#our lady of effulgence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aquagustd · 3 years ago

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blind whispers - PJM

↣ it’s been years, four years to be exact when the male who has been appearing in your dreams finally materializes in the form of your guardian angel. Well, you think he’s your guardian angel, and you sure hope he is because you take his counsel without thinking twice.

pairing — guardian angel?jimin x reader

genre/rating — R | smut, fluff, angst

word count — 9.5K

warnings/tags — there is a plot twist (which might be only for y/n lol since she’s so oblivious) but I know some readers don’t like reading fics about demons etc, so I will say that demons are…mentioned) strong language, college au, alcohol consumption, Y/N is kind of a scaredy cat, fainting, toxic parents, some yoongi action, masturbation, implicit drunken sex, explicit smut- voyeurism, exhibitionism, oral (f), dirty talk, scratching, unprotected sex, nipple play, multiple orgasms, restraints (he uses his powers)

a/n — ah, jimin’s bday fic, finally. I love Jimin’s cheeks.

∞

this is for Jimin’s Sunset Spooktober event hosted by @opaljm @jamaisjoons & @chateautae! Please give the authors love & support for cooking up such spooktacular ideas (lol)

Angels.

Demons.

Their existence instilled in our minds until we understood the concept of good and evil, until we could decipher, for ourselves, what could be considered as right, and what would be written off as wrong. Angels embody all that is good, the image of fluffy, white wings, golden harp, effulgent halo and cherubic features come to mind upon hearing the word. Pure, white, pristine, just as their actions.

And then, like up and down, left and right, black and white, honesty and deception. Angels and devils. Demonic, frightening creatures, pointy teeth, terrifying eyes and dark horns. Black, fire, evil, mischievous, all that is wrong. It fascinated you, how easy it could be to classify the two, because it became easier to characterize the iniquities. But if you let your mind wander, just a little bit further, the thought that angels may have pointy teeth or horns, in place of their halo, comes to the forefront, but not once did you consider the deception from their opposite, the devil.

Your lack of knowledge frustrated you, and could you really trust the internet in general? How lousy it would be to use Wikipedia as your source of information.

The sound of the bell chiming above the entrance rings into your thoughts, causing your hand to slip from under your chin where it rested, an easier slide with the forgotten magazine that once padded your elbow.

“Hello,” you yawn, peering down the aisle where Mr. Lee crouches down to reach into the back, pulling out his stash that you promised to keep safely just for him, since his favorite snack is always sold out. His grumpy and forced smile was something you hated seeing on his crinkly features, so you had made a promise to him, one that you’ve kept for several weeks now.

He places the packet of kettle fried chips on the counter, rummaging through his thick, worn-out coat for his money bag.

“You need to get a wallet. Anyone could see through that flimsy bag, especially someone like you carrying around all that money,” you warn, thanking him when he hands you the change, pausing for a moment when he places his fists against the edge of the counter, moles accentuated by the fluorescent lighting, he levels your stare when you add, “they might see you as an easy target.”

“This place is an easy target,” he grumbles, “I told you to find another job. It’s not safe here for a young lady like you, or anyone at all.”

You pout, “will my replacement keep a secret stash for Mr. Lee like I do?”

He clicks his tongue, adjusting the woollen hat that shelters his silver strands before dragging the bag of chips toward him, “I can get this anywhere, I only come here to keep an eye on you.”

You roll your eyes, “you come here because it’s the closest to your house!”

He pauses for a moment, beady eyes darting from his hands to your face, “and that too.”

With a giggle, you wave him off as he makes his way back out into Autumn air, a light breeze causing his knitted scarf to whip over his shoulder, he lifts a hand in farewell, passing the display window with too much energy for a seventy-five year old.

And it’s quiet again, with Mr. Lee’s words replaying in your head. You considered applying for another job, but the hours aren’t convenient for you. With your lectures running throughout the day, you only have half an hour to spare before your shift at the gas station. It’s the only store that’s open during times which works out for you perfectly. After your night shift, you still have five hours to catch up on sleep, with your first lecture starting at 9AM.

However, with your torpid mind, lethargy settling in your bones, plus the constant fear that someone might walk in demanding all the cash in the drawer, your nights aren’t easy, especially with your dreams, sometimes nightmares, flashing vividly in your mind.

You did consider that those dreams are a result of your unstable sleep schedule, and it doesn’t help when you go to bed on an empty stomach. Not like you have much of a choice, if you eat so much as a few grains of rice before bed, the heavy ache in your chest only has you tossing and turning in bed and then you’re in a shitty mood for the rest of the day with poor concentration. You surmised that a meal before bed isn’t recommended, especially when you’re up for over eighteen hours, running on coffee and ramen.

