#once again there is no rhyme or reason to the order

[breezycheezyart]

I am living for your headcanons. They are so adorable :)

Please can you do more? <3

Can always count on anon to enable the shallura brainrot hehe 💜 [cracks knuckles] Let's cook!

~~~~

Whenever they go to different planets, Shiro takes pretty (and safe!) flora back to the castle in secret and does his best to take care of them. He gifts bouquets to Allura to cheer her up, since she can't see juniberries from Altea. It really warms her heart 💜

Shiro and Allura absolutely gossip about each other to the space mice, the former knowing they'll tell the latter how pretty and brilliant he thinks she is. Or how handsome and a little silly she find him, hehe.

Dancing in zero gravity, WALL-E style~

Random but they can both do a split! When doing stretches for their training, Allura just lifts her leg straight up. Shiro is like "!! You can do that too?" At her confused expression, he drops into a split and she's like "Oh!! Yes!" and copies him lol. It was a really cute moment also made mental notes of how flexible the other is [cough] what?

Shiro tries very hard to have Normal Feelings™ about hearing the usually diplomatic princess express wanting to kick the shit out of galra scum. Totally doesn't find it hot, nope.

Allura once saw Shiro take of his gloves with his teeth and she has Totally Normal Feelings™ about that. Absolutely doesn't wear more of her long sleeved gloves more often while she flirts, nope.

When Shiro is playfully teasing/bothering her too much while she works and just pushes him down one handed onto his seat, "Sit." "...I'm sat 😳."

Allura pretends to still be bad with guns/blasters so that Shiro can give her hands-on instruction on how to hold them correctly 😉

Shiro has told and even drawn up whatever Earth's constellations he remembered to Allura, so she constructed--to the best of her ability and with the help from the other paladins--a simulation of the night sky for him. Shiro doesn't cry often, but he did then 😭

Before they were TOGETHER together, fellow diplomats from other planets would mistake the two for spouses. It was flustering at first (and a delight for the paladins to tease them with) but when it kept happening, they just gave up correcting folks lol. Now there's a rumor going around about the dramatic romance between The Lost Princess and The Leader of Voltron [coughThePrincessandHerKnightTropecough]. Coran embellishes random "juicy details" to whoever will listen lol

Allura gives Shiro a once-over, "Hm. King Alfor would approve." "? Approve? Approve of what?" "😌" "Wait, Allura, approved of what--?"

They hold hands a lot. Not even necessarily as a romantic thing, it's just comforting for them. Handholding is shallura culture™

[wisteria-prompts]

Thank you so much for doing my request it was so cute and I absolutely loved it. If it’s okay please could I ask for the same premise but with the upper moons 💙💙💙

*-Cracks Knuckles-* This is a tall order and I’m short as hell, time to climb.

TW for: Mentions of gore (Aizetsu), murder (Douma), and blood (Aizetsu/Douma)

Upper Moons Kissing Their Crush For The First Time

Akaza

The most gentleman-like out of all of them, and the softest with you.

Probably does it right after returning from a mission, but is more likely to do it if the mission is a success.

He confesses not with words, but with a kiss.

It’s a quick one, but it leaves you feeling breathless with how he poured every ounce of his feelings for you into it. His lips are cold, but it creates a delicious contrast between you two that has you wanting more.

His hands are barely touching you, afraid of not knowing his own strength.

You could feel just from his lips alone that he cared so much for you that it hurt, and he’d do anything to keep you safe.

“No matter if you feel the same or not, I will always protect you.”

He won’t let a loved one die in his arms again.

Douma

An absolute tease, you almost have to beg him to be normal for once…

Will do it on a whim, no rhyme or reason to it. He’s equally as likely to confess and kiss you anywhere, anytime. In front of his cult, while murdering some slayers, even while attending an Upper Moon meeting…

Yeah, Muzan wouldn’t be too amused by that one. It’s up to you to kind of steer or influence when and where he does it.

A little rough with the kiss, he does it after pulling you to sit in his lap, making sure to have a good grip on your hips so you can’t escape.

Not afraid to nick your lips with his fangs, as he enjoys the sight of your blood, the taste of you on his tongue…

“Well well, seems you’ve caught my attention, little one. Mind entertaining me for a bit?”

He won’t admit it’s more than just amusement fueling his actions.

Daki

You infuriate her with how you won’t get out of her head!

It’s just as infuriating how she can’t stop staring at your lips, wondering what you’d taste like.

She does it while still disguised as an oiran, you acting as her loyal attendant, during one of her less busy hours.

Practically pulls you to her by the arm and kisses you forcefully, pouring all her frustrations into it.

It’s rough, unpracticed, and maybe a little nervous. She prides herself on her image, being poised at all times, along with the years of experience she has under her obi belt. But when it comes to you? She falls apart.

You’ve picked apart her meticulously created self, and reconstructed her into someone who needs you so much it’s laughable.

“You…You better take responsibility for this. Make up for what you’ve made me do.”

Her words may imply that you owe her for tainting that image of hers, but really, she just wants you close.

Gyutaro

Voted least likely to ever confess his feelings. He’d rather fight all 9 Hashira at once than admit he likes you.

As always, it’s fueled by his sheer amount of insecurities and envy. He can’t fathom a universe where you’re interested in him like that, and so he refrains from so much as just hinting at his feelings for you.

It comes to light when Daki has had enough of all the pining and longing stares, and calls him out on it in front of you.

He freezes, doesn’t know what to do- until you reciprocate his feelings, admitting you’d always found him kind of cute.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on, but…I’m not going to waste this.”

His lips are chapped, he’s got your head in a death grip, and he’s so tall you have to crane your neck a little too far back than is comfortable-

But it’s good, it’s enjoyable, and now you’re his forever. He makes sure to let you know as much.

He won’t let a diamond such as you go, now that he has you in his arms.

Kokushibo

He’d thought pursuits of the romantic kind were beneath him for a long time, ever since he turned his back on his wife and children all those years ago.

But you threw him for a loop, and suddenly, he’s finding himself becoming a romantic all over again.

Almost certainly plans the confessing and first kiss, a little too much to be honest. He just needs it to be perfect, for both you and him.

You’re led through the infinity castle by an elaborate trail of flower petals and candles, ending at his room.

He gives you a rehearsed speech of how you make him feel every day, how you linger in his mind all the time, and how he craves your presence.

“There is no one else worthy…of staying by my side. The only option…Is you.”

When you accept, he seals it with a kiss.

It’s deep, slow, and feels like it burns with passion. He’s surprisingly warm, for being a demon, but it’s pleasant.

You are his moonlight, who will accompany him for all eternity.

Sekido

It happens spontaneously, during one of his fits of rage.

You’re simply a bystander, there because you just…Always are. You’re always in his vicinity, playing a part in his day that he can’t help but reminisce about when alone.

He quickly tires of the pangs inside his chest when he looks at you, becoming infuriated when you smile so kindly at him, trying to calm him down.

It’s unceremonious, how he smashes his lips to yours just then, teeth clashing as he releases all his anger and raw emotion into the kiss.

As unexpected as it is, there is no doubt in your mind what he feels for you is real and genuine. He’s not the type to do this sort of thing, so take advantage of it when you can.

“You damn human…How dare you make me feel these things! What have you done to me?!”

You’re going to have to show him how to be gentle, because you’re the only one he’ll try for.

Urogi

He has plenty of places and ways he wants to kiss you, while singing to the world of his feelings for you.

But his favorite, that he reserves the very first kiss for, is the nest he’s built up in a tree

The only people who know it even exists are you and Urogi himself. He’s given you special privileges, so don’t take it lightly.

During one of the many times he flies you up there to hang out, he seems a lot more touchy and clingy than usual…But you brush it off, assuming it’s just Urogi being Urogi.

It’s not. He’s trying to butter you up, get on your good side before-

“Hey, you know you’re important to me, right? Am I important to you, too?”

Before you can even answer, his lips are on yours. It’s an eager kiss, and he feels almost…Desperate, for you to return the sentiment. As if he’s afraid you’ll reject him.

He really wants your love, and he’ll be ruffling his feathers non-stop the moment you say, of course he’s important to you.

You’re his lovebird, after all.

Karaku

He’s been trying for months to get you to take him seriously.

Honestly, it gets a little pathetic at certain points- He’s trying so hard to convey to you how much you’re on his mind, in his heart, and everywhere else in his life but it’s just not working.

You’re so used to his flirty and provocative behavior that it just rolls right off your back. You think he’s playing the same game he’s been playing since the first time he split off from Hantengu.

He’s frustrated, understandably so, to the point that he ends up taking you by the shoulders one night and plants a kiss on your lips so passionate and heated, that there’s no choice but for you to recognize his feelings.

By the time he pulls away, he’s the one that looks flustered and taken apart at the seams.

“J-just so you know…I really meant that. I like you. No games.”

A huge wave of relief comes over him when you finally accept him as he is.

He’s a demon of pleasure, and there is no greater pleasure than being yours.

Aizetsu

Another one who wouldn’t just simply confess to you. At least not through words.

He’s bound by endless sorrow- In addition to being unable to believe you love him, he also just doesn’t want to drag you down into this dark, negative world of his.

And yet…

And yet he finds himself holding you tightly, right after slaughtering a demon slayer who came much too close to taking you away from him.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

He says, just before giving you the softest of kisses, hands gently holding your cheeks.

It’s feather-light, slow, almost hesitant. Just like him. Yet it’s also saying everything he’s ever wanted to say, but couldn’t.

It would be an incredibly sweet scene if not for the backdrop of blood and viscera around you two.

When you return the kiss, he supposes he won’t have to be both sad and alone anymore.

[beauiestars]

Cherik x Good Omens AU

Angel!Charles Xavier/Demon!Erik Lehnsherr

Word count: 1610

Warnings: Angst, Fluff (if you squint), Religious elements/imagery (Good Omens style, duh), Forbidden romance

Summary: In a world where angels and demons are bound by divine law, Erik, a fallen angel, and Charles, a devoted angel, fall into a forbidden love that defies the natural order. Willing to face any consequence, even death, Erik is determined to protect Charles from the dangers their bond brings, as they navigate the tension between duty and desire.

After several million years in Charles' company, Erik thought he knew the angel's moods like the back of his hand. However, that couldn't have been further from the truth. As Charles strode up and down the bookshop with an unreadable expression—and responded to Erik's questioning with nonsensical monosyllabic answers—the demon was left perplexed.

Less than a moment ago, they had been engaging in amiable conversation near the fireplace, which was gradually becoming less out of character for the two men. Yet, Charles' demeanour had flipped like a switch and he hadn't uttered a coherent word since.

"Charles, your tea is getting cold," Erik said in a poor attempt to coax the angel back to his side. Of course, Charles didn't spare him a glance. He was offended for only a moment before reminding himself that he hadn't done anything wrong and that Charles was the one behaving peculiarly. With a flick of his wrist, the tea steamed in the mug once again.

Erik watched Charles' erratic movements, only growing more bewildered each time the angel passed by with another stack of books. There was no rhyme or reason to anything Charles was doing; he moved piles of books from one spot to another, and then back again, all whilst muttering incoherently under his breath.

When Charles tried to move a bookshelf using brute strength—unsuccessfully—Erik had to step in. "Stop that. What on earth are you doing?" Erik planted himself between a red-faced Charles and the bookshelf. For the first time in almost an hour, Charles finally looked up at Erik. A huff escaped his pouted lips, and his blue eyes filled with determination.

"If you'd excuse me," Charles said, trying to budge past Erik to resume his secret agenda. Erik planted his feet firmly on the ground, a solid force against the interminable stubbornness of Charles Xavier. Exasperated, and unwilling to fight a losing battle on this occasion, Charles resigned himself to the armchair beside the fireplace, crossing his arms firmly against his chest. "I'll do that later."

"Do what, Charles?" Erik raked his hands through his hair. For reasons he couldn't quite discern, not knowing exactly what went on inside Charles' head unsettled him. Reading people—especially Erik—was always Charles's strong suit. Much to Erik's dismay, it rarely worked the other way around. "You're making no sense."

"To you, maybe," Charles scowled from his spot on the armchair. As far as Erik knew, he was an innocent man—though not really, but in the current situation, he certainly believed it—and Charles' attitude toward him was unwarranted. If Erik hadn't been offended before, he certainly was now.

"Charles," Erik's tone held a promise of dispute. Charles' name had never been uttered from Erik's lips so harshly, and it appeared to rattle him. He sat up straighter, and his hands fell into his lap. The demon approached him in long strides, planting his palms on either arm of Charles' armchair, trapping the angel in place. "If you don't tell me what I've done, I can't fix it. Can I?"

"I suppose not," Charles said at a hushed volume, preferring to keep his eyes trained on Erik's chest rather than his face. He bit down on his lip, continuing to shy away from eye contact. An inkling of hurt bloomed in Erik's heart. Opting to worry about the implications later, he hooked his thumb and index fingers under Charles's chin and turned his face up to meet Erik's softened gaze.

"Tell me what I've done, liebling." The term of endearment rolled off Erik's tongue before he could stop it—not that he would have. Charles sighed, his blue eyes finally meeting Erik's. The angel couldn't resist these moments of softness from the demon, no matter how fleeting. Charles' freckled cheeks grew redder, but Erik dismissed it as the heat from the hearth.

"When we were talking just now," Charles began, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. He'd been so shy to make eye contact a minute ago, but now his gaze was impenetrable. "Or a while ago—my fault—the way you spoke so passionately. I just..." Charles' voice trailed off, and he bit into his bottom lip.

Erik, overflowing with burning anticipation, urged him to continue. "Did I upset you? Was it something I said?" His overt impatience came across more intensely than he'd intended. Charles leaned back in his seat, creating distance as Erik's fingers dropped from his jaw.

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact," Charles laughed. It was a short and intrusive sound, but innocuous. Erik knew Charles wasn't laughing at him, per se. Even so, Charles didn't elaborate. The burgeoning expectation was driving Erik mad, and it must have shown on his face. "You captivated me."

Erik felt the tension ease in his shoulders, and he released his bated breath. "In that case, I can't possibly fathom why you've been pacing around the bookshop and avoiding me for the last half hour." The more Charles tried to answer Erik's questions, the more arose in their place.

"I was afraid of what it might mean," Charles said. Erik silently cursed Charles' prudence—which now seemed to be the basis for Charles' caprice. Keeping his mouth shut and his agitation restrained, Erik urged Charles to continue. "I was afraid of what I would have to admit and how it would affect us."

"Us?" Erik hoped that Charles would stop being so vague and verbose for one moment to get his point across. "What about us?" His confusion seeped into every syllable, his frustration palpable.

"For goodness' sake, Erik. I'm bloody in love with you," Charles finally confessed, his chest heaving and his eyes scanning frantically over Erik's expression. Suddenly, Charles' hesitance was warranted. The words lingered, suspended in the air like the beginning winds of a storm, heavy with the threat of something that could tear them apart.

Something forbidden—unheard of—had burgeoned  between the two men. Anything more than a reluctant cooperation between an angel and a demon was unprecedented. Their bond defied all realms of natural law regarding their kind. The punishment for such a crime, if there was even a concept for it, could be detrimental.

To say Erik didn't feel the same would be a sordid mistruth. Getting to know someone over the span of eternity leaves little to be uncovered, and although Erik couldn't predict Charles' moods, he knew everything that truly mattered. All of the good and bad—though the latter was negligible. Erik loved it all. He loved Charles.

The aphotic depths of this new territory offered no guarantees of punishment or forgiveness. Perhaps they would be pardoned, but one could never make such an optimistic assumption. Erik knew the wrath of God. Would she punish their kindred spirits and bleeding hearts?

"Erik?" Charles' anxious voice anchored Erik to the present. The contrite look the angel's face filled Erik with shame. Unaware of how long he had remained silent, he had left Charles to draw his own conclusions and assume the worst.

A fire lit behind Charles' lustrous eyes, catching Erik off guard. "I'm not sorry," Charles said. His tone tremendously assured, as if his attitude had changed with the flip of a switch.

"Pardon?" Erik shook his head, mystified by the other man's sudden impertinent countenance. Charles' stare was unrelenting, and Erik recognised the tacit agreement that Charles would not repeat himself.

Erik, at a loss for words, dropped to his knees in front of Charles. For the first time, Charles looked down at Erik, his blue eyes swimming with expectation. Erik had always been a man of few words, but he invariably made his intentions clear. "Charles, I worship you."

Charles' eyes widened, and an incredulous gasp escaped his perfect lips. He was unaccustomed to the way Erik unflinchingly uttered blasphemy. Once, the fallen angel had questioned the iniquitous rules of God, and she had struck him from the Heavens. But his angel could never be so cruel. "My devotion belongs to you. And you alone."

"Oh, Erik," Charles said longingly. Erik's beliefs scarcely aligned with those Charles had held since the beginning of time, but Erik selfishly hoped the angel might indulge him and embrace the forbidden moment. The thrill of defiance filled Erik with a desperate hope that they could make this work.

"I love you," Erik said like a prayer. Charles wordlessly sank onto the floor in front of him. His hand found its way to Erik's jaw, four fingers grazing the side of his face and his thumb brushing the apple of Erik's cheek. The demon leaned into the angel's touch like it was a sweet reprieve.

Charles leaned in carefully. His free hand trailed into Erik's hair at the back of his neck, and flames erupted within him. Their noses touched for a second before their mouths met, already soft and open. They fit together like puzzle pieces or missing ribs.

Erik kissed Charles as if he were desperate to memorise the feel of his lips and the taste of his sweet, warm mouth. Charles' lips were softer than anything Erik had ever known, and his kisses were all-consuming. Erik couldn't think or do anything but drink Charles in, savouring the movements of his lips and each breath as it came.

When the time arrived—if it arrived—that they would face trial for their crime, Erik would take all the blame. He'd lie to any jury, and say he coerced Charles; the possibility of Charles paying the price of their love was inconceivable. If loving Charles meant death, Erik would choose death every time.

Thankyou for reading my short lil oneshot! The idea was given to me by my good friend Dani when I was struggling to write for my main fic. This is my first time publishing any of my work since around 2020, so please be nice :.)

28th August 2024

TAGS:

[violetasteracademic]

A Court of Twisted Fate: Multi Chapter Elriel Fic

Summary:

After nearly losing both her sisters once again, Elain Archeron decides to take the growth of her powers into her own hands. Things may not be going as she would have hoped, but when the Crown is stolen, it is finally time for Elain to serve her court and show her family what she can do. The search for the Crown winds up being a job for the seer and the shadowsinger, the male she has fallen for but barely spoken to after an unrequited wish for a kiss. Azriel has been careful to stay away from Elain, trying his best to follow his High Lord's orders. But as they are forced to work together to protect their court, his resolve begins fading more quickly than he can manage. As they search for the Crown, they become trapped in a castle of treachery, vengeance, and twisted fates. If they cannot find their way out of it, they risk becoming lost there forever, or killed. And if they can't keep their hands off each other, they might finally have to face the mountain of obstacles standing in their way at the home that awaits them.

Warnings: Eventual smut and spice

Chapter One Preview: 2,006 words

Elain

Elain Archeron gritted her teeth as silken shafts of sunlight broke through the heavy veil of twilight. She could not tell if it was morning mist or sweat that clung to her lashes as she panted, suddenly overwhelmed with urgency as the light warmed her skin.

No one questioned her on the mornings she departed the river house hours before dawn, claiming she had to start on her work earlier and earlier as the roster of Velaris citizens whose gardens she tended to grew longer and longer.

It was all true enough. She had grown close to her ever-increasing number of gardening clients. Many would often stop to chat and let her know how the blooms were faring as she strode arm in arm with her sisters, Nyx cradled on one of their hips, through the streets of Velaris. This made her story quite believable and easily accounted for.

What she lied about was exactly when she started her workday. And what she was doing in the early hours of the morning. So early the blooms still slept soundly, not yet ready to stretch awake in the sun and be tended to.

Once the first light broke across the horizon every morning, anxiety gnawed at the edges of her mind. She was always a little bit terrified that someone might decide to come check on the townhouse garden one morning and find her there, eyes closed and waving her hands along the ground like a madwoman.

Focus, Elain, she chided herself. Focus.

She listened. She watched. She felt.

The worm she narrowed her sight on came closer and closer to the surface, and Elain readied her small garden shovel.

Velarian earthworms were fully regenerative. She knew that getting it wrong, that being off in her timing and accidentally slicing the poor creature in half would not kill it. But still, it poked little holes in her heart to do such harm. That, and it was another sign of her failure.

Elain’s vision had always worked in peculiar, specific ways. One being that it worked at a distance. Whether it be the distance of time or location, Elain had never been able to see what was right under her nose. Another was that she was not able to control what visions came to her. She had no say in what she saw and when. She could often easily find information when asked but… everything else came in fits and starts, with no rhyme or reason to it.

There were so many things she should have been able to prevent since gaining her sight.

Her father’s death. Briallyn infiltrating the Blood Rite, nearly killing Cassian and Nesta. Nyx, Feyre, and Rhys and their brush with death. Azriel…

No. She would not think about Azriel. There were far greater risks that she needed to be able to detect other than her own bruised heart. She had survived such a thing before, and she would survive it again.

The safety of her court and her family was what mattered most.

So many threats… she wondered if they would ever stop.

And so, she practiced with the earthworms. She tried to cast her sight into the ground and watched as they wriggled their way up.

Time continued to be the issue. If she tracked a worm, and dug her shovel to find nothing there, she had no way of knowing if it was because that worm had not even been born yet and was hundreds of years into the future, or if it was a smaller, slighter miscalculation. For all she knew, she wasn’t seeing anything with her power at all. She may have spent every morning staring at the ground, imagining worms that were merely a product of her desperate mind and in no way an indication of her power.

There was no one to teach her. No one to help her. No other seers that could offer guidance or help her understand.

The answers she had found in the library at the House of Wind yielded disappointing results. Seers where historically kept in the employ of kings and queens and High Lords, treated as oracles. Kept hidden from the world and doomed to a life of predicting the future for anyone who dared ask. Seers, it seemed, lived solely for others. The stories and legends never once seemed to focus on the life of the seers beyond their servitude.

Did they have wants and wishes? Did they dream? Did they… fall in love?

Or had they lived nothing more than a shell of a life? A ghost, a vessel. Watching so many lives and futures unfold over and over again in their minds until they entirely lost sight of the fact that they once were someone. That they, too, had a heart that beat.

Elain heard so many heartbeats. How long until she could no longer determine the cadence of her own among the chorus?

And while she could not confirm it in her research, there didn’t appear to be any indication seers predicted or tried to affect their own future. They simply answered what they were asked. Elain had found that to be true of her own power so far. When Feyre asked her to look for the Suriel, or when Azriel asked deeper questions about Vassa and Koschei, she was able to find the information they asked for without any prior knowledge of how to do so. It was intuitive to find what others needed.

And yet she had questions of her own that needed answers.

She wanted to protect everyone she had ever loved from harm. She wanted a life of her own. A choice in where her life would lead.

And somehow, when she tried to guide herself in the solitude of this garden, she always drew up empty.

She stared at the ground. She tried to feel the worm move as she touched the earth.

Please, she begged silently. Please work today.

She dug her shovel deep into the earth, her eyes pinched closed.

She crumbled the soil in her hand, her lungs stilled in her chest.

Elain slowly peeled her eyes open, her heart hammering and thudding.

Please.

The soil broke down into smaller and smaller sediment, until it all fell from her hands.

Empty.

She bit back a sob as tears began to prick her eyes.

Elain gripped her small shovel and began digging furiously in the soil, desperate for any sign she was close. That she was getting somewhere.

“Please,” she cried aloud this time. Her cheeks heated as she tried to swallow her anguish. She tossed the shovel aside, digging with her bare hands into the earth. She dug and dug until her fingers grew raw and aching. She could not stop the torrent of tears that had broken free from her eyes.

Empty. All of the dirt- completely empty.

She pressed her lips into the crook of her elbow to muffle a heart-piercing scream.

Her hair suddenly began to lift from her face and shoulders, blown this way and that as a cedar and night chilled mist scented wind rushed in. She stiffened, quickly reaching to brush the wet tears from her face. But she halted just in time, realizing her hands and dress sleeves were so thoroughly coated with mud and soil that trying to clear the wet trails staining her cheeks would only serve to make matters worse.

Elain tried to slow her breathing as Azriel appeared before her, eyes boring into her own.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She was too shocked to see him.

She had to stop herself from falling into that old habit of trying to read him. To see and feel all the words he kept hidden behind that stone cold demeanor. The thoughts tried to rush forward and flood her mind regardless of her attempt to squash them. The slight dilation of his pupils. The tightening of his jaw. A quick, near imperceptible flare of his cobalt siphons.

She shoved the thoughts away. Tried to bury them in the earth beneath her hands, then straightened her back and lifted her chin indignantly.

“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to his mouth as his lips pursed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied coolly.

An ice-cold chill sluiced through her stomach, and her skin paled. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone about the work she had been doing in an attempt to master her powers.

She could have sworn a flicker of guilt flashed across Azriel’s eyes before he said, “I’m here for you.”

The words washed over Elain and the tips of her ears nearly caught fire. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage so violently she was certain Azriel could hear it.

Breathe, she commanded herself. Breathe.

She hadn’t been alone with Azriel in months. Her breath halted as he stepped closer, his eyes darting across her face and down to her hands. To the holes she was digging before she broke apart.

I’m here for you. Was he…

“You are needed at the river house immediately,” he clarified.

“Oh.” The icy water sloshing around Elain’s stomach turned solid, and she dipped her head to hide her mortified flush.

He wasn’t here for her. Not in the way she had hoped. Not in the way she needed.

He was here to retrieve her. That was all.

Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

“Alright,” she said, brushing the muddy soil caking her hands on her skirts.

Azriel extended a scarred hand to help her up, and she briefly considered not taking it. The last time their skin touched she had nearly gone out of her mind with desire. She had pushed him. Like a woman possessed, she wanted… she needed him to keep touching her. And he…

Well, he hadn’t wanted to.

And he stayed far away from her ever since.

She stared and stared at his hand. Despite her deep embarrassment and shame over how terribly she had wrecked her friendship with Azriel, she could not wave him away.

She knew what it meant to him. She knew how it hurt him when others turned away from his hands. She would not let her own insecurities damage him. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and placed her palm in his.

For a moment, there was a warm familiar spark that had Elain’s skin briefly humming. But Azriel tensed, tightening his grip on her so tightly that she winced and pulled away.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not meeting her gaze. He briefly rubbed his neck, unable to hide a slight grimace.

“It’s fine,” she replied, rubbing her palm and trying not to show her utter devastation. “I can get up on my own. I…” her voice caught in her throat. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

She began to push herself off the ground, dusting her dress as well as she could as she moved.

“Elain, that isn’t…”

“It’s fine,” she said again as she waved her hand. “Just give me a moment to clean up.”

Azriel nodded tightly. Elain tried not to let her heart sink right into the ground as she began to smooth over the unsightly holes in the ground with the toe of her slipper. Anxiety sank its claws into her mind as Azriel stood stiff muscled behind her.

She hated herself for making him so on edge.

Although she had clearly misinterpreted the meaning of it, she knew that what she and Azriel had shared together was special. The peace and comfort they used to find in each other… that was not imagined. It was real. And maybe… maybe with time they could have it again someday. As friends.

Once she stopped loving him.

Once he could stand being alone without fear she would try to cross another line.

Time. It just needed time. Her garden, her powers, her friendship with Azriel… time would improve it all.

Click here to read the rest of chapter one on AO3!

[celiamae99]

JJ Maybank x Reader

Pt 2!

Warnings: mentions of self harm, reader has anxiety and depression, swearing, therapy, sexual assault, Rafe being a dick

Mature readers ONLY. 18+. I will check profiles periodically and will block minors bc this post is MA!

You sat in the therapists office, hating that you were here. You had been going weekly because Sarah made you. She drove you to and from appointments, making sure you would go to the appointment.

Your therapist was nice enough. She knew how hard life was for you and she gave you grounding tools to help with your anxiety, which was now more manageable. She helped with the depression and managing thoughts. You created a routine you stuck to religiously. You were doing better. You weren’t suicidal anymore.

Once you left, you got back into Sarah’s car.

“So,” she prompted. “How was it.”

“It was fine. We talked about a new breathing exercise. And we talked about what to do when I see JJ again.”

“Did she tell you not to slam the door in his face?”

“I opened it back up!” You defended. “I didn’t think it was him and I wasn’t ready to see him. I did apologize.” You told her guilty. In all fairness, it did shock you to see JJ on the other side of the door.

She gave you a look and you turned the music on. Taylor Swift was playing, per usual, and you let the music hit your soul.

“Who could ever leave me darling? Who could stay?” You harmonized with the music until Sarah pulled up in front of the auto body shop where JJ worked. “What are we doing here?” You asked, mildly panicking. You didn’t want to see JJ. You guys hadn’t spoken in days.

“His bike is broke and if I don’t pick him up he’ll go home and Luke is out of prison.” She told you and you groaned, annoyed that there was no way out. JJ would not be going home for any reason you decided but that did not mean you wanted to see him.

“Hey,” JJ said getting into the car. “I need food.”

“We can go to The Cut.” Sarah said, driving off. “We can get take out and watch movies tonight.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, trying to think of an excuse.

“And why the fuck not?” Sarah demanded. She wanted you and JJ to get back together and there was no rhyme or reason why you couldn’t go and she knew that.

“Because, I have to…” you thought quickly. “Study for History.”

“We don’t have a history test until next week.” JJ deadpanned. Well, shit.

“You’re coming and that’s final.” You rolled your eyes, sinking into your seat and turning up Sarah’s music so you wouldn’t have to talk.

“I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the pray.” You sang quietly.

Once you guys got to The Cut, you ordered your food. As you were about to tell Kiara’s dad what you wanted, JJ spoke up. “She wants a bacon cheeseburger, no onion, extra mayo.” You and Sarah stared at him. “Fries for the side.” JJ gave you an award winning smile that made you a little dizzy.

As the food was being prepared, you were startled when the bell dinged, signaling somebody coming in. It was Rafe, Kelce, and Topper. You sucked in a breath and instinctively moved closer to JJ.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, boys?” Rafe smiled wickedly and you gulped.

“What do you want?” Sarah snapped at her brother angrily.

“What do I want?” He asked stepping towards you. “I think we all know exactly what I want.” You shrank back.

“Fuck off Rafe, nobody wants you here.” Sarah told her brother.

You were no stranger to Rafe and his antics. He had been flirting with you ever since you and JJ started your separation. Tried desperately to get into your pants. Touched you every chance he got.

JJ clenched his fist. This wasn’t good. JJ had a temper and you knew he would get the shit beaten out of him if Rafe said something about you.

“Come on, princess. You’re not with you’re little progue anymore. Why don’t you come on over and I’ll show you a damn good time.”

You were frozen in place but managed to say, “No.”

Rafe sneered at you. JJ got ready to punch him but you grabbed his wrist.

“It’s not worth it JJ,” you told him. “Please, let’s just go.”

JJ stormed out of the restaurant and you followed him to Sarah’s car, she stayed to yell at her brother and get the food.

“Don’t,” he said before you could say anything. “Just don’t, Y/N. Okay? You’re going to say you’re not worth it and it’s not true, okay? You’re worth it and no matter what terms we’re on, I’m going to fight for you.”

You stared at him, mouth agape.

“So I may not have fought him this time but I can promise you, if he lays a finger on you, I’ll kill him.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Instead of a low key night, you guys decided to go to a keger. Which in retrospect, you should’ve known it would be bad.

You were in pretty deep, dancing with some girls from school when a body pressed harshly against yours. You turned around fast and saw you were face to face with Rafe. You tried to move away, but his grip on your arm was too tight. He dragged to you over to a empty area.

“Let me go,” you cried trying to tug your arm out of his reach. “Rafe! Let go!”

“No can do princess.” He said breathing heavily on your neck and you cringed, hating this more than anything you’d ever experienced. You shoved harshly at him but he wouldn’t budge. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” He ran his free hand along your back side, and you cried out again. “And now,” he said gripping you tightly, “I’m going to have you.”

Before things could go further, Rafe was shoved out of your way. You gripped your arm to your chest. You breathed in and out, rapidly; you tried to catch your breath. “JJ!” You screamed at him. “JJ stop!”

John B, Sarah, Kiara, and Pope all ran over at the sound of your yells. Topper and Kelce came too. Pope and John B dragged JJ off Rafe and Topper and Kelce helped get Rafe on his feet.

“That little slut wanted it. You left her and now she’s open for grabs.” Rafe spewed running his thoughts together unintentionally. “She wanted it, alright?” You we’re crying, clutching on to Sarah.

“Let me at him!” JJ bellowed. “I’m going to kill him! I’m going to fucking kill him for touching my girl! John B, let me GO!”

Once the Kooks left JJ stumbled towards you.

He grabbed your hips gently and pulled him to you. You searched his eyes before wiggling out of his grip and running towards your house. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t handle any of this. All the people, all the emotions. You couldn’t. So you did what you did best, and ran. You were done fighting.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

You slid down the wall of your bedroom, tears escaping you. You wanted JJ but you knew he didn’t want you. He just didn’t want Rafe to want you. And Rafe, oh God, Rafe had… you looked at your wrist and held it to you.

You felt JJ slide down next to you. “I should’ve killed him.” JJ said bitterly, kicking the floor.

“I don’t want you in jail.” You whispered.

“I know we’re complicated right now Y/N, but I promise you that he won’t touch you again.” He vowed to you. You glanced at his hand, which the skin was broken open and bleeding. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he reached over and tucked hair behind your ear.

“I know,” you said softly, gripping his good hand and squeezing softly. “Now, let’s clean up your hand.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Once you guys had settled down, your thoughts started racing again. What was going to happen? You admitted that you loved each other, but did that mean he wanted to get back together? Yes, you were ready but that didn’t mean he was. It also didn’t mean he was ready to take on your baggage. He had his own life, own problems, he didn’t hear you adding in to his plate. Before you could spiral further, JJ started talking.

“I meant it when I said love you.” He whispered, rolling over on the bed so his face was hidden in your neck. “I’ll always love you. I always have.”

“I meant it when I said I love you.” You told him back. “You’re my favorite person JJ.”

“I took time, I found myself, and I’m still working on me but I’m better.” He said honestly. Hoping that this would be the last time he had to beg for you.

“I have too. I’m still in weekly therapy.” You whispered softly. “That might have to happen for a while.” You said guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Therapy is not something to be sorry about. Ever.”

“You don’t need my baggage on top of what you have JJ. I’m a mess. I always have been and I probably always will be.”

You closed your eyes, screwing them shut. You didn’t want to see JJ’s reaction. JJ kissed up your neck softly before pulling away and looking at you.

“I’m ready if you are.” He said looking deep into your eyes once you opened them. “But I’m also willing to fight for us. And I’m willing to wait as long as you need me to. I don’t care about your baggage. It’s the least of my problems. I always want to take care of you. And I always will.”

“I can’t do a break again.” You told him seriously. “It wasn’t right for us to break the way we did and I’m stilling hurting from that.” Your voice cracking. “I know you wanted what was best for us, but it wasn’t what was best for me. We work through our problems JJ. We always have and we always will.”

“We can work out our problems together.” He promised. “As long as you stay in therapy as long as you need. And you are honest with me when shit hits the fan.”

“And as long as you tell me when you’re dad is back and when you’re spiraling.”

“Deal.” He promised.

“Pinky promise?” You raised your eyebrows at him and held out your pinky.

“Pinky promise.” He said wrapping his pinky around yours.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

George Orwell: The Prevention of Literature

George Orwell:

The Poet & The Prose Writer

There is a whole series of converging reasons why it is somewhat easier for a poet than a prose writer to feel at home in an authoritarian society.

To begin with, bureaucrats and other ‘practical’ men usually despise the poet too deeply to be much interested in what he is saying.

Secondly, what the poet is saying — that is, what his poem ‘means’ if translated into prose — is relatively unimportant, even to himself.

The thought contained in a poem is always simple, and is no more the primary purpose of the poem than the anecdote is the primary purpose of the picture.

A Poem

A poem is an arrangement of sounds and associations, as a painting is an arrangement of brushmarks.

For short snatches, indeed, as in the refrain of a song, poetry can even dispense with meaning altogether.

It is therefore fairly easy for a poet to keep away from dangerous subjects and avoid uttering heresies; and even when he does utter them, they may escape notice.

But above all, good verse, unlike good prose, is not necessarily and individual product.

Certain kinds of poems, such as ballads, or, on the other hand, very artificial verse forms, can be composed co-operatively by groups of people:

Whether the ancient English and Scottish ballads were originally produced by individuals, or by the people at large, is disputed; but at any rate they are non-individual in the sense that they constantly change in passing from mouth to mouth.

Even in print no two versions of a ballad are ever quite the same.

Many primitive peoples compose verse communally.

Someone begins to improvise, probably accompanying himself on a musical instrument, somebody else chips in with a line or a rhyme when the first singer breaks down, and so the process continues until there exists a whole song or ballad which has no identifiable author.

Prose

In prose, this kind of intimate collaboration is quite impossible.

Serious prose, in any case, has to be composed in solitude, whereas the excitement of being part of a group is actually an aid to certain kinds of versification.

Verse — and perhaps good verse of its own kind, though it would not be the highest kind — might survive under even the most inquisitorial regime.

Even in a society where liberty and individuality had been extinguished, there would still be a need either for patriotic songs and heroic ballads celebrating victories, or for elaborate exercises in flattery; and these are the kinds of poems that can be written to order, or composed communally, without necessarily lacking artistic value.

Prose is a different matter, since the prose writer cannot narrow the range of his thoughts without killing his inventiveness.

But the history of totalitarian societies, or of groups of people who have adopted the totalitarian outlook, suggests that loss of liberty is inimical to all forms of literature.

German literature almost disappeared during the Hitler regime, and the case was not much better in Italy.

Russian literature, so far as one can judge by translations, has deteriorated markedly since the early days of the revolution, though some of the verse appears to be better than the prose.

Few if any Russian novels that it is possible to take seriously have been translated for about fifteen years.

In western Europe and America large sections of the literary intelligentsia have either passed through the Communist Party or have been warmly sympathetic to it, but this whole leftward movement has produced extraordinarily few books worth reading. Orthodox Catholicism, again, seems to have a crushing effect upon certain literary forms, especially the novel.

During a period of three hundred years, how many people have been at once good novelists and good Catholics?

The fact is that certain themes cannot be celebrated in words, and tyranny is one of them.

No one ever wrote a good book in praise of the Inquisition.

Poetry might survive in a totalitarian age, and certain arts or half-arts, such as architecture, might even find tyranny beneficial, but the prose writer would have no choice between silence or death.

Prose literature as we know it is the product of rationalism, of the Protestant centuries, of the autonomous individual.

And the destruction of intellectual liberty cripples the journalist, the sociological writer, the historian, the novelist, the critic, and the poet, in that order.

In the future it is possible that a new kind of literature, not involving individual feeling or truthful observation, may arise, but no such thing is at present imaginable.

It seems much likelier that if the liberal culture that we have lived in since the Renaissance comes to an end, the literary art will perish with it.

The Falsification of Reality

But however it may be with the physical sciences, or with music, painting and architecture, it is — as I have tried to show — certain that literature is doomed if liberty of thought perishes.

Not only is it doomed in any country which retains a totalitarian structure; but any writer who adopts the totalitarian outlook, who finds excuses for persecution and the falsification of reality, thereby destroys himself as a writer. 

Unless spontaneity enters at some point or another, literary creation is impossible, and language itself becomes ossified. At some time in the future, if the human mind becomes something totally different from what it is now, we may learn to separate literary creation from intellectual honesty.

At present we know only that the imagination, like certain wild animals, will not breed in captivity.

Excerpts from the essay, "The Prevention of Literature" published in Polemic, January 1946

More: George Orwell

[mageknight14]

One of the coolest things about Neku and Sho’s respective dynamics with Rindo in NEO TWEWY is how they twist around expectations with Sho, one of the main antagonists from the previous game, being the one who gives genuinely helpful advice towards Rindo while Neku, the enlightened protag, gives him the wrong kind of advice.

While is it true that Sho is mainly using Rindo and the Twisters in order to further his own goals/agenda, every single piece of advice/information he gives them ends up being helpful in some way and stays relevant up to the end

-Don’t just overly rely on me, actually reach out and recruit others (Nagi and Shoka, who end up being incredibly important and useful)

-Synchronize all your powers/talents together in order to achieve a greater goal (Nagi’s Dives, Operation Awakening in its entirety)

-Get the jump on the other teams and take them out before they become a problem later on (W1D5 with Rindo using his time travel powers to reroute the DRS, W2D6 where he uses his time travel again to find out more about Motoi and discover the truth about him, etc)

And last, but certainly not least, warning Rindo about the dangers involved in using his powers and giving him exactly the information he needed to relay back to Kaie and Rhyme in order to save Shibuya.

On top of that, there’s a distinctive pattern where everytime Rindo/the team shows signs of trying to overly rely on Sho, he immediately threatens to leave and pushes them to achieve more for themselves via sink-or-swim. He’s the face of the game’s Hard mode for a reason.

By contrast, when Neku shows up to join the party on W3D4, he starts to unintentionally take Rindo’s place as the leader, with the Reports themselves noting how Rindo is starting to stagnate with his growth once again when he has someone to overly rely on.

This continues on up to W3D6, where Rindo actually goes against Neku’s order to not time travel in order to not fall for Susukichi’s trap.

I think what’s most impressive about this is how it’s all in character for them. While Sho has been noted above, what Neku’s advice towards Rindo is a logical extension of the lessons Hanekoma passed onto him.

Mr. H’s words is generally great life advice that still applies to the themes of both games but Neku’s specific application of it boils down to telling Rindo that no matter what happens, he needs to just let the chips fall where they may. To make the most out of a bad situation.

And while that works great for someone like Neku, his application of Mr. H's advice is exactly the sort of excuse to defer to authority that Rindo has been blindly grasping for over and over the entire game, which is shown prominently in his convo with Haz.

That he should just move on and try to accept the outcome but Rindo actively rejects that to take the ultimately harder but better road for everyone involved. To take responsibility for his actions and fight hard for what he wants instead of just letting things just pass over.

Rindo is a deliberate inversion of Neku as a protagonist. What works for the latter isn’t going to work for the former and vice-versa. And that’s perfectly okay. There’s a reason why Rindo’s theme, the World is Yours, has this as an opening line.

[stardestroyer81]

🥪 Introducing... Door2Door! 🥪

Door2Door stars twenty year old possum Gigi Dempster, who lives in a rather ramshackle, podunk town in Vermont called Bendersville. After sending numerous job applications all over town with no word back, she finally lands herself a delivery driver position at an unassuming locally-owned sandwich restaurant named Dine 'n Dash. With no prior experience in the art of crafting a mighty fine sandwich or running a delivery route, Gigi is strapped in to experience the whirlwind of a first time food service job firsthand, and in an unpredictable town like Bendersville, quite literally anything can happen.

(For more information on what Door2Door is— as well as a handful of progress images— please consider checking underneath the cut!)

At last, witness unveiling of my latest project I've spent the last month conceptualizing, Door2Door! What once came about as a silly idea of basing a project after an inner-city delivery driver inspired after a certain gameplay section in Spongebob Squarepants: Revenge of the Flying Dutchman, it has since blossomed into one of my dearest passion projects yet!

Though, before I get into any further detail behind Door2Door and its creation, I must stress— none of the above five images hail from a lost late nineties/early 2000s Cartoon Network show, and if by chance any of them were enough to fool you into thinking they were, then that just means I achieved what I set out for! 💙✨

Now, about a month ago, I'd been watching a retrospective on the critically un-acclaimed Spongebob Squarepants: Revenge of the Flying Dutchman, a game I had growing up. It's important for me to mention that I had seen and personally played the aforementioned gameplay section before, though for some reason seeing it again struck me with a brilliant project idea.

Anyone who's been following me for at least a year knows that I've designed a cavalcade of candied characters for my own arcade game concept, Rascal, and initially my idea for Door2Door— which I also called Project JJ (In reference to the sandwich chain Jimmy John's)— was to give it a plot simple enough to translate into an arcade game.

The idea was that you played as a plucky delivery driver who rides through the streets of a seedy city to deliver a food order to the... er, order-ee. But your progress would be impeded by a fiendish gang of mobster alley cats who are after your sandwiches, so there would have definitely been a large cartoony element to the gameplay loop.

I drew concept art for Door2Door's protagonist, then known as Marcy, though I really wasn't vibing with either drawing. For one, making the protagonist a cat seemed a bit overdone, and I already have a cat character who's name rhymes with Marcy, so that had to go. More so, I also couldn't settle on a good spriting style, which prompted me to rethink the whole project.

Well, there is a general aura of cartooniness to Door2Door, I thought, why not just embrace that vibe whole-heartedly and reshape the project into a long-lost late nineties cartoon?

I did like the idea of having an excuse to drawing more animation cels, though if I was going to make Door2Door into something resembling a cel-animated cartoon, I was prepared to go the full distance in nailing that aesthetic, in the form of how characters are designed and the way I go about drawing each screenshot.

For those unfamiliar with cel animation, essentially it can be described as a traditional form of animation and involves objects— usually characters— being hand-inked and painted on clear celluloid sheets and placed over painted backgrounds.

Above, I've provided a visual for what a standalone 'cel' from Door2Door would look like, coupled with a hand-painted background. When overlaid on top of one another...

... you would get this! This is exactly how cartoons were animated up until the era of digital inking and coloring... but that begs the question. How am I achieving a hand-drawn and painted aesthetic if everything I've shown so far has been drawn digitally?

I have my ways! It involves a lot of studying how individual cels of animation look, and taking note of recurring hallmarks; grainy textures, paint blemishes, drop shadows, etc. Above, I've assembled a small gif of my process in composing a screenshot for Door2Door, from lineart to final product!

So, that all should loosely explain it; Door2Door is what would happen if I were in charge of a late nineties Cartoon Network show, and what you've seen here is merely the beginning. Going forward, I will be posting art of Door2Door's main cast with some additional character information and concept art for each one, though for the time being, enjoy all five art pieces I've supplied for this post— they are perhaps the biggest works of mine yet this year! 💙🏳️‍⚧️✨

[walrus150915]

Nimona headcanons part 3 bc I'm insane (out of order and disorganized so like- be ready) and bc it's my new year gift for y'all

• Nimona mostly talks like a normal teen but sometimes she'd use words that show her real age. "Sonorous", "vapidity" n stuff like that. Her vocabulary is INSANELY huge

• Ambrosius tries not to swear so he uses a lot of silly replacements instead. "HOLY S- golly!!", "You son of a b- bishop". Like I'm sorry but he's the type of guy to say fricking instead of, yknow, the intended word. Ballister finds it endearing; Nimona finds it stupid

• Yes yes he does replace sex with lovemaking. Yes he purely refers to him and Bal going at it as "making love". Yes he's a fellow like that

• Ballister doesn't drink alcohol. I know that's implied in the movie that he drinks (although I thought he drank, like, soda?? On the other hand he is a wholeass thirty years old man who's seen some shit so I wouldn't be surprised) but idk he strikes me as a type to refuse drinking out of moral code. He doesn't eat pork for the same reasons (pushing my cultural Muslim Ballister agenda)

• Ambrosius drinks only during celebrations or parties. Not much because he's a light drinker😭 one cup and he's already lying on the floor, crying and hyperanalyzing his life

• after Nimona came back Ambrosius was not safe from her jokes. Neither of them despised each other (not after Nimona saved the whole Kingdom and not after Ambrosius proved he really isn't a jerk) but boy does Nimona make fun of him on any given occasion. Ambrosius was taken aback by this at first but then he just got used to it

• Ambrosius is being kinda petty and jealous when Ballister spends more time with Nimona than him ("Although now apparently he's got a new best friend, what's that about?!"), not in a way that'd make it unhealthy ofc but still😭. Him and Ballister were tied to the hip for like the most of their lives and now there's someone ELSE Ballister likes to hang out with? Ugh🙄

• Ambrosius had a diary when he was a teen, he didn't write much there (one or two sentences a day). Once he became an adult he kind of forgot about it but after the whole... Hunting stuff started happening he found himself writing a ton of sentences there again

• when him and Bal started dating Ambrosius had a whole page in that diary filled with "Ambrosius Boldheart" HE'S A GUY LIKE THAT OKAY

• Ambrosius likes to attack Ballister's face with quick little kisses. If he pecked his forehead he must peck his cheeks and nose and eyelids and cheekbones etc etc

• Nimona sometimes speaks in rhymes. She doesn't know how she's doing it but her tongue just does it on its own. ("Let's go dunk on the punk in the trunk")

• Ballister has actually been a year older than everyone in his class, another reason why he was the black sheep™

• Ambrosius can play the flute and the piano due to his noble upbringing he HATES whenever someone brings it up tho

• Nimona and Ballister have those nights where they recall historical facts and situations and Nimona shows her perspective of the things. "The guy claimed to be a war criminal was the biggest sweetheart in the world what are you onnn". Ballister wrecks his brain trying to understand if she's serious or not

• Ballister doesn't get a lot of the jokes, they just fly over his head. Only after some time he starts getting them, like in the middle of the night randomly going "ohhhh that's what she meant"

• first time Ambrosius and Ballister made out Ambrosius threw his hands in the air and said "yayy :D"

• Ballister's haircare routine is better than you think it is he's just casual about it. Yes he uses coconut oil like his life depends on it

• Ambrosius's complexion is leaner but Bal's is broader. So when they exchange clothes it doesn't fit because Bal's shirts are too loose on Ambrosius but also kinda short and Ambrosius's are kinda long but too tight in the shoulders for Bal. They still think it's sweet to swap their clothes sometimes

[rovermcfly]

this is what happens to monthly playlist when you have like, 1 1/4 hyperfixations for the entire month.

as you might have heard, this year I'm trying to make monthly spotify playlists with songs (and podcast eps) that I particularly enjoyed that month. please enjoy this chaotic glimpse into my psyche or whatever

[sadisticyouko]

Hi you are an amazing writer 🖤

ask: May I ask can you write some more for Kurama? About him taking care of his s/o after they dealt with some drama in work/school/family and need to relax and take their mind of it?

Thank you for considering this ask 🖤

author’s note: ahh thank you for all your kind words & for reading through my works ! I’m glad people are still enjoying them ♡ also side note, this may have gotten a little self indulgent but this ask actually kinda came at a good time for me 😂 I still hope it’s to your liking !

When he called you the night before, your voice had a waiver to it that suggested you were anything but fine. The forced lilt in your voice, the strain on the other end of the phone. You said you didn't feel like talking, but you could text it out in a minute.

He respected your decision. The calm depth of concern in his tone like a soothing balm on your burn. But you didn't feel like crying that night. Not after having a particularly painful conversation with your mother.

The next day went by in a hurried haze of grey. Your feet dragged through the dirty rainwater flooding your mind. Mentally drenched in the argument you had with your mother the night before. Why don't you see him again? You're not moving on unless you see him again. You're a cruel, hateful little girl. You don't have love for anyone but yourself.

"Kurama," You smiled as your boyfriend met you at the bottom of your stairs, his brilliant red hair a bright contrast to the dreary grays of the world around you.

His smile is warm, but his eyes are deep and sincere. The weight of the contact is too much for you in that moment, so you throw yourself into his arms with a hefty hug. Let him pull you in in that comforting way he does with his body.

Study arms all around you, face pressed warmly into his chest. He rubs your back soothingly, and you can't remember if he always knows just how to hug you or if this is a special hug. A knowing hug.

It's the first deep breath you've taken all day. And it smells gently of fresh roses and clean laundry.

"Shall we get going?" He smiles down at you once you finally pull your face away from his chest.

There's nothing about the drama that Kurama doesn't already know. He knows every detail about your family. He knows every rhyme and reason for your actions, your words, and is endlessly impressed with the way you handle yourself, even when you feel like you're falling apart.

And while he wishes he could intervene on your behalf, he knows better than to meddle with deeply personal issues you know only you can resolve. It's a complicated situation, and as your partner, he trusts you completely. Implicitly. He knows that you can fight your own battles.

Taking care of you is the least he can do when you've been going through it.

The drive always feels short no matter where you go with Kurama. His gentle touches and soothing voice even more welcome on stressful days. With one elegant hand on the wheel, the other squeezing gently at your thigh. A familiar song on the radio. He only sings the words he knows, and you sing and hum the melody even when you don't. He lets you run your fingertips up the underside of his arm. Tracing at the veins as you sing mindlessly. He rubs your cheek with the back of his hand, and you kiss his palm in return.

When you finally arrive at the bar, you're just distracted enough to look forward to a few drinks.

Fingers interwoven as you greet Yusuke and Kuwabara, who were already three beers in by the time everyone else arrived. It's just the boys and Botan tonight. A smaller group than your usual crowd, but the girls are out last minute shopping you hear.

Your order is slid across the table to you in a clear glass as the others begin to catch up. Kurama leans in to whisper in your ear, we can meet up with the girls later if you want. You giggle and debate on spending more money this week.

Kuwabara is excited to talk about a ring he recently bought. Yusuke demands he not show it to Keiko, lest she get her hopes up. He replies that it's his own fault for not getting her a better ring. Be more ambitious, work more jobs, maybe switch careers to be a real detective for once.

Botan replies that the ring isn't what matters most. It's that you love each other, treat each other well.

Everyone catches up with the latest gossip. Where you're all at in your lives. Goals for the future and what you find most irritating about coworkers and work life. Hiei's solution to everything is a predictable string of violent threats, which actually works rather well for him considering his current occupation.

With everyone around the table like this, a sweetened alcohol warming your body, jokes are shared and passed around. Hiei's crimson eyes flare with excitement when Yusuke insinuates he might be down to spar again. Botan leans in with both elbows on the table and tucks a strand of turquoise hair behind her ear when the gossip is good. Kuwabara has a tendency to point at your whenever one of your inside jokes is brought up. And you'll giggle and laugh with a little shoulder bump into Kurama whenever a joke is particularly funny.

There's so much to say and so many memories between you all. It's easy to lose yourself in conversation, in the time spent together with Kurama's protective hand around your thigh. Playful little squeezes when you're a bit cheeky. Exchanging sips of each others drinks in indirect kisses.

When the night's done and everyone says goodbye, waving or hugging until next time, you slide into the car next to Kurama and smile at your loving boyfriend.

"Did you have fun?" He smirks as the car starts.

"Yeah," you smile as you lean back in your seat, Kurama's hand once again finding yours in the darkness. Thoughts of your friends and their news swirling through your mind. Hopes and goals for future years to come. The brightness of it all. The endurance of a lasting friendship. Knowing full well that each and every one of them would answer your call if you needed help. If you needed a shoulder to lean on.

Knowing full well that the man beside you would be there for you through any and every hardship. That he would do so willingly, gladly, and would no doubt always remind you of brighter days to come and sweeter memories to make.

©️sadisticyouko | please do not plagiarize, repost, or redistribute in any way without permission.

[stormcloudrising]

Secret Song of Florian and Jonquil Part 8: Jenny of Oldstones and her Prince of Dragonflies

December 7, 2023

Jenny of Olstones by Jesse Ochse

This latest chapter is in response to an anonymous ask for additional information on a question I answered here, about what would have happened to Sansa if Lady was not killed. In responding to the question, I referenced how the show heavily used the dragonfly motif in Sansa’s costumes and what that implied about her story on the show that D&D didn’t carry through on, but more importantly about her arc in the books.

My response to the question elicited a request for further expansion on my comment about dragonflies and Sansa. It is a good question, and one I debated whether to answer at this time because to do so would reveal two theories I’ve been planning to propose in upcoming chapters of the series.

For many different reasons, it has taken me a long time to complete the series. Part of it has to do with the time constraints of my job, but a bigger cause is probably the difficulty in getting up the energy or excitement to write an in-depth analysis when George is taking so long to deliver the next book.

Nonetheless, I am going to answer the anonymous question, and I will propose one of my theories here as well because the question got my essay writing juices flowing again. Thus, though it was not planned, before the super rush of the holiday season gets here and the writing juices stops flowing, here is Chapter 8 of my Florian and Jonquil series.

It is slightly out of order, as this topic was scheduled for 2 to 3 chapters hence. However, it is not that out of place to follow the last chapter. And so, it’s time for Jenny of Oldstones, and her Prince of Dragonflies. I will attempt to show you how the legend of Jenny and her Prince rhymes with that of Florian and Jonquil and as a result, with Jon and Sansa.

"You may read it here. It is old and fragile." He studied her, frowning. "Archmaester Rigney once wrote that history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again, he said.” A Feast for Crows – The Kraken’s Daughter

You may wonder why I am quoting Asha’s nuncle words about Archmaester’s Rigney’s teachings here, and it would be for two reasons. First, while Archmaester Rigney’s comment is George paying homage to Robert Jordan and the Wheel of Time, his words have great meaning in the story of ASOIAF. The past or rather events do repeat in ASOIAF, but not exactly. I would say that instead of a complete repetition, events in the story rhyme…possibly because of alternate timelines, but that’s for another chapter. It’s why we find echoes of the same story repeating over and over in the text and in-world historical references.

The second reason I’m including the quote from an Ironborn is because their myths…specifically that of Nagga the sea dragon has important implications in the story of Jenny; and Duncan, her Prince of Dragonflies. And as I will shortly show you, Ironborn myths…specifically the one about Nagga answers the question posed to me about dragonflies.

More importantly, this ancient myth has implications in the tale of Florian and Jonquil and thus ultimately leads us back to the current incarnation of those characters, Jon, and Sansa.

Before I get into answering the question about dragonflies, let me again state what I do in almost every essay, and that is, George like many great writers writes in symbolism—except he takes it up to the 9th degree.  As a result, this is one of the main ways I analyze ASOIAF. It’s not the only way to look at his magnum opus, but if you understand this, and you’re a fan of symbolism, whether mythological, literary or your garden variety type, I think you can discern clues and or pick up on possible answers to the great mysteries of the books.

I also suggest reading, if you have not done so previously, the earlier chapters of my Florian and Jonquil series. It’s not necessary to read all at this time, but you should especially read Chapter 7, Parts 1 and 2. In those chapters, I break down a lot of the symbolism that implies Sansa is a greenseer as well as discuss how this symbolism closely ties her to Nissa Nissa and the corpse queen, the two ancient female figures at the center of the book’s great mystery. This idea that Sansa is a greenseer heavily ties into the symbolism of the dragonflies.

In the two previous chapters of the series, I also discussed how Sansa’s name is a full anagram Nassa, which in Latin means weir, and how that and her little bird moniker among many other things, ties her to Nissa Nissa and implies that she’s a secret unknowing goddess of the weirwoods.

As you read this essay series, you should also always keep in mind that George has set up his weirwood net as a hive; and there is a hive mind theme running throughout. The interesting thing about hives is that they have queens, not kings. This is one of the ways you know that the legend of Ellyn Eversweet and the King of the Bees is a tale of usurpation of the rights of the woman. We know this because there is no such thing as a King Bee.

I also referenced Ravenousreader’s brilliant essay about George’s symbolic use of the sea as a stand-in for the astral plane to which the weirwoods grant access, and how Patchface mad rantings about “under the sea” are about what the fandom calls the weirwood net. You can read RR essay in this westeros.org thread here.

By the way, her theory was written years before it was confirmed on the show in season 6 Episode 2 when Bloodraven describes travelling the astral plane of the weirwoods to Bran as being “beneath the sea.”

Bloodraven to Bran: “It's beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long, you will drown.”

Bran: I wasn’t drowning. I was home.

You can watch the clip from the show here at 2:42.

Of course, we’re not talking about real drowning because we’re not talking about a real sea. Rather George is using the sea as a metaphor for his astral plane version of the river of time.

Bran is not drowning because he’s being trained on how to properly swim the green sea. That’s part of the reason why they are so many dreamers impaled on icy spires in his first weirwood dreams. They couldn’t swim the green sea. There is other symbolism in the passage about the dreamers that have to do with the icy spires I may get to another time, but the point I’m trying to make now is that the green sea is dangerous to traverse…especially for those without training. You can become trapped by the weirwoods.

I mention RR’s essay so that you can understand that often when George references the green sea or other natural water tributaries in the text, he’s talking about the weirwood net and you should be on the lookout for symbolic greenseer activities. Often, these scenes symbolize someone trying to sneak into the green sea/weirwoods; escape from the weirwoods; or being trapped by the weirwoods, which are gnarly bridges across the green sea and can grant access to the special ones—the greenseers.

So, when you see a myth in the text like the Ironborn one about the Grey King, and his battle with Nagga, the great female sea dragon which he slew, you should stop and consider if there is more implied in that tale than that of a king killing a giant sea monster. Let’s look at what we’re told about this legend.

Grey King Battles Naga; Complete Guide to Westeros - Game of Thrones - Season 1 Blu-ray Edition

The deeds attributed to the Grey King by the priests and singers of the Iron Islands are many and marvelous. It was the Grey King who brought fire to the earth by taunting the Storm God until he lashed down with a thunderbolt, setting a tree ablaze. The Grey King also taught men to weave nets and sails and carved the first longship from the hard pale wood of Ygg, a demon tree who fed on human flesh. The Grey King's greatest feat, however, was the slaying of Nagga, largest of the sea dragons, a beast so colossal that she was said to feed on leviathans and giant krakens and drown whole islands in her wroth. The Grey King built a mighty longhall about her bones, using her ribs as beams and rafters. From there he ruled the Iron Islands for a thousand years, until his very skin had turned as grey as his hair and beard. Only then did he cast aside his driftwood crown and walk into the sea, descending to the Drowned God's watery halls to take his rightful place at his right hand. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

George names his Nagga sea dragon after the real world mythological Naga of South Asian culture who are seen as demigods. 

In various Asian religious traditions, the Nagas are a divine, or semi-divine, race of half-human, half-serpent beings that reside in the netherworld (Patala), and can occasionally take human or part-human form, or are so depicted in art. —Wikipedia

In Indian religions, Patala (that which is below the feet), denotes the subterranean realms of the universe – which are located under the earthly dimension. Patala is often translated as underworld or netherworld. — Wikipedia

Nagas are associated with bodies of waters such as tributaries, rivers, lakes, seas, and wells. They are also seen as guardians of treasure. In George’s world of ASOIAF, the weirwood net is the underworld, and what greater treasure might there be to guard than one that could give access to immortality. Keep this thought, as well as the fact that they are said to sometimes take half human form in mind as I will come back to both later.

The Ironborn gives us a legend about their ancient king killing a sea dragon. Were there such things as giant sea dragons in ancient Westerosi history, and might they still exist? Possibly. After all, the story has giant flying fire breathing dragons.

However, that’s not the point of the legend. Keeping in mind that George uses the sea to symbolize the weirwood net, might the Grey King’s slaying of Nagga be there to tell us something else. Might it be there to tell us not about a battle between a king and a sea monster, but rather about one in or over access to the green sea/weirwood net. Let’s see what else the books tell us about this legend.

On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees. The sight made Aeron's heart beat faster. Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth. —A Feast for Crows - The Drowned Man

There is an overabundance of symbolism and clues drop by George in the above passage. I could have bolded the entire chapter, but I only did a few lines for this discussion. Here we see that Aeron’s thoughts about Nagga and the Grey King build upon what we’re told in the World Book. What I especially want to discuss now is his thought that Nagga’s stone ribs look like the trunk of great pale trees. Hmmm! Great pale trees…where might we have seen such a reference before?

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it." —A Game of Thrones, Jon VI

Nagga’s bones sound and awful lot like the limbs of a weirwood tree, but is that just happenstance? Let’s dig a bit more.

They seated the hedge knights well below the salt, closer to the doors than to the dais. Whitewalls was almost new as castles went, having been raised a mere forty years ago by the grandsire of its present lord. The smallfolk hereabouts called it the Milk house, for its walls and keeps and towers were made of finely dressed white stone, quarried in the Vale and brought over the mountains at great expense. Inside were floors and pillars of milky white marble veined with gold; the rafters overhead were carved from the bone-pale trunks of weirwoods. Dunk could not begin to imagine what all of that had cost. —The Mystery Knight

If those passages are not enough to convince you that the famous bones of Nagga are not of a giant sea dragon, but rather a weirwood tree cut down by Grey King to build his longhall, don’t forget that we have a more recent record in the text of an Ironborn king cutting down weirwoods to do just that. I’m of course talking about Harren the Black.

In his pride, Harren had desired the highest hall and tallest towers in all Westeros. Forty years it had taken, rising like a great shadow on the shore of the lake while Harren's armies plundered his neighbors for stone, lumber, gold, and workers. Thousands of captives died in his quarries, chained to his sledges, or laboring on his five colossal towers. Men froze by winter and sweltered in summer. Weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down for beams and rafters. —A Clash of Kings - Catelyn I

The Grey King’s crown is another clue that Nagga’s bone are the limbs of a petrified weirwood. Note up above, it was said to be made from Nagga’s teeth and yet we also get this passage from the world book that seems to contradict this idea.

The Grey King built a mighty longhall about her bones, using her ribs as beams and rafters. From there he ruled the Iron Islands for a thousand years, until his very skin had turned as grey as his hair and beard. Only then did he cast aside his driftwood crown and walk into the sea, descending to the Drowned God's watery halls to take his rightful place at his right hand. The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

So was the Grey King’s crown made from the teeth of a sea dragon, or was it made of wood? George put the icing on the cake regarding Nagga’s bones being a petrified weirwood with this little bit about Galon Whitestaff, a past ironborn priest.

The power wielded by these prophets of the Drowned God over the ironborn should not be underestimated. Only they could summon kingsmoots, and woe to the man, be he lord or king, who dared defy them. The greatest of the priests was the towering prophet Galon Whitestaff, so-called for the tall carved staff he carried everywhere to smite the ungodly. (In some tales his staff was made of weirwood, in others from one of Nagga's bones.) —The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

In some tales Galon’s staff was made of weirwood and in others from Nagga’s bones. Seems obvious that George is deliberately conflating the two and wants the reader to do the same. What other evidence is needed?

The petrified bones of some gigantic sea creature do indeed stand on Nagga's Hill on Old Wyk, but whether they are actually the bones of a sea dragon remains open to dispute. The ribs are huge, but nowise near large enough to have belonged to a dragon capable of feasting on leviathans and giant krakens. In truth, the very existence of sea dragons has been called into question by some. If such monsters do exist, they must surely dwell in the deepest, darkest reaches of the Sunset Sea, for none has been seen in the known world for thousands of years. So say the legends and the priests of the Drowned God. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

Nagga's Hill by Lake Hurwitz © Fantasy Flight Games

Those maesters, always questioning and discounting the ancient myths, but this time, they might be on to something.

This is all pretty strong evidence that Nagga’s bones are the limbs of a cut down weirwood and not those of a sea dragon. However, while not the bones of a sea dragon, there is one other option other than just a cut down weirwood tree, and this one may make more sense.

As proposed by many in the fandom, the bones that Aeron views upon the hill might be the petrified remnant of the Grey King’s longship, carved from the cut down weirwood tree.

The deeds attributed to the Grey King by the priests and singers of the Iron Islands are many and marvelous. It was the Grey King who brought fire to the earth by taunting the Storm God until he lashed down with a thunderbolt, setting a tree ablaze. The Grey King also taught men to weave nets and sails and carved the first longship from the hard pale wood of Ygg, a demon tree who fed on human flesh. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

A demon tree of hard “pale wood” that is said to have fed on human flesh. As there are major clues that men were sacrificed to the weirwoods in the books, this passage seems to imply that the Grey King’s longship was also made of that special wood. Ygg is of course, George’s homage to Yggdrasil, the world tree of Norse mythology.

Viking Longship wreck - Roskilde Viking Ship Musem

It was there beneath the arch of Nagga's ribs that his drowned men found him, standing tall and stern with his long black hair blowing in the wind. "Is it time?" Rus asked. Aeron gave a nod, and said, "It is. Go forth and sound the summons."— A Feast for Crows - The Drowned Man

As you can see, a Viking longship more closely matches up to the arch of Nagga’s ribs than would be the case of an actual tree. Also, as Crowfood’s Daughter has pointed out in her awesome video essay series on the ironborn, for trees to remain curved or arched in the manner of Nagga’s ribs, they would need to retain their limbs of leaves.

We also see from this Jon’s passage that longships would have the shape of Nagga’s bones.

He swiveled the eye east and searched amongst the tents and trees till he found the turtle. That will be coming very soon as well. The wildlings had skinned one of the dead mammoths during the night, and they were lashing the raw bloody hide over the turtle's roof, one more layer on top of the sheepskins and pelts. The turtle had a rounded top and eight huge wheels, and under the hides was a stout wooden frame. When the wildlings had begun knocking it together, Satin thought they were building a ship. Not far wrong. The turtle was a hull turned upside down and opened fore and aft; a longhall on wheels. — A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

And as Jaime notes in ADWD, weirwood trees or the wood it generates never rot. It simply turns to stone over millennium.

"The Brackens poisoned it," said his host. "For a thousand years it has not shown a leaf. In another thousand it will have turned to stone, the maesters say. Weirwoods never rot." — A Dance with Dragons - Jaime I

There are lots of other passages in the text where boats are compared to sea dragons, including the one Petyr uses to take Sansa to the Vale. However, we are specifically discussing the Grey King, and so we’ll leave those other comparisons alone for now. Nonetheless, I’m sure that you can see that the textural evidence supporting the theory that Nagga’s bones are those of a petrified weirwood longship is quite strong.

You’re probably now asking yourself, what does the ironborn’s holy relic on Old Wyk whose legend is built around the myth of the Grey King slaying of a sea dragon have to do Florian and Jonquil or more specifically, the original question about dragonflies. That’s a good question, and so let me attempt to answer.

I said up above that battles in the sea or the pools of water are often meant to represent battles in the weirwoods or over the weirwoods to gain entry to their magic. So, if Nagga was not really a sea monster, but instead a weirwood tree or a longship made of weirwood, does this mean that the battle described in the Grey King legend was one such event? More importantly, if Nagga’s bones is a weirwood longship, who or what did the Grey King slay? You can cut down a tree, but would it be described as slaying? I don’t think so.

Let’s look at what else the books tell us about this Ironborn legend to see if we can discover the answer.

From the Aeron passage posted above, we discover that “Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves.” We also find out in TWOIAF that the Grey King was said to reign for a thousand years and seven. In the books, when you hear of figures living for such a long time, one immediately wonders whether they were born greenseers or gain access to the weirwoods in some manner.

In the case of the Grey King, I think the answer is the latter. He was able to gain access to the trees. If this was the case, how did it happen? You may have missed it above when I posted the excerpt because I didn’t bold the text but another piece of his legend may give us a clue.

The deeds attributed to the Grey King by the priests and singers of the Iron Islands are many and marvelous. It was the Grey King who brought fire to the earth by taunting the Storm God until he lashed down with a thunderbolt, setting a tree ablaze. The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

What is described in the passage is basically the Grey King symbolically stealing the fire of the gods and using it to set a weirwood ablaze. In mythology, stealing the fire of the gods is about gaining knowledge…often that of immortality. And in ASOIAF, immortality comes via the weirwoods.

When you recognize that aspect of the myth, you can see that the Grey King legend is that of a man stealing the knowledge of the weirwoods, and the ones he stole if from were the old gods—the greenseers.

So, how did the Grey King steal the fire of the gods? Well, his mermaid wife; his battle with the Storm God, and another ancient myth may provide the answer.

The legends surrounding the founder of House Durrandon, Durran Godsgrief, all come to us through the singers. The songs tell us that Durran won the heart of Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. By yielding to a mortal's love, Elenei doomed herself to a mortal's death, and for this the gods who had given her birth hated the man she had taken for her lord husband. In their wroth, they sent howling winds and lashing rains to knock down every castle Durran dared to build, until a young boy helped him erect one so strong and cunningly made that it could defy their gales. The boy grew to be Brandon the Builder; Durran became the first Storm King. With Elenei at his side, he lived and reigned at Storm's End for a thousand years, or so the stories claim. (Such a life span seems most unlikely, even for a hero married to the daughter of two gods. Archmaester Glaive, himself a stormlander by birth, once suggested that this King of a Thousand Years was in truth a succession of monarchs all bearing the same name, which seems plausible but must forever remain unproved.) The World of Ice and Fire - The Stormlands: House Durrandon

Durran and Elenei, Complete Guide to Westeros - Game of Thrones - Season 1 Blu-ray Edition

The legend of Durran Godsgrief and his wife Elenei has a lot of similarity to that of the Grey King and his mermaid wife. Too many for it just to be mere happenstance. It seems obvious that George wants us to consider the two, side by side, and so, what might he be trying to tell us?

They both married daughters of the sea. In the Durran myth, we learn that his wife Elenei was the daughter of the sea god while the Grey King is said to have married a mermaid. Both Duran and the Grey King also battled against gods…the latter against the storm god, while the former was said to have war against the sea god.

Taking the similarities of the two legends into account, it seems obvious that Elenei like the wife of the Grey King, was herself a mermaid, and that’ why she’s often depicted in this way in fan art. She is even depicted as a mermaid in the Complete Guide to Westeros featurette on the blue-ray edition of Game of Thrones Season One, which we have to assume was approved by George.

In GRRM’s mythological world of ASOIAF, mermaids are merlings and their leader is the Merling King. And he is considered a god. He is the sea god to who sailors pray.

Thirty different gods stood along the walls, surrounded by their little lights. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw; rich men preferred the Lion of Night, poor men the Hooded Wayfarer. Soldiers lit candles to Bakkalon, the Pale Child, sailors to the Moon-Pale Maiden and the Merling King. The Stranger had his shrine as well, though hardly anyone ever came to him. Most of the time only a single candle stood flickering at his feet. The kindly man said it did not matter. "He has many faces, and many ears to hear." — A Feast for Crows - Arya II

The interesting thing is that in real world mythology, and I suspect George is doing the same in ASOIAF, mermaids are sea nymphs. In some real-world cultures, they are called mermaids, and in others, sirens. And like in George’s tale, they are usually described as daughters of river or sea gods.

In many real world cultures such of those on the Asian and African continents, sea dragons such as Nāgas or the Watatsumi/Ryūjin of Japanese culture can take human or half human form…you know like the mermaids of our story. These sea dragons are also considered deities. They are sea gods.

As I’ve stated, George writes in symbolism, and there are multiple layers to his story. When he tells us historical legends, there is the surface story that you can read and interpret exactly as written and then there is the deeper symbolism that provides answers to the book’s mysteries. Usually, this hidden layer is about the weirwoods and events of the past.

The myths about Durran Godsgrief and the Grey King are two such legends that are filled with much deeper meaning and reveal much about ancient events. On the surface, they are traditional societal creation myths.

However, when you consider that the green sea and bodies of water are George’s way of symbolizing the weirwood net, as written about by rravenousreader, and confirmed on the show by Bloodraven, one can see that on a deeper level, these two legends are about accessing the weirwoods.

So, if Elenei was a mermaid who could assume both human and half human shape as is implied by her being a daughter of the sea god and the legend of her relationship with Duran, it means she was also a sea dragon. And if Elenei was a sea dragon, it also means that the Grey King’s mermaid wife was one as well. This revelation tells us a lot because, if Nagga’s ribs are not those of a sea dragon, but the petrified remains of the Grey King’s longship, which was made from the weirwood he set ablaze; as you can’t slay a tree, it can only mean that the sea dragon he slew to access the knowledge of the gods, was his mermaid wife.

Grey King and his mermaid wife by Justin Sweet for the 2024 ASOIAF Calendar

I love this latest painting by Justin Sweet of the Grey King and his mermaid wife. I especially love the suggestion that she was a redhead, but back to the story at hand.

Nagga was his both his mermaid/greenseer wife and her weirwood tree. This is how he gained access to the weirwoods and immortality and was said to live for 1000 years and seven. This is why there are so many clues that the remains of Nagga on Old Wyk are those of a ship. It’s to tell us that the Grey King’s killing of his mermaid wife gave him the access and the knowledge to sail the green sea.

I’ve listened to and read many theories that discuss the likelihood that Nagga’s bones are either those of a weirwood tree and or a longship. What I’ve never seen is the theory I propose here that the Grey King killed his wife. This is not to say that the theory does not exist. After all, there are tons of theories about the story that I have not read, but back to Nagga.

As George is always consistent in his symbolism, this is why in Asha’s Wayward Bride chapter, the trees are always written as attacking her and the other ironborn. The trees memories are eternal, and they remember the actions of the Grey King.

Men and mounts alike were trotting by the time they reached the trees on the far side of the sodden field, where dead shoots of winter wheat rotted beneath the moon. Asha held her horsemen back as a rear guard, to keep the stragglers moving and see that no one was left behind. Tall soldier pines and gnarled old oaks closed in around them. Deepwood was aptly named. The trees were huge and dark, somehow threatening. Their limbs wove through one another and creaked with every breath of wind, and their higher branches scratched at the face of the moon. The sooner we are shut of here, the better I will like it, Asha thought. The trees hate us all, deep in their wooden hearts. — A Dance with Dragons - The Wayward Bride

Now there are no weirwoods mentioned in this passage, but there are weirwoods in Deepwood Motte. And throughout this Asha chapter, there are repeated passages that make it seem as if the trees are alive and out to get the ironborn. Northmen even cover themselves in branches and attack Asha’s party. It’s as if the trees see the ironborn as the enemy.

As an aside, I love The Wayward Bride chapter and it’s one I heavily recommend re-reading. Asha ran away from the man Euron promised her to as a bride…hence the title. However, if you re-read, instead of thinking of Asha as “the wayward bride,” think instead of her as “the weirwood bride,” and you will see the echoes of a story about a runaway magical bride in the ancient past. The chapter title is one of George’s best uses of wordplay in the series.

No, I’m not saying that Asha is a greenseer, only that the chapter is there to tell us about events past and present events surrounding a “weirwood bride” who may have run off to escape her husband or fiancé, or else been “stolen” away by her lover. Re-reading the chapter with this idea in mind is a smorgasbord of symbolism and clues about events, but back to the tale at hand.

Further to the idea that the trees remember and have it in for the ironborn, it’s quite likely that the Grey King did not escape punishment when he killed his sea dragon wife.   It is very interesting that Nagga’s jaws became the Grey King’s throne. When you look at how his skin is described as turning as grey as his beard, and him sitting inside Nagga’s mouth, it’s as if he’s trapped within the jaws of death.

Grey King on his throne by Arthur Bozonnet for TWOIAF

This symbolism makes sense as weirwoods are traps for the unwary. That’s why George named it after a real-world weir, which is a trap for fish. So, while the Grey King killed the first greenseer, he did not get off scot-free. He was instead trapped by Nagga’s maw. He was trapped by the weirwoods.

This idea is echoed in images of the primordial Aztec Goddess Tlaltecuhtli.

One of Tlaltecuhtli’s most distinctive features is her gaping maw, showing flint knives for teeth and a protruding tongue. Her hands and feet are often clawed, bringing to mind both predatory birds and carrion-eaters. Above she is pictured with skull masks at her elbows and feet as well as in her hands. Her birth-giving posture connects her to frog imagery. The open mouth of the Tlaltecuhtli can be seen as a tomb — or as a womb. On the first page from the Tonalámatl de los Pochtecas the Earth Goddess appears, jaws wide, teeth exposed. Out of her mouth grows the tree of life. The tree of life growing from these jaws of death completes this picture of the earth as womb and tomb, and of the mouth and eating as analogous to birth and death. —Sacred Tours of Mexico

The ironborn believe that their Drowned God and Grey King are separate entities. I would argue that they are the same and this separation of the two on their part is simply confusion about the myth that developed over the millennium. The Grey King who slew his mermaid wife and the Drowned God who turned her bones to stone are one and the same because the two acts are separate descriptions of the same event. He’s both because he failed in his quest to take over and rule the weirwood net. He was trapped and drowned in his attempt to sail the green sea.

She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. —A Feast for Crows – The Drowned Man

The Grey King built a mighty longhall about her bones, using her ribs as beams and rafters. From there he ruled the Iron Islands for a thousand years, until his very skin had turned as grey as his hair and beard. Only then did he cast aside his driftwood crown and walk into the sea, descending to the Drowned God's watery halls to take his rightful place at his right hand. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: Driftwood Crowns

Sea dragons may or may not exist in the mythical world of ASOIAF, but we likely will never see one on the page. This is because the true purpose of their legend in the story is to tell us about female greenseers. They act as symbolic stand-ins for female greenseers, the original dragons of the green sea and provide clues on what happened to them.

Those of you who have read my previous essays likely remember my theory that because of the hive mind aspect of the weirwoods, we can deduce that the weirwood net was originally built around a queen, because as I noted, hives do not have kings. The sea dragon in the Grey King legend is said to be the first of its kind. Thus, the greenseer mermaid wife slew by the Grey King was also the first greenseer.

You also likely know my theory that Nissa Nissa was the first greenseer. If my theory about his mermaid wife being the sea dragon slew by the Grey King is correct, one can also see how this legend echoes that of Azor Ahai killing his wife Nissa Nissa; the Bloodstone Emperor usurping and killing his sister wife, Amethyst Empress; and the Winged Knight usurping Ellyn Eversweet. The latter being a tale of usurpation is not one I’ve seen discussed anywhere else in the fandom, and so you can read about it here.

How can all these ancient legends be of the same wife killing event, and why so many different names for the characters. Originally, I thought that the similarities and variations in the legends were a case of a world changing monomyth such as the great flood of our real-world myths appearing in so many different cultures. It could also be George simply creating different myths to drop clues for the reader to piece together. Both still maybe the case.

However, in the last few years, after reading more about GRRM’s other books, and reading a couple, I’ve come to embrace the idea that he’s playing with the theme of time travel that runs through many of his previous works. I think that we might be dealing with the same world changing event echoing through multiple timelines of the great cosmic ocean…hence the different names and the use of spiral motifs in both the books and show.

Messier 61 in Constellation Virgo taken by camera on Hubble Telescope

The weirwoods, as we saw on the show and is hinted at in the books, are a time travel mechanism. A greenseer doesn’t physically travel through time, but they can send their consciousness into the past, and quite likely the future. As we see with Bran and Hodor, strong ones can have an impact on individuals who exist outside the river of time, and this means they can affect the timeline.

Bran is only the latest of many greenseers, one who has not yet joined with the hive mind. As such, I think it’s shortsighted to assume that he is the only such greenseer throughout history who has had an impact on or tried to change the timelines…especially since men—in the masculine gained access to the trees.

George is a chess player, and he has set up his story as a great chess match. Who the two great players are still must be determine, but one only must look at the Others, as well as Euron’s arc to see a couple of the possibilities.

In fact, as we see in this passage, which I’ve read a million times and totally missed until watching Crowfood’s Daughter recent video on the “The Third Head of the Dragon,” one of these entities may already be in contact with Euron.

I had a love once too. Victarion's hands coiled into fists, and a drop of blood fell to patter on the floor. I should beat you raw and red and feed you to the crabs, the same as I did her. "You have sons," he told his brother. "Baseborn mongrels, born of whores and weepers." "They are of your body." "So are the contents of my chamber pot. None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that's worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware." "What dragon?" said Victarion, frowning. "The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts . . . but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver's Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me." —A Feast for Crows - The Reaver

As Amanda asks in the video, who exactly is him that Euron speaks of? He’s speaking in third person, and so although we know he plans to rule over the charnel pits as a new god, he’s not talking about himself. Might it be the other chess player. It’s certainly possible. With the reference to Dany’s amethyst eyes, Euron’s possible association with Asshai and glass candles, I would say it’s the Bloodstone Emperor entity.

Here is the interesting thing about these repetitive ancient versions of the monomyth; there seems to be two versions of the tale of the female greenseer and her husband. One version is dark as with the ones I mentioned above including that of the Grey King killing his mermaid wife; and Azor Ahai killing Nissa Nissa where the kiss from husband to wife is of the steel variety.

The other version has softer romantic overtones as with Durran and Elenei; Florian and Jonquil; and yes, even the Night’s King and his corpse queen. There has been no indication thus far in the text that the male figures in these tales killed their female partner. In fact, their legends are just the opposite.

In the softer versions of the myth such as the one with Elenei and Duran Godsgrief, the female greenseer seems to have protected their mate...that is protected them from dying in the green sea. That is why Duran survived so many storms sent against him by the storm god. He drowned but like the myth of the Little Mermaid and her prince, he was given the kiss of life and brought back by his wife.

This is where I differ from Amanda and her wonderful video essay series about the Grey King. I don't think that his mermaid wife gave him the kiss of life. He killed her and she trapped him in the green sea...hence the Drowned God myth of the ironborn. And as he often does, George also gives us the opposite side of the myth in the same legend as we see in the ironborn doctrine of "what is dead will never die," and their practice of the "kiss of life."

Another tale that mirrors the ancient monomyth of the Azor Ahai/Nissa Nissa figures is the tale of Brienne’s ancient ancestor, Galladon of the Morne. However, it’s not quite clear where this legend falls. One wants to say it’s a more positive aspect of the myth because George names the male after the heroic Sir Gallahad of Arthurian fame, and we are told of the myth from Brienne, one of the most heroic personages in the entire series.

"Why would I lie?" she asked him. "Every place has its local heroes. Where I come from, the singers sing of Ser Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight." "Ser Gallawho of What?" He snorted. "Never heard o' him. Why was he so bloody perfect?" "Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called. No common sword could check her, nor any shield withstand her kiss. Ser Galladon bore the Just Maid proudly, but only thrice did he unsheathe her. He would not use the Maid against a mortal man, for she was so potent as to make any fight unfair." — A Feast for Crows - Brienne IV

Nonetheless, the Galladon/Maiden legend does have aspect of the darker side of the myth such as her gifting the “perfect knight” with an enchanted sword and “losing her heart” to him. Also note the comment that no regular sword could withstand her kiss. Lots of Nissa Nissa echoes in that passage, and George does like to upend traditional myths.

We’ve spent much time discussing sea dragons and mermaids and why they represent the seemingly missing female greenseers from the story, and now it’s time to move on to dragonflies, but before I do that, I want to briefly mention a bit of history about the Starks.

Even this did not give Winterfell dominion over all the North. Many other petty kings remained, ruling over realms great and small, and it would require thousands of years and many more wars before the last of them was conquered. Yet one by one, the Starks subdued them all, and during these struggles, many proud houses and ancient lines were extinguished forever.

Amongst the houses reduced from royals to vassals we can count the Flints of Breakstone Hill, the Slates of Blackpool, the Umbers of Last Hearth, the Lockes of Oldcastle, the Glovers of Deepwood Motte, the Fishers of the Stony Shore, the Ryders of the Rills...and mayhaps even the Blackwoods of Raventree, whose own family traditions insist they once ruled most of the wolfswood before being driven from their lands by the Kings of Winter (certain runic records support this claim, if Maester Barneby's translations can be trusted). Chronicles found in the archives of the Night's Watch at the Nightfort (before it was abandoned) speak of the war for Sea Dragon Point, wherein the Starks brought down the Warg King and his inhuman allies, the children of the forest. When the Warg King's last redoubt fell, his sons were put to the sword, along with his beasts and greenseers, whilst his daughters were taken as prizes by their conquerors. The World of Ice and Fire - The North: The Kings of Winter

If you analyze all the House names mentioned above, you will notice something in common about them, they all seem to be located at or close to water, or in deep forests where weirwoods would grow. Of course, there is no proving it unless George confirms the theory, but I would argue that these ancient houses that were conquered by the Starks were likely strong in either skin changing or greenseer abilities. And they held on to and married the daughters of the houses they conquered. This is why warg and greenseer abilities are so strong within the family. They have added the ability to their gene pool on many occasions over the generations.

Their war against the Warg King and the COTF at the suggestively named Sea Dragon Point is also very telling for all the reasons we previously discussed about sea dragons. And as we would expect, we see from this Wayward Bride passage that Sea Dragon Point is associated with weirwoods.

Asha tried to picture herself abed with Erik Ironmaker, crushed beneath his bulk, suffering his embraces. Better him than the Red Oarsman or Left-Hand Lucas Codd. The Anvil-Breaker had once been a roaring giant, fearsomely strong, fiercely loyal, utterly without fear. It might not be so bad. He's like to die the first time he tries to do his duty as a husband. That would make her Erik's widow instead of Erik's wife, which could be better or a good deal worse, depending on his grandsons. And my nuncle. In the end, all the winds blow me back toward Euron. "I have hostages, on Harlaw," she reminded him. "And there is still Sea Dragon Point … if I cannot have my father's kingdom, why not make one of my own?" Sea Dragon Point had not always been as thinly peopled as it was now. Old ruins could still be found amongst its hills and bogs, the remains of ancient strongholds of the First Men. In the high places, there were weirwood circles left by the children of the forest. "You are clinging to Sea Dragon Point the way a drowning man clings to a bit of wreckage. What does Sea Dragon have that anyone could ever want? There are no mines, no gold, no silver, not even tin or iron. The land is too wet for wheat or corn." I do not plan on planting wheat or corn. "What's there? I'll tell you. Two long coastlines, a hundred hidden coves, otters in the lakes, salmon in the rivers, clams along the shore, colonies of seals offshore, tall pines for building ships." A Dance with Dragons - The Wayward Bride

Note that the name of the peninsula is Sea Dragon Point as in a singular dragon, not plural. Also, notice how George casually throws in that wood for building ships can be found there. That George, always consistent.

I’ve talked a lot about sea dragons, mermaids, and ancient ironborn myths when this is supposed to be a chapter on Jenny and her Prince of Dragonflies; and how the two relate to Florian and Jonquil, and Jon and Sansa. Why so much ironborn?

Well, I went in-depth into the Grey King myth because I had to show you that seas dragons represent female greenseers. I had to show you instead of just telling you so you see my reasoning. More importantly, I had to do it this way so you will see the connection when I tell you that in the story, dragonflies should also be seen as sea dragons.

Dragonfly - earth.com

In fact, dragonflies are literal sea dragons, because in addition to having the word dragon in their name, they are also born in the sea. Female dragonflies lay their eggs in water, primarily swampy areas like bogs and swamps. Dragonflies spend practically all their life around such water.

The female lays eggs by tapping the surface of the water repeatedly with her abdomen, by shaking the eggs out of her abdomen as she flies along, or by placing the eggs on vegetation. In a few species, the eggs are laid on emergent plants above the water, and development is delayed until these have withered and become immersed. They take about a week to hatch into aquatic nymphs or naiads which moult between six and 15 times (depending on species) as they grow. Most of a dragonfly's life is spent as a nymph, beneath the water's surface. —Wikipedia 

By the way, nymph comes from Ancient Greek and means bride.

Another interesting thing about the dragonfly is it is one of the few insects that can fly in all direction…forwards, backwards, up, down, and sideways. Thus, you can see that as sea dragons, they are the perfect symbolic representation of greenseers—individuals who can send their consciousness forward and backwards in time as it were.

This ability to fly in all directions is also present in a certain “little bird.” In fact, it’s the only bird that has this ability. The bird in question would be the hummingbird. Knowing George, do we think this is just happenstance…especially as the little bird is a popular sight in the American West and Southwest, with Arizona and New Mexico major stops in their migration progress.

The hummingbird reference is just an additional anecdote that supports my theory about Sansa being a greenseer, which I discussed here. Let me tell you another one about dragonflies that also has to do with New Mexico and the American Southwest, where we know that our author has lived for over 40 years.

Many fans have pointed out that the tale of Hades and Persephone play an important symbolic role in ASOIAF. I’ve gone further and pointed out how this legend is baked into the myth of the Nights King and his corpse queen. I’ve discussed how Arya’s childhood memory of the kids playing in the crypts wherein Jon covered himself in flour and stepped out of the crypt like a ghost does not just foreshadow his death, but also positions him as Hades, the King of the underworld, and Sansa who runs away in fear as Persephone. You can read all about this theory here.

I’ve discussed how Persephone was kidnapped from the Vale of Nysa, and what that potentially means when you consider the story of Nissa Nissa. I also covered how in Biblical times, the Vale of Nysa was mountainous and swampy, which echoes the area surrounding the river Styx that leads to the realm of Hades. This area was very like the Neck of ASOIAF, which is the entry point to the Northern underworld.

I’ve talked about how the real-world honey making Nysa deciduous also grows in bogs and swamps. If, as I’ve proposed, the corpse queen is a symbolic sea dragon because she’s a female greenseer and is also the Persephone character of the story, then it makes sense that she’s heavily associated with water, just as Sansa is via her Tully heritage.

As we see in the text, every time the word dragonfly is mentioned, it is associated with water. This includes reference to Oldstones in the Jenny and Duncan legend as that ruined stronghold sits on a hill above the blue fork of the Trident. Note that it sits above the “blue” fork giving it icy symbolism. As I keep saying, George is never not consistent with his symbolism.

The galley skimmed the water like a dragonfly, her oars rising and falling in perfect time. Ser Rodrik held the rail and looked out over the passing shore. "I have not been the most valiant of protectors."— A Game of Thrones - Catelyn IV

The galley was skimming downriver, a great wooden dragonfly. The water around her was churned white by the furious action of her oars. — A Storm of Swords - Jaime I

The sun was overhead, the world still and hot. Midges swarmed in the air, and a dragonfly floated over the stream, darting here and there. And the grass was moving when it had no cause to move. —A Dance with Dragons

To say again, dragonflies are symbolic sea dragons. And in the story, the myth of the sea dragon is one about the usurpation of the first greenseer who was female. So, when on the show we saw Petry give advice to Sansa that could have come straight out of the greenseer training handbook, it was hinting at something. This dialogue was the type that one would expect to come from Bloodraven to Bran, who we know is a greenseer.

You can watch the clip here, but I’ve transcribed the dialog below.

Don’t fight in the North or in the South. Fight every battle everywhere, always in your mind. Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening all at once. Live that way, and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you’ve seen before. —A Game of Thrones, Season 7, Ep 3

That is the advice you give to a greenseer in training. It’s also how great chess players think. What happens right after this scene with Petyr and Sansa, Bran the greenseer arrives. Now some will say that the comment from Petyr was to introduce Bran in the next scene but as I’ve always said, there were a million and one ways for them to have set up Bran and Sansa’s reunion without that piece of dialogue. This advice that perfectly describes a greenseer was not needed from Petyr to Sansa of all people.

This scene was one of the ways D&D hinted at Sansa’s greenseer abilities on the show without coming out and saying so. This is because to do so, would have upended their decision to have a Jon and Dany romantic relationship on the show, something I steadfastly believe won’t happen in the books.

Some other clues were the ringing of the bells all day at her birth, Arya’s, “she’s smarter than anyone I know, which came out of nowhere” and most importantly, the continued use of the dragonfly motif in her costumes. They were basically shouting in silence; Sansa is a sea dragon/greenseer.

The show incorporated dragonflies into Sansa’s costumes in so many different instances and ways, that it’s clear it wasn’t just happenstance but deliberate on their part. It was embroidered into dresses; worn as a necklaces and pins; and of course, her Season 8 dress of scales shimmered like dragonfly wings. Many fans have commented on the use of sea dragon motif in her costumes before me, including @castaliareed who wrote about the dragonfly influence on her leather armor here. I really loved that fine.

Now, I want you to remember all the clues I and others in the fandom have discussed that point to Sansa being the Persephone of the story. Would you then be surprised if I told you that there is a dragonfly named after the Greek Goddess.

Aeshna persephone, Persephone's darner, is a species of dragonfly in the family Aeshnidae. It is found in northern Mexico and the southwestern United States. Its natural habitats are rivers and intermittent rivers.—Wikipedia

You can read all about its discovery in Arizona in 1954 here, but I copied a brief section below, because when I read the passage, I immediately saw echoes in a passage from the world book.

Aeshna persephone is most closely related to A. palmata, and appears to be confined to Arizona, whereas palmata has not been taken in that state. The name is suggested by the habitat of this large and colorful dragonfly. In contrast to the sunny streams and ponds favored by most of its North American congeners, it inhabits mountain streams which are lighted by the sun’s rays for only a few hours each day, though it ascends periodically through the forest gloom to the sun-lit mountain slopes.—Biodiversity Heritage Library

Aeshna Persephone Darner

The passage above suggests that the Persephone dragonfly got its name from the dark mountainous area where it was discovered. Except for no mentions of swamps, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the rivers are such as that’s the natural habitat of dragonflies, the description reads a lot like the dark mountainous region of the river Styx that leads to Hades, which supports the theory I’ve proposed above.

Also, and this is very important, let’s not forget that our author has lived in New Mexico, smacked dab in the middle of the region that’s the native habitat for the Aeshna Persephone for over 40 years.

Dragonflies, like hummingbirds are prevalent in the American Southwest and are sighted all over the area. There are tours to their breeding grounds and hiking trails named after them all over the area. There is even a popular tourist attraction called Dragonfly Sanctuary Pond, the first of its kind in the country at the Albuquerque Bio Park in New Mexico.

Do we really think that George is not aware of the Persephone darner when he is so well read and knowledgeable, but more importantly has placed the myth of Hades and Persephone at the core of his ASOIAF legend of the Nights King and corpse queen. And it’s not just the inclusion of H&P myth, he also added dragonflies as an important symbol of his magical greenseers.

Yes. I think that it’s safe to say that George is aware of the Aeshna Persephone dragonfly.

The passage from the article discussing the discovery of the Aeshna Persephone also reminds me of this passage from the world book. I’m not sure it means anything, but the article was written in 1961 and so I’ve wondered if George came across it in his research. There is a fandom theory that Asshai was once the capital of TGEOTD, and thus would have been where the Bloodstone Emperor and the Amethyst Empress resided. Like I said, I’m not sure it means anything. In this instance, likely just happenstance, but I thought I would mention it.

On its way from the Mountains of the Morn to the sea, the Ash runs howling through a narrow cleft in the mountains, between towering cliffs so steep and close that the river is perpetually in shadow, save for a few moments at midday when the sun is at its zenith. — The World of Ice and Fire - The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow

So, let’s finally talk about Jenny and Duncan, her Prince of Dragonflies beginning with this passage from The Hedge Knight.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword. I must earn my place in that company. If I fight well, some lord may take me into his household. I will ride in noble company then, and eat fresh meat every night in a castle hail, and raise my own pavilion at tourneys. But first I must do well. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the tourney grounds and led his horses into the trees. On the outskirts of the great meadow a good half mile from town and castle he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight's banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts. His horses came first. After they had been tended, he stripped and waded into the pool to wash away the dust of travel. "A true knight is cleanly as well as godly," the old man always said, insisting that they wash themselves head to heels every time the moon turned, whether they smelled sour or not. Now that he was a knight, Dunk vowed he would do the same. He sat naked under the elm while he dried, enjoying the warmth of the spring air on his skin as he watched a dragonfly move lazily among the reeds. Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon. Not that Dunk had ever seen a dragon. The old man had, though. Dunk had heard the story half a hundred times, how Ser Arlan had been just a little boy when his grandfather had taken him to King's Landing, and how they'd seen the last dragon there the year before it died. She'd been a green female, small and stunted, her wings withered. None of her eggs had ever hatched. "Some say King Aegon poisoned her," the old man would tell. "The third Aegon that would be, not King Daeron's father, but the one they named Dragonbane, or Aegon the Unlucky. He was afraid of dragons, for he'd seen his uncle's beast devour his own mother. The summers have been shorter since the last dragon died, and the winters longer and crueler."— The Hedge Knight

I included this long passage from The Hedge Knight not just to show a reference to a dragonfly in the text but to also show how George answers Dunk’s question while seemingly talking about the last fire dragon.

This is one of those passages I mentioned to be on the lookout for when you see a water reference in the text. In this instance because a dragonfly is present in the scene, you should pay particular attention. It’s basically a scene symbolizing the green sea/weirwood net.

Let’s start with how Dunk leads his horses into the “trees,” symbolically the weirwood net. And what does he find there, nothing but greenery because it’s the green sea. Spring grass as green as any knight’s banner; a tall elm tree with sprouting leaves even greener than the banners of House Tyrell and Estermont of Greenstone.

Interesting choice of house banners to reference…one that has “a rose” in a field of green, and the other that utilizes George’s favorite animal, a turtle, also in a field of green. Sigils that can be said to be floating in a sea of green.

I could also go into detail and post excerpts about real-world myths from many different regions of the world wherein ships are considered the horses of the sea, but you will have to just take my word for it. Thus, when Dunk takes his horses into the trees/green sea, you can symbolically see them as ships or sea horses sailing the green sea.

Where is all this greenery located? Well, it symbolizes the green sea and so, as one would expect, it’s next to a body of water. In this case, a stream that forms into a pool from which Dunk takes a bath.

Reeds are also growing deep along the edges, which tells you that this stream is also swamp/wetland like because that’s where reeds grow. And what is flying around in this green sea, a dragonfly…a sea dragon. Then Dunk wonders what’s difference between dragons and dragonflies. Why does the latter have that name when it looks nothing like a dragon?

As he’s wont to do, George gives the answer while seemingly talking about the last fire dragon. He incorporates the answer into all the green symbolism of the scene. Dragonflies maybe small, but they are green dragons of the green sea, and whatever happened to the original sea dragon, the first of her kind is why the weather has been out of whacked for thousands of years.

There is one other passage from The Hedge Knight that I want to mention because I think it’s one of the most important clues about the entire series. It’s the one where Prince Maekar offers Dunk a place in his household.

"That can be changed," said Maekar. "Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You'll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training." The prince gave him a shrewd look. "Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn." "I know, m'lord." Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. "Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man."

Dragonflies or dragons? The conflict at the heart of the series. The sea dragons/dragonflies had access to the weirwoods and the fire dragons in the form of Azor Ahai, the Bloodstone Emperor and many other symbolic representations wanted access, which led to the killing of the first sea dragon/greenseer.

In a way, Dunk’s choice was a symbolic “hedging” of his bet or rather, putting off the decision. He chose the dragonfly, but he took the dragon prince with him. And later, he does fully make the dragons his choice, which leads to his death.

On the other hand, Jenny’s Duncan was a dragon who chose to be a dragonfly, but he never quite gave up his connection to his fire heritage, which also led to his death. However, I don’t think that Duncan’s Prince of Dragonflies’ moniker is just about him choosing Jenny over the dragon crown. And this is where my second theory of this chapter comes in.

I think it’s quite possible that George gave Duncan that moniker to indicate that he was a greenseer, or at least had the untapped potential. It could be why he sought out the Ghost of High Heart, which I think is what happened and how he met Jenny.

The GOHH is a woods witch and with her diminutive stature and association with High Heart, a location that was sacred to the COTF, and is centered around a major weirwood grove, she is likely either a Child of the Forest, or a human/COTF hybrid. George has not yet answered that question, but with her green dream visions, he clearly wants her associated with the COTF.

Thus, it makes sense for a dragon prince with sea dragon/greenseer abilities to be associated with the COTF for training as was the case with Bloodraven. Now, before anyone says that there is no way that Duncan could have been a greenseer, I would say to remember Bloodraven and their family heritage.

Duncan’s mother was Black Betha Blackwood while Bloodraven’s was Melissa Blackwood. The greenseer gene is strong within the Blackwoods. It’s why they war with the Starks in ancient times and were chased out of the North. It is from his Blackwood mother that Bloodraven inherited the greenseer gene, and so Duncan having the gene as well is a very real possibility.

Was Jenny also a greenseer? This can’t be ruled out considering the hints that she might have been related to the GOHH…possibly even a daughter or granddaughter. We don’t get much of a description of Jenny except that she wore flowers in her hair, which seems to be George wanting the reader to associate her with being a forest nymph.

She’s described as being strange and as a witch. Her connection to the GOHH would seem to suggest that she might have been a woods witch as well. She’s also closely associated with Oldstones, which is a full anagram for lodestone. A lodestone is a magnetic stone and in fantasy literature, it often has magical properties. So, Jenny could have been magical as well.

However, in this instance, I think that Duncan might have been the one with the ability and his Prince of Dragonflies moniker might indicate that he was in training, just as Bran, “Prince of the Green” is being trained by Bloodraven. Jenny might have been the lodestone that brought him to his mentor, the GOHH. But as I said, I would not be shocked if she also had magical abilities because it would fit thematically.

And those flowers she wore in her head, I think that there were probably wild white roses that she found on the grave of her ancestors.

Yet in the center of what once would have been the castle's yard, a great carved sepulcher still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash. The lid of the sepulcher had been carved into a likeness of the man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and the wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, they could see, but otherwise his face was smooth and featureless, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about the temples. His hands folded over the shaft of a stone warhammer that lay upon his chest. Once the warhammer would have been carved with runes that told its name and history, but all that the centuries had worn away. The stone itself was cracked and crumbling at the corners, discolored here and there by spreading white splotches of lichen, while wild roses crept up over the king's feet almost to his chest. — A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

As we find out in this Sansa chapter from AFFC, the tale of Jenny and her Prince might be very similar to that of Florian and Jonquil in its sadness.

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. Dungeon walls were thick enough to swallow songs and screams alike. But the sky cells had a wall of empty air, so every chord the dead man played flew free to echo off the stony shoulders of the Giant's Lance. And the songs he chose . . . He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness. — A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This passage which references both Florian and Jonquil, and Jenny and her Prince of Dragonflies also mentions the Dance of the Dragons. We know that while Jenny’s story involved dragons, it did not involve a Dance of Dragons, at least not of the fiery type. And it did involve betrayal.

We also discover in The Hedge Knight, that all the adjectives Sansa uses to describe the songs sung by Marilion could also be used to describe the legend of Florian and Jonquil. This includes betrayals; murder most foul; and a Dance of Dragons between two brothers with a woman at the center of the conflict.

I think that the latest Dance with Dragons will play out between Jon and Dany and Sansa will have a major role in this arc, because as I’ve been preaching throughout this essay series, she and Jon are the Florian and Jonquil of this iteration of the story.

However, as I noted when discussing the passage from The Hedge Knight above, not recognized by many is that there is also a dance between the sea dragon of the dragonfly variety and the fire dragon at play in the story. It’s been there since the fire dragon killed the sea dragon millennium ago to gain access to the weirwoods, and it’s a dance that continues through all the timelines iterations. And with that, let’s wind down this chapter.

In Part 2 of The Bear and the Maiden Fair, and in this brief snippet, I discussed why Sansa’s Tully heritage and other textural symbolism positions her as a sea dragon waiting to be awaken. Left alone, weirwoods don’t rot. They petrified and are turned to stone. The same can be said of weirwood goddesses. They may sleep and hibernate, but goddesses sometimes awaken. Weirwood goddesses or sea dragons sometimes awaken from stone, or better yet, awaken from under the name of Stone.

Don’t you ever wonder why George gave her a false moniker and a hidden princess storyline where she needs to awaken to reclaim her identity. It’s interesting when there is a major prophecy in the text about waking dragons from stone, and such prophecies usually have multiple and layered meanings…especially if as I’ve proposed, Sansa is the Sea Dragon Behind the Glass, as in a sleeping greenseer.

In his dream, Bran falls from the Winterfell eyrie and Bloodraven tells him to fly or die, meaning awaken to his full potential or die in the attempt as the was the case of many other dreamers who attempted to cross the weirwood bridge to the green sea. It’s not specifically stated in the dream that Bran is falling from the eyrie, but it’s implied with his habit of climbing to the top to feed the crows as he does to the one in his dream, as well as in his memory of Jaime pushing him. Then later in A Storm of Swords, George puts Sansa at the top of the Eyrie in the Vale and we get this scene.

So lovely. The snow-clad summit of the Giant's Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder. Icicles twenty feet long draped the lip of the precipice where Alyssa's Tears fell in summer. A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well. A Feast for Crows, Alayne I

You do have wings Sansa, and you will fly…possibly both symbolically and literally.

To the original questioner, I hope this very long essay answers your question of why dragonflies are important in the story and what it implies about Sansa’s arc. The length was necessary because I really had to go into the ironborn Grey King myth to show the symbolic importance of sea dragons in the story and why dragonflies should be considered the same.

With that, we come to the end of Chapter 8. The next chapter is going to be a fun one, and I’ve been looking forward to writing it for almost 6 years. In fact, I first started writing it about 6 years ago…even before the Florian and Jonquil series. It was only after I started the latter series that I realized the two were connected.

For this reason, I tabled the essay, until I got to the right part of the Florian and Jonquil series to introduce the theory. I didn’t expect to be doing it now, but the query about dragonflies which led to a discussion of the Grey King and other topic provides a perfect segue. I can’t tell you the name of the chapter as that would be a big spoiler. I will say that many will find it surprising, but it’s been one of George's shinny apples sitting out there in plain sight all along.

And so I leave you with this quote from Aeron Greyjoy.

"The Storm God in his wrath plucked Balon from his castle and cast him down, and now he feasts beneath the waves in the Drowned God's watery halls." He raised his hands. "Balon is dead! The king is dead! Yet a king will come again! For what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger! A king will rise!" —A Feast for Crows, The Prophet

Yes. What is dead does rise harder and stronger, and a king shall indeed rise. Actually, two shall rise but only one will do so by the "kiss of life," and it's not Euron. Oh, and yes, I will be discussing the infamous unkiss.

[heavenlyakin]

unread - mikage reo x fem!reader

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: porn with little plot, fem!reader, possessive reo, fingering, degradation (calls you a whore once, but it’s hot I swear), thigh riding (kinda), use of “baby and pretty girl”.

Another ding on your phone irritates Reo. He looks over, a scowl on his face while you smile and giggle at the text you just received. You see the irritation on his face but ignore it. He’s been on edge lately, so you’re not even certain it’s directed at you. 

“What are you smiling at?” Reo asks, irritation clear as day in his voice. 

Ah, so he was irritated at you. 

“Sei just sent me a picture of the cat his girlfriend just got.” You emphasize girlfriend, knowing Reo is acting ridiculous for no reason. You flip your phone around to show him. 

“Whatever,” he turns back to watch the tape he brought home of his next opponent. 

You giggle again, Sei sent another cute picture of the kitten sleeping on his lap. 

“What now?” Reo rolls his eyes, grabbing the phone from you. You push yourself up from your position on the couch, resting on your elbows. “Oh, I see.” He tosses it back, his face still full of irritation. 

“Reo,” you scold, pushing his shoulder with your foot. “Stop being like this.” You nudge him again and he grabs your ankle with his strong hand. 

“Stop pushing me,” his glare is intense, his eyes nearly burning a hole into your head. “You’re really pushing all my buttons today, —--,” he says, his voice scarily calm. 

You pull your ankle away, raising your knees up and scooting back on the couch so your back is against the armrest. “What's your problem?” 

He turns, his hands pressing into the couch cushion before you, his body facing you completely. “I just think you’ve forgotten who you belong to is all,” his voice suddenly dripping with lust. 

You shiver, your toes curling in the frilly white knee-high socks Reo got you the last time you went shopping. You drop your phone on the coffee table in front of the couch, not caring about anything else on it now. 

“Are you really jealous of your best friend texting me?” You tease, parting your knees as his hands slide down the inside of your thighs. You shiver again as his hands brush the soft fabric of your shorts covering your pelvis and upper thighs.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Someone as pretty as you is sure to interest any man she wants, especially Sei. He likes pretty things, just like I do.” He presses a kiss to your right knee. “I just have to remind you that you belong to me.” 

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows as he smiles at you, humming a yes in response. “Reo, what are you thinking?” 

He doesn’t answer you, instead, he uses his right hand to tease your cunt through your shorts. He applied just enough pressure to make you whimper but not enough to fully pleasure you. 

“Reo,” you whine, pushing down towards him to force more pleasure. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he moves so he’s hovering over you now from between your legs. Removing his hand he replaces it with this muscular thigh, pressing down on you with just enough pressure to drive you wild. 

“Reo, don’t tease! Please!” You begin grinding against his thigh. 

“What a cute rhyme,” he leans down, whispering against your ear. “I’m not even teasing you. You’re the one grinding against me like a desperate whore.” 

Your whole body heats up, your thighs squeezing around his. “Reo,” his name comes out more like a whine than a statement. 

“Beg,” he orders. 

“Please,” you whimper, pulling him closer by his shirt, wrinkling the white dress shirt he came home in after having dinner with his coach and teammates. “I need you,” just as you speak the last word, your phone buzzes again. 

Out of instinct, you look in its direction. 

“So disappointing,” he sighs. “I thought you needed me, not my best friend…” 

“Reo, I swear I just need-” 

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. You relax into the couch, your body melting at his touch. You squeeze his shirt more, pulling him against your body. His thigh digs into your clothed cunt more, making you moan against his lip. 

“I like that sound,” he praises, nipping at your ear and then kissing your neck. “Make it again,” he says, slipping his fingers down your shorts and parting your lips with them. He strokes your clit gently, his fingers just barely grazing the sensitive bud. 

You moan again, breathier this time and timider. 

“Oh, I know you’re louder than that.” He slowly inserts his middle finger into you, your walls clenching around him. This time you moan louder. “Just like that, baby,” he whispers, kissing your temple. 

Slowly, he starts to pump his finger in and out of you, making your mind go hazy. The only thought you can manage is to beg for more. After a few minutes, he gives in, fucking another finger into your wet cunt. 

“That’s it, baby, take my fingers like the good girl you are.” He smiles against your lips as he kisses you, stealing away what little breath you have. “Tell me who you belong to, baby. Who’s treasure are you?” 

“All yours, Reo,” you slur your words, so focused on the impending climax that you can barely focus on what he’s saying; just the movements of his fingers fucking you. 

“Didn’t hear that,” he stifles a laugh. “Tell me,” he demands. 

“Yours! All yours, Reo!” You moan it out, nearly yelling and praying that your neighbors aren’t home or in the hallway outside the door of your apartment. 

“That's it, now cum for me, pretty girl.” He kisses your lips gently, then bites down on your bottom lip, making you cry out. 

You feel like you combust, cumming around his fingers. Your walls spasm around his fingers as he continues to pump them into you. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back, hanging halfway off the couch armrest. 

“Reo,” you breathe, “oh fuck, Reo.” 

He laughs, pulling his fingers out from your shorts. “Look,” he says. 

You sit up, noticing the wet stain on your shorts. “Shut up,” you laugh, tossing the closest pillow to you at him. 

“That’s all I get for giving you this mind-blowing orgasm?” He huffs, feigning hurt. “Wow!” 

You go to throw another, but a knock at the door stops you. “Hey, open up. I can hear you talking,” one voice chirps through the door. 

 “And moaning,” another voice chimes in. 

“Fuck,” he pales, “I forgot I invited some of the guys over. 

“Reo, I swear to god-” you stop yourself and instead get up to run to the bedroom, hiding the embarrassment on your face. 

He never forgets stuff like this, he obviously needed an audience for tonight to perk himself up. While you want to be mad about it, you find yourself smiling at the entire situation.

[anticiiiipation]

Bugs||Troy Otto x Reader on Ao3

This is the spicy chapter of my story that has yet to be released! Link is pinned :)

Contains: pwp, fem!reader, switching

Word count: 1,750

You reached for him feverishly, your hands finding place in his thick hair, his face, the curve of his neck.. anywhere you could feel the heat of his skin.

He was a quick learner, his long fingers tangling through the hair at the back of your head. He used his other hand to grip your waist, pushing you with small suggestive tilts of your hips towards the side of his bed.

"Troy-" you tripped onto his bed, holding onto the neckline of his shirt to steady yourself.

"Yeah?" His breath was heavy, mouth agape. He was indulging in the sight of you, yearning for any touch you would give him.

"Take your shirt off." You ordered breathlessly. He was quick to pull himself free of it, tossing it in whatever direction before pressing his lips against yours once more. Shivers ran up your spine when his mouth shifted towards your jaw, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.

You hummed ever-so quietly, blissfully. But the simple sound was enough for both his hands to find your body, pushing you against the bed until he was over you, his lips teasing at the hem of your top.

You placed a hand on his chest, guiding him off of you and to your left, his palm digging into his bed as he leaned. His eyes searched you frantically for a reason to your distance. You moved to your knees, sadistically reveling in the desperation on his face.

You couldn’t stop a grin as you raised your top over your head, cold air attacking your skin.

There was no other way to say it; Troy was devouring you with his eyes. Every curve and mark, the nervousness in the way you looked at him.

He’d never done anything like this, but he knew he wanted to do everything to you.

You connected to his lips again, swinging a leg over both of his, straddling the man. He pushed off his hand, pressing his body against yours. You traced his broad shoulder with your fingers, the heat radiating off his body almost palpable in the air.

You shifted your hips to get a better angle, and you couldn’t help but break the kiss with a grin. He had made a noise, similar to the one you had made. A little hum of pure satisfaction was enough for you to lose it, the heat in your core igniting into a full blown fire.

You shifted your hips again, just as delicately, and you could see him try to push down the same noise as before. Was he embarrassed?

You pushed him to his elbow with another kiss, rolling your hips into his in one full motion. He was louder that time, unable to push it down like before. You were living for his breathy voice, you loved that he couldn’t help it.

You felt him, pushing up against the wetness in your pants. Your lips traced his jaw, then down his neck, all while moving just enough to make his voice come through his breaths.

"Fuck.." he swore your name, gripping your hip with his free hand, feeling the way you moved.

You gasped when he rolled his hips against yours, the sudden pressure to your core enough to make you moan. He matched your rhythm until you were stifling your satisfaction with his lips.

He used his grasp on your hip to further press you against his restrained cock, until he was practically rutting against you without rhyme or reason.

"I want you," you managed through breaths, "inside me.."

He tensed for barely a second before using his grasp on your hip to flip you to your back with enough force to make you bounce, leaving kisses along your collarbone. Troy roughly pulled the cup of your bra down, dragging his tongue along your bust. Even though you jolted in pleasure at it, that was entirely for his satisfaction.

He stood then, pulling roughly at the sides of your pants, ridding you of them and your underwear in barely a second.

It stunned you, bringing your legs up to your chest as the cold gave you goosebumps. "Troy!" You spoke his name sternly.

"Yeah?" He climbed back over you, parting your knees with his hands ever-so casually and thoughtlessly, just so he could meet your eyes.

He was attentively staring at you, patiently waiting for you to finish your statement as if he hadn’t just done the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

You just laughed, your hand running through his thick locks.

"I need you." You whispered, all too sincerely.

He kissed you, but it was gentle this time. A declaration of unanimity.

Until his fingers pressed against your folds. Your breath shivered, searching his eyes as he dragged a single digit up your slit, his eyebrows raising as he found your clit, knowing by the way your body tensed under him. He looked satisfied with his discovery, pressing his finger between your folds, making small movements around your bud.

Each small flick would make you shake. He had total control over you with just one finger. He reveled in the power as he made little circles around your clit, until your breathy moans turned into his name.

It took everything he had not to plunge into you without a second thought, to relieve the pressure of his newly tight pants. He still wanted to do everything to you.

His finger dipped, teasing your entrance as he watched your brows contort.

"Please.." you begged, whining. It was pathetic, considering you had confidence that you could hold the power. You should’ve known that Troy would do anything he could to have the upper hand.

His finger plunged inside of you and your eyes shut, focused on the feeling of him inside your walls.

"More.. please." You had to be wet enough to take him at that point, so just one digit wouldn’t cut it.

He was so quick to adhere to your request, another finger sliding inside of you, then out.

"Curve-" you barely spoke between his movements, "curve your-" you were cut off by your own hand crashing against your mouth, stifling the moan that he had caused by curling his fingers against your core. Your back arched as you failed to quiet yourself.

He sped up, tears forming in your eyes as you rode against his hand.

"Troy.. I-" he slowed as you tried speaking, "I need to be quiet." You reminded him with a desperate whine.

"No you don’t." He shook his head, kissing you roughly before standing once again.

You followed his lips like a magnet until he stood. You watched him flip open his belt, an unholy excitement rising within you. His chest rose and fell quickly, and his tongue poked out between his teeth, like when he’s focused on writing. Even in the hot, heavy moment before you, you still found him so god damn cute it was unbearable.

He was so cute in fact, that it took you a second to register just the sheer amount of him between his legs.

He’d always known he was well endowed, and the nervous confirmation from you made his lips pull into a cocky smirk. He called for your attention with your name, so you looked at him with only a few spare glances. "Do you want this?" He asked sincerely.

You imagined what he would feel like, filling you up, whimpering your name..

"Please." You begged, and he was over you once more, his heat blanketing you from the cold night.

You felt the tip of his cock at your entrance and you desperately shifted your hips, impaling yourself onto as much of him as you could reach before you bounced back.

"Please.." you begged again, looking him in the eye. He looked stiff, like if he moved, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

You selfishly pushed yourself onto him again, but this time he met you in the middle. You gasped and hissed in pain as he stretched your entrance.

He didn’t stop, plunging himself deeper into you than you thought he could. You bit your lip, knowing your pain was a consequence you brought onto yourself.

He pulled out slowly, then back in, quicker this time. He stifled a whimper in his throat, placing a hand on your hip and the other by your head. "You can take it." He told you as he thrusted again. Your breath was heavy, brows furrowed. You nodded as he thrusted again.

"You can take it.. you can take it.." he repeated in a whisper as his hips bucked into you.

And god, were you taking him. The burning pain all but disappeared and you were left with the heat building up in your core that his cock kept pressing against. You threw your head back, your body moving with each thrust, each little whine and hum from his throat making your body tingle.

"God.." he whimpered as you tightened around him. You were shaking as the knot inside of you finally bursted, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

You weren’t just moaning his name, you were practically mewing it. Breathing it.

His breaths quickened, thrusts getting faster, out of pace.

"Come in me." You managed to say wholly.

He didn’t know what to do with your request at first, but he caught on quick and those three words repeating in his head, coming from your swollen mouth, was enough to send him over the edge.

You rode out the last wave of tingles as he finished, arm shaking next to your head. You kissed his hand, his wrist. As he pulled out of you, you tried to rise with him but couldn’t find the energy, laying in the center of his bed with a heaving chest.

The bed dipped beside you and you turned, Troy watching you while balanced on his elbow. He just watched you like always. That same look he’d given you since the day you arrived.

Finally, you scoffed, "You have a really bad staring problem, you know that?"

He smiled, blinking slowly. "I know." He admitted coyly, letting his head fall between your neck and shoulder.

"I mean seriously!" You teased with a deep breath as you felt him laugh against you, reaching an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. He was so warm that you found it very hard not to forgive him.

Plus you really didn’t mind the staring.

[runninguplenorahills]

One reason why I think the van scene is truly genius is that the show is telling us that this is how Will feels but throughout the show it has also actually been showing us that it’s how Mike feels. By pointing this out I’m in no way trying to take that moment away from Will, it’s more so that I think it was a very deliberate decision to equate Mike’s behavior to what Will feels for him which is romantic love, thus sending the message to the audience that Mike actually reciprocates Will’s feelings.

“Without heart we’d all fall apart. Even [me]. Especially [me].”

Let’s steer clear from pretending like Mike isn’t the heart of the group because he definitely is, but the heart is also a symbol for love so we can rephrase this to: “without love we’d all fall apart. Even me, especially me.” which doesn’t rhyme anymore but is still just as true. Now, the very first season of stranger things actually shows us the party falling apart in the light of Will’s disappearance with a special focus on Mike who is hit especially severely by this. This continues in s2 where Mike is especially protective over Will in order to prevent losing him again. And at the end of s3 when Will moves away there’s once again a special focus on Mike who looks heartbroken and disoriented due to Will moving away. At the same time though we do also see the party falling apart while Mike is forcing himself to be someone else and distancing himself from the party in s3 which hits Will especially hard so this is also a reference to s3 from Will’s perspective.

“These past few months [I]’ve been so lost without you”

The end of s3 plays into this as well as, again, Mike looks disoriented, lost, as Will leaves Hawkins. And while the Lenora scenes in the beginning of s4 revolve more around El and how Will is trying to support her, the Hawkins scenes in the beginning of s4 feature things like Mike’s messy room, Ted calling the hellfire club the “high school drop out club”, Dustin pointing out to us that Mike’s grades are slipping, Mike generally being very irritating and expressing: “I hate high school” thus going back to middle school to find the hellfire sub who is conveniently the person who got all of Will’s old dnd stuff. We later also get to see the messy basement and Nancy saying that she’s seen Mike’s room look worse than Hopper’s absolutely destroyed cabin. I also think that the shed scene in s2 can be taken into account here since Mike tells Will that he felt scared and alone before he met him which I think does count as Mike being lost without him.

“If [I] was mean to you or it seemed like [I] was pushing you away that’s […] just because [I]’m scared of losing you.”

So this is obviously Will apologizing for not reaching out to Mike and ignoring him at rink-o-mania but we as an audience saw these scenes at the beginning of the season from Will’s perspective who is a pretty unreliable narrator which means “being mean” and “pushing you away” are both things we way more clearly saw Mike doing. This also especially includes s3 where Mike ditches Will for El, rejects Will’s wishes to play dnd, makes fun of Will’s campaign and of course yells at Will that it’s not his fault he doesn’t like girls. But that’s not all because I’d argue that this goes even further back to the very end of s2 where Mike is literally pushing Will away at the Snow Ball.

“And if [I] was going to lose you [I]’d rather get it over with quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.”

I’ve seen some people say that Will was referencing the time that he lived in Lenora here though I personally think that doesn’t make much sense, simply because creating a whole painting, a tangible love confession, might be the furthest act from “ripping off a bandaid” to exist. And Mike was presumably calling more than anyone but himself is aware of so this doesn’t make much sense from Mike’s side either. I personally think that “ripping off the bandaid” for Will was his confession in the van which we also see in his behavior afterwards, and for Mike I’m pretty sure “ripping off the bandaid” is a callback to the time in between s2 and s3. In my opinion Mike realized his feelings for Will at the end of s2 and he was clearly scared of what this means for himself and his friendship with Will. Mike was worried that these feelings meant that he’s gay and I can imagine that Mike also thought he’d inevitably lose Will if he knew. So he talked himself into it just being a phase and distanced himself from Will not only because it’s harder to focus on growing out of that phase with him around but also to protect their friendship. Because Mike ‘knew’ he was going to lose Will so he rather got it over with quick. Like ripping off a bandaid. And that is exactly what it feels like watching s2 and s3 back to back. Mike and Will’s close friendship gets such a focus in s2 and all of a sudden all of that is gone in s3. But you know how bandaids that have been sticking for a long long time leave a lot of residue? At the end of s3 Mike realizes that he can’t get rid of that residue. That even ripping off the bandaid doesn’t change how he feels.

Will also actually throws us back to the rain fight by saying “we could play dnd and Nintendo for the rest of our lives” (“what did you think, really? […] That we’re just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”) mere seconds before his confession in the van which only proves that the audience is indeed supposed to make these connections. Supposed to pick up on how the show has shown us all these things from Mike’s perspective as well.

And the conclusion of all of this is that Mike too is so different from other people. That he feels like a mistake for being different but Will makes him feel better for it. That he’s been mean to Will and pushed him away only because he’s scared of losing him. That Mike needs Will and he always will need him because he loves and desires him so much and no matter how hard he tried to change that in the past, those feelings just can’t fade. Mike loves Will just like Will loves Mike which is, of course, romantically.

[the-haunted-office]

Man. I have this sort of half formed idea that would require rewriting some of my lore, but I like it, so I just might go for it...

I know the fact that my muses' ability to respawn is tied to the Office, but it isn't specifically stated how, just that it is. Which is fine and all. Part of the reason it's written that way now is because of the history of my blog and how it all started and how it's all gotten to this point. If I change things now, it won't make as much sense. Except I have changed things and things still don't make sense. xD

Let's see if I can simplify it.

The Office was alive when I first created the blog. Then I changed my mind and it wasn't alive. Then I changed my mind again and it was alive because it was also taken host by the mist, and it died when the mist was defeated and nobody ever knew it was alive in the first place. It was supposed to be one of the first of its kind to have started evolving, one of the first buildings to have a soul and to start gaining living functions. There was no rhyme or reason for this.

But then I got the idea later on that the Monolith came to Earth after the apocalypse happened and triggered the evolution of new species on Earth, ones that combined organic species and the refuse left behind by mankind. This also brought buildings to life. The Monolith gave a soul to the dead body of the Office, thus Dorian was born. Dorian's essentially lives in the body of an older building.

With me so far? It's a mess, but hopefully you're with me.

The whole deal with my muses being able to respawn at first was tied to the Dampening mist. Cyrus, Thursday, and Stanley were able to respawn because the mist was in their blood and it brought their bodies back every time they died. It was able to repair them because it essentially "owned" their bodies and could regenerate them. But after the mist was killed off, they no longer had a way of respawning.

Except everyone was still subject to the Parable, meaning they still had to be able to respawn... somehow. With the mist no longer being around, I no longer had a viable explanation for them all being able to respawn, so I just went with, "Well, they're essentially still in the Parable, so they can just respawn because I say so, poof, it's done, it's roleplay, nobody will question it, moving on."

Except... that never really sat right with me either, so I came to tie their lives to the Office.

Except... the Office was dead at that point.

I then got the idea that if their lives were to be tied to the Office, the Office had to be alive. And remain alive. And by that point we had Dorian. But that didn't explain how they were able to die and respawn in the interim between the mist being dead and Dorian being born. There's a whole gap there that doesn't make sense from a storytelling perspective. Given the fact that this is roleplay and not a professionally published novel, everything is made up and the points don't matter, so it's not really that big of a deal. BUT here's where the potential rewrite in some of my lore comes in.

I'm not sure how I'll work it all just yet, but I really like the idea of my muses' lives and ability to respawn being tied directly to the Office's life. I might have to change up Dorian's biology and history a bit here in order for it to work the way I want it to, so I'll think on it a bit.

One thought I have is that while everyone was trapped in the Office during the time the mist was there, the Office was technically stuck in a black hole. The Monolith could have been the one to grant a soul to the Office at that time, but there was some kind of spacetime cosmic narrative delay (or however you want to spin it :p) due to the presence of the black hole, and once the mist was defeated and Cyrus and Aurora released the Office from the black hole, everything caught up then. Dorian is still essentially a younger sentience then, or at least misplaced in time as a result of the delay, and something in this process of giving the Office a soul while it was a black hole connected everyone's souls to the Office. So when someone dies, they respawn there. It's like they belong to the Office, in a way, and can never leave fully leave it, not even in death.

A problem with this idea, though, is new people moving into the Office. Currently the idea is, if a new person moves into the Office and stays there for long enough, eventually they become connected to it too and eventually the Office becomes a sort of respawn point for them. I suppose the same can be applied to the updated lore in this case? Maybe there's some sort of black hole soul-bonding side effect of being in the Office over a long period of time. The longer you stay, the more it absorb you into it or something. But you don't realize it's happening until it's too late. And for the Haunted Office residents, it's already too late. Their souls have bonded with Dorian's and now they're stuck together forever, mwahahahahaha.

A caveat might be, though, that if Dorian dies, then everyone else dies too! 🙃

I'll think over this some more before I rearrange everything permanently, though. Like I said, the lore is... a mess... because it's roleplay and I didn't plan everything out for sure before moving forward. I like the things I've started with here, though! So yeah. That's it for now, and if you've read down this far, cool. x)