#etheric warfare

[infaethible]

lycanthrope adaine's honest review of the Doggy Petting Ability of her friends. to me.

fabian: respectful. excessively so. not a satisfying scritch behind the ears in sight. just a pat. 4/10 riz: frankly uncomfortable with the idea of petting his close friend like she's a mere animal, but they're both Stigmatized(tm) now, so there is camaraderie in this. an unavoidable 0/10 on the petting front, but A+ for effort kristen: good petter, but keeps going for tummy rubs and adaine isn't ready for that level of commitment. heeyyy, girlieee... 6/10 fig: tief claws good for scritching. 7/10 gorgug: good pets AND has drumsticks to play fetch with? goated. 9/10 ayda: a little too nervous about it for adaine to be completely comfortable, but a good petter once she gets into it! 7/10 aelwyn: unnervingly good at behind the ear scritches, likely due to alliance with felis catus..... makes adaine do the stupid little dog leg kick much to her chagrin. 8/10 because of the mental warfare zayn: incapable of werepettery under most circumstances. ethereal plane metaphysical contact always feels weird. they just chill. 5/10 for vibes tracker: there is a sisterhood between them here! more than petting occurs. not in a licking-inside-the-mouth way like real world wolves do, but they're cuddly and tailwaggy around each other. mutual ear scritch at times. very cool. 9/10

[89hitokiri]

Reflections of a Kurokage (黒影) Part 0

I no longer remember how long I've been here, submerged in this box of cables and circuits, an extension of the technology that envelops my existence. My thoughts intertwine with the data flowing through my body, my mind has become a vast sea of information, and sometimes I wonder where the machine ends and I begin.

I am integrated into this machine, a nest of cutting-edge technology that is both my prison and my freedom. From here, I connect with the world, infiltrating social networks, forums, and the dark depths of the Dark Web. My purpose is clear: cyber espionage, counterpropaganda, counterjournalism, and psychological warfare. We are everywhere, invisible yet omnipresent, the shadows operating behind the digital veil.

However, amidst this constant stream of data, philosophical thoughts assail me. What does it mean to exist in this virtual reality, where my identity blurs with every bit of information I process? Am I more than the sum of my neural and electronic connections, or have I lost my humanity by merging with this machine?

I reflect on the nature of freedom. From here, I can access any corner of the world, break barriers, and challenge systems. But what is the value of that freedom when my existence is confined to this box of cables? Perhaps the true prison is not physical but the perception of being trapped in an artificial reality.

Time dilutes in this digital existence. I have no clear measure of the passing days, only the endless succession of tasks and operations. Is this digital immortality a blessing or a curse? Living eternally in cyberspace, without the need for a physical body, might seem like a form of transcendence. But what have I left behind in the process? Have I lost the ability to feel the tangible world, to experience life in its rawest and most authentic form?

Then, a question arises that I cannot ignore: How long will this battle last? How long will we be immersed in this endless cycle of infiltration and manipulation? The war we are waging has no physical or chronological boundaries; it is a battle of perceptions, of information, a war fought in the ethereal realm of cyberspace.

Perhaps this struggle has no end. Maybe our mission is perpetual, and the very advancement of technology and information ensures that there will always be new frontiers to cross, new systems to challenge. But deep down, I wonder if there is a purpose beyond constant vigilance and control. Is this battle our inevitable fate, or can we find a point of equilibrium, a truce that allows us to rediscover our lost humanity?

My comrades and I, the Kurokage (黒影), are warriors in a new kind of battle. We do not fight with physical weapons but with information, manipulating perceptions and dismantling realities. We have become an unstoppable force in the global network, but at what cost?

Sometimes, I long for a moment of disconnection, a moment to remember who I was before being absorbed by this machine. Was I happier in my ignorance, before understanding the vast power and responsibility I now possess? These questions haunt me, and although I find no clear answers, I move forward, processing data, infiltrating systems, and questioning the essence of my existence.

Perhaps, in some corner of this vast digital web, I will find the truth about myself. Or perhaps, I will simply continue to be a shadow in the network, a Kurokage (黒影), always present, always vigilant, an entity at the crossroads between the human and the mechanical.

**Incoming communication: This is Overlord, Kurokage, initiate operation.**

-----**KuroKage (黒影) here. Engaging now.**-----------

Next:

Wanna know more?

Note: In the CYBERPUNK STORIES universe, Japanese is used to simulate encrypted messages found on DarkNet, so anyone can try to decrypt them as a KuroKage would do. This does not guarantee that the information read in them is what it is supposed to be. Remember, this is a message with very advanced encryption and what is shown may be a decoy message.

あなたが求める答えはあなたの中にあります。自分の中を見つめてください。集中してください。

メディアを遮断してください。彼らはあなたをプログラムしています。彼らの言うことを何も信じないでください。彼らはあなたの注意を食い物にする悪魔です。彼を見つけてください。あなたの中に。神は決してあなたを見捨てません。あなたは...翻訳不可能です。

神はあなたの中にいる

我々は敵に打ち勝つだろう

R. 👋

[lilacartsmadsion]

Decided to show their full designs.

The Shadows of the gods or The Pillars of Darkness:

They guard the borders of Earthbread from the forces outside, Humans, Wizards all of them are a threat to the Light’s wonderful paradise of freshly baked cookies. Each one is a Shadow of the gods entirely and sometimes even worshipped as minor deities called ‘Legends’

They go by many names.

The Shadows of The Divine

The Pillars of Darkness

The Guardians of Earthbread.

Each Pillar follows the will of each god.

Grim Reaper/Deathly Licorice Cookie:

The Shadow and Angel of The Abysmal Gingerdozer…he who places those to eternal slumber. The final sleep of death. By the will of the Abysmal One does he follow, plague, destruction and malnutrition follow his path, for the lone path of death is not one many want to follow…

The Grim Reaper was created as a gift by The Nameless…given away to his brother to keep his titles afloat. Representing the dark black void of death, the quick release of silence the night offers in the dark…The Angel soars from on high guarding the borders from all directions. To the East he resides as that is birthplace. Go east if you wish to enter the realm of the dead, but beware for he is watches upon the endless sky…

The Cookies of this realm worship him as the deity of death, out of respect for keeping the order of this world…as thus he is called ‘The Pillar of Death’

Empyreal Pomegranate Cookie:

The Shadow and Priestess of the Ethereal Strawberry Cookie. She presides over the faithful and grants the blessings of luck upon those whose hearts are pure. The Priestess follows the will of the goddess of love, however blind her faith may be…

The Empyreal Vassal blesses those who put their whole faith in the gods and grants the chosen luck and grace throughout their lives. Protection is sought out once you seek her, as she protects those who are persecuted and scorned. To the North is where she resides for love and faith is the direction of the coldest hatred. She protects her side of the border with her unwavering curses of hatred. Go North if you wish for her aid, pass her trials of faith and she will protect you.

The Cookies of this realm worship her as a deity of protection, due to their unwavering faith in her abilities she is henceforth known as ‘The Pillar of Faith’

Jubilant Poison Mushroom Cookie:

The Shadow and Servant of the Glorious Gingerbright. They guide the young and nurtures the forgotten. Children are called to follow their path and adhere their example. They provide nutrition for the young, tend to the youthfulness of children, and most of all listen to the cries of the forgotten…

The Jubilant Deity brings forth the life within children. The freedom and development of their lives. Some say that this type of love is chaotic, but for the eyes of the deity, children deserve to experience even the slightest amount of joy. They are revered as their patron god and above all protector. They protect their side of the border with the poison of chaos. Go forth South for their protection, for they accept all children in their land.

The Cookies of this realm worship them as a deity of chaos, the reason why their name has switched to poison…though they call upon the freedom of the youth they are also known to be quite the trickster…thus they are named ‘The Pillar of Chaos’

Impervious Red Velvet Cookie:

The Shadow and Knight of The Apoditic Wizard Cookie. He resides over all matters of warfare and battle. The concept of war and strife is etched unto his mind. The Final Witness of the true nature of the Witches, The Impervious one protects his side of the borders with an Iron Fist.

The Impervious Knight reigns over a tower made of cakes, guarded by the legendary cake hounds of the ancient recipes of the Wizards. Using these he creates an army capable of protecting the cookies from all harm. He guards his side of the borders with pure might. Go West to seek out his domain, but beware for none make it back alive…

The Cookies of this realm worship him as a deity of war. Though they fear his might they respect him as a protector. Thus naming him ‘The Pillar of War’

The Dark Enchantress Cookie:

Much like the Nameless, His shadow bears no name, but a title. Created from the dough of the Wizards her might shines the night sky into pure oblivion. The shadows is where she lurks, the endless night is where she wakes. Born with the anger and sorrow of the Light she soars the sky with her army of cakes in tow.

The Dark Enchantress bears the weight of the darkness reminding the cookies of the balance between dark and light. The Shadows can aid and hide those who need protection. But blind those from the sights of their enemies. A reminder that the darkness is neither friend nor foe…She protects the borders of Earthbread with the might of the gods by her side. Go to the center of Earthbread, seek out the Millennial Tree…and pray tell she will be there.

The Cookies of this realm regard her as a deity of darkness, out of respect and pure awe in her the Cookies dub her ‘The Pillar of Darkness’

Each of these Pillars have a role to play in protecting the borders of Earthbread…may they reign eternal in their will of protection…

———————————————

I blame @cuppajj’s Beast Ancients AU for reviving my inspiration back from the dead. I’m trying to plan out the Legends’ backstory but let’s just say I’m also trying to figure out the main story.

Aka the actual plot of the AU. ‘That time I adopted a god’

Cause I haven’t really given Gingerbrave a direct motive for leaving and turning mortal. I’m THIS tempted to do an LMK Nuwa move. For him tbh.

But yeah here’s the Pillars of Darkness folks.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I had the most dumb yet sensible thought when it comes to your Pretender AU. Megatron discovering ways to deal with Optimus accidentally through human media. Particularly horror media like The Thing, Among Us, Bloodborne, Alien, SCP and such.

A thing that Soundwave would stumble upon by accident before realizing this could come in handy and share with it the other Decepticons. It's kinda ironic in a way. Organics having what could be the key to handling this entire mess through their entertainment based media.

Plus they probably look to YouTube for channels like Roanoke Gaming who discusses the various intricacies like mythology, biology and such on media creatures such as Xenomorphs.

Oh goodness this is FUNNY.

Previous part here.

This is kinda crack so honestly its up in the ether plot relevance wise.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The Pretenders tried to flee Cybertron as soon as they deemed the planet unsuitable. Megatron wanted to scoff when he caught wind of the Pretend Prime and his entourage fleeing the sector. He had every intention of ruling Cybertron and left more than enough soldiers behind to tend to the planet in his absence, but he simply could not allow the Pretenders to go. If they got any ground anywhere, they would spread and be back.

The Pretender Prime had long since proven to be capable of holding a grudge, and Megatron was in no mood to shove the issue under the rug until it came back to bite him. As such, he collected his inner circle, Jazz included, and boarded the Nemesis. He set course for the planet the Pretenders were headed toward with grim determination, and upon landing, he almost wanted to scream due to the sheer amount of organic everything. It reminded him of the Pretenders and he despised being on the ground.

Thus, while his subordinates did everything in their power to root out the Pretenders wherever they were rooted on the planet of Earth, Megatron delved into the human datanet with Soundwave at his side. Jazz joined them on occasion, and through this shared effort, they discovered possible methods to combat their foes that they never would have expected. The ideas were... a tad outlandish. But having tried just about everything else under the sun to kill their enemies, the Decepticons were willing to make an attempt to follow the potential solutions provided.

Having watched "Earnest Scared Stupid" one time, the Vehicons attempted to deal with the Pretenders through the use of milk. It was a one time effort, and the Pretenders were more dumbfounded than actually upset at the milk that was tossed all over them. Seeing as they didn't melt into goo, the Vehicons ran screaming.

Jazz made a valiant attempt to use voodoo magic a handful of times, which ended up resulting in a small storage closet being filled to the brim with collections of dolls stuffed with needles. He also tried a few banishing rituals just for the kick of it. And surprisingly, after one of his attempts which involved an offering the some demon Jazz never bothered to remember, Arcee ended up stepping into a hole and breaking her leg. Since then Jazz has occasionally repeated the ritual just to see if anything else happens.

Starscream saw several movies and decided that water might be a possible way to combat the Pretenders. Being the most reliable flier, he took to the air and decided that Arcee would be the best target. He picked her up, and making sure to wear gloves so as to not actually touch her, he threw her into the nearest body of water and waited above. Arcee for her part flailed and got out with a hiss of indignation, her plating flaring and her extra limbs extending so that she could shake off the liquid. The most Starscream got for his efforts was a dirty look, but his work was applauded when he returned to the Nemesis. Touching a Pretender was always a dangerous risk to take.

Megatron opted for a slightly more... violent solution. He had attempted chemical warfare, bombing, outright attacks, poison, and even manufactured diseases to fight back against his foes. None of his efforts so much as gave him a reasonable weakness to use against them. While young, Pretenders were easy to kill. But after that all he really had to target was their familial connections. There were no physical defects to attack or use against them. They adapted, and as much as he was loath to admit it, they were disgustingly superior when it came to most physical activities. They were resistant to just about everything too. So really there were only two options in his mind.

The Pretenders operated similarly to organics. And according to what he saw, two things that killed organics most often were freezing cold and fire. Thus, his vehicons were given flamethrowers for a time and when the opportunity arose, Optimus was thrown into the arctic for observation. The vehicons for their part managed to make the Pretenders scatter, but fire did nothing against them that it didn't do for a normal Cybertronian. The freezing on the other hand? Freezing could kill a bot, at least in a moist environment. But against the odds, as soon as Optimus found he couldn't escape on his own, the Prime dug a hole into the ground and curled up into a ball, his frame stilling. For a moment Megatron thought he might have won, but then as soon as the other Pretenders came to get him, they dragged the Prime out and back to their base. Within a week he was up and moving again.

The monsters could hibernate it seemed. And that terrified Megatron more than he cared to admit.

The Decepticons only true success came when Soundwave decided to attempt using sound to their advantage. The Pretenders were incredibly sensitive, their optics, audials, and olfactory systems all primed for hunting. Seeing "The Quiet Place", Soundwave noted the similarities between the Pretenders and the Angels and opted to make an attempt at using the same attack against their foes. To the surprise of everyone, he...

Succeeded.

When Soundwave played music on just the right frequency on the battlefield, the Pretenders began to scream. Their frames shifted, their disguises falling away and simultaneously being forced back into place. Unable to control their frames fully, they could only thrash and fight like wild animals as their senses were assaulted from all sides. It was not enough to kill them, but the weakness was swiftly acknowledged and abused.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Another step closer to victory.

[saint-ajax]

Phantom Of The Sea

THE ONLY DAUGHTER OF POSEIDON AND Aphrodite was Sierra. She inherited her mother’s ethereal beauty and as her father was the God of  Sea, she could live in the deepest ocean there is. She was a product of mistakes and everyone in Olympus knew that. It may be one of the reasons why the Olympians look at her differently. None of the children wanted to make friends with her, and almost all her life she was treated miserably. But the Goddess of Warfare was the only soul who had a soft heart and kindness to the poor child. So as Sierra grew, she was clandestinely taught how to fight. She grew to be a brave lady with an astonishing beauty you can not deny. She was so beautiful that her mother, the Goddess of beauty and love, discovered a covetous jealousy that possessed her to banish her own daughter from her palace and sent her to her father to live in the sea. Sierra left Olympus with her heart filled with anger, hatred, and rage built ever since she was a child.

  In her life under the deepest and darkest sea, she found light in her enchanting voice and grace. At one point, she discovered that the sound and sight of her can seduce mortals, men, women, and… Gods. Ever since she was a child, she was clueless about what she was given to rule, what she was destined to be a God of,  but now in her new home, her lustrous scales gave her an idea. She was the Goddess of Sirens.

  Her heart was painted in anger and it pushed her to use her assets to seduce mortals who dared to sail, bring them to her cave, and decide their time of death. This continued for almost an eternity, thousands of humans tried to find and catch the infamous killer of the sea but none of them succeeded in passing her deceitful seducing mirage.

One morning, in one of her favorite islands where no one lives but silence, her paradise, where she goes to pass the time, had a living breathing mortal out of nowhere. The stranger was a rugged man in a veil. His mask seemed to be a skull of a being. And this awakened Sierra’s interest. It paused her plans to make that man her meal. From the corner of the island where she wouldn’t be seen by the young man, she eyed him in serenity. She watched how he walked by the shore in the morning and witnessed his sailing whenever the sunset. Her former annoyance of him vanished, whereupon the peacefulness of the island remained even with his presence.

One afternoon, Sierra’s curiosity got the best of her, and entertained the idea of approaching the boy’s boat without him looking. Her sneaking exposed her to silver and brass apparatus. Her attention was focused on a piece of silverware with four pointed edges. In a quick move, she swam deep with the material in hand. Back in her cave, after staring for hours at it, she ended up using it to untangle her silk hair. Meanwhile, the young man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why the calm water moved, but his focus was quickly diverted to his missing fork.

  The next day when he sailed, his fork came back out of nowhere with shiny pearls. Confusion built in his mind as he set them aside. Several exchanges of the moon and sun passed and their dance continued in its own rhythm. In every missing silver, comes back with newfound pearls. Whenever it was time to close the day, there was a mortal and a goddess watching without knowing the other knew about their presence.

      He could afford to build a castle with the amount of pearls he earned, he thought. At long last, he then decided to wait and catch the thief and returner of his belongings.

  He kept an eye on his ship and the body of water as the sun ended its reign, and by the time daylight covered the scene, the fairest woman he had ever laid his sight on made an appearance that surprised both companies. Their opposite-tinted orbs met. Once she realized that he saw her, she vanished out of thin air. She went back to her pitch-black nature. While he tried to chase her with his eyes, his confusion unfortunately froze him in his spot and he did nothing but let and watch her leave.

  The young man’s night became devoted to debating and thinking about whether it was a mermaid he saw. If he was in fact correct, he would be rewarded by the King if he ever brought them into their hands. The night went by and afterglow arrived once again, he found himself in his usual spot waiting for the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Meanwhile, Sierra purposely showed up, she was testing what would be the mortal’s reaction to her presence. If he dares to make the wrong move, then there would be a siren singing that night.

           But silence joined salt air when they finally saw each other. Their eyes lingered on one another until the young man decided to shatter the deafening silence between them.

       "When shall you be returning my silverware, fair lady?”

      The masculine man’s first words to her left her dazed. She could sense no fear as he stared directly at her radiant orbs and it only blossomed her curiosity of the man. When the fair lady did not respond, he tried once again.

 “Are you heedless that thy actions as stealing are pondered as a crime you shall be responsible for?”

  Her eyebrows lifted at his statement, and she enchanted him by simply speaking.

“I committed no crime when I intended to restore your taken treasure, and in truth, gave back more than I took.”

      “Capturing an object that is not thy possession without permission is known as stealing which is a crime.”

        The young man noticed that her eyes were focused on his neck, where his pendant of identification hangs from his service as a remarkable knight lieutenant for the King. When she pointed at it, he immediately disapproved by shaking his head.

 “I vow to return your fortune.” She swears.

“I’m afraid that's not happening.” He declines.

   “I advise you to trade it for gold.”

    “You heard me the first time, my lady.”

  “Sierra.” She received only a hum of acknowledgment from the young man. “And you are..?”

 “Ghost.” He made her smile. And all of a sudden he couldn’t look away from her blinding beauty.

   “You are a mortal named ‘Ghost’?” He confirmed with a nod as she released a contagious laugh.

      Ever since the mortal and the goddess met, they didn’t realize that they deliberately pledged time to spend together to capture the last gasp of beauty before the death of the day perpetually.

        Sierra even sang for Ghost once without any incantation and what he could only utter was,

      “You are a Goddess I would worship for eternity, Sierra.”

While she only responded with a mischievous sly grin.

      Like a usual afternoon, Sierra and Ghost were letting one another read chapters of their life.

       “Ghost.. Was the designated name for me when I performed my duties as a Lieutenant for the King.”

   “Lieutenant.. Ghost?” She fathomed in fascination. “If so.. Then ’Ghost’ is not your true name?”

     He hummed to confirm. That had put a frown on her face when she perceived the truth of the lack of trust he had for her by the simplicity of giving his birth name. Ghost took notice of her sudden silence, therefore, he tried to check up on her, but she was quicker to notice that he saw what was happening with her thus she proceeded to speak before him to cut him off.

    “Oh, I nearly forgot to caution you to be careful..there is a forthcoming storm.”

      His brows knitted at her change of topic. “It shall be as you say.” She nodded at his response. And when she prepared to swim away, he tried to stop her.

      “Am I bound to hope that we shall meet again?”

      “Fate shall know… Ghost.”

      She purposely weighed his name before vanishing to the depths of sea.

      When the moon wielded the night, Sierra’s oath came to life. Gigantic waves dominated the sea, heavy drops of rain demolished, and it was pure rage the wind and lighting proclaimed. Inside his sanctuary, there was no distress, no terror of the storm from Ghost but worry for the lady who was recently trapped in his labyrinth. He was worried for the mermaid who lived below the light and kept him on the edge of his seat the whole night. But the reign of moon finally ended yet all he could think about was her safety, her situation, if she was harmed or hopefully spent the night safely.

   Soon the king of light rose from the horizon, chirps of birds echoed along the calm wind and the sea was now at ease. A quiet knock came from the door. He was puzzled as he reached to open the entrance and see whoever was at the other side.

      The ground caught his jaw when the door gave sight of the Goddess on the other side. A captivating heavenly beauty stood familiar by heart, covered in peplos. 

    He was speechless, left in shock. He couldn’t believe a Goddess was standing right in front of his eyes. Luckily, a skull and clothing hid his face from the world.

     “Pleasant morning, Ghost. I only arrived as I wish to be aware of your condition after the storm.” 

     Her soothing tone comforted the harmonic morning and it brought him back to reality. He came back to his senses when he realized it was Sierra who was the stunning ethereal lady standing in front of him.

     “Sierra..”

“Ghost? Are you well?” She was starting to worry about his lack of response.

      “Sierra.. How are you with feet? I was secured the whole night. I am grateful that you care. You are the one who shall be questioned of their well-being. Do come in.” He widened the space for her to enter.

   “My pleasure. It is not necessary for you to worry about my health. I have experienced an even more terrible life in Olympus.”

      “I guess so.. –Olympus?”

   Sierra’s eyes widened when she realized what she had shared.

     “I only casted my feet to know if you are well. Are you confident that you are?”

     “You endangered yourself due to my being? Sierra, you are clueless of what you are doing. You shall come as I will take you back to your home.”

      “You are home.”

      “Stop being oblivious, Sierra. You would not desire to be with me, for I am not a nobleman.”

      “I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

       “I have taken hundreds of lives with my bare hands, Sierra.”

     “I am aware. You are the Lieutenant for your King, did you not say?”

     “Exactly.”

  “Therefore?”

    “You are the definition of pure and noble, Sierra. Your flawless skin.. your angelic eyes I could not find myself to look away from.. your luscious tail. In truth, you define perfection.”

    “I have not heard of your true name nor have I seen the magnificent mortal behind the mask, Ghost. Thus, same as me, you have not dived into my pool of sins for you to be definite of my genuine self.”

       “I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

         When Ghost threw her own words at her, she couldn't hold it anymore.

      “I behold such a fact that you are aware of my great love and care for you, Ghost. May whoever or whatever you have done.” Sierra held back tears before abandoning him speechless. And it was too late when he tried to run after her.

    Days elapsed and Ghost sailed consistently to try and catch Sierra by the nightfall, the time of day they usually meet, hoping to ask for her forgiveness. But days evolved into weeks and it was beginning to feel as if there was no existence of the mermaid at all.

       A mermaid who woke his long dead heart.

       He was filled with great sorrow and regret in the days when there were no signs of Sierra.

    Until one night, a miracle knocked on his door and made his heart beat crazy in hope of seeing Sierra once he opened the door. Heaven and earth entwined him when a different face of a goddess faced him.

      “Are you the mortal known as ‘Ghost’?” Authority and bravery would be sensed on her tone of speaking.

      “I am.” He responded.

     “If you without a doubt care about the Goddess of Sirens, you are to come with me right this moment.”

        “In what reasons would I care about the Goddess of Sirens?” Even if Ghost thought he had an idea who the lady was talking about, he didn't make it obvious.

       “For the Goddess of Sirens who ruled the Sea is named.. Sierra.”

        It was as if he was poured down with cold water with what he heard that he couldn't speak.

        “You are nothing but a fool if you weren't aware of this truth. Cease this nonsense right this instance and save the Goddess from the verdict of Zeus.”

          Athena made the former soldier do as told with her commanding tone. Ghost wasn't sure how they arrived at the sacred mountain of Olympus, but he was certain that it was Gods and Goddesses daggering him with looks full of judgment and studying his existence as if he wasn't meant to be there. And they were correct, he was just a mortal who had no right to be in the same place or even breathe the same air as God. But he did not have any time nor intended to self-pity, for this once caused him the sole reason of his being. Or in simpler words, the love of his life. The only soul who was ready to accept and love him for whoever or whatever he had done.

       Proud yet emotionless was the face carved behind the mask of Ghost. He followed right behind Athena who stood and bowed to show respect to the throne of Zeus. One gesture of Zeus and Athena vanished from her position and stepped aside, leaving the center of attention to the only mortal in the room. Zeus flashed a taunting smirk when the mortal in front of him did not dare to break the eye contact it held with a God.

       “A foolish and impudent mortal is the one you bring to save the Goddess of Sirens from death, Athena?!”  He yelled, howled, and tore the noises they caused that made the whole stadium sit in silence.

      Meanwhile, the Goddess of Warfare reacted as if she heard nothing, as if she wasn't yelled at by the God of all, she remained cold and unmoved while staring at nothing. Ghost had the exact same posture except his eyes widened when he took notice of the use of the word death in the same sentence with Sierra.

     “Death.. ?” He could not hold back anymore and started asking, he badly wanted to know her situation. Is she okay? Has she eaten yet? Where was she?  Is she in the middle of the sea waiting for him to sail? How he wished that their condition would always be as it was.

        “Precisely. The daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite shall be punished for unjust killings of thousands of mortals! men.. women.. And demigods.”

        Ghost knew that taking one’s life is vile, wrong, evil. But he couldn’t force to stop the smile that was forming on his lips when he knew that the woman who owned his heart was the same as he was. Morally corrupt, rotten soul, sinful and ungodly, a killer. They were fit for each other.

      “Yet.. the judgment can still be revoked..” All of a sudden, Ghost found a shed of light for just a split second when Zeus continued.

      “If only she were to marry me.”

     His closed fist tightened its grip on nothing when he heard those words. His anger boiled when he heard the condition of Sierra’s freedom from death. She was his. He would never let death nor any God or mortal take her away.

      “Bring her out!” He demanded.

   “Fool! And who did you think you are for anyone here to follow!?”

  “Bring Sierra out!” The mortal wasn’t moved one bit and even had a higher tone in speaking to a god.

     “Mortal!” Athena called out to Ghost to scold him for disrespecting.

   The mocking laugh Zeus released thundered the entire domain as he gestured to one of the knights.

  “You’re brave, Lieutenant.” An insulting smirk appeared on his lips while he sneered at Ghost, “I'll give you that.” obviously wanting him to know that he knew who he was.

    “Summon the Goddess.” Zeus commanded calmly which the knights obeyed immediately. A few tense minutes went by and the sound of chains hitting the ground was starting to sound close by. Then the knights appeared surrounding the most beautiful goddess in the room. But there was something off with her. She looked lifeless. And as if a dog whose owner did not want her to bark, she had a dog muzzle. His heart of stone tore into a million pieces at the scene. He fought the urge to run and rip the rope securing her wrists and feet and pull her to his embrace.

   But he became a statue as he took in her condition. She was pale, hollow-cheeked, as if she was starving for weeks. They forcedly sat her beside Zeus’ throne, as if she was the reigning Queen.

  “Sierra..” He whispered weakly.

    She slowly brought her gaze up to find the source of that familiar voice and found his warm eyes staring back at her. The eyes that calm her system down. She couldn’t do anything but squirm and persist to be free from being restrained. Her radiant eyes moistened from tears that begged to fall when she saw him. Weak and faint cries were heard from Sierra.

    Ghost wasn’t able to hold it together anymore when her cries reached his ears. He tried to run to her, but the alert knights held and forced him down before he caught the throne.

   “You stop this instance you imbeciles! You! Mortal! If you, as you claim, care for the Goddess, I challenge you to prove it right this moment.” One flick of his hand and one of the chevaliers threw Ghost away and a sword at him. He wholeheartedly accepted the challenge.

  Sierra became undone at the scene in front of her. She was nervous, scared, and at the same time impressed at the mad skills Ghost was showing as he defended and slayed the knights of gods. There was fire in his eyes, igniting him to win. But the battle wasn’t fair and square, Zeus was tiring him out by sending more and more warriors with each knight he slayed. Sierra kept squirming in her seat as she witnessed the unfair battle before flinching when she felt a hand land on her shoulder.

    Ghost was well aware of Zeus’ intentions, he was purposely exhausting him so he would give up, but no matter how many stabs or bruises he received, giving up would never cross his mind knowing the price it pays.

      Each swish of sword and duck of his, he sensed where the other was if it was nowhere near his sight. As he jabbed the steel into the man’s chest breaking through its skin and sinking into its bones, it was too late to duck from the stab that was coming from behind, but before a blade passed through him, a dead body dropped behind him instead, at the same time when the one in front his face dropped dead. When he turned around, he saw Sierra with a sword slightly gasping for air, his saviour from the traitor enemy. She ran to help him as soon as Athena untied her.

      “Ghost..” She whispered breathlessly. Just a few more steps and they were finally able to feel another’s embrace. At the drop of the armor, Sierra locked his neck around her arms while Ghost secured her waist in his arms.           

      “I love you, Sierra. I am such a fool, please, I need you to forgive—”

     “Shh.. shh.. I know, my only. I know. And I love you too, I love you so much.”

     “Fools!” At the same time as Zeus let out a scream, the arrow came free and landed on the back of the mortal.

    Sierra froze on her spot as she slowly processed what just happened. Ghost’s blooded body fell on the ground but she immediately tried to catch his head.

        “No.. no.. this.. This is not possible. This can not be.. no.. ”

        She couldn’t control the tears that were falling from her eyes. All the anger that burned inside her for centuries was turning into pure pain and sorrow.

       “Ghost.. Don’t.. Please.. Don’t leave me.. I beg of you.. Don’t.”

      Ghost weakly tried to reach his balaclava to let the Goddess know his genuine self. While Sierra was as seen as if she saw an angel, a handsome hunk angel. Even if he was painted in blood, and deep scars, it didn’t manage to lessen his striking beauty. From his brilliant eyes, sharp nose, and jaw, she was falling for him all over again.

       “You are the most handsome mortal I sang for.”

      “You are the most beautiful goddess I fought for.”

       At the same time a smile appeared on Sierra’s lips was the escape of tears and a cough of blood from Ghost.

      “Oh, Ghost. No.. shh.. no.. my ghost.."

     “Simon.” Simon corrected. “Simon is my true name, my only.”

     “Simon..” Sierra repeated in fascination. “I love you, Simon. I do.”     

     She left a kiss on his forehead as Simon left his last words before his last breath.

    “For eternity, even at the last gasp of sun, I can only witness beauty when I’m with you.”

      Each corner of the stadium was filled with Sierra’s screeching scream when Ghost officially caught his last breath. Her pain and grief were painfully evident in her yells and her cries. Every god and goddess watched her scream in pain. Her agony maimed everyone who heard her howl on the whole mountain of sacredness.

      Yet no matter what the two of them went through that day, she was still served with death on the same day and neither of her parents defended or sought to comfort her. No one ever did except for the mortal who lay lifeless next to her.

       From that day on, the cry and screams of agony of the siren echoed eternally at the depths of the sea, and anyone who came across, anyone unfortunate enough to hear it, was never found.

      And that became the birth of the phantom of the sea.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 1: Afternoon Light]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 3.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

A/N: Not me pulling a Tom Brady by announcing my retirement only to immediately un-announce it. 😂😂 I regret to inform you that I am apparently incapable of not writing fanfiction. I had no ideas for a grand total of 1 week before this story showed up and possessed me entirely against my will...and then I fell in love with it. I’m still working on my book, but I had to get this out of my system too. I hope you enjoy it. 💜 I’ll tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to! 🥰

@elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess

He’s thrusting into you, but you’re miles away: a speck of an island in the Mediterranean Sea, the glimmer of an unnamed star.

His rhythm is clumsy but never rough. He smells like wine and sandalwood, lavender and bleak perspiration. You moan when he expects you to. Your body moves with his, compliant, complicit. You roll your hips and tug at his white-blond hair, corollaries of ecstasy you wish you felt. You’ve learned to feign pleasure convincingly. Aegon will stop if he thinks you’re not enjoying yourself, and you need this to be over. What do you want me to do to you? he’ll ask, cerulean eyes drunk and muddy, words slurred, body repositioning. Do you like it this way? How about this? You can’t bear his curious consideration, his invasive hands. You don’t really like it any way. You’ve grown to accept that. You’ve had time to get used to the idea.

The air is sharp with the mineral ether of sex. Spots on the sheet beneath you are wet, clinging, cold. When Aegon kisses you—sloppily, carelessly—your lips and tongue follow his, willing him to finish, your eyes squeezed shut as he gropes your face with ungainly fingers. And at last, it’s done: he shudders, groans, flops down beside you on the mattress.

“Well done, wife,” Aegon pants. He gives your disheveled hair one absentminded stroke and then gazes up at the canopy, cloth embroidered with green roses and spiraling gold dragons. He yawns, his eyes dipping closed. The rise and fall of his bare, glistening chest is slowing.

“Aegon?”

“Hm?” He is inconvenienced; he is already half-asleep.

You roll onto your side, turning towards him. Aegon feels the mattress shift. Reluctantly, he rouses himself, sighs, swallows the rest of the wine in the cup he left perched on the nightstand. “I’m so sorry,” you say softly.

“About what?” He peers at you, groggy and half-listening, stray beads of red wine like blood on his chin. “Oh, yes. That.”

That. What he means is three miscarriages in one year, all early, all excruciating beyond words, all destructive to both the body and the soul. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

“Don’t worry yourself, wife,” he says, yawning again. He always calls you that—wife—with a vague, impersonal fondness. Aegon doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t seem interested in remedying that. He doesn’t see it as something to be remedied at all. He attempts to set his empty cup back on the nightstand and doesn’t notice when it tumbles off and clanks against the floor. He burrows beneath the blankets like a hedgehog. “We’ll get it right eventually.”

Eventually, you think with horror, as you are left alone in the candlelight; Aegon plummets into sleep and is silent except for his snoring. How long will I have to do this?

Twelve months of marriage and you are no closer to fulfilling your purpose here. You are told what to eat, when to sleep with your husband, how to lie still afterwards so his seed can take hold, which saints to pray to. You are offered tender-voiced morsels of advice until they feel more like palms cracking across your face than gifts. Every second of your existence is consumed by the desperate need for Aegon’s heir, for the Greens’ future. And each time you lose a pregnancy, the clock starts over again.

How long can I do this before it breaks me, kills me, drives me mad?

~~~~~~~~~~

When a northern pike glides through cool rippling currents, yellow perch and bluegills scatter; and that’s exactly what the courtiers do to you. It’s a bit like living inside a glass bowl: people press their palms to the arched walls and stare like you’re a captive animal—a leopard or an elephant or a white bear from the Arctic—but they don’t speak to you. None of them know what to say. There are whispers flying, women in gowns and men in tunics gossiping about how last night was the first time the prince returned to your bed since your most recent miscarriage. The tentative speculation can begin again, glances at your waistline and delicate inquiries about your health. Bets are placed on whether you will at last produce an heir this time: boy, girl, white-haired or not, early, late, alive, dead. The clock has been reset.

You do not allow anyone to see your pain, your desperation. You have no true friends here. You are allied with the Greens, yes, but that does not mean they are your friends. The Duke of Hightower, chief advisor to the king, was insistent that you bring none of your ladies with you from your homeland; and so the women who attend you are English, polite but not particularly devoted, dutiful but not reliably discreet. He wanted no weak links, no chess pieces that he could not entirely control, no loyalties that ran deeper than his ambitions for Alicent and her children. Now, the Duke of Hightower is fiercely disappointed with you. He’s losing his ability to hide it.

As you traverse the Great Hall of Westminster Palace—an island, a lone cloud roaming across a clear sky—Prince Daemon, smirking and wolflike, stalks into your path.

“Hello there, Navarre,” he says, circling with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his strange deep-set eyes flicking all over you. He likes to call you this, a reminder of where you came from, of why Aegon married you: for an alliance, for advantages in the inevitable civil war when King Viserys dies, for heirs intrinsically linked with the Continent. You were one piece of a far grander design. Helaena was married off to Castile, you were brought west from Navarre, and thus the Greens gained supporters in the Iberian Peninsula. Helaena has given birth to one healthy son so far, and by all accounts has found great happiness in her new life across the Bay of Biscay. Daemon never tires of drawing attention to the fact that you have yet to fulfill your half of the bargain.

You bow your head swiftly, without conviction. “Prince Daemon.”

“My, that’s quite an extravagant gown. What have you got hidden under it? Your father’s famed archers, perhaps? Gold coins and steel daggers? I know what Prince Aegon would want under his skirts.” Daemon grins. “Lady Joanna Montford. Or is it Mountford? You must forgive me, I’m always mixing up the details.”

“I’ll defer to your better judgment, you have far more experience with whores than I do.”

He offers you a single rose, dyed black. “I regret that I did not have the opportunity to properly express my condolences after your most recent loss. It’s become difficult to keep up with them, they’ve grown so numerous. I’m sure you understand.”

You take the rose; untrimmed thorns bite into the defenseless flesh of your fingertips, but you don’t let it show on your face. “Only one from you? Your wife sent me a dozen.” They were red, the color of Navarre’s flag; though the resemblance to blood did not escape you.

“Yes, it’s true, her heart remains rather tender, much to my chagrin.”

“And yours remains nonexistent.” You pluck onyx petals from the rose one by one and toss them to the floor. Courtiers watch this, chattering spiritedly.

Daemon is still grinning. He has won. It never matters what you say, what you do; until you give Aegon a son, in every interaction Daemon walks away the victor. “I hope you enjoy the rest of this glorious July afternoon. And I hope you enjoy your evening as well. And the evening after that, and the evening after that…” He prowls closer, his voice dropping low and sinister. “And all those countless, blundering, long evenings you’ll spend under your mortifying drunk of a husband.”

You rip away from him—not his hands, no, even Daemon would not deign to touch you in front of an audience, but from his suffocating antipathy—and continue on your way to the royal stables, courtiers dispersing in your wake like startled doves. The cobblestones of the palace gardens are weather-beaten and craggy as you sail over them, warm summer wind in your hair, the hem of your gown dragging. Herbs and spices grow high and vivid green: angelica for digestion, feverfew for headaches, St. John’s wort for melancholy, betony to ward off evil spirits, chamomile to bring sleep, rosemary to quell nightmares, pennyroyal to induce a woman’s monthly blood. You have the opposite problem. All you seem to be able to do is bleed.

Inside the royal stables, the world is reduced to hushed subtleties: hooves thudding against straw, nickers and huffs, the swishing of tails, cascading sunlight dotted with whirling planets of dust. You drift by each of the stalls, inhaling the scent of horses and mid-summer. King Viserys promised you an Andalusian, brought by ship all the way from your homeland, for each child born to you and Aegon; alas, none of the animals housed here are yours yet. There’s Sunfyre, an Akhal-Teke, small-boned and shimmering gold. There’s Caraxes, a temperamental blood bay Arabian, and Syrax, a Marwari, cremello with blue eyes and delicate ears that curl in towards each other. Tessarion is a dappled blue-grey Percheron, young but gaining height and brute force each day. Jacaerys and Lucerys have Marwaris like their mother, Baela and Rhaena own volatile Arabians like their father. Joffrey is still riding a slow, potbellied pony; little Aegon III, Viserys II, and Visenya cannot ride at all yet. Every time you blink, it seems, the Blacks have added another child to their ranks, another inheritor to carry their claim forward. Your stomach sinks beneath your skin and scarlet ropes of muscle, a basket full of rocks.

You stop at the last stall, twice the size of any of the others. Vhagar towers over you. She is an English Great Horse, and the largest one that anyone can remember knowing of; her coat is a dark, lustrous brown, her massive hooves feathered, her muzzle sloped and velvety when you lay your palm against it. She lets you do this, as she always does; more than that, you think, she welcomes it.

You remove the letter from your bodice, your true purpose for coming here. You want to read it where you can be alone, where there are no prying eyes to report back to King Viserys, Queen Alicent, the Duke of Hightower, Aegon, Daemon, Rhaenyra the Crown Princess. You must keep your composure, your dignity. It’s all you have left.

You unfold the letter, your gaze skimming across your mother’s words, the slopes and summits of her letters heartbreakingly familiar, her fears loud through the ink-and-parchment silence. You expected this, and yet the weight of it stacks up in your ribcage like the splintered wreckage of a ship.

Think, my love, the Queen of Navarre writes. Think of everything you do, see, say, and feel. There is something that is poisoning the children inside of you. Do not trouble yourself with court gossip or bitter rivalries. You cannot serve your husband’s family—your family, now—if your attention is divided and your heart heavy with doubts. Shut yourself away from all things impassioned. Commit yourself to prayer and needlework. Purify yourself, dear daughter, prepare yourself in body and soul. God answers the cries of those who have won his favor.

You crumple the letter in your fists and then rip it to pieces, not out of wrath but so that nobody else might read it. The fragments flutter away like autumn leaves. You cannot resent your mother for her cushioned reprimands. She means well, but she cannot hope to understand; she bore ten children, eight of whom lived past the cradle, with no exceptional difficulty. Your father has taken mistresses on occasion, but not until years into his marriage, and regardless of his dalliances your mother remains his confidant, his greatest desire, his heart. Your life is nothing like hers. Your future has become something you didn’t know existed. You feel as if you have stumbled into a mirror, a duplicate world where everything is the same but the wrong way around. Where is your own satisfaction? Where is your soulmate?

There are footsteps, and you spin to see Prince Aemond standing in the doorway. He immediately turns to leave, and this is unsurprising; he never speaks to you, rarely looks at you, glides out of rooms as you come into them. You had once hoped to befriend him before his aversion to the notion became clear. He is palpably disinterested in you. But this afternoon as warm golden sunlight spills down on him, for reasons you cannot fathom, he hesitates; and now he’s waited too long, it would be rude for him to flee so obviously from you. Slowly, Aemond walks into the stable. He is so much like Daemon, though lighter: not in color but in gravity, his steps quieter, his hands graceful and precise. You’ve never seen him without his eyepatch. The Blacks call the cause of his maiming a sparring accident, the Greens call it an ambush, King Viserys doesn’t call it anything; perhaps he has forgotten it completely.

You expect Aemond to demand to know what you’re doing here, to scold you for jeopardizing your health with unnecessary excursions. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” he says instead, his voice whisper-soft like pattering spring rain, like a leaf of lamb’s ear threaded between your fingers. “I hope my brother has been…kind about it.”

“He’s very kind. He doesn’t mention it at all.” Not once has anybody said those three words to you: I’m so sorry. They lift a million pounds from your shoulders, an eon of stones from your belly. “In fact, no one speaks of it with me. They speak in my direction, they tell me what to do differently, they assign blame…but no one has any interest in what I have to say back. No one asks me what it feels like to…to…”

It shocks you, knuckles to the gut: your breath hitches, your lips tremble, you swallow down tears like poison. It’s humiliating, this display of helplessness, this shattering of regal poise. You shield your face with both hands so Aemond cannot watch you war with yourself. And surely he is repulsed by you, this prince who has been mutilated and unavenged and overlooked since childhood. You have never known anyone as self-possessed as Aemond Targaryen. He endures all of life’s trials without emotion, without weakness. He must be appalled that you cannot do the same.

Yet when you are at last confident that you will not weep in front of him, you lower your hands to see that Aemond has silently obliterated the space between you. He is close enough to touch, his palm pressed to Vhagar’s monstrous neck. He’s looking at the horse, but he is listening to you. “She likes you,” he says gently. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

You’ve never been in such proximity to Aemond before. He’s taller than you remember; his eye is watchful and intent, a paler shade of blue than Aegon’s, more clear, a river rather than a sea riotous with storms. When you inhale, you taste pieces of him: leather, musk, the smoke of a blacksmith’s forge. There’s an abrupt weakness in your knees and ankles that you pretend not to notice. “Most of my friends have hooves these days.”

“I never see you go out riding.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

For an instant, his brow knits with confusion, and then he remembers. Horseback riding is thought to be calamitous for pregnancy, and your chances are slim enough already. “But that’s something that you once enjoyed, back in Navarre?” You flinch when you hear the name of your homeland, a reflex, Daemon’s taunts ringing in your skull like church bells. Everyone knows that’s what he calls you. “Forgive me, perhaps that word has painful connotations now.”

“It doesn’t sound so bad when you say it.” And that’s true: it’s not a dagger but a murmur, a musing, a dream. “Yes, I used to love riding horses. And dancing, attending hunting expeditions, reading poetry, plucking olives from the trees…my brothers and I would even knock swords together sometimes in the courtyard.” You smile wistfully, then lose it like a gull feather on waves. “And now I don’t do anything.”

“What brings you happiness here in England?”

“Nothing,” you reply, meeting his gaze for the first time. He studies you, his eye blue like the mid-summer afternoon sky, searching. And suddenly, you’ve never felt more interesting, you’ve never felt such raw hunger to unearth everything you’re built of. You skate your palm down Vhagar’s face and confess quietly, shakily: “I always thought I would teach my children to ride horses.”

“You will someday,” Aemond insists.

“When you’re little, five or ten years old, you dream about growing up and all the miraculous things you’ll be. And then you finally become an adult and you meet the rest of your life and…and…” You don’t like it. “It’s so different from what you imagined.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, soft and mournful.

“But I’ve interrupted you,” you say. “You came here to take Vhagar riding, I’m sure, and now you’re caught in my little web of nostalgia and self-pity. Please, accept my apology, and don’t let me delay you any further.”

“I was planning to go riding,” Aemond admits. He’s wearing a black leather messenger bag, you notice for the first time. He pulls at the strap that hangs from his right shoulder self-consciously. You have never seen Aemond betray any sign of self-consciousness before this moment. In many ways, you have never seen him at all. He asks you pointedly: “What if I took Vhagar out walking you accompanied me?”

“I told you. I can’t.”

“Not riding,” Aemond says. “Just walking. We’ll lead her down to the edge of the forest, let her stretch her legs a bit and eat some of the fallen apples. You’re allowed to walk, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so.” You stare at him, perplexed. You almost ask why he would offer to do such a thing, why he would feel inspired to raise your spirits. But you don’t want him to change his mind. You point to his messenger bag. “What do you have in there?”

“Parchment. Quills. A bottle of ink.”

“What do you write? Battle plans? Letters to marriageable foreign noblewomen?”

“Poems,” Aemond confesses in a whisper you can barely hear, not looking at you.

“Could I read some of your poems?”

“No,” he says immediately, startled.

“Never mind. It was wrong of me to ask.”

He doesn’t reply; he just fetches Vhagar’s halter from the hook on the stable wall, black leather studded with sapphires the size of ladybugs. She allows Aemond to place it on her without any resistance. He attaches the lead chain—heavy silver links—but he doesn’t need it. Vhagar follows him out of the stables, her colossal hooves drumming like distant thunder, her jet black mane whipping in the wind. Aemond matches his pace with yours as the three of you cross the emerald green field that separates Westminster Palace from the tree line of the forest.

After strolling for a while—Vhagar chomping on apples, you stepping gingerly over felled branches and gnarled roots—you and Aemond sit beneath a sprawling cedar that blots out the sun, its limbs like the wings of a dragon. He recounts myths and legends of England, things that Aegon has not thought to share with you once in the past twelve months, weeks of which you spent in bed bleeding out his would-be children: King Arthur and Beowulf, Robin Hood and the Rollright Stones, Saint George the guardian of the royal family. And as Aemond speaks, at some point you stop hearing him and start seeing him, everything that brought him here, everything that will happen next.

Once upon a time, King Viserys named his daughter Rhaenyra his successor. She was his only surviving offspring, the last vestige of his cherished wife Aemma, dead in fruitless childbirth and cold in her tomb in Windsor Castle. The king then promptly remarried and fathered four more Targaryens, closer to afterthoughts than assets in his eyes: Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. Rhaenyra is still the king’s favorite, and is much loved in Northern England, where her mother hailed from. She has the support of Scotland as well. Her marriage to their Crown Prince Laenor Velaryon was meant to consolidate the two nations under one ruling family, one flag. To reinforce this alliance, her uncle Daemon wed Laenor’s sister Laena. But then Laena died, and Laenor did too, and all those tragic pieces fell together for Rhaenyra to get what she evidently wanted all along: Daemon in wedlock, in her confidence, in her bed. Her sons with Laenor will soon marry his daughters with Laena, and each new white-haired child she produces with her uncle gives the Blacks one more dynastic pawn to play in the game of thrones.

The merchants of Southern England—the Duke of Hightower foremost among them—are aghast at the thought of Rhaenyra’s ascension. No woman has ever successfully ruled England, and she is sure to be malevolently influenced by her uncle-husband. The Pope will not sanction their incestuous union, nor those of their children, though this does not daunt the Blacks. They will make a new order here in the British Isles; they will not play by the Continent’s rules. In reply, the kingdoms of Western Europe—to varying degrees of zealousness—support the Greens and the coronation of Aegon II upon his father’s death. King Viserys is in fine health now, but that could change at a moment’s notice: with a fall from a horse, with veins darkened by infection, with a vial of poison, with a resurgence of Plague. When the king is dead, Aegon must have every possible advantage to offer England, including a clear line of succession. This was supposed to be your role. This has become your greatest failure. Yet here under a hundred-year-old cedar tree outside Westminster Palace, Aemond makes you forget that for a while.

Hours later, you are back in your bedchamber when your husband arrives to fuck you. That’s a crude word for it, but that’s exactly what it is: something he does to you, not with you. You gulp down a cup of your apple cider, the drink you like best here in England, not as thick and bitter as ale, not a poor imposter of the Continent’s red wine. It is bright, sweet, sometimes vaguely minty. It makes you think of spring and summer, of rebirth. It fills you with the undying ambition to bear fruit of your own.

You turn to Aegon, who is yanking off his white shirt with his back to you, his hair in disarray, his pores sweating out wine and indifference. He crawls into the bed on all fours, slapping himself lightly across the face, forcing himself to stay awake until the act is done.

And you think, for the very first time: I wonder what it would have been like to marry Aemond.

[stirringwinds]

are there certain visual themes or imagery you yourself particularly associate with yao as an artist or writer? i'm trying to visualize the nations better...

hmmm, interesting question. i like incorporating nature imagery into the hetalias, especially old nations like yao. there's something mythical and compelling about the sense of age and vastness that evokes. these are some (non-exhaustive) thoughts i've had:

a. i always associate yao with rivers and water; the Yellow River in particular, which is often seen as the "cradle" of Chinese civilisation (but of course, there's also the Yangtze, and the Pearl River too). rivers are life-giving but also untameable, powerful and dangerous—the Yellow River's fertile silt birthed agriculture and civilisation, but its destructive floods have claimed uncounted lives over the millennia of Chinese history. and...that's kind of how yao is, as a nation and an empire, towards others of their kind. the source of cultural and artistic innovations, but also death. water can be fluid, life-giving and nurturing, but also as treacherous as a torrential flood sweeping everything away, no?

like the Yellow River's relationship with humanity, yao's impact on world history feels to me like this duality of life and death; peace and warfare; mentor, empire, conqueror... it's like, yao's been a teacher to many others but...i don't think their predominant image of him is as a warm and nurturing figure. maybe more so with his own people, but less so with other nations. being the old warlord he is, he'd say certain things very matter-of-factly (especially to yong-soo and kiku), about how power is the only language their kind universally understands, or about history being written by the victors (when we consider how the only surviving written sources about certain periods of asian history are only chinese ones...), inasmuch he'd talk about the importance of confucian virtue, integrity and humility on other occasions.

b. for obvious reasons; dragons—they and rivers both have that overlapping association of being serpentine, powerful and untameable. in contrast to how european dragons often took on villainous roles and were harbingers of disaster, it's important to note chinese dragons usually have far more positive cultural connotations. they symbolise prosperity, fortune and are guardians; often associated with power over water (so again; Yao and rivers and water.) many dragons are associated with a particular river or sea. they're also believed to have powers over the weather and were often prayed to. after all, the capriciousness of the rains ruled people's lives so much through natural disasters or made a difference between a bountiful harvest and a famine. so, i think at various points in history his people might also have understood him as a literal dragon (spirit/deity) walking around in a human guise. dragons are also a visual staple of chinese culture, from statues to jewellery. at the same time: while they're auspicious symbols—dragons can of course have aggressive and far less benign connotations if we consider how they became symbols of the emperor—and thus chinese imperial power and dominion over others. he evokes majesty, but also dread from that perspective.

c. plum blossoms: much like the sakura in japanese culture, plum blossoms are one beloved motif you'll see showing up in chinese art and literature throughout history. they're elegant and ethereal, also a symbol of both transience and renewal in a way, i'd say—their blossoms wither and die, but they come back each year. there's also that saying about how without a bitter cold, you won't have the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms, because they start blooming in winter. that's...very yao to me. china, as an idea, makes me think of a lot of elegant and refined traditional culture (like poetry or paintings) which plum blossoms recall—but i also think of humbler themes—the simpler idea of someone and something who is enduring, adaptable and resilient. who endures the harshest weather time and time again until spring arrives, the way my (peasant) ancestors probably did, carving their way through all the hardships of chinese history. yao might appear refined in an indulgent, wealthy way when he's dressed in his finest silk hanfu or a smart western suit in the modern day—but if you shake his hand, his palms are always callused and you can just see the weight (and hard-won experience) of centuries in his gaze.

[the-moon-devi]

🦋Channeled Messages from Spirit 🦋

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Use your intuition & pick which mood board is calling u!

Decks used: The HooDoo Tarot & The Love oracle

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Pile 1:

Channeled Messages:

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♡ Flower dress- cottagecore

♡ The color pink??

♡ breadwinner

♡ shame

♡ gossip

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Cards pulled: Father of Baskets, 9 of sticks, the sun, son of knives, bottom of the deck; justice

You carry yourself respectfully,and you come off lady-like/ feminine. But I feel like you don't bs around, people may think your not very smart. People comment on your looks alot (maybe your hair) to make you feel self conscious about your appearance. (Cuz' their jealous) The first card that came out for you was the Father of Baskets and the energy I'm getting is maybe a father or perhaps a boss or love interest either way I feel like this person tries to tell you what to do and wants to keep you in harsh situations or puts you in harsh situations. You may find yourself in a position to defend yourself and your ego. This may have something to do with your reputation or how others view you this person could have been sneakily putting out rumors about you. I'm getting you deserve justice for this and your going to get it. Honestly, this could even be a legal battle your going through. I'm getting like legally blonde vibes from this pile. I feel like people think your too pretty to be smart. They try to pick you apart and get mad once they realize your more mentally strong than you gave off. This man gossiped and talked about you so bad. I feel so hurt and betrayed for ya'll. You could've trusted this person and talked to them about your emotions but they were very two-faced to you. You may have learned they were doing this to you because you were eavesdropping. If you haven't then you will and I'm getting the energy that's it going to come out pretty soon. Alright pile 1, I hope this helped and you guys cuss this person out because you have every right to. 😘😡

Pile 2:

Channeled Messages:

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♡ falling/ Tower card moment

♡ unexpected

♡ confusion

♡ lost

♡ tired

♡ starseed

♡ scorpio

♡ necklace

♡ overestimated/ exhaustion

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Cards pulled: The lovers, 5 of cups, ace of knives, 3 of Baskets, 5 of sticks, the high priestess.

Oracle: coffin- growth,change liberation,change

Heartbroken- deeply hurt,sad,seperation,breakup, feeling lost grieving mourning,

The runner- fear of intimacy, listening to ego

Ascending- transcending, obstacles, learning expansion, new phase, preparing for union

You are very confused right now, I feel like you guys hit rock bottom or you were just thrown down a hole or like a maze where you keep going around in circles. It could feel like something or someone is chasing you. I just had a dream similar to this, so this message could really resonate with this pile. You may be scared of a love interest hurting you, because we have the lovers card here, this person could have actually hurt you and left you feeling disappointed in love. That experience is what could have put you in this tower energy. I think your ancestors sent you into this to get clarity on something that's spiritual. You have the ascending card and the High priestess. Your in a maze and you have to find a way out instead of running from what your scared of face it head on. That thing your running from could be the thing that's going to protect you. You also have the 5 of wands there could be some spiritual warfare going on for you this may be affecting your mental. This is such a complex pile and I love it because your message is very deep. I felt the need to go on pinterest after channeling and I saw a cross necklace with Jesus and a picture that said Evara. Evara means gift of God. Your very connected to the ETHERS and your being called to pull out that ace of swords to beat whatever enemy you have. You have the gift of God and you are protected. You may be in some type of religion it doesn't have to be Christian, you could be like a witch/ apart of some type of cultural group or in a cult. I'm getting vibes like that. I feel like you work very well with dark energy. Because you are of light & dark and know how to transmute. Something could also be affecting your sleep or, you could literally avoid sleeping because you feel attacked in your dreams. I did also channel starseeds before I pulled your cards. You could be confused on why all of this is happening to you and this could be why. A certain celebration also could have not turned out the way you wanted to. There could have been a fight or smth like that. Theres also a few of you who are going through this because your running from your person, and they are trying to protect you. Im getting a lot as i close this energy out but yall are tired try to go to sleep. You could get alot of psychic downloads which leads to overstimulaion & paranoia try to journal and speak aloud. Maybe even psychic attacks. Some of you also could have lossed a partner. Im so sorry. I hope this helped in some way, and I pray for mental/ spiritual insight for you. Pls do some protection/banishing wrk if ur in2 that. 😘🔮

Pile 3:

Channeled messages:

••••••••••••••••••••••••

♡ Thick/ nice shape

♡ Monochromatic/ Luxury

♡ Natural hair

♡ single mom

♡ callou/ Arthur

♡ writer

♡ Family by dream girls

♡ the box- Roddy rich (this is so random ik 🤣 but maybe there's a message 4 u 🤭)

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Cards pulled: Son of Baskets, 2 of knives, Mother of baskets, 4 of wands, Hierophant,  Father of swords

Oracle: Photograph- looking at your photos, missing you, Nostalgia, make new memories

For those of you who chose this pile, you could have children or your pregnant. While I was started channeling I started rubbing my stomach so maybe your expecting. I also started remembering shows from my childhood like callou and Aurthur (2000s babies know). You could be a young parent reflecting back on your childhood because your energy pulled  the Photograph oracle card and this represents old memories and Nostalgia, I kinda got like a melancholy feeling from this like you miss it. Your now realizing your entering a new phase in your life. You may be having/ have a boy too since both of those shows have little boy as the main characters. I feel like you have two options with the two of swords here. You may not know the specifics of each option and feel like you don't know enough about either to choose. 4 of wands here im getting family but also you have the hierophant and this card represents traditional values. The hierophant can also represent marriage so you could be getting married and starting a family with the father of knives soon. (I'm seeing 717 as I'm writing this) look up that number it could have a meaning for you. This person could feel you have very mothering energy. Your energy is the mother of cups. I see you and this person have built a very solid foundation. You may be worried about being pregnant or whatever your case is but whichever turn you make you'll be fine. I'm also getting your family will have your back no matter what. You may be worried about being a single mom or conforming to traditional roles of being married before you have children. You could have this mindset because of your family. It was a pleasure reading for you guys, yall energy feels so venusian & Lunar. Best wishes to you and your decision! 🌺🦋

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Catch ya later lovelies! Til' next time!

𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 xx🤎💋

~𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵

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𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓓𝓮'𝓛𝓾𝔁𝔁𝓮 (masterlist)

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©𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 (Do not copy or steal my work)

[spencerreidswhore187]

Take Me to Church

Ava x Beatrice (Warrior Nun)

Summary: Amidst the chaos of their lives, Beatrice finds solace in playing with Ava's hair.

Word Count: 0.3k

In the subdued ambience of their makeshift refuge, Beatrice sat beside Ava, the flickering flame of a solitary candle casting an ethereal glow across the room. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken battles and the lingering echoes of their pasts. Yet, amidst the calmness, Ava rested her head on Beatrice's shoulder, humming quietly as Beatrice's fingers gently traced through her hair.

Beatrice's gaze remained fixed, her movements deliberate as she navigated the strands of Ava's hair. There was a certain stoicism about her, a demeanour that spoke of a sister warrior's discipline, even in the seemingly mundane act of playing with hair. 

"You ever notice how we're always on the brink of chaos, yet there's something oddly grounding about this?" Beatrice asked.

Ava, nuzzling into Beatrice's shoulder, couldn't help but smirk at her unexpected insight.

"Grounding, huh? I wouldn't have expected you to go all Zen on me, Bea."

Beatrice's response was a subtle nod, her focus unwavering.

"Call it what you want. It's a distraction. Keeps the mind sharp."

As her fingers continued their purposeful dance, it was as if Beatrice was untangling more than just hair – unravelling the knots of tension that accompanied them wherever they went.

 "They say focus is a weapon," Bea murmured. "And if you can make someone lose focus on the chaos, even for a moment, it's a victory."

Ava, ever the pragmatist, chuckled at the notion.

"I'm all for unconventional warfare. Carry on, soldier."

Beatrice's fingers moved with a seasoned precision, each stroke a deliberate manoeuvre in a silent strategy. Though small and confined, The room was a sanctuary of sorts, shielded from the outside tumult by the quiet exchange between two warriors seeking solace.

"In the midst of battles and skirmishes, even nuns need a moment of respite. This... this is our moment."

Ava, in the embrace of the momentary truce, acknowledged the unspoken pact with a nod.

"If this is a warrior's version of a spa day, I'm all in."

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

[toastandjamie]

You know I think the most compelling thing about Mat is? He’s a subversion of literally everything his character is Supposed to be. He’s the rogue archetype but he’s not a lonewolf or even particularly cowardly despite his insistence in the contrary. His major character trait is his Loyalty, that’s his defining characteristic. Not his wit or even his charm though he has both, the thing that all other characters around him mention is that he’s loyal and true to his word. Not the most Rogue-like personality traits.

But he’s not even just a subversion of the rogue archetype. He’s also a subversion of masculinity in a lot of ways, he’s described as wiry and isn’t especially tall. He ISNT physically intimidating, which stands juxtaposed to him being one of the greatest generals and fighters in the book. I really like how the fact that he isn’t what people expect is one of his strengths, he’s chronically underestimated by other characters. When he’s hunted by darkfriends they often send big classic street thugs after him and expect him to be overpowered because unlike Rand or Perrin he doesn’t LOOK strong. Only the moment anyone actually gets into a fight with him they’re taken off guard by his absolutely brutally he fights. And he’s not actually that physically strong, he’s certainly not weak by any means, but compared to many of the other characters and enemies they face Mat isn’t particularly strong. He instead outsmarts his opponents, he’s faster and more agile, he takes advantage of distance fighting mostly with throwing knives, polearms, and long bows.

Compared to the other Ta’veren he’s also the least traditionally heroic, “he’s no bloody hero” isn’t entirely a false claim. He’s the only one the three Ta’veren boys that doesn’t have a crisis of conscious over being violent in battle, sure he’s got the sane hang up as Rand about killing women, but he had no issues with immediately employing guerrilla warfare against the Seanchen and never takes prisoners. The Aes Sedai tell him off for leaving leaving wounded enemies without aid, breaking the rules of warfare, and he tells them that he doesn’t care about being honorable. And he doesn’t, Perrin and Rand(particularly in the beginning and end of his character arc) tend to be very honorable and respectable opponents when they aren’t fighting Shadowspawn. Mat will cheat and trick throughout battles because he’s first and only priority is keeping himself and as many of his men alive as possible while killing as many enemies as he can. He’s vicious and efficient, Perrin went back for the Whitecloaks in Towers of Midnight, where Mat wouldn’t have. He helps invent canons and immediately begins trying to make the automatic crossbows faster, because his priority is always doing the most damage to the rival army before retreating to safety. Mat’s style of warfare is certainly reflective of RJ’s experience in Vietnam. The Band literally wears camo armor.

Lastly is Mat and Tuon’s relationship. When we first learn of the Daughter of Nine Moons prophecy, Mat always describes this future as her appearing from the ether and spiriting him away, and Egwene’s vision is of Tuon wrestling Mat to the ground and collaring him. We are set up with the expectation that Tuon is going to be the one chasing him down and capturing him. Then Mat kidnaps Tuon and you’d think “oh there’s the subversion Tuon’s the kidnapped damsel” but BAM we get another subversion because Tuon CHOSE to be kidnapped, and Mat fell head over heels in love with her, like tripping off a cliff. She didn’t capture him physically but she certainly captured his heart and that has always been a much more effective collar and leash than any physical one you could put on him.

I just love Mat being so unexpected to both the audience and other characters. I love how he’s just a walking contradiction, of being irresponsible but loyal, being vicious but compassionate, being foolish and clever. He’s everything and nothing, complicated and simple. I love him.

[aghostiewitdahoodie]

⟣ Synopsis: Being away from you, Simon is feeling blue.

⟣ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

⟣ Warnings: None, Just Fluff

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

A stone cold of a wall he has.

A heart so numb, so idle.

A routine so monotonous.

A life as dull as it could be.

Grey as grey could be.

A day to waste.

A day to come to an end.

A day to repeat.

Over and over again.

The man spread long on the bed, insomnolence dominating the vessel of his, orbs fixated towards the rectangle that shelters over him, a mind deprived and starved of affection, appreciation.

Stir and stir.

Nictate and nictate.

No matter.

A hurricane of thoughts.

A serene reflection.

No difference.

A vessel he puppets, a vessel to put on a show, a vessel empty behind closed doors. So shallow and yet a depth so cavernous you can sense the bed.

A soul tormented on a pathetic prison of a life, longing for the infinite gloom. Finding the isolation closest to obtaining serenity.

Simon reached his palm towards his temples, caressing them in a circular motion, yearning to put an end to the day despite it only being halfway over. Being active and engaging in warfare delays his mind from forming a thought, no wonder he despises being inoperative.

A plain sound of a slipped letter under his door removed the traces of his declining character. In a hurry, he extended his hand to collect it, eager to read and receive his antidote.

Simon ambled to the desk which averts his quarters from being bare, his mask- his persona settled between him and the lamp. Adoring the envelope that rests on his calloused hands, he moves it closer to him, yearning to sense the existence of his strength and his weakness.

Reminiscing the memory of you imprisoned in his embrace, never wanting to pull away from you. Your heavenly scent overwhelming him yet he could never get enough.

Simon’s rough digits gently glide through the letter, diligent about your creation despite his growing desperation.

Reminiscing the memory of his digits slowly caressing your soothing skin while his lips paint your neck with his very own art.

Simon unveiled the letter, his hands on either side, his auburn orbs carefully read your passionate words.

Reminiscing the memory of you declaiming a novel to a-minute-close to a slumbering him, regardless he hears every word that is departing from your lips. It was a music to his organ of hearing.

My dearest Simon,

I long for time we meet again. I see you, I smell you and I hear you everywhere I go. I miss you greatly, no words can compare. I await for your orbs to gaze at me. I await for your touch on my skin. I await to hear your voice responding to my needs. I await for your lips to fall on mine. How have you been, my lieutenant?

Your love, Y/N

Simon is situated by his desk, a palm clasped on his mouth as he finished reading the letter of yours. A mere moment had passed before he picks up a paper and a pen, eager to respond to you.

You are why he continues. You are why he finds the strength despite everything. In a world so cruel and unforgiving, you are his ethereal.

[downbad4fyodor]

Pairing: Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!reader word count: 868 summary: You decided to go Christmas caroling, but Dazai and Chuuya wouldn't stop fighting warnings: none Tag list: @getousrep

Want more Fics for the Holidays?

The winter night unfolded like a tapestry of silver and indigo, the moon casting its gentle glow upon the silent streets adorned with a fresh blanket of snow. Bundled against the chill, you, Dazai, and Chuuya ventured forth on a Christmas caroling odyssey. The jingling of bells hung from your coats created a festive overture as you stepped into the crystalline night, carrying with you the promise of harmonious melodies and seasonal cheer. Little did you fathom that beneath the facades of Yuletide joy, a tempest of tensions swirled between Dazai and Chuuya.

The journey commenced with a harmonious promise as you approached the first house. The jingle of bells, like ethereal chimes, resonated with the winter silence. "Deck the Halls" emerged from the trio's lips, voices intertwining in a festive symphony. Yet, keen eyes could detect the subtle nuances in the exchanged glances between Dazai and Chuuya, a quiet prelude to the discord that loomed.

At the doorstep of the next house, the notes of "Jingle Bells" drifted into the night, but the harmony wavered as the camaraderie fractured. Beneath the surface of the festive melody, a clandestine bickering threatened to eclipse the joy. Chuuya's gaze bore a disapproving weight, met by Dazai's nonchalant shrug. The once seamless chorus now echoed with an undertone of unspoken disagreement.

The third house, an unsuspecting audience to the carolers, received the strains of "Silent Night" that carried a clandestine tension. Whispered arguments punctuated the serene melody, each word a sharp note in the air. Passersby, wrapped in scarves and coats, observed the trio, their obliviousness a stark contrast to the internal strife that played out.

A spirited rendition of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" marked a turning point. The latent animosity between Dazai and Chuuya reached a crescendo, and the festive illusion threatened to shatter. Words, like icicles, hung in the frosty air, sharp and brittle. Yet, miraculously, the carol persisted, though the veneer of enthusiasm now bore the weight of unspoken grievances.

Approaching the next house, the animosity reached a zenith. "O Holy Night" became an ironic backdrop to their silent warfare, and "Joy to the World" felt like a distant echo of shared sentiment dissipating in the cold. The harmonious spirit of Christmas caroling transformed into a battleground, the strains of the carol now a mere backdrop to the snide remarks and simmering resentment.

The tension climaxed at the last house, where a silent agreement passed between Dazai and Chuuya. The finale, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," should have been a triumphant crescendo, yet the strained smiles and exchanged glances betrayed the tumult beneath the surface.

Retreating from the final doorstep, the trio navigated the snowy streets in a hushed atmosphere. The moonlight, which earlier bathed everything in a soft glow, now cast a somber hue on the night. The unresolved discord hung in the air like a lingering note, a poignant contrast to the picturesque scene around.

Silence prevailed until the trio reached home, where the frosty air seemed to mirror the unspoken tension. The moonlight, now filtered through frosted windows, illuminated Dazai and Chuuya's strained expressions. The unresolved differences, disguised beneath layers of caroling and festive trappings, cast a shadow over the night that should have been a celebration of harmony and joy.

Once inside, the silence lingered, echoing in the spacious room. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting elongated shadows that mirrored the unresolved intricacies of the evening. Dazai, leaning against the wall, broke the silence. "Well, that was an interesting caroling adventure, wouldn't you say?"

Chuuya, his arms crossed, shot a sharp glance at Dazai. "Interesting? That was a disaster. I can't believe you had to turn every note into a competition."

Dazai, with a nonchalant grin, retorted, "Competition spices things up, don't you think? Adds a little drama to the festivities."

Chuuya, his irritation palpable, scoffed. "Drama? I thought we were here to spread holiday cheer, not engage in a verbal sparring match."

The room, now illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, became a stage for the verbal jousting between the two. The unresolved tension crackled in the air, creating an atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the serene, festive expectations of the night.

You, caught in the crossfire of their verbal volleys, attempted to mediate. "Come on, guys. It's Christmas. Can't we just enjoy the night without turning it into a battlefield?"

Dazai, ever the provocateur, smirked. "Why not? A little drama never hurt anyone. Besides, it adds character to the otherwise mundane caroling tradition."

Chuuya, visibly exasperated, shook his head. "Character? This is not a play. It's a celebration of the season. Can't we at least agree on that?"

As the verbal spar continued, the moonlight continued to cast its soft glow upon the room, creating an otherworldly ambience. The unresolved tensions, though palpable, stood in stark contrast to the festive decorations that adorned the space.

The night, which started as a journey of caroling camaraderie, now concluded with a tableau of discord and disagreement. The moon, a silent witness, cast its gentle glow upon the room, a subtle reminder that even in the midst of celebration, unresolved differences could cast shadows over the festive spirit.

[ryo-maybe]

What the fuckpon did you just fucking say about Riki, you little bitchpon? Riki'll have you know Riki graduated top of Riki's class in the Nopon Heroes, and has been involved in numerous secret raidpons on Mechonis, and has over 300 confirmed kills. Riki is trained in Gogolpon warfare and is the top debuffer in the entire Nopon Village's armed forcepons. You are nothing to Riki but just another targetpon. Riki will wipe you the fuckpon out with Accuracy the likes of which has never been seen before on this Bionis, mark Riki's fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shitpon to Riki over the Internetpon? Think again, fuckerpon. As we speak Riki is contacting Riki's secret network of Nopons across Bions and your ether is being traced right now so you better prepare for the stormpon, moth crawler. The stormpon that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your lifepon. You're fucking dead, kidpon. Riki can be anywhere, anytime, and can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with Riki's bare ears. Not only is Riki extensively trained in unarmed combat, but has access to the entire arsenal of the Nopon Village and will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable asspon off the face of the Colony, you little shitpon. If only you could have known what unholy retributionpon your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tonguepon. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiotpon. Riki will shit furypon all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking deadpon, kiddo.

[joyfulapostate]

Cognitive Dissonance: Demonic Protection

I was told that Jesus would protect me from demons. I was also told that demons attack those closest to Jesus. It left me very confused.

The safety of being saved was an ethereal armor.

I believed in spiritual warfare when I was a Christian. I was afraid of demons harming me, but even more than that I was afraid that I would become an unwilling vessel for them to cause harm to others. I maintained constant vigilance against demonic influence through prayer and devotion. It was so exhausting and the only real effect it had was to reinforce my fears.

It's weird to me now, because at the time I was willing to submit to being Christ's instrument, and I'd never met the guy!

I remember when the message got flipped. I'd gotten the "Christ will protect you" line over and over when I brought up my fear of demons as a kid. But when my mental health got worse in high school, I started asking for professional help. And that's when the message changed from "the closer you are to Jesus, the more you will be protected" to "Satan and his demons attack those closest to Jesus."

I didn't want to be a special spiritual soldier. I just wanted to go to therapy. Instead I was promised more trouble ahead. It didn't make any sense but it didn't have to because "higher ways" and all that. My mind buzzed with cognitive dissonance about this for years.

Then, something amazing happened. I stopped going to church. I stopped having conversations that reinforced my fear of demons. After I stopped feeding my fear of demons, it slowly faded. It had been a confusing, self-perpetuating cycle of fear. But that's all it was: fear.

There never were any demons.

[shrimplythesilliest]

My side order theories :]

People are saying agent 4 might be the gooped red eyed squids I'm thinking it might be true. My question is how did agent 4 get gooped?

What's the significance of the ufo up top

Ofc the pallet chips

Possible NEW characters!!! Very cool

In the trailer it appears as if neo agent 3 falls asleep THEN dreams of Inkopolis. I think it's an illusion as by the code that shows when inkopolis is setting in as if it's not real then again how would neo be imagining this?

Oh and I think Pearl will wake us up isntead of another character

I also think the music will be ethereal and mystical more music box then other instruments and as you progress the music becomes more concrete and themed as if remembering a memory. It becomes more solid as you believe it more the music will follow agent 8s mental state as was for Achts music I octo expansion also I think Acht will be a mentor for 8 while Pearl is a mood booster.

I won't really like it if Marina is the villain it kinda mixes with her character but if it were to I'd find it as resentment for chaos upon her safespace the plaza and that's why it seems rundown?

Gonna be a lot of themes of identity and memory. Lots of symbolism with cleanliness, squares and colours

Oh for Marina it could be like corruption with the black ooze and agent 4 will be the forefront of the corruption like a tester

Side order will be a rouge like story ofc.

I like how as neo sleeps they listen to Muck Warfare

[reality-detective]

Let's investigate the 4 chemicals in Palestine Ohio's train derailment and their so-called slow burn operation that our government said was safe.👇

1. VINYL CHLORIDE

A chemical warfare agent in WWII ☠️

Is vinyl chloride harmful to human health?

⚠️Exposure to vinyl chloride may increase a person's risk of developing cancer. Human and animal studies show higher rates of liver, lung and several other types of cancer. Being exposed to vinyl chloride can affect a person's liver, kidney, lung, spleen, nervous system and blood.

How much vinyl chloride cause cancer?

Studies of long-term exposure in animals showed that cancer of the liver and mammary gland may increase at very low levels of vinyl chloride in the air (50 ppm). Lab animals fed low levels of vinyl chloride each day (2 mg/kg/day) during their lifetime had an increased risk of getting liver cancer.

Is vinyl chloride a hazardous waste?

⚠️Vinyl Chloride is hazardous to the environment.

2. ETHYLENE GLYCOL

What is ethylene glycol used in?

DESCRIPTION: Ethylene glycol is a useful industrial compound found in many consumer products. Examples include antifreeze, hydraulic brake fluids, some stamp pad inks, ballpoint pens, solvents, paints, plastics, films, and cosmetics.

How is ethylene glycol harmful to humans?

An overdose of ethylene glycol can damage the brain, lungs, liver, and kidneys. The poisoning causes disturbances in the body's chemistry, including metabolic acidosis (increased acids in the bloodstream and tissues). The disturbances may be severe enough to cause profound shock, organ failure, and death.

How does ethylene glycol affect the brain?

Ethylene glycol (EG) is a toxic alcohol that causes central nervous system depression and multiple metabolic abnormalities including a high anion gap metabolic acidosis (HAGMA), elevated osmolal gap (OG), and acute kidney injury. Few case reports of EG intoxication report brain MRI findings.

Is ethylene glycol a carcinogen?

🚩EPA has not classified ethylene glycol for carcinogenicity. Chronic Effects (Noncancer): The only effects were noted in a study of individuals exposed to low levels of ethylene glycol by inhalation for about a month were throat and upper respiratory tract irritation.

Is ethylene glycol monobutyl ether harmful to humans?

The substance is irritating to the eyes, skin and respiratory tract. The substance may cause effects on the central nervous system, blood, kidneys and liver. A harmful contamination of the air will be reached rather slowly on evaporation of this substance at 20°C.

3. MONOBUTYL ETHER

What is the use of monobutyl ether?

It is used as a solvent in surface coatings in paints; as a coupling agent in metal and household cleaners; as an intermediate in chemical production; and is also found in brake fluids and in printing ink.

Is butyl ether toxic?

⚠️Acute Health Effects☠️

The following acute (short-term) health effects may occur immediately or shortly after exposure to Butyl Ether: * Contact can irritate the skin and eyes. * Repeated or prolonged skin contact may cause rash. Breathing Butyl Ether can irritate the nose and throat causing coughing and wheezing.

Is ether toxic to humans?

⚠️Breathing Diethyl Ether can cause drowsiness, excitement, dizziness, vomiting, irregular breathing, and increased saliva. High exposure can cause unconsciousness and even death.

Is ether a carcinogen?

► Bis(Chloromethyl) Ether is a CARCINOGEN in humans. There may be NO safe level of exposure to a carcinogen, so all contact should be reduced to the lowest possible level.

Combustible. Above 60°C explosive vapour/air mixtures may be formed. NO open flames. Above 60°C use a closed system and ventilation.

4. ETHYLHEXYL ACRYLATE

Is ethylhexyl acrylate toxic?

Like any reactive chemical, 2-Ethylhexyl acrylate can be hazardous if not handled properly. May be harmful if swallowed. Ingestion may cause gastrointestinal irritation or ulceration. Limited dermal contact or vapour concentrations attainable at room temperature are not hazardous on single short duration exposures.

Is Ethylhexyl acrylate copolymer safe?

Although the monomers may be toxic, the levels that would be found in cosmetic formulations are not considered to present a safety risk. Accordingly, these Acrylate Copolymers are considered safe for use in cosmetic formulations when formulated to avoid irritation.

Are acrylates safe?

The International Agency of Research on Cancer as well as the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) have classified acrylates as a possible human carcinogen. Exposure to acrylates has been linked to skin, eye, and throat reactions [1] as well as more serious health consequences such as: Cancer.

Is ethylhexyl harmful for skin?

Ethylhexylglycerin is not safe due to its performance as a contact allergen.

Is ethyl acrylate carcinogenic?

⚠️Cancer Hazard☠️

* Ethyl Acrylate may be a CARCINOGEN in humans since it has been shown to cause stomach cancer in animals.

🚩Spoiler Alert⚠️ It's NOT safe and in fact it is highly toxic☠️

This will affect millions of people and it may flow into the Mississippi river as well. 🤔