The dreams get worse—no, not worse— evocative with each night that passes and it’s always the same character, the same man whose features you’ve memorized by now. And it all began after you started college, after you moved away to live on your own and find your way without the constant judgement from your parents. It could be your subconscious trying to tell you something, but you stopped interpreting dreams when you realized that they make no sense. None at all.

Believe it or not, you can still remember the first time you saw him, your eighteenth birthday. Raven hair brushed back, lips pursed while he stared at you from afar. You were sat on the swing your parents had set up when you turned eight, and then you fell into consciousness upon seeing him approach you.

The most recent was quite unnerving, to the point where your heart begins to race just as you can recall in the dream. You were laying on your couch, moonlight filling the lounge and your head was on someone’s lap, they were singing a beautiful tune, fingers combing down your hair and when you tilted your head up, it was him, shirtless. It unsettled you because it felt so real, and that night you had fallen asleep on your couch so with your hazy thoughts, the line between dreams and reality was blurred.

Your best friend knows all about these dreams, you laugh them off at the end. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve developed a weird attachment to the man in your dreams and sometimes, more often than not, you find yourself looking forward to them.

The bell rings again and you’re caught off guard by the familiar khaki jacket shuffling through the aisles. With a rapid heartbeat, you spin around to glance at the clock above the glowing shelves.

00:00

Every night, without fail, this mystery would pop in for a few beers and sometimes, condoms or some gum. His lack of response or cat-like eyes sparked a little, dare you say, crush on the enigmatic man, pink hair dipping over his furrowed brows.

Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you watch with trembling knees as he approaches the counter and sets down his usual purchases, smoky voice reaching your ears just as his thick cologne penetrates your senses. You ring him up and your breath catches in your throat as your fingers graze slightly, thighs sticking together when he offers a smirk and a wink. The first you’ve ever received from him.

“Thanks,” he husks out your name, pulling the hood over his head as he backs away and presses a shoulder into the glass door.

With a dreamy sigh, you watch him disappear into the night, his glossy van rolling along the gravel.

It started with his smiles, then he stared long and hard at the tag pinned to your apron and used your name in the few seconds you would speak, but you’re yet to have his name, for now he’s just pink hair dude when you’re rambling about him to Seokjin.

Damn. A measly wink and your panties are soaked, how touch starved could you be?

Cringing at your own bodily fluids, you step out of the backdoor holding the noisome garbage bags filled with moldy pies and pastries. The fresh cream has liquified fully and you fling it into the dumpster, shoulders lifted up to your ears when you lock the door behind you and turn off the lights. You make a mental note to tell your boss that he should stop buying those pastries because they all land the same fate.

And then comes the portion of the evening you dread the most, walking back home with the ominous tales of the path you’re forced to take, alien plants lining each side as the moon hangs high above your head, the only form of lighting shrouding your frightened figure.

It could be a load of lies, but the image of a woman with pallid, blue skin, matted hair covering her face haunts your mind, the highway ghost you’ve heard of.

Cursing yourself for envisioning her face, you speed around the curve, head swivelling this way and that to monitor your surroundings.

You think you hear footsteps behind you, and with the ring of keys held tightly in your fist that’s plunged into your jeans pocket, you spin around and hold it up in defence, heart lodged in your throat. Laughing at your own idiocy when nothing but the darkness greets you.

A modicum of relief washes over you when you see the road sign which indicates that you’re close to your apartment building and with a few more rushed strides, you’re sprinting down the pathway and up the stairs, fumbling with your keys until you push open the door and kick off your shoes with a hush. Another tiresome day.

The light in your kitchen switches on and you jump in fright, knocking your vase in the process.

“Shit!”

“Fuck fuck, I’m so sorry!”

Much to your dismay, your ex-boyfriend, Namjoon rushes to your aid, having already fetched the dustpan to clean up the mess he no doubt caused.

“What are you doing here this late?” You’re still panting, heart pounding in your chest because you’re still on edge after that walk and Namjoon had to add to it.

He pushes his glasses along the bridge of his nose, bristling at your tone.

“I just came over to see you,” he informs, tailing you into the kitchen to drop the shards of glass and dirt into the bin.

You reach into your cupboard for a glass, filling it up to the brim and emptying it into your stomach, a satisfied sigh lowering your shoulders when the cool liquid rushes down your throat, calming your nerves.

“Why?”

He scratches his nape, wearing that stupid scarf you got him for his birthday. Your nose scrunches up at your terrible color choice.

“Because…we haven’t seen each other in a while and I—” he trails off, gaze flickering from the floor to your face and it’s almost like you can read his mind when the corner of his mouth quirks up, an almost offended scoff breaking the silence.

“I told you this months ago, it was a bad idea for us to hookup after we…broke up.”

He takes a step toward you, gripping your elbows in what you would call desperation.

“I know that, but I also know that you have…needs and I’m the only one that can take care of that,” he winks. Him thinking that you would fall for his tricks all over again is pathetic, and you voice that thought by shrugging away from his hold, trudging down the hall into the lounge.

“Bold of you to assume I’m not seeing anyone else,” you laugh, tidying up the cushions that you abandoned earlier this morning when you were running late for your lecture.

“Oh, I know you’re not. With college and work,” he shrugs, no doubt about to throw your own words back at you, “you don’t have time for a relationship or hookups.”

“Namjoon,” you grit, holding up your tea-stained mug as you brush past him, “I told you this the last time we got together, it would never work out between us and hooking up would just complicate things.”

He follows you into the kitchen again, hovering behind you with the same needy tone that will annoy you even more than the fact that he feels he can waltz into your life after months, after you had decided that it was best if you separated, you came to an agreement like two adults who forgot about their high school romance.

“But…you know that I still love you, you were the one that pushed me away and I—”

Your bitter laugh causes his mouth to clamp shut, and if you look closely, you could almost see the lies in his hooded eyes.

“Do you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know that you’re only here because your 2AM fuck was busy?”

“I—”

“No,” you grip his forearm, backing him out of the kitchen until his shoulders jam against your front door, seeing his eyes go wide when you reach into his jeans pocket and pull out the last connection he had to you, “get out. This isn’t your home anymore.”

“But I—”

“Leave!”

With a slump to his shoulders, he puts on his shoes and makes his way out, not before adding over his shoulder, eyes a little sorrowful, “I just wanted to make things right between us.”

You fold your arms, eyebrow cocked until he’s out of your sight and the door is locked safely behind him. In all those months after you broke up, this is the only time where you mustered up the courage to take his key away from him and tell him no. You don’t know where it came from, but you’ll bask in the feeling, until his droopy eyes come to mind later that night.

Maybe you were too harsh on him.

No. He deserves it for what he did in the past. He probably found someone else to keep his cock warm for tonight.

And you’d settle for your own hand than a delusional ex-boyfriend to satisfy you, pleasure that comes with zero guilt in the morning after reality returns and you’re forced to face the consequences of your actions.

But you do think of pink hair, pouty lips and piercing eyes. You think of how long it’s been since you pleasured yourself. The tantalizing build up as you chase your release, sweat dotting your forehead, back drenching the sheets beneath you until your feet are placed flat on the mattress, lips parted, eyes shut, back arched, toes curling into the sheets. You cum with a shuddering cry, thoughts of his pink tongue swirling over your clit just as your pruned fingers press into it, dragging out your high with the heavy blanket of fatigue draped over you.

It’s a struggle to pull yourself out of bed to shower, but the thought of the grime from the store is enough for you to scrub down each crevice.

You think you might complete the first half of your assignment before you go to bed, so you switch on your laptop. It’s due in a few weeks but if you start now, you’d have enough time to study for finals. Running a towel through your hair, you pad along the carpet to the other side of your room, bending over to fetch a pair of socks from the lowest drawer.

Perhaps your mood is still a little sour after Namjoon’s surprise visit, but your mind keeps going back to the part where he said he wanted to work things out. Was he being genuine? Would he actually want to get back together after all this time? After all that’s happened?

He has the audacity to show up and think it’s absolutely fine for him to walk in and out of your life as he pleases.

Grumbling to yourself, you let the towel drop to the floor and turn around to fit on your loose T-shirt when a very unusual figure in the reflection causes you to shriek, static blue glow fading around it. Hand clasped over your mouth, you try to regain your senses, blood draining from your face, heart thumping in your ears.

This must be a dream, that’s the only explanation, you fell off to sleep with your hands in your underwear and now you’re dreaming about the same guy. The one who’s been appearing in your dreams since you were eighteen years old, but what’s frightening is that he seems just as shocked as you, round eyes blinking from behind your sheer curtains.

It’s some goofy dream because you’re stark naked and he’s staring at you, like he always does in all your dreams. But the difference is that you have your fluffy pink carpet poking into your toes, your laptop is blinking beside you on your bed, your Hello Kitty plushies are propped up against the wall next to your dresser. Things you don’t ever see in your dreams because they’re usually fucking weird.

He takes a step toward you and you don’t cower, something you avoid doing in your dreams, but when he bends down and keeps his gaze on your face, lifting up the towel to pull over your shoulders, you gasp, an immense cool draft causing goosebumps to prickle your skin.

He stands up to his full height, burying his hands in his pocket and cocking his head to the side, the orange glow from your lamp illuminates half his face, a face you know uncharacteristically well.

Your mouth hangs open, trembling as you try to find your words.

“A-Are you my guardian angel?”

Given the chance, as you’ve discussed with Seokjin, this is what you would ask him when you can use your voice and to your excitement, you actually hear yourself say the words.

He blinks twice and you can’t be mistaken, not with his cherubic features and soft eyes, angled jaw and plump, pink lips.

“Yes,” he whispers, after a few beats of silence, like a puff of air, slight lisp to the word.

You want to jump for joy but you’re rooted to the spot, unable to break the eye-contact between you. He feels familiar, something akin to an old friend you’ve reunited with after a long time, it makes your heart soar and you know you might be out of your wits but you read a lot on angels and their symbolism ever since his appearances became frequent.

“You can see me?” He enquires, taking a step back to look down at his clothes, sporting the same black suit, gold embroidered on the collar, nothing less of an angel.

“Yeah,” you laugh, fingers straining with how hard you’re clenching the towel around your body, but you don’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed around him, even as his gleaming eyes trail up your figure.

“How?”

Your eyebrows furrow, slightly puzzled by his reaction.

“I could always see you,” you inform, noticing the way his eyes skate from one end of your room to the other then back to your face, lips parted.

“I know but not— I mean,” he runs his fingers through his hair, silver rings adorning each digit.

He cups his hand over his mouth, staring out the window before pacing from one end of the room to the other. You use the time to fully clothe yourself and lower onto your bed tentatively. He freezes. Doing a full 180 turn before sitting down next to you. The only scent that fills your nostrils is your own shower gel. Oddly comfortable around this ethereal being, you poke his cheek, soft, pillowy and rosy.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he says to himself, before turning to you and your breath gets caught in your throat again at his beauty.

“W-What?”

He blinks at you, gaze winding from your face to his hands that are pressed to his knees, deep in thought.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he repeats, “but I can be here.”

“Here? As in the planes of Earth? Welcome,” you laugh nervously, staring him down.

He seems to consider your words, then turns to you, and from the proximity, your heart skips a beat. This is your guardian angel. Your guardian angel? In your dreams, he would always be watching you, observing you, was that an indication that he was always present? Protecting and caring from afar? Warding off evil?

A smile begins to stretch his lips, the most disarming smile you have ever seen, and you have no choice but to return it.

He rises from your bed and you follow him, still smiling at the angel who keeps his hands in his pockets as he makes his way out of your room not before pausing at your door to say over his shoulder:

“You should go to sleep.”

“Where will you go?” You shout, panicking after he disappears down your hallway.

“I’ll sleep out here, on your couch,” he calls, silvery voice reaching your ears.

“Do angels sleep?”

He fluffs up the cushion and pulls over the throw you keep on the backrest of your couch, preparing for bed while you watch with confusion.

“Sometimes,” he smiles, eyes crinkling enough to have all your questions washing away, “get to bed, you have an early morning.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” you survey the lounge, wondering if the couch would be comfortable enough for him.

“Goodnight,” he winks, enough to make your heart stutter in your chest.

That night, you fight for sleep, the nagging thought that your guardian angel is sleeping in your lounge does not ease your mind.

What is going on? Why does your guardian angel have this effect on you? It’s preposterous! What is he even doing here? How are you so comfortable around him? He was just a man who would appear in your dreams and you don’t know his name! But he’s not just any man, he’s your guardian angel and it could make sense that you’ve cottoned to him this fast.

He emits a sense of peace, and his smile is pasted in your thoughts as you drift off to sleep.

While you rest, he approaches you with the same simper, palms curving around your shoulders as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“My name is Jimin.”

“Do you…eat?”

You’re pouring cereal into a bowl, jealous that he’s so bright-eyed while your eyes are burning with lack of sleep.

“Not really,” he pulls the bowl you had just topped up with milk toward him, shoving a spoonful into his mouth, “but I can.”

“Th—” You gawk at him, wondering how he can just steal your breakfast and get away with it by grinning at you.

Reaching for another bowl in your cupboard, you repeat the process and take the seat opposite him, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

“Will you…be with…come with me today? I mean to campus and work and—”

“Yeah, that’s kind of my job. But don’t worry, I’ll be invisible,” he chuckles, lifting the bowl to slurp up the milk noisily.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or—"

His eyelashes flutter as he fixes his gaze on you, licking the milk from his bottom lip.

“I’m not joking. I’m supposed to be with you all day, every day, silly.”

And so he is, an unusual companion on your way to campus, occupying the empty space behind you in your lectures, when you’re standing in line to get your coffee, as you’re making your way to the library and with each passing minute, your questions keep piling but you only have a chance to ask him when you’re sitting across each other in the muted library, students with their noses buried in thick, monotonous textbooks, uncaring of who’s sitting next to them.

You glance at the girl sitting a few desks away from you, knowing that she won’t be able to hear or see you talk to air that is now leaning back in his chair, arm draped across the back while he busies himself with studying your face.

“Go ahead,” he smiles, leaning forward on his elbows, “I can tell you have a few questions.”

You clear your throat, slightly peeved that he knew what was running through your mind before you could say anything at all.

Voice above a whisper, you dip your chin and cover your mouth with your laptop screen, “where are your wings?”

Head thrown back with mirth, his laugh rings loud and you bristle at the sound, despite knowing that no one can hear him.

“What?”

He wipes a tear with his pinky finger, “nothing, you wanna know where my wings are.”

Your mouth quirks to the side, eyebrows pinching together, “yeah…I do.”

He takes a peek over his shoulder, “guess they disappeared.”

That doesn’t answer your question, but you move on to the next, pulling the seat of your chair to scoot closer to the table.

“How come no one else can see you?”

“Well,” he sighs, drumming his fingers on the table, “I’m your guardian angel.”

You splutter, “so that means you’re only visible to me?”

He nods, “mhm, guess so.”

“Why did you appear now? When I’ve been seeing you in my dreams for yea—”

“Ugh,” he bangs a fist on the table, startling you, “this is all so boring. Why don’t you ask me some juicy questions?”

Your eyes go wide, “juicy?”

“Yeah, like—”

So engrossed in your interrogation, you don’t notice the tall figure approaching your desk until he’s standing behind Jimin who stops talking upon noticing that your attention is drawn somewhere behind him.

“Hey,” Namjoon smiles, clutching a stack of files to his chest, “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

You roll your eyes, refocusing on your laptop screen, “it’s fine.”

“Uhm, who were you talking to just now?”

Biting your lip, your eyes dart to Jimin who waves a hand dismissively.

“Say you were studying. You know, you’re a verbal learner.”

You parrot his words to Namjoon who squints his eyes for a second then nods.

He places a hand on the back of Jimin’s chair, “can I sit here? I promise I won’t disturb you.”

“Tell him that this seat’s taken.”

“That seat is taken,” you exclaim, acknowledging your words after you see Namjoon’s baffled expression.

He rubs his forehead, mumbling out your name exasperatedly, “I said I was sorry, for everything. Why can’t we just start over? A clean slate.”

You groan, “Namjoon, please. Just g—”

“Fine,” he whispers, “I’ll go.”

Watching him walk through the shelves, you can’t help but notice the way his shoulders sag.

“I don’t like that guy,” Jimin informs, adjusting his blazer, “you shouldn’t associate with him.”

“I don’t associate with him, he’s my ex.”

You see his eyebrow jump, as if he knows something you wouldn’t want him to know.

“Why don’t you like him anyway?”

He shrugs, placing his hands behind his head, “just gives me bad vibes.”

If your guardian angel advises that you should stay away from someone, you would listen to him. And all thoughts of getting back together with Namjoon evaporate upon hearing his words.

The lovely surprise at work is your best friend standing behind the counter wearing your apron, sorting through the loose change in the register.

“Jinnnn,” you yell, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your cheek into his back, “what are you doing here?”

“My uncle couldn’t find a replacement for Jay, so I had to cover his shift,” he yawns, wiggling out of your hold.

“And you’re here to cover my shift too?”

He makes a noise of surprise, “no.”

You click your tongue over-dramatically, pouting at him, “why not?”

“Because then, I’ll be a zombie, you know,” he holds out his arms, mumbling incoherent words while taking sluggish steps toward you.

You giggle, “okay okay, I get it.”

“So how have you been? Seen your dream guy recently?” He nudges your shoulder, wearing the most suggestive smile he can manage.

Your cheeks heat, eyes shifting to Jimin who stands on the other side of the counter, scanning the sweet jars. By his smirk, you can tell that he heard what Seokjin said.

“Ah,” you shove his shoulder, busying yourself with untying his apron to transfer it onto your body, “no.”

“Don’t lie! I know you saw him! Wait, was he fully naked this time? I swear your dreams get better and better!”

“Seokