a question to which she knew the answer in her heart. His physical agony protected the broken heart it stemmed from, because this was a pain he couldn’t massage or numb away.

Because she knew that pain, she pressed their faces together, not in a kiss but in comfort, giving and taking. Their faces were wet and cold despite the warmth of the space between them. He brought his other arm up to wrap around her, crushing their bodies together as they quietly wept. Even as she wondered what he cried for, she felt a lot less lonely at the bottom of that trench in her heart.

A realization came like a bolt from the blue, a secret whispered from her heart to her ear. 

You love him. 

It was at once the heaviest and lightest secret she ever held, for it squirmed and thrashed from her heart in a desperate bid to be shared with him. Her mind caught it behind the bars of not the right time and it’s too soon to say it. Whatever delicate balance that kept them together, she didn’t think it could weather her whispering those three words right now.

I love you was a struck match. Attraction, glances, touches, kisses—those things were sparks, either catching heartstrings on fire or failing in a cough of smoke. Some hearts were made of kindling, ready for the match and burning bright and fast; other hearts were made of stubborn, damp timber. But hearts and hearths alike needed tending, feeding to burn through the darkest, coldest nights.

Osha knew the only warmth those words would bring now would be something akin to heartburn.

When they pulled back, eyes still glittering with unshed tears and unspoken things, she quietly thumbed away the tears on his face. He did the same for her, reverence in his starlit gaze as he fulfilled his duty. When he finished, he leaned down to kiss her lips, a soft thing that tasted of salt and starlight. The wave of grief had passed, and the storm was kept at bay another night.

For the first time, she didn’t feel the overwhelming need to apologize for crying.

She kissed him again, deeper. Their passion and heat charged in like a cavalry, decimating the lingering despair—at least while they touched. Osha wasn’t foolish enough to think her stranger’s affection would fully heal those broken pieces; especially if her own family hadn’t done so. But perhaps, with him, she could let him shore up the sides of her strength while she healed those sharp points herself. 

His hands were warm against her face, and she brought her own hands down to push under his t-shirt. She was going to kiss him again when her hands touched the smooth skin of his abdomen, but he jolted suddenly, making a noise of surprise. She didn’t draw back, peering closer at his suddenly very-neutral expression. “Are you… ticklish, stranger?” 

He scowled—no, that was another pout. “No, your hands are just blocks of ice,” he protested.

“No, they’re not.” She put her hands back on the trim, muscled sides of his torso and he squirmed back—“Look at you slithering! There are snakes out here! Ticklish snakes!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking ab-out—!”

She pounced. It was much the same position as he’d gotten her in, nights and nights ago, up in his dressing room. Her hands pinned his shoulders to the blanket, and her hips drove between his thighs to keep him where she wanted him. Qimir’s eyes widened, the struggle draining from him for several long, stunned seconds.

She’d taken him off guard. He looked just as surprised as she was.

Then, his jaw set and his hands came up to knock at hers.

The brief scramble for purchase was riddled with laughter and light, the stars’ brightness returning to the sky as they grappled on the blanket. He eventually got the upper hand—because she let him.

Osha landed against the blanket with an oof—it wasn’t as soft a landing as the wrestling mats at Unknown Planet. He had her pinned with one hand splayed wide against her chest, the other hand locked around her hip to keep her in place. Looming over her, he kept her locked in a hold she probably couldn’t have broken even if she wanted to. He breathed a little hard, but the feral smile on his face spoke wonders about all those naughty things he wanted to do with her.

Hello, Smiley.

Osha grinned sharply back at him, drawing her free leg up, up, up against his. She didn’t have the angle, strength, or want to flip the script on him, but she could distract him. She could shift the tides from here. Leveraging the only emotion that consistently overtook him in the ring, she ground her hips up against him. That emotion?

Pure, unfiltered desire.

He shuddered at the move, eyes closing as he gave into the feeling for a few indulgent seconds. He was hard; she could feel the burning heat of him against her inner thigh. When she sought to take more ground, he reinforced his pin on her. His eyes blazed hot as he glared down at her. “You know, Unplan doesn’t like this kind of fighting. Kind of obscene, don’t you think?”

“I thought you wanted to fight however you wanted.” She rolled her hips again. “Maybe I do, too.” She was openly tempting fate—and him. 

She wondered which was more powerful.

He smirked. She could practically hear him speaking directly into her mind—you’re playing with fire, Osha. She returned his gaze with a relaxed come-hither look.

To her disappointment, he released her, letting the air surge in between their heated bodies in a shock of cold.

“What?” she whined, pouting. She couldn’t free her hands to paw at him to get him to return, but she struggled against him.

“I’m not fucking you for the first time in a freezing cold field.”

Despite the furious heat that ignited in her face at the idea, she begrudgingly understood. “But we’re under the stars,” she protested anyway. And we don’t have to go all the way…

“Let’s raincheck the under-the-stars sex for spring; how’s that sound.” He sat back on his knees and helped her to sit up. Qimir rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed and calming his breathing—and perhaps, his dick. When she finally did the same, he said, “We’ve been out here for a few hours, and it’s only going to get colder. Let’s head back.”

Mae had texted her while they’d been stargazing.

M: Sol passed out on our couch before I left lol

M: I’m stayin somewhere else tonight

O: Yikes

Hm. A sleepover sounded more and more appealing right about now.

O: I might do the same

Mae returned Osha’s message instantly, which made her cringe. She’d probably been waiting for a reply since she sent it two hours ago.

M: Probably a good idea, even if you ARE getting out of hungover Sol duty

M: He said some weird shit before he passed out but it just sounded like he wanted to talk to us

O: Sol wtf??

O: Did u find out why?

M: No, but I can try to ask when we’re in Theed

M: Are you still with you know who?

O: Tell me who ur staying the night with and I’ll tell u

Mae’s little ‘Typing…’ bubble appeared, then disappeared. Osha could imagine her pouting.

M: Jecki

O: I KNEW IT OMGGGG

M: SHHHHH

M: It’s only practical I mean we’re driving to Theed together tomorrow adfjksjdhfsd

O: Suuuuuuuuure Mae suuuuuure

A few seconds passed without messages, and Osha knew she had to fulfill her end of the deal. But tonight had been so magical, she couldn’t bring herself to hide it from her sister.

O: I may be staying the night with him

O: I need to ask tho

She added one more thing, feeling oddly vulnerable while she did.

O: He took me stargazing

M: NO FUCKING WAY

Mae immediately tried to unsend her message, but Osha had already taken a hundred screenshots, cackling like the witches she was raised by. Osha teased her about breaking her three-year streak of not swearing, talking about framing that screenshot. They conversed mainly in emoji after that, teasing one another how they used to.

Osha knew things weren’t square between them. Mae was still extremely wary of Qimir even though she seemed… open to Osha seeing him. Qimir felt similarly about Mae, but based on his reactions to Osha’s reservations about granting forgiveness, he must have felt guilty about playing a part in the tension between the sisters. This birthday armistice had been nice, but Osha knew it would most likely end by morning.

She sighed and set down her phone after wishing Mae a good night. Her soul felt contented for the first time in a very long time.

“Everything alright?” Qimir asked, settling his hand back on her thigh now that they were back on the highway—heading west, outrunning the sunrise.

“Yeah, I just don’t wanna deal with my hungover dad when I get back.”

“What?” he said, concerned.

“Yeah, Mae said he celebrated our birthday too hard and passed out on our couch. But Mae left to hang out with her girlfriend so I’m stuck on drunk dad duty. And I totally knew Jecki was her girlfriend even though she didn’t say anything. I feel so vindicated.”

Her attempts at brushing past the uncomfortable parts of her story were met with tense silence, and her heart dropped. Qimir flexed his fingers over the steering wheel. “Does he do that a lot?” he asked softly.

The serious concern in his tone made her cringe. She made herself laugh, pushing levity into the air. “No, it’s not like—well, it’s not super often. We just—we always joke that for as much as Sol’s a welterweight, he’s outclassed against Mae’s mulled wine.”

No, they didn’t. Why would someone joke about that?

Qimir nodded tightly, and she felt her face go a little hot, blood going acidic with shame. The familiar words needed to defend Sol rose in her mouth like bile, but she didn’t spit them out like she’d done a hundred times before. It was probably good that she did—until Osha knew where Sol fit into everything, she didn’t want to praise him around Qimir. He was reacting a little strongly to her news, very tense and still and quiet about it. For all she knew, Sol was the one who—

No, don’t even imagine that, Osha.

Qimir was saying something.

“What?”

“I said, if that’s the case, you can stay the night at my place.”

I’m not fucking you for the first time in a freezing cold field, he’d said. And his apartment was certainly not freezing cold…

Her lips curled into a very self-satisfied grin. “Like a sleepover?”

“To sleep,” Qimir chuckled, knowing just where her mind had gone.

“But it’s my birthday,” she pouted, knowing she was being childish.

“You’re right, it is,” he said flatly. “For the next… fourteen minutes.”

The horny part of her brain that she’d recently allowed out on parole started rioting in the streets of her mind. NO!!!! He wants to sleep with you but in the WRONG WAY!!

A quick check-in with her body told her she was growing pretty tired—and he drove all the way here from Khofar earlier today, she reminded herself. 

“Do you want me to stay the night?” she asked.

The hand on her thigh flexed a little, as if he was keeping his hand from grabbing her impulsively. “I do,” he said, voice gone a little low—louder than he’d been speaking before.

“Then I would love to stay over. Thank you for offering.”

His hand grabbed hers to kiss her knuckles briefly before returning to its post on her thigh. She relaxed, and smiled for the rest of the drive back.

She took a step toward the trunk after they parked. “I can carry the blankets up,” she offered.

He waved her off, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. They can survive another night in the trunk.”

The walk to his apartment felt too similar to the last time she’d been there—three days ago, pacing the hall and wondering where he’d gone. Osha swallowed down the memory as he let them in.

The soft lamplight held a similar cozy glow as the stars, though not as cold and distant. This was a comfort she could touch, a relief within reach. She sat on his couch beside him as they took off their shoes, and he put them by the door along with their coats. Her heart did flips as she wondered repeatedly—is this where he drops the act? Is this where he comes out behind the door and grabs me in a passionate fervor and tosses me on the bed and tears my clothes off like a fierce conqueror indulging in the spoils of—

He returned bearing a few things—a shirt, a pair of basketball shorts, and a sheepish expression. “I’m a bit short on actual pajamas, but I hope these will do.”

No spoils of war this time, huh.

She zipped into the bathroom to change, schooling her wanton imagination at least for now. Like they did at Unplan, she kept the door cracked so they could talk if they wanted. But the energy here was much more charged than it was in Unplan, and it kept her from actually speaking as she disrobed.

What would happen if I just walked out there in nothing but my underwear? a reckless part of her posited.

Surely, nothing good. But perhaps… something great.

The demons were winning this war against her self-control, but in the end, she did not do any of those depraved things she’d been thinking about. I deserve a medal. 

He was in a deep spine stretch that even Osha probably couldn’t reach, despite her lifelong devotion to flexibility. Oh yeah. Nighttime stretches. There will be no warrior-maiden roleplay this evening. Bummer.

She had the perfect vantage point of him as he looked up and went preternaturally still. He didn’t even seem to breathe as his eyes raked across her body, taking in every inch of her as she moved closer. She settled before him and folded herself into a similar pose, holding eye contact as she wordlessly fell into her usual nighttime stretching routine.

He broke her gaze, and Osha caught the sliver of his smile a moment before he hid it in his stretch.

It felt unspeakably intimate, like sharing a sacred ritual only ever performed in private. The only noises were their breathing, the soft shift of fabric, and the brief slide of skin against skin. At some point, their breathing synced up, inhales matching exhales. Their internal clocks lined up such that they switched sides simultaneously without even speaking.

His routine was slightly longer than her own, but not overly so. Since he’d gotten a head start on her, they finished around the same time, two bodies laying beside one another in corpse pose. What a false term for such a serene position—especially when Osha had never felt so alive.

His hand brushed hers, probably a signal to sit up, but she laced her fingers with his instead. He didn’t miss a beat, squeezing her hand once and rolling to a seated position. She followed suit, though she liked the view of him slightly above her. 

Her suppositions from before had been correct. He looked tired, the hours of the day weighing on his face.

“Sleepy?” she asked.

He nodded. Osha brought his hand to her lap to lightly trace it with her fingertips. She marveled at how his bones turned smooth skin into bodily geography—knuckles making mountains and valleys, tendons in the back of his drawing lines like tilled earth all the way to his wrist, where soft blue veins carved rivers of blood in toward his heart and back again. A whole world upon his hand, and only she could see it, touch it.

He probably knew the anatomical names for every part of him she touched. He’d been trained to see the hand for its anatomy, for its limits and its functions. Osha had spent her childhood reading hands like divinity had whispered secrets into every dip, valley, ridge, and whorl.

I wonder if I still got it, she thought. How much her palmistry knowledge had been lost to fire and tragedy?

His palm told the story of a man riddled by betrayal and loneliness, his strength forged not in fire but by storms weathered. His soul was well-rooted, grounded in reality, not ambition, so spake his hand. What goals he had would be achieved, come hell or high water. She’d done this before, once—speaking with him in his office. Mount of Venus, heart line, fate line, life line. His heart started jagged but faint, and strengthened by degrees across his palm. His fate split in two early on, but skipped back to the same line after some time—and again, and again, and again. And his—

“What does my hand say?”

His voice broke the quiet like a spoon on burnt sugar. His fatigued smile still showed interest in her.

She’d read him the stars earlier, and she would have gladly read him his palm and his fortune, but perhaps first… a bit of mischief.

Osha bit back her grin and bent over his hand, rubbing her thumbs across the ridges and callouses. He held still, obedient despite her giving no orders. She hummed like she was deeply considering the quandary before her. She looked up, serious as the grave, and said, “It says you masturbate with this hand.”

His jaw went slack and a blush bloomed high in his cheeks before he laughed, probably too loud for this time of night. He sucked a breath in to possibly speak, but no words came out—only more peals of laughter. He didn’t move his hand from her hold, not even as he tossed his head back to laugh some more. Osha joined him, giggling over the joke.

In middle school, it had gotten out that she and Mae were raised by a cult of witches in the boonies. Mae had denounced it quite publicly, saying she didn’t believe in all that. 

(Osha knew better. Osha remembered how her sister earnestly bowed her head at the spells, moved with intention through forms, and assisted in moon rituals and holidays on the Wheel. Osha remembered when they were almost worshiped by the other women. Osha remembered that Mae liked it. Mae just liked being liked, and people liked you better when you weren’t weird. Osha never learned that lesson.)

But Osha had responded to the bullying in a different way. She could never block out the scorn or the teasing jokes, and she allowed it to incense her to the point where she could deftly shift the embarrassment back on her antagonizers. Osha had a million comebacks for every person who sought to ridicule the faith practices they were raised on: The cards told me your parents don’t love you. All the stars and planets have aligned to whisper a truth: you fucking suck. You masturbate with this hand. It earned her a reputation as someone not to be messed with, and she wore it proudly, even though it isolated her further from her peers.

But Qimir wasn’t a bully wheedling for her to read her fortune just to laugh at her. Qimir was playful, Qimir was fun. Qimir liked her jokes and made her feel like she could be herself again. He even made her feel a sliver of that worship that once made her uncomfortable—but not now.

“Your face—!” she laughed, nearly tipping to the side while Qimir gathered himself again.

“And you accuse me of playing with my food,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “You loved that.”

Shameless, she smiled. “Yes, I did.”

They soon lay on opposite sides of his bed. To sleep, he’d said. Insisted, really. The earlier laughter made it easier to stay on target, but when they were settled in, and the lights went out, all that potential for nighttime activities returned with hurricane force, battering against a crumbling sea wall of self-control. Osha swallowed, staring up at the darkness and chewing on her lip.

“For the record, your hand said you’d live a very long, healthy life,” she said, nerves coloring her voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say much else, let alone the things she’d actually read and felt. “I’m a bit rusty, though. You could die tomorrow, and it’s your hand’s fault.”

That selfsame hand came to wrap around one of hers, prying her fingers open from the claw they’d made around the comforter. Osha forced herself to relax, focusing on her breathing and her heart rate. He didn’t remark on her hasty words, and was quiet for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep. Just as she was about to doze off, he spoke.

“For the record, your original reading was accurate anyway.”

The noise Osha made wasn’t remotely human.

“Good night, Osha.”

Her senses awoke one by one—first, the smell of breakfast and coffee. Second, the sound of someone cooking said breakfast. Third—

God damn it, Qimir is not allowed to be that sexy first thing when I wake up.

She snuggled in closer to the pillow beneath her head to watch him work in comfort, hiding half her face beneath the covers. He’d opened the curtains over some of his windows for once, letting in the pale winter sunlight. It made him look like a carved marble statue come to life, leeched of his actual skin color but resplendent and perfect nonetheless.

His scar didn’t snag her gaze the way it had the first couple of times she’d seen him shirtless. It was part of him, a part of him that wouldn’t go away—the same as her scars. And she loved it just the same.

God, so I really do love him, don’t I? she thought to herself.

As if sensing her thoughts about him, he turned to look back over his shoulder. He had no shirt on, but… he’d put on his glasses? What the fuck, nerdy fantasies. There was a soft clatter as he set the pans to the side. Then, he set his sights on a new focus: her, awake. He was by her side in three long strides, and parked his ass right next to her on the bed.

Up close, his handsomeness was lethal. His hair fell loose around his face, still mussed on one side. Bedhead. “Good morning,” he said, resting one hand on her hip. He gently tugged the covers off her face when she didn’t readily respond.

She was still in that warm, hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, gaping at his (quite honestly) illegal I-woke-up-like-this hotness. He tilted his head to the side, inky black hair brushing over his stupid, broad shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes drifting off her face and down her body like he could X-ray image her through the covers.

“I’m okay!” she said, squeaking and moving to sit up too fast. She smacked her head against the wood headboard—“Fuuuuck!”

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, helping her ease away from the headboard and guiding her to a seated position. His eyes had taken on a more serious glint.

Hello, Coach Lo will see you now.

Even his voice had dropped to that authoritative pitch. “That sounded like it h—”

“You’re too hot to be doing this right now,” she complained, interrupting him. “See? I have a concussion now.”

“H-how does that correlate?” he asked, voice gone a little high.

“Because you’re too goddamn pretty it breaks my brain,” she said flatly.

That same precious pink blush from the night before flared across his cheekbones. Osha reveled in how deeply she could fluster him. She was used to rattling his composure, just a shake of the bars on his self-made cage here and there. This wasn’t really rattling—this was something else, something that touched a little deeper than he thought someone could reach.

“I don’t—you. You’re beautiful,” he stammered.

His bashfulness was adorable. It was a marvel that he could ever step into the ring against another fighter, if he was so affected by something so terrifying as flattery.

“Yeah, well, who’s concussed?” she finally said, breath leaving her in a nervous tremble.

“You’re not concussed,” he laughed.

“You don’t know that,” she pouted.

He raised one eyebrow. “I’ve got a doctorate that says otherwise.”

“Do your athletes ever call you Doctor Loharne?” she said, holding onto the subject shift with both hands.

“Well, I’m a DPT, only MDs really get called Doctor.”

Pouting, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Semantics.”

He grasped her chin lightly between his fingertips, turning her face back to him in an aching, heart-stopping, knee-weakening gesture that stole her breath. “Follow my finger with your eyes,” he said, mock-serious. She was helpless but to follow his orders, playing along. “Hmm, pupils responding normally, if a bit dilated,” he smirked. “Do you know where you are?”

“Your apartment,” she scoffed, fighting back her smile.

“Where’d we go last night?”

“A random field off of ’77.”

“What’s your name?”

“Osha Aniseya.”

“And who am I?”

“You’re mine.”

His jaw dropped, allowing a startled breath to trip out of his lungs. His eyes went wide, but his blinks looked like he was forcing himself to do so. He looked seconds from pinching himself.

“Was that not the answer you were expecting?” she teased.

He fell toward her, leaning in to kiss her like a prince waking a princess—

Okay, warrior-maiden roleplay is back.

He moved his legs up to straddle over top of her, pinning her mostly beneath the covers as he kissed her. Still just in sweats, her hands yearned to touch him, greedy in a way she wasn’t used to. His lips moved smoothly over hers, but the sheer excitement and eagerness in his kisses belied his more affected nature.

He’d been feeling more around her—not only feeling, but showing her those feelings, too. His want, his desire, his affection. They were all there, but it was only recently that he made a choice to let her in on the secret. And knowing all this, she shared her secrets back. Osha moaned into his mouth, wrenching her hands free from their bedding prison so she could grab at him how she wanted.

It made his arms fucking buckle, the first time she dragged her nails over his shoulders. He pressed almost his full weight against her, his body rolling it into a smooth press against her. They were nearly flush, hip-to-hip and mouth-to-mouth at the bare minimum. And he was hungry. His lips found her mouth, her jaw, and her neck to nibble and bite and suck on. Osha gasped up at the ceiling, sensation sparking down her spine as heat pooled between her legs so quickly she would have swooned if she was standing.

He wasn’t disaffected by the closeness, either. As before, last night beneath the stars, he was hard against her, but instead of drawing back, he rolled his hips foward, joining her. He felt nearly searching, tentative as he felt out her comfort level with his.

That level was fucking high.

“Get off the sheets,” she mumbled, practically kicking them down and off of her. His dark chuckle, low and husky, accompanied her victory. Qimir kissed her again, settling between her thighs with an indulgent groan.

“Fuck, you already feel so good,” he sighed, breathing the words against her neck. He withdrew only a few inches, enough to see her eyes. His hands went to her hips, gripping them before hauling her halfway into his lap.

Osha’s mind shorted out as his erection pressed right against her clit—just a few swishy layers of fabric between them. But he didn’t move, waiting for her response. She considered their bodies, biting her lip and delighting in the swollen, tingling feeling he’d left her with. Whatever conscious consideration went into the glint of determination in her eyes, she hoped it was enough for him to continue.

Apparently it was as he continued to rock his hips forward. The entire searing length of him dragged over the second-best place it could, all told. She feared she’d burn beneath his touch if there were any fewer clothes between them. He pressed his face into her neck, mouthing and kissing over the spots that made her moan, and biting at the places that had her hips kicking up against his in helpless pleasure.

Time felt sticky, unimportant between them. They were racing for an end she couldn’t see but could feel fast approaching. Qimir’s bulk blocked out the majority of her vision when he rose onto his elbows above her. He didn’t speak, only looking down at her. His teeth glinted white behind the dark red flush in his parted lips. The expectation in her mind curled into confusion the longer he moved without speaking—and then her insides did a flip when she realized:

He wants to watch me come.

It felt like the breath was punched out of her, her body almost jolting at the next roll of his hips against her. How did he know? How did he know she could come just like this, with him pressed against her? Perhaps it was just how worked up he’d gotten her, perhaps it was the stars aligning for that perfect, perfect friction—whatever it was, he was confident about how this was going to go.

Her nails dug into his upper biceps, and her body went limp and pliant for him. Do as you will, the move said. I’m yours. At that thought, she whispered, “You’re mine.”

Qimir’s groan sounded almost painful, and she felt his cock twitch against her through his shorts. His movements hastened, and what control she had over her sanity was quickly jettisoned off the face of the earth. A soft whine escaped her mouth, and she strained not to writhe and ruin the perfect thing he was giving her. A garbled whimper of his name had him sinking to press his forehead against hers, eyes still boring holes into her soul.

Just like that, she was there. Her legs couldn’t snap closed against the onslaught of white-hot pleasure, wrapped around his hips as they were. She fought to keep her eyes open for him, but they kept fluttering closed until a new wave of pleasure crashed over her. She felt fucking possessed, haunted by need and feeling and more—

And he was talking, she realized.

“—that’s it, just take it, come for me, Osha. C’mon, baby,” he groaned softly, practically whispering as to not speak over the desperate noises he was pulling from her. “So beautiful like this, go ahead, ride it out, use me just like that—”

Another whine of his name had him snapping back to attention and out of the pleasured haze he’d been drifting in. “Want you to—” she could only get a few words out before he kissed her, hard.

“You want me to come for you like this?” he breathed, practically speaking into her mouth.

She nodded, their teeth clacking together a little as she struggled to kiss him back. “Can you?” she asked.

His breath hitched and he closed his eyes, drawing a deep inhale through his nose. He gave a quick, jerky nod before checking on her again, that is this what you want am I what you want vulnerability shining through.

She brought a hand to the back of his head, twining her fingers into his hair and keeping him here with her, in the moment. “Let me see you,” she whispered, weakly rolling her hips up against him. The overstimulation was fast approaching, sparks blowing closer to dry grass.

His face flushed red as he gave a shaky little thrust against her, nerves driving him until desire took the reins once again. And then he was there, that leashed, monstrous want he kept behind his ribs.

Hello, there, her smirk said to it.

When he realized she wasn’t going to flinch or shy away from him, he pressed harder against her, a firm and claiming weight that had her almost concerned she’d come again, just watching him chase his orgasm. Soft, needy whines escaped on the tail of his every harsh exhale, primal and thrilling and everything she ever wanted.

You love him, she was unhelpfully reminded.

She drove the soul-deep feelings away, focusing on him. Osha tugged at the root of his hair, where it wouldn’t hurt but it’d burn. The noise he made was unforgettable, echoing sharply in the cavernous apartment. It heralded his peak, and he gave two, three sharp thrusts before he gritted his teeth and rode out his orgasm. He looked nearly in pain as he came, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining beneath her touch. It grew hotter, wetter between them, the warmth seeping into not just their clothes but every fucking inch of her.

He was shaking, frozen still as he tried to put the pieces of his mind back together. She gently rolled him off her, just to the side but still touching. He ducked his face into her shoulder, hardly possessing the capacity to kiss her—so instead, he just pressed his face there.

Their breaths evened out, neither forcing calm between them as they came down from the madness. When he lifted his head from her shoulder, his eyes still looked hazy, but the sated, happy smile on his lips made her heart soar.

“Hello,” she said softly, pushing back the hair that had fallen in his eyes.

“‘Lo,” he slurred. God, she felt like she was glowing.

“Hi,” she laughed.

His eyes filled with that I’m gonna kiss you now look. “Hi,” he mumbled, leaning in—

The smoke detector objected. He froze, just a half-inch from her lips.

“God fucking damn it—” he growled, eyes sliding to the side like he could glare the shrill beeping away. Stubbornly, he finished what he was going to do and kissed her anyway, deep and filthy and hot. Despite the passion, it made her laugh in delight the moment he ripped himself away from her.

She had to keep herself from depravedly watching his lower half as he snapped the range dials off and searched for a tea towel. The smoke detector sang the song of its people, and Osha could only continue laughing at the circus unfolding before her. 

Qimir leveled a baleful (but playful) glare in her direction as he waved a towel around, but when the apartment went blissfully quiet, he dropped the scowl in favor of a smile.

“Excellent work, Coach Lo,” she said, her voice only a little shaky from the draining adrenaline of their previous activities. She’d intended the remark to tease, but it had a much different effect on him than she planned for.

Even from the bed, she could see his eyes darken again, how they’d done when she pulled on his hair. Qimir rolled his shoulders back and breathed out—very slowly. At the very end of his exhale, he tilted his head, considering her with amusement and no small amount of caution. His fingers tapped, fidgeting, against the counter where he’d pressed his hands flat atop them.

“What?” she asked, less nervous than delighted.

“I just didn’t know how much I’d like hearing you call me that.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Yeah. Oh.”

Shit. That was out loud.

“Um. Do you need help with breakfast?” she asked, getting to her feet finally. She was surprised she could even goddamn walk, as relatively tame as they’d been. Her legs still felt like jelly.

He looked over his shoulder at the pan. “It can be salvaged, but…” his gaze looked down at something hiding behind the counter. Osha’s face flushed.

“You clean up, I’ll plate,” she said, approaching him with that same amusement-caution cocktail he was sipping at.

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before brushing by her to do just that.

He was right; breakfast was salvageable, and she joined him after her turn in his bathroom. The atmosphere was relaxed and perfect, the afterglow of shared pleasure and tangled sheets still radiant in their skin.

Breakfast conversation followed that same kind of feeling, mild and a little sleepy in places as they woke up for real this time. It was incredible, how an orgasm could push away the mountain of questions that threatened to crush any contentment they felt.

As if knowing she wasn’t thinking about it, all those unspoken, unasked things slammed back into her. This time, he caught her sudden pensiveness.

“What is it?” he asked, the hint of nervousness in his voice drawing her back in. Did I do something wrong? Do you regret me? Do you not want me? All those questions lingered in his eyes.

She took his hand. “You’re fine,” she assured him, kissing his knuckles.

“Something’s the matter, though. That’s your something’s the matter face.”

She sighed. Maybe it was naive of her to think she could stave off the questions and uncomfortable topics forever, even if this moment was perfect. With enough time, those topics would make it so there was never a perfect moment again. The last week itself was enough to have her buckle under the stress—from Indara’s conversation in the storage closet he used to live in, to the questions she had about the fight two months back, to Qimir’s disappearance.

Not to mention Idise.

She didn’t want me to find and follow him.

She had a lot to say, a lot to ask, and she had to start somewhere.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “So Idise was at the Temple.”

CHAPTER 19

A bit of post-script:

The song referenced is Trouble by Cage the Elephant

Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare is referenced twice which is really an exercise in restraint for me as the first draft had FIVE (5) references: the title, yet hanging in the stars, is at 1.4.105; and the what's in a name soliloquy is at 2.2.46-47

also formatting the texts for tumblr is equal parts so much fun and such a hassle i hope someone out there enjoys them

[goodqueenaly]

Not sure if you are the right person to ask this but what is the deal with Gerion's trip to Valyria? Because according to Fire and Blood, after Aerea died Jaehaerys forbid anyone from Westeros from ever going there and ordered than any ship suspected of having been there should be turned away from ports.

Did somebody later overturned that order so it was again legal to go there, did Gerion think it wouldn't apply to him because he's a Lannister or did Tywin find a neat way to get rid of problematic brother without dirtying his hands personally?

I think the No-Prize Answer is that even if this law was still on the books, so to speak, and remembered by anyone (except, say, the platinum-link maesters of the Citadel) by 291 AC, Robert Baratheon was probably not particularly inclined either to recall this bit of history or enforce it as king, especially when it came to his uncle by marriage. Robert was by no means stupid, but his areas of expertise were never highly scholastic, and so a decree issued nearly two and a half centuries prior may not have even registered in Robert’s mind as an important point in his education. Moreover, as king - especially a king almost a decade into his reign by 291 AC - Robert displayed little interest in his role as supreme judicial authority in the realm, calling laws a “tedious business” and bemoaning the work of “listen[ing] to them [i.e. his subjects] complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw”. It is possible, if not indeed probable, that Robert was too busy hunting, hawking, and/or pursuing a fleeting extramarital affair to even bat an eye at the idea of one of his subjects sailing to the ruins of Valyria, much less whether such a voyage would be legally forbidden.

Too, even if Robert had thought to bring up Jaehaerys I’s decree, he may have refrained from doing so in deference to his Lannister in-laws. It is no secret, certainly by the time of AGOT, that Robert had allowed Lannister influence to flourish at court, to the exclusion of virtually any other aristocratic faction: his acceptance of Tyrek and Lancel Lannister as his squires, his acceptance of Jaime as the Warden of the East following the death of Jon Arryn, his concession to Cersei over Lady at Darry. While Gerion Lannister left Westeros some seven years before the start of the main novels, I could very much believe that Robert had already begun to allow this Lannister domination at court: after all, he had seemingly raised no objection to his (ostensible) firstborn son being given an explicitly Lannister( and to that point, historically pointed) name, nor to his daughter being given a very Lannister-like name (and in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Cersei named Tommen after Uncle Gerion himself and his voyage, a nod to the Lannister glory once lost by King Tommen which this favorite uncle hoped to reclaim). I don’t tend to think Tywin engineered Gerion’s voyage - an audaciously confident far-reaching quest to reclaim the symbol of Lannister regal power, undertaken by this most reckless of Tytos Lannister’s sons, doesn’t seem too far off from some of the actions of, say, Jaime or Tyrion - but I do think that if some or all of the Lannisters supported Gerion in this voyage (and funded him going on it), Robert may not have been personally inclined to fight his queen and/or the Lannister faction about it.

Of course, the practical answer is that GRRM introduced the idea of Gerion Lannister sailing to Valyria, (almost certainly) never to return, many years before he described Jaehaerys I forbidding Westerosi from sailing to Valyria. Just as Fire and Blood Volume 1 described the infrastructure improvements in the capital instituted by Jaehaerys I without acknowledging what happened to King’s Landing thereafter to make it the stinking cesspit of the main novels, for example, and alluded to hatchlings and young drakes extant during the reigns of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I without ever explaining why there were no more adult dragons than those we already knew going into that book, so F&B gave us this decree without attempting to reconcile it with the current attitude of the Westerosi legal system toward voyages to the Smoking Sea. It’s entirely possible we get an answer to this apparent contradiction in a future novel, and/or in Fire and Blood Volume 2, but for now it simply remains an apparent unanswered question.

[ceescedasticity]

Highly specific scenario question for the Teleri royals that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, because I’ll need it for a fic when I finally get to writing it: What would happen if Finrod actually DID bring the swanships back circa 450 FA, and reported that Fëanor and Fingolfin are getting along in Beleriand and the Noldor have Angband besieged, at a stalemate—at least, that’s how it was when Finrod left; apparently he and all his small navy have been enchanted-asleep for several hundred years, and based on many people’s faint senses of exiled loved ones, there was just a massive battle where many died.

How would assorted Olwëans react? How would they react when Finrod inevitably promptly said, “oh god, I have to go back and help fight; who’s with me?”?

Details that may matter:

It’s as near to ALL the Swanships as can be remotely expected—there was attrition of storms, incompetent sailors, 1 or 2 Falthrim fell in love with specific ships and the ships were content to stay with them; but basically all came home, sailed by a combination of the guiltiest, most homesick, and most competent sailors

Finrod reports that Fëanor is officially High King of the Noldor in exile, but functionally Maedhros is High King of the Noldor and Fingolfin and Finrod (now Angrod) are more or less doing as they please as Kings of East and West respectively. Also, Elwë’s forest kingdom is flourishing with his Maia wife and daughter (he thinks the Noldor are collectively assholes), and Nowë and a bunch of people are doing great on the shore, and there’s etc. Laegrim, and dwarves… [Finrod did sail before Men showed up.]

Finrod & co sailed over 300 years ago, and this delay is very directly due to the Valar not letting them in, even though their goal is basically just to apologize and set things right. (If that eases the Doom and/or gets them more allies, well, it’s not the primary goal.)

Ambarussa also came with the world’s most non-apology apology message for Nerdanel from Fëanor, and a smidge of a hint of offer of alliance to the Valar (ie, the instructions for making silima, which he’d previously kept jealously secret). This won’t affect any initial reactions in Alqualondë because the twins sneak ashore separately to deliver it, but the gist of the messages become publicly known.

Of close relatives, Curufin died in that initial terrible battle; more importantly, Aegnor dies within a year afterward. Not long after Aegnor’s death, the Valar assure everyone—and cross-sea death awarenesses confirm—that the conflict has abated again, though it remains more ongoingly active than it has been for several centuries.

It’s narratively convenient for me that no backup reach Beleriand for another 20 years, though you don’t need to hold to that—I can futz with the timeline. What happens in 20 years is, in short order, Fëanor blows up Thangorodrim and active war resumes, and Lúthien comes to Mandos to plead for Beren.

Hmmm…

The ships not getting destroyed is going to make a significant difference in the mood in Alqualondë — for example, Volue will have spent 400-some years pining and fretting rather than seething, and while he's an extreme case he's not alone.

Not pictured: Luinél spending 300 years getting more and more sure the ships are reachable if people will just let her try and quite possibly trying to take Swan-salt out to the Enchanted Isles to look and getting shooed back to Alqualondë by Ainur. —Possibly more than once. —Probably accompanied by Duimiwen, Duinipen, Nettë, Telperin, and in fact Volue on one or more occasion. —Obviously Olwë disapproves of these unauthorized excursions! but he never put Swan-salt under guard, either.

There is still a lot of anger, and still some people who have decided to make hating Noldor their entire personality, but the ships being intact means there's less, and the ships being returned has a lot of meaning.

—I think the end result is going to be some people are still being assholes, but it isn't hard for Olwë to bring the Lindar around to the idea of "the swan-ships aren't leaving our sight [or the harbor, until they get too restless], BUT we will help you build and sail new ships to return to Beleriand".

(When Olwë says that, he adds 'Valar permitting' on the end. Not everyone else does. The ships really being just out of reach for 300 years for Mysterious Valar Reasons hasn't impressed anyone.)

Olwë would rather the Lindar not start volunteering to go to Middle-earth as more than a taxi service, but suspects it's going to be unavoidable.

The Exiles directly involved in the Kinslaying should still expect to be banned from Alqualondë and Lindarin ships until they have made satisfactory apologies.

And like I said there are still angry people — but the predominant mood is more focused on the ships than the Noldor.

[yamayuandadu]

thank you for the reply and the information! I was curious how the other fox would fit in with PCB Extra's metatextual mention of Three Lands, but I hadn't even considered it might be three worlds and not three countries. this is neat

(Original post for context)

I forgot I left the response to this in my drafts, sorry. Luckily, this means I could update it with recently acquired knowledge when I found it again. Truth to be told, my point is less that the other fox is a better match, and more that Ran being Tamamo no Mae is one of these things which make sense at first glance, but the deeper you look into it, the less coherent it becomes.

This got much longer than I planned, so for organizational purposes let's refer to this post as Revenge of the "graveyard god", or why I don't think Ran is Tamamo no Mae. More under the cut.

The early Tamamo no Mae

The main point of connection between Tamamo no Mae and Ran are the nine tails, but that’s not even really a consistent part of the former's background. The oldest version of the story - which is really fun, the seduction section is pages upon pages of Tamamo and emperor Toba discussing esoteric Buddhism -  states that she was “an 800-year-old two-tailed fox from the Nasuno Plain in Shimotsuke Province”. Early depictions of her true form follow this pretty closely:

Nezu Museum of Art, via Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds. A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales

Kyoto University Rare Materials Digital Library

Suntory Museum of Art

As far as I am aware, the two tails are actually unique to her. Other foxes of note have either one tail or nine. While it does seem the belief in the number of tails growing with age is genuine rather than a modern misconception, it’s hardly central to fox folklore (I’ve seen the portmoneu “foxlore” at least once btw, it’s very funny). And, as I will outline later, it doesn’t even seem to be behind the idea of nine-tailed foxes in the first place. Anyway, the oldest version does provide Tamamo with more backstory, but it’s closer to presenting Shuten Dōji as a manifestation of Mara than to a straightforward “Tamamo is x under a pseudonym” popular today. As we learn, the two-tailed fox is in fact a reincarnation of a “graveyard god” (塚の神, Tsuka no Kami) from India, described in the apocryphal Humane Kings Sutra (it gets namedropped directly), likely originally composed in China.

How come? It all started when Kalmashapada, a prince of Devala in India, wanted to offer 1000 skulls of virtuous rulers to this deity because a suspicious “heretical” preacher convinced him it’s a good idea. After defeating and imprisoning 999 such kings, he encountered Shrutasoma, one of the previous incarnations of the historical Buddha, who managed to show him the error of his ways. All of the kings were released, and Kalmashapada was redeemed. The “graveyard god” was less than thrilled, and swore to keep reincarnating as a fox in kingdoms where Buddhism flourished to destroy it. We are told that happened many times, but only one past identity, that of Bao Si (Hōji), comes up. Obviously, eighth century BCE China was not exactly an area famous for Buddhist devotion, but that’s irrelevant here. We are told the endgame is not just to overthrow a righteous ruler, but also to become his replacement. Alas, Tamamo no Mae obviously fails at both of these goals. Still, points for trying.

The story does not provide the deity with a specific identity. However, Nobumi Iyanaga notes that in the referenced sutra he’s Mahakala (the original Makakaraten version, not the joyful Daikokuten). In East Asian Buddhism he is described as dwelling in the graveyards due to acting as both the chief of dakinis and their subduer. At the same time, Iyanaga argues in the context of the Tamamo no Mae story it can be argued he is either implicitly replaced by the dakini par excellence, Dakiniten (closely associated with foxes), or that the deity has no identity other than the fox one.

Later Tamamo developments

Two elements which are mainstays of modern retellings are missing from the oldest version, as you might have noticed. It doesn’t feature the Sesshōseki, which was only added later, seemingly as a way to promote Zen Buddhism, since this extension of the story casts a member of this school as the new protagonist. In the early variants Tamamo’s corpse was brought to the imperial treasury, the same one which shows up in a similar context in the tale of Shuten Dōji, and there is no indication she came back as a vengeful ghost, let alone that she repented and accepted Buddhism, as she does in some of the Sesshōseki variants.

The other difference is, as I already pointed out, the tails. The oldest depiction of a nine-tailed Tamamo no Mae I am aware of is Sekien’s. Based on a few papers I read it would appear textual variants of the story giving her nine tails might have been in circulation earlier, but that’s not reflected in any of the illustrated scrolls shown above. 

Sekien's nine-tailed Tamamo (wikimedia commons)

Sekien claims that Tamamo no Mae is one and the same as Daji (I’ll get back to her later), and specifies the latter was a nine-tailed fox. He cites Zhang Dingsi’s Langye Dai Zui Bian (浪挪代醉編, “Langye’s Substitute for Drunkenness: A Compilation”) as his source for this tidbit, but does not explain where does the conflation of the two foxes come from. In contrast with the elaborate reincarnation scheme from the older version, he states Daji simply flew across the sea to reach Japan, without reincarnating.

What is now essentially treated as the “definitive” version of the Tamamo no Mae story, and what cemented her image as a nine-tailed fox, only dates back to 1805. That’s when Ehon Sangoku Yōfuden (絵本三国妖婦伝; “Tales of Enchantresses in the Three Kingdoms”) finished publication. The author, Ranzan Takai (高井蘭山), was an enthusiast of neo-confucian thought, and he wanted to write a story highlighting the time honored confucian belief that dynasties are brought down by suspicious concubines. The real goal was somewhat broader, though -the story of Tamamo no Mae was essentially repurposed as a critique of the concept of women playing an important role in public life.

It needs to be noted here that it is not impossible that the original was already part of a political polemic. Arguments have been made that Tamamo is a fictional representation of Bifukomon-in, for instance. They are certainly linked to the same emperor, Toba.

Bifukomon-in (wikimedia commons)

However, while I would not rule this out altogether, it’s hard to deny the typical medieval penchant for reinterpreting Buddhist material feels more central to the story. It is ultimately a very elaborate twist on the Humane Kings Sutra first and foremost. It belongs to the same world as other fabulous tales about figures from distant Buddhist lands arriving in Japan, alongside the likes of the legend of emperor Suwa of Hadai or the medieval Amaterasu narrative involving Mara (stay tuned for my post about that one).

Ideological motivations aside, in Ranzan’s version an anonymous nine-tailed fox appears as Daji in China, Kayō in India (seemingly a leftover of the original “graveyard god” story; here the prince is convinced to carry out his evil plans by his concubine instead though), and finally Tamamo no Mae in Japan. He also gives a unique account of Tamamo’s arrival in Japan, as far as I am aware: in his novel, she was brought there by Kibi no Makibi, a famous historical envoy to China. This was not his first time as a literary character, a much earlier picture scroll about his adventures is pretty funny (I have Touhou ocs based on it), but I’ll save this discussion for another time.

Not quite Tamamo: the influence of Daji

Daji, as depicted by Hokusai (wikimedia commons)

Daji requires some further discussion. She was initially regarded simply as a non-supernatural wicked concubine, but came to be treated as a fox posing as a human by the Song period. According to Xiaofei Kang the oldest evidence for that comes from 1101, from a Japanese text presumably reflecting an already extant Chinese belief. By the Yuan period it became a commonly accepted view, with Quanxiang Pinghua (全相平話) specifically stating Daji had nine tails. Her fox-like image was finally cemented fully by popular novels in the Ming and Qing periods.

Since there was a preexisting tradition in which Daji was a human woman, a remedy was developed: the “real” Daji was possessed by a fox, who took her name and identity. Curiously, the fox component of her story is otherwise not very important, and some modern authors basically characterize it as “tacked on”: she is the quintessential evil concubine bringing kingdoms to ruin out of a sense of cruelty who just happens to be a fox, and her story doesn’t really depend on preexisting fox-related motifs. 

There are multiple accounts of Daji’s deeds, but the most famous one, and at the same time the most likely influence on Razan’s portrayal of her (and thus Tamamo), is Investiture of the Gods. However, he skips the origin attributed to her here: in the Chinese original, Daji is an agent of the goddess Nuwa, though she eventually overdoes it and is rebuked by her former boss for excessive cruelty. This doesn’t really fit well with Tamamo’s backstory, obviously; making her and Daji interchangeable was detrimental to both characters, I feel. A Chinese story dealing with Daji reincarnating does exist, but it’s not exactly similar. In the Ming novel Zhaoyang Qushi (昭陽趣事) she reincarnated as Zhao Hede, a concubine of emperor Cheng of Han. What happens next has been described as “pornographic entertainment enlivened by supernatural and historical costumes”. For more details, check out Rania Huntington’s book from the bibliography below.

Curiously, it is possible Daji was simultaneously an object of active cult, since there is a Song imperial edict outlawing the shrines dedicated to her, Wutong (a southern Chinese spirit who was believed to bring wealth and bewitch people, compared with foxes in the north) and “General Shi” (no clue who that might be, I’d hazard a guess one of the popular pacified vengeful spirit cults but don’t quote me on that). However, another contemporary source instead mentions the outlawing of temples of “fox kings”, so it might also mean that the name of Daji was applied by officials to an unrelated popular fox cult (“fox king” is a reasonably common appellation for supernatural foxes). Both regular and nine-tailed foxes are attested in such a context across history.

Early nine-tailed foxes

An early Chinese depiction of a nine-tailed fox (wikimedia commons)

The early portrayals of nine-tailed foxes are something I started looking into recently because of Ran’s freshly revealed connection to Yuuma: I figured it makes sense that she’d be in origin someone who belongs to the same world as the taotie.

Looking at the earliest Chinese sources, multiple nine-tailed foxes appear in legends about virtuous rulers like Tang, Wen or Yu the Great, essentially as generic good omens, without much fanfare. According to confucian commentaries from the Later Han period, the nine tails were understood as a sign a given emperor will have many descendants. The exception from this generally positive tendency is the Classic of Mountains and Seas, where the nine-tailed fox is described as “man-eating” (something very uncommon in Chinese fox literature). However, it also doesn’t exactly get more spotlight than the other creatures. It’s also treated as a separate animal from regular foxes, not as a particularly old fox. You could say it is to the fox what a bai ze is to an ox, I think. Visual arts add further specimens: the source of this discussion, the nine-tailed fox attendant of Xi Wangmu, later seemingly “decanonized”, and another belonging to the entourage of Zhong Kui. Both of these are hardly eminent and seem to fit the mold of auspicious omens. In Zhong Kui’s case the fox is in one case listed alongside the bai ze which only strengthens this impression. However, it also makes sense that its inclusion would reflect Zhong Kui’s role as a demon queller: he is often portrayed with conquered demons as servants, after all.

Conclusions

To sum up: ultimately it just doesn’t seem nine-tailed foxes are quite as big of a deal as popculture makes them seem, and nine tails are neither exclusive nor innate to Tamamo no Mae. Since that’s the only real point of connection between her and Ran save for a throwaway PCB line which leads to no further references, I maintain there’s no strong case for identifying them with each other, especially since there is no shortage of other candidates. 

There’s also the fact that, Daji aside, most other nine-tailed foxes are largely blank slates you can do anything with, while Tamamo has many fairly unique characteristics which would be wasted by randomly slapping her name on Ran, in my opinion. To be fair, ZUN does occasionally make similar mistakes - Yoshika is the main example (remember, the actual legend about Yoshika’s immortality claims he decided to pursue eternal life after having a thrilling affair and has him call himself “strongest madman under heaven”).

I would personally argue ZUN himself probably did not feel strongly about who Ran is supposed to actually be when he originally came up with her, though. None of her spellcards reference Tamamo no Mae. Or any other fox identified with her, for that matter. They do have a more or less consistent theme, but that theme is, broadly speaking, “magic arts”, from onmyodo (Shikigami "Banquet of the Twelve General Gods"), through shugendo (Illusion God "Descent of Izuna-Gongen", Shikigami "The Protection of Zenki and Goki", Superhuman "Soaring En no Ozunu") and esoteric Buddhism (Shikigami "Channeling Dakiniten", Esoteric Sign "Odaishi-sama's Secret Key"), to contemporary stage magic (Shiki Brilliance "Princess Tenko -Illusion-"). In other words, I do not think canon actually strongly supports any specific option. 

I will admit I’m biased but personally I think picking a different fox makes it much easier to accommodate Yuuma and their shared animal realm past, the most thrilling Ran development in ages. As for Tamamo, I do think she would be fun to see in Touhou, but preferably as her own character - with two tails, if possible.

Bibliography

Bernard Faure, The Power of Denial. Buddhism, Purity, and Gender

Rania Huntington, Alien Kind. Foxes and Late Imperial Chinese Narrative

Nobumi Iyanaga, Under the Shadow of the Great Śiva: Tantric Buddhism and its Influence on Japanese Mediaeval Culture

Idem, Dākinī in: Brill's Encyclopedia of Buddhism (vol. 2)

Xiaofei Kang, The Cult of the Fox: Power, Gender, and Popular Religion in Late Imperial and Modern China

Laura K. Nüffer, Lady Tamamo in: Keller Kimbrough and Haruo Shirane (eds.), Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds. A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales

Sumiko Sekiguchi, Gender in the Meiji Renovation: Confucian 'Lessons for Women' and the Making of Modern Japan

Chun-Yi Joyce Tsai, Imagining the Supernatural Grotesque: Paintings of Zhong Kui and Demons in the Late Southern Song (1127-1279) and Yuan (1271-1368) Dynasties

[glorfindel-of-rivendell]

Spring Festival II: Part 4

@counsellorerestor

(Continued from Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3)

Despite their friendship, it was in fact the first time that Glorfindel would get to see Erestor's rooms. There have not been many chances nor reasons to see it; Imladris, after all, boasts the welcoming warmth of the Hall of Fire, and Glorfindel has not resided in the Valley long enough for there to be an occasion when they might need an alternate venue where their offices or the gardens did not suffice.

He therefore places the roses with near reverent care on the table Erestor indicated. Erestor's rooms suit him perfectly: elegant, organised, yet clearly lived in, filled with things that Erestor favours. Glorfindel would have wished for more time to look around, but he does not wish to appear too nosy when he is supposed to be merely passing.

Another time, Glorfindel thinks, hoping that now that he's come here, there would be reason again in the future to do so.

Sure enough, Erestor returns shortly, which Glorfindel welcomes with a smile.

They leave Erestor's rooms and cross the hallways. Glorfindel's rooms are a little more at the end of the wing, on the east where one can meet the Sun as it rises each day.

Glorfindel opens the door to his rooms, where immediately they are greeted by a large open window on the other side. While the room itself makes up the seating area of the place, complete with the simple fireplace that keeps the room warm and cosy on colder days, Glorfindel himself spends the most time on the cushioned nook by that very same window. The sill is lined with green plants flourishing in their pots, an ecclectic mix of herbs and small forest ferns, calatheas, flowering daisies, golden begonias, and a young bed of pansies. A delicate orchid hangs from one corner, yet to flower, while white morning glories peek from where they cling to the outside walls of the main house. Beside the pots are a humble row of books, there to keep Glorfindel company on days when he is at leisure enough to read.

“Please make yourself at home,” bids Glorfindel as he gestures Erestor to come inside. “I will not be long. I just need to wash off the grime of the fields and return to my festival robes, and I should once again be fit for polite company.”

[feralgirlfromatl]

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This Easter, let’s not try to pretend Jesus was a ‘Palestinian Jew’

By Paula Fredriksen

March 28, 2024 at 6:00 a.m. EDT

Paula Fredriksen, Aurelio professor of scripture emerita at Boston University, is a historian of ancient Christianity and the author of “When Christians Were Jews” and “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

Easter marks the resurrection of Jesus, but this year the holiday comes with a twist: Jesus resurrected as Palestinian. Never mind that Jesus was born and died a Jew in Judaea. From the pronouncement of a member of Congress to the pages of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Jesus is now heralded as a “Palestinian” or, more delicately, as a “Palestinian Jew.”

Jesus made an appearance on social media as a “Palestinian” around Christmas, and the meme has flourished since then. The gambit casts 1st-century Jews in the role of an occupying power and “Palestinians” as their victims. Just as Herod, the king of Judaea in Jesus’ time, persecuted the “Palestinian” holy family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, so, too, goes the claim, is modern Israel an occupying power persecuting Palestinians today.

So caught up were these advocates in their own spin that they mischaracterized reality. In a Christmastime post on Instagram, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.) condemned modern Israelis as “right-wing forces violently occupying Bethlehem.” But Bethlehem has been administered by the Palestinian Authority since 1995. Once a significant majority there, the Christian population plunged from 86 percent in 1950 to less than 12 percent in 2016.

As for the Gaza Strip, it is even less hospitable to Christians. As the New Yorker reported in January, a count by the Catholic Church in Gaza, “once home to a thriving Christian community,” found just 1,017 Christians, amid a population of more than 2 million. After seizing control of Gaza in 2007, Hamas ended the designation of Christmas as a public holiday and discouraged its celebration. The dwindling population of Gazan Christians has been harassed, intimidated, even murdered. Were Jesus to show up in modern-day Gaza, he would find an extremely hostile environment.

So how did Jesus end up “Palestinian”?

Roughly 3,000 years ago, on the eastern rim of the Mediterranean, a coastal confederation of five cities stretched from Gaza into Lebanon. The Bible refers to this zone as Philistia, the land of the Philistines. In 430 B.C., the Greek historian Herodotus, translating this term, gestured toward the broader area as “Palaistinē.”

To the east, the region of the biblical highlands was called Yehudah. The name predates Herodotus by centuries. By Jesus’ lifetime, the Romans labeled this whole area, coast and highlands together, as “Judaea,” a Latinization of “Yehudah.” The people living in Judaea were called “Iudaei”: “Judeans” or “Jews.” Their temple in Jerusalem, the focus of their ancestral worship since the first millennium B.C., was sacred to Jesus, which is why the gospels depict him as journeying there for pilgrimage holidays. An ethnic Judean, Jesus was, accordingly, a Jew.

Where, then, did the name “Palestine” come from? From a foreign imperial colonizing power: Rome. Judeans revolted twice against the Romans. The first revolt, from A.D. 66 to 73, reached an awful climax with the destruction of the Jewish temple in Jerusalem. Still, Rome kept “Judaea” as the region’s designation. But in A.D. 132-135, the Jews again revolted. By that point, Rome had had enough. The empire changed the administrative name of the region to “Syria-Palestina” — a full century after Jesus’ death. It was a deliberate way to “de-Judaize” the territory by using the throwback term for the coastal Philistines.

What does this mean? It means that Jesus was not “Palestinian.” Nor was he a “Palestinian Jew.” This is so for a simple reason: There was no political entity called “Palestine” in his lifetime. If Jesus was born in Bethlehem, he was born in Judaea as a Jew. He certainly died as one, under Rome’s heavy hand — the political condition that led to the two Jewish revolts.

It was Roman colonizers who changed the name of Judaea to Palestine.

Why rehearse this well-known history? Because now, in the current crisis, even Jesus is being enlisted for attacks on Israel. Calling Jesus a “Palestinian” or even a “Palestinian Jew” is all about modern politics. Besides being historically false, the claim is inflammatory. For two millennia, Jews have been blamed for Jesus’ execution by the Romans; casting him as a Palestinian just stokes the fires of hate, using Jesus against Jews once again.

It is, further, an act of cultural and political appropriation — and a clever rhetorical move. It rips Jesus out of his Jewish context. And it rips 1st-century Jews — and 21st-century Israeli Jews — out of their ancestral homeland, turning them into interlopers. This is polemic masquerading as history.

There have already been too many casualties since Oct. 7. Let’s not allow history to be one of them.

[isthedogawolfdog]

From The Washington Post: Virtually extinct in Germany for more than a century, wolves are flourishing here once again — a rare success story in a world of diminishing biodiversity. […]

[southeastasianists]

During the Warring States period of Japan (1467-1590), many samurai lost their lords and became rōnin—masterless warriors. Meanwhile, in Thailand, the kingdom of Ayutthaya was in desperate need of military reinforcements as the Toungoo dynasty of Burma continued its invasion. Sharing common interests, the king welcomed hundreds of masterless samurai to his army as mercenaries.

At the same time, unrelated to the Burmese-Siamese Wars, many Japanese merchants came to Ayutthaya to export high-quality swords while importing Thai silver, ceramics, and leatherware. It was not long before a Japanese village was formed on the southeast side of the Chao Phraya river, opposite the Portuguese settlement.

It is generally believed that the Japanese population in Ayutthaya was around 1,500, while some contemporary sources claim that it came close to 8,000 at its height. It mainly consisted of mercenary samurai, traders, and the Christian community fleeing the Tokugawa shogunate's oppression.

From 1617 to 1630, the Japanese Village was governed by Yamada Nagamasa, a samurai adventurer and pirate who fought under King Songtham as a mercenary and rose to the rank of Ok-ya Senaphimuk. There are several legends concerning this samurai, from his romance with a Siamese princess to his burying his treasure on the east coast of Australia, though historians consider these unlikely.

Another notable figure in the Japanese Village's history is Maria Guyomar de Pinha, also known as Thao Thong Kip Ma. A Siamese woman of mixed Japanese-Portuguese-Bengali ancestry, she married Constantine Phaulkon, a Greek minister in the royal court of Ayutthaya, and worked as a cook in the palace. She is remembered for having introduced new Portuguese-style desserts to Siamese cuisine, such as curry puff, foi thong, thong muan, sangkhaya, and khanom mo kaeng, which are still widely known today.

As soon as the usurper king Prasat Thong rose to his power in 1629, however, he sought to restrain the Japanese Village's influence on local trade. First, Yamada was exiled to Nakhon Si Thammarat after opposing the king's enthronement. He was assassinated one year later. Not long after, the settlement was burned to the ground and its inhabitants massacred, suspected of plotting a rebellion.

The Japanese lost its military and political power in Ayutthaya after this incident, and despite some 400 traders rebuilding the Village in the 1630s, the settlement never flourished again and went completely defunct by the early 18th century. With many of the remaining inhabitants marrying Thai people and never going back home, what was left of the Japanese eventually disappeared, becoming naturalized into the local Siamese population.

Today, nothing of the once-thriving settlement remains, but the site has been maintained as a cultural memorial park known as Ban Yipun, or the Japanese Village. It is composed of a small museum, a Japanese restaurant run by Oishi, several monuments including a bronze statue of Yamada, as well as torii arches, wind chimes, carp streamers, and a small Japanese-style garden.

[huskyremix]

Hey everyone! Here to finally share more about the farm game au I’ve been working on~ This post is for what the au is about, as well as the map I created for where it takes place! However, there are a number of locations and even the Valley itself that I still haven’t determined the names of yet, this post will be updated when I have though! ( will even take suggestions )

General Synopsis

Moving out and living on his own for the first time, Lambert is the new farmer in Seraphim Town. Having visited the land as a child, even if it was just for a short time, the memories of those days always stuck close with him. Finding out that Ratau, a family acquaintance, was retiring and wishing to sell his farmland, Lambert jumped at the chance to make it his own. 

But Lambert arrives to find the land going through a rough patch. The fields aren’t growing crops like they used to, the fishing scene is scarce, amongst other issues. By a chance encounter, Lambert meets a Harvest Sprite, who is overcome with delight at meeting a new sheepfolk and farmer. The sprite- Faun- tells Lambert their woes, that the Harvest Goddess has gone into slumber, and the only way to awaken them once more is to find the 7 Relic Instruments of the land. Playing the instruments will also help to restore everything to its former flourishing self! But nothing will be completely fixed until the Goddess wakes up again.

World Map

Located to the east is the Farmland, right next to the stone bridge that leads out of the valley. On the hill top to the North East above is the Goddess Pond, whose water seems to travel down all the way into the pond located on Forneus’ Kneady Kritters Ranch down south.

Next to the Farmland is a tall hill, and on the other side of that you reach the Festival Grounds of Seraphim town. On either side of the hill are proper paths into town, the southern one takes you to the Ranch as well, and the north branches off to the Goddess’ Pond, entrance to the Darkwoods, and right next to the woods you’ll find the way to the mountains.

In Darkwoods is where many forest beasts dwell, it is highly encouraged to not enter without being properly prepared. There’s a rumor that a tall red mansion stands deep within these woods, but no one has been brave enough to get near it.

To the east of these woods and north of the Farmlands, past the much less dense forest, you can find the remains of some sort of ancient structure. Mysterious in nature, the only few documentation on them can be found at the town’s Library. 

Down south from the town, you’ll find Shell Tough Carpenters, right on the cliffside that surrounds the beach, and also located right behind Forneus’ ranch.

On the other side of the beach are the Docks, where all matters of fishing and oversea trade are handled. There’s also an entrance to an underground cave in this area, but is currently off-limits due to safety precautions. Down south is a small island where the Lighthouse is located, with easy sailing access back and forth from it to the mainland.

Focusing back around the town, up in the north west there is a path to the Church, that also splits off into the path towards the mountains up north, with the other path leading to the house of the Sorceress, located right behind the church. This path also leads to the graveyard, watched over by the church.

Behind the Sorceress house you have Spore Grotto, an unusual humid area where mushrooms thrive. Right outside is where the researcher, Sozo, has set up camp to study the place and its secrets. A forest surrounds both the Grotto, House, and part of the Church. There’s an easy to miss trail in the northwest that leads up to a Hot Springs, connected to the side of the Mountains. From the Hot Springs and Mountain peak is where you can see a large rock formation out in the ocean, known as The Eye of the Crown. No one knows why it was given this particular name, aside from the hole formation in it having the appearance of an eye.

[chiefwritesbook]

The worldbuilding in SOTAL, a master post

Something something insert intro let's just get straight into it

(shameless plug: if the worldbuilding below interests you, you can find plenty of it in this book: https://books2read.com/songofthewolf)

Locations

Kies Tor

A landlocked kingdom home to the elves. The south is predominently tropical rainforest and low-lying plains or wetlands, all subject to flooding during the storm season. There are two types of weather in the south: hot and dry (miserable) or slightly less hot and humid (miserable). Going north of the White River puts you in the foothills and mountains of the north, or the Highlands, as the locals will call it. The weather here is much more temperate and nice and won't try to murder you if you set foot outside.

Going east from Kies Tor puts you in unmapped territory: a steep mountain range along the eastern border makes travel near-impossible with the technology they currently have. North also puts you in the mountains, though these are much more navigable, and crossing the range into the frozen wastelands to the far north will land you in Hellhound territory. South of Kies Tor is Astaria, home of the Faefolk, where the entire kingdom is tropical rainforest and difficult terrain. West is the Draconian Empire, one of the biggest empires of the era, whose conquest has won them most of the western world.

The Draconian Empire

Home of the Drakels, lizard-like folk descended from the dragons. Their empire stretches across most of the western mainland due to their highly successful conquest. The northern half of the empire enjoys a nice and temperate climate, except for the northern desert, which is searing hot all year round and freezing cold at night. The south is more tropical, but many of the settlements in the south have been built along the coast, so they enjoy a nice coastal breeze which makes the heat a little more manageable.

The Drakels share their eastern border with both Kies Tor and Astaria. West is the Silver Ocean, past which there has been no recorded land (as of yet). You'll eventually hit the far northern tundra if you keep going past the desert, and northeast will once again put you in the mountains. South is also the Silver Ocean, which curves around the Draconian Empire and all the way into unmapped territory.

The Far North

Braving the cold northern mountain range, you'll eventually find yourself in the Far North, a frozen, mountainous wasteland where little life can flourish. It's said that half-giants live secluded in the mountains, but there have been no sightings of them in centuries, and it's little more than a rumour at this stage. However, the territory itself belongs to the Hellhounds, wolf shapeshifters who keep to semi-isolated packs and only gather together for important cultural or political moments.

East of the Hellhounds' borders is an impassable mountain range, which extends south past the eastern Kies Tor border. South is Kies Tor, home of the elves. North is the Sea of Ice, an ocean filled with glaciers and icebergs that's near-impossible to navigate. West is another mountain range, past which you'll hit the Draconian Empire.

Astaria

Home of the Fae. Like southern Kies Tor, it's comprised entirely of dense, tropical rainforest, making it near-impossible to navigate the wilds. The Faefolk operate under their own independent government under their own king, and have largely resisted the Drakels' advancement into their land. As a result, they have a long-standing truce with the empire.

North of Astaria is Kies Tor, home of the elves. West is the Draconian Empire, and south is the Silver Ocean. East is unmapped territory - all that's known about it is that it's the realm of an unfamiliar group.

Species

Elves

There are two types of elves living in Kies Tor: forest elves and mountain elves. The elves don't particularly care for this distinction, so they refer to themselves as either southerners or Highlanders. In terms of differences, mountain elves have rounded ears and tend to be paler, whereas forest elves have long, pointed ears. They can live for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, and so they measure their age by maturity once they hit adulthood.

Faefolk

The Fae often get mistaken for southern elves these days, but back when magic was still prevalent in the land, the Fae specialised in illusory, transformative magic, while the elves specialised more in elemental magic and magic for combat. They also have much shorter pointed ears than southern elves. Similar to elves, they measure age by maturity after reaching adulthood.

Drakels

Lizard-folk, similar to the Dragonborn of D&D, but with more dragonlike features and a tail. They're the closest descendants of the dragons, which haven't been seen in the known world for the last 500 years. Many now believe the dragons are extinct and the Drakels are all that remains of their bloodline. They have much shorter lifespans than elves or faefolk and measure age by years lived.

Hellhounds

Wolf shifters who are technically a race of demons. This is because they have incredibly long lifespans and (according to mythology) were descended from the stars themselves. They have heightened senses and rapid healing that makes them impossible to kill unless the brain is destroyed. Because they live for so long, they measure age by milestones such as 'adolescent', 'adult', 'elder' etc.

Half-Giants

Either rumoured to be extinct or living in seclusion, depending on who you ask. They were descended from the giants and mountain elves and persecuted alongside their giant ancestors. Not much else is known about them.

Languages

Torrian

Spoken by the elves of Kies Tor, often mistakenly called Elvish. Elvish is the language GROUP that Torrian falls under, and includes both the mountain dialect spoken by half-giants as well as Faerie (spoken by the Fae). Torrian itself was a purely spoken language for many centuries, until the tradition of recording written history came along, at which point a writing system was developed. The language now is split into Old Torrian, which encompasses the period before the development of the written language, and modern Torrian, which is of course just referred to as Torrian.

Faerie

Spoken by the Fae in Astaria. Because of its similarities to Torrian, speakers of the two languages can communicate to some extent without being fluent in both. These similarities also make it easier for Torrian speakers to learn Faerie and vice versa, and settlements along the border between the two countries will often have bilingual speakers who are proficient in both.

Kier Dekkel

A 'bastard tongue' developed from High Draconic and is also part of the Draconic language group. Because most High Draconic sounds were impossible for non-dragons to pronounce, an approximation had to be created so other creatures could communicate with the dragons of old. This 'approximation' eventually evolved into Kier Dekkel through migration and trade, and is now spoken primarily by the Drakels.

Mainland Demonic

Spoken by mainland demons. Another language of the Draconic group, Demonic is believed to have evolved directly from High Draconic as a result of frequent interactions with the dragons. In a few thousand years, this current form of Demonic will become Old Demonic and branch out further into various dialects.

Northern Demonic

Technically a variant of Demonic spoken only by Hellhounds, but the language has evolved to the point that speakers of the northern variant can no longer communicate with speakers of Mainland Demonic.

High Draconic

Also known as Draconic, this is an ancient language spoken by the dragons. It's believed that Draconic existed before the first civilisations in the magical realm, making it the oldest living language in the world. Because such a language predates the era of non-dragon races, many sounds are physically impossible to pronounce without dragon vocal chords.

Elvish

An ancient language developed and once spoken by the elves. Most of it has been lost, but its roots live on in more modern languages such as Torrian and Faerie.

Important Historical Events

The Torrian Civil War

In the early days of Kies Tor's founding, most of the nobility in Kies Tor were northerners who lived in the Highlands, where the temperate climate and open plains made for good farmland, while most of the poor commoners were southerners who lived in the tropics. The northerners eventually started running out of farmland in the north and decided to expand south.

This did not sit well with the southerners, who thought their southern culture was being trampled upon by the northern nobility coming in & just settling here without any consideration for the locals, so they protested strongly against the expansion of land from the north. When the north didn't listen, the southern nobles decided to take up arms against the invaders and a civil war broke out. During this time, some of the northern nobility would come to see the damage they were doing to the Torrian rainforest, and side with the south. The rest would continue trying to expand across the south and failing miserably because the southerners were right at home in the tropics and taught all the northern nobility their guerrilla tactics.

The king would eventually get sick of everyone fighting and officially decided to establish a 'summer palace' in the south, claiming the entirety of the south as the property of the Torrian monarchy and thereby forcing the northern nobility out...but also screwing over the southerners in the process because their land was now private Crown land. To try and fix this problem without giving up his lands & allowing the northern nobility to come back in & continue the civil war, he offered the southerners his personal help in developing their agriculture & trade, bringing in the nobles who had sided with them in the war. A hundred years on, southern civilisation is prospering; the royal family had made the 'summer palace' their permanent residence in Kies Tor and gifted the old palace to House Blackrun, who had always strongly supported the south & who would eventually renovate the palace into the heavily fortified Castle Blackrun.

The king would also, however, underestimate House Blackrun's support of the southerners. Despite their newfound wealth and expansion across the south, the southerners were still bitter about the king's claim over their land as his own property. House Zylvaris & House Vakrish would gather the other southern lords and northern nobility together and plan the biggest act of treason in Torrian history: bringing down the royal family and crowning a southerner as king. House Blackrun, among many northern noble houses, lent their support, and together, they stormed the palace in Belanore & took over it completely. However, in the battle, Lord Vakrish was killed, meaning that the head of House Zylvaris, Talin Zylvaris I, would be crowned the first southern Queen of Kies Tor.

The Inquisition, aka the Purge of Magic

A thousand years ago, King Braenern of Kies Tor visited the half-giant clans of the Far North on a diplomatic trip to maintain relations with these semi-nomadic peoples. While there, he asked the half-giant sages to look into his future and tell him what it held. The sages allowed him to drink from their Pool of Prophecy, and when he did, he interpreted the prophecy shown to him as a terrible omen. Believing that he would be struck down at the hand of a Weaver, a magic user, he returned to Belanore and immediately outlawed all magic in the land.

But as the weeks turned into months, Braenern grew ever more paranoid, believing that perhaps the Weavers would simply resort to some underhanded trickery to assassinate him instead. He ordered his soldiers to round up any and all Weavers in the land and having them executed, citing that magic was a terrible curse upon the land and that the gods deemed it necessary to purge it. The magical races of the land weren't spared either - dragons, giants, and fairies were all hunted down and persecuted in the same way. When news spread to the neighbouring kingdom of Astaria, the Fae King also believed Braenern's superstitions to be true, and enacted a similar purge.

Slowly, over the years, Weavers went into hiding or fled the two kingdoms, and the giants were hunted to extinction. The dragons remained in seclusion in the furthest corners of Kies Tor until the last of them were seen flying east over five hundred years ago. By the time the Draconian conquest spread across the west, magic itself was all but extinct, viewed with fear and suspicion as an oddity that should be quashed.

The Invasion of Kies Tor -> the Elven-Hellhound War

Almost 50 years before the present day, a large splinter group of Hellhounds, led by General Kehlvor, crossed the northern range and entered Kies Tor. Velnora would be the first village to fall to the invaders, with a message from Lord Edric Blackrun detailing this loss only reaching King Gandar months after the first attack. The suddenness of the invasion, combined with the superior military might of the Hellhounds, prompted Gandar to begin construction of a heavily fortified wall along the west. However, he would die of natural causes before this wall could be completed, leaving his successor, King Arnas, to continue the project in his stead. Today, this project is known as the Western Forts, and remains the strongest fortification in Kies Tor.

The First Draconian Civil War

Shortly after Emperor Fillius IV's accession to the Draconian throne, he implemented a series of changes in his goal to dismantle the old social hierarchy and bring about a new age of equality and peace. However, this angered many elitists, who banded together to try and overthrow him. Though Fillius and his allied prevailed in the end, he would lose his wife in the civil war, leaving him to raise his only son alone.

If you made it this far and read everything then I both admire and fear you. Have a cookie 🍪

This post is subject to edits and additions whenever I feel like adding more. Current version: 1.0

[hausofsunflowersexplores]

The Rose of Jericho: Its Origins and Common Spiritual Uses

Hey there, beautiful people! Today, we're diving into the mystical world of the Rose of Jericho, also known as the "resurrection plant." This little plant is more than just a fascinating botanical wonder; it carries deep spiritual significance and a rich history that spans centuries. Whether you're new to spiritual practices or a seasoned pro, the Rose of Jericho can add a magical touch to your journey.

What is the Rose of Jericho?

The Rose of Jericho isn't your typical rose. It's a small, desert plant that has the incredible ability to survive extreme dehydration. When it's dry, it curls up into a tight ball and appears lifeless. But, once you add water, it miraculously unfurls into a beautiful, green plant. This resurrection-like quality is what makes it so special and revered in various cultures and spiritual practices.

Origins of the Rose of Jericho

The Rose of Jericho, scientifically known as Selaginella lepidophylla, is native to the deserts of the Middle East, particularly around the region of Jericho, hence its name. It thrives in arid environments, demonstrating an extraordinary ability to survive long periods of drought. This plant has been known and used by indigenous peoples for thousands of years, celebrated for its resilience and symbolic resurrection.

Common Spiritual Uses of the Rose of Jericho

Renewal and Rebirth

Because of its ability to "come back to life," the Rose of Jericho is often used in rituals and ceremonies that symbolize renewal, rebirth, and new beginnings. Placing the plant in water and watching it open up can be a powerful visual and spiritual reminder of your own potential for transformation and growth.

Protection and Purification

The Rose of Jericho is also believed to have protective and purifying properties. People often use it to cleanse their homes of negative energy. Simply place the plant in a bowl of water and set it in a central location in your home. The idea is that as the plant absorbs the water, it also absorbs and transforms negative energy, leaving your space refreshed and protected.

Prosperity and Abundance

In some traditions, the Rose of Jericho is associated with attracting prosperity and abundance. To harness this energy, you can place coins or small crystals in the water with the plant. As it opens up, visualize your financial situation flourishing and your life becoming more abundant in every way.

Spiritual Connection

The Rose of Jericho can also be a tool for deepening your spiritual connection. Meditate with the plant, focusing on its transformation from dormancy to vitality. Let it remind you of the cyclical nature of life and the ever-present potential for growth and renewal within yourself.

How to Use the Rose of Jericho in Your Spiritual Practice

Setting Up Your Rose of Jericho

Choose a Bowl: Find a shallow, wide bowl that you love. This will be the home for your Rose of Jericho.

Add Water: Fill the bowl with enough water to cover the base of the plant, but not so much that it’s fully submerged.

Place the Plant: Put the Rose of Jericho in the bowl. Over the next few hours to days, it will start to unfurl and "come to life."

Maintaining Your Rose of Jericho

Change the Water: Refresh the water every few days to prevent stagnation and mold growth.

Dry Periods: Give the plant a break from the water occasionally. Let it dry out completely for a few days before rehydrating it again. This mimics its natural cycle and keeps it healthy.

Incorporating the Rose of Jericho into Rituals

New Moon Ritual: Use the Rose of Jericho during the new moon to set intentions for new beginnings. As the plant opens, visualize your intentions taking root and beginning to grow.

Home Cleansing Ceremony: When moving into a new home or after a significant event, use the Rose of Jericho to cleanse and purify your space.

Prosperity Ritual: Place coins or crystals around the plant in the water. As it opens, meditate on the flow of abundance into your life.

Conclusion

The Rose of Jericho is a beautiful symbol of resilience, renewal, and the cycles of life. Whether you're looking to cleanse your space, attract abundance, or deepen your spiritual practice, this magical plant can be a powerful ally. Embrace its ancient wisdom and let it inspire you to transform and grow, no matter what challenges you face.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Yuma Maniac [07]

ー The scene starts in the entrance hall at Eden

Ruki: You...Why...?

Shuu: ーー What’s the status quo?

Ruki: ...Why are you here? What has caused this change of heart?

Shuu: I came here to take responsibility, that’s all. As much as I hate it, that is my duty right now.

Ruki: Hah, little late, don’t you think? You sure have some nerve to speak the word ‘responsibility’ after you’ve been running away from it this whole time. 

I no longer intend to rely on your help. We have already decided that we will protect Eden ourselves. If you understand that, then please just go home.

ー Ruki walks away

Shuu: ...

ー The scene shifts to the inner courtyard

Kou: Hold up, Ruki-kun. Are you sure?

Ruki: I don’t mind. An unfit King is much worse than having no King at aーー ...!

Azusa: Ruki...? What’s wrong?

Ruki: ...The Castle...

Kou: Eh? 

ー Everything starts to flourish and be rebuild again

Kou: ...No way! It was a complete ruin before...!

Azusa: Is this because its owner returned to it...? Would that have such a strong effect...?

Ruki: ...How ironic. As if we’re being told that we’re simply unable to achieve anything. 

ー Shuu approaches them

Shuu: ...So, you’re better off without me, you said?

Ruki: ...Let me ask you one thing. 

Since you’ve come here, can I take that as a sign that you’ve accepted that you are the successor to the throne? 

Shuu: No...I haven’t. 

Azusa: But you said that you came to take responsibility earlier...

Shuu: That’s my personal responsibility. 

I understand how painful it can be not to be chosen. However, being chosen can bring just as much struggle. 

That’s why I still don’t believe that I should be forced to take responsiblity. ..It’s just.

He ーー Yuma said he’d leave it in my care.

I figured that if I wanted to try and atone for what I did to him in the past, then this is the only way to do so. 

Kou: In other words...You’re not here to fulfill your duty as the King?　

Hah, excuse me? So you just want to feel better about yourself? You’ve gotta be kidding me!

Ruki: Kou, stop.

Kou: Why!? It doesn’t make me happy at all, knowing he’s protecting Eden for that reason only!

Ruki: Even so, Eden came back to live. ...That alone proves that this man has 

Kou: But!

Azusa: Kou...

Kou: ...But it’s frustrating, no? The three of us care about this place much more than he does...!

Ruki: It’s fine now. ...I remembered that being stubborn will only lead to losing everything.

This Eden where we lived together with that man should be much more important than our personal pride.

ーー Sakamaki Shuu. We will acknowledge you as the owner of this Castle and vow our loyalty to you.

Shuu: ...Cut it out, you’re making me gag. Anyway, where is that guy? 

Azusa: If you’re asking about Yuma, he ーー ...

ー They explain everything

Shuu: I understand the situation. In which case, we should track down their location first. Which routes have your Familiars investigated already?

Ruki: We know that they aren’t in the West or the South. Which only leaves the North and East as potential options...

Shuu: They could be on the move, so I’ll have a team search the entire Demon World just in case. The human world as well, while they’re at it.

Kou: Don’t tell me you’ll have all areas checked at once?

Shuu: That’d save us time, no?

Azusa: ...As to be expected. We could never go that far...

Ruki: This is making me feel worse with each passing second. Almost as if it’s being rubbed in our face...That we never even stood a chance.

Azusa: But we can keep Eden safe this way, right? Now if only Yuma and Eve were to come home...

ー The scene shifts to the Ghouls’ manor

Yuma: ーー There’s a decent amount of Ghouls who are former humans, huh?

Yui: Yeah...They said they want to go look for their son, but they can’t leave Rotigenberg. 

Yuma: They’re not even allowed to roam the Demon World freely, let alone go the human world. I guess that was to expected...

Yui: How did things go on your end? Were you able to get some information from Kino-kun?

Yuma: Nah, he talked besides the question again. 

Still...I do have an opinion on this matter after hearin’ the things Lucks and ya told me.

I want to give the Ghouls their freedom. And I want to help them achieve that goal.

Selection

→ I thought the same thing (❦)

Yui: Yeah...I thought the same thing.

Yuma: Right? Ya can’t just not do anythin’ after bein’ confronted with such a situation.

→ You should really think this through

Yui: I understand why you’d feel that way but...Shouldn’t you really think this through? 

Yuma: I’m not saying this on a whim. I actually put some thought into it and came to my decision. 

Yuma: No way I can turn a blind eye to this now that I know they’re bein’ treated like shit.

Yui: So you’ll help Kino-kun out? But then Shuu-san will...

Yuma: I’m not out to steal Shuu’s powers, really. I’m sure we’ll be able to liberate the Ghouls even without having to go that far. 

I mean, sure, it might as be easy as to have someone with a lot of power say ‘Treat the Ghouls equally’ to fix this issue but still.

Yui: You do...have a point. I guess if you use your authority to change people’s behavior, it doesn’t fix the core of problem...

Yuma: Exactly. Oh well, I’ll ask Ruki for advice on that. I’m sure he’ll come up with a great plan.

Yui: Right...

Yuma: Usin’ my brains has never been my strong suit. Anyway, now we’re actually goin’ back to Eden. 

Yui: Speaking of which...They never sent us a Familiar, did they? I wonder if everything’s alright? 

Yuma: I guess that means nothin’ happened? Oh well, we gotta think ‘bout how to fix that problem too once we’re back home.

I’m pretty sure Ruki will scold us for adding even more issues to that list but I’m sure he’ll understand once we explain, right?

Yui: Yes. They surely will.

Yuma: Okay, we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow so let’s hit the hay already.

Yui: ...Today we’re actually going to sleep, right?

Yuma: Ah? Didn’t I just say that? ...Aah, sounds like someone was hopin’ for somethin’ else?

Yui: I-I wasn’t!

Yuma: Ya should just tell me then. I’ll gladly give ya what ya want.

Yui: ( Geez...! )

ー The scene shifts to Kino’s room

*Caw caw caw* 

Kino: ...I see, so he’s made his choice. 

Fufu...Fufufu. It’s honestly baffling how naive that guy is. Thank god former humans are so easy to convince. 

Well then, it’s finally time. Let us get this delightful prelude startedーー 

Monologue

That night, while sleeping in Yuma-kun’s arms,

I had a dream (夢). 

Inside said dream,

everyone was smilingly happily,

making me wish,

that all people could experience such a days (日々) 

However, I suppose there will eventually come a point,

where I will have to open my eyes. 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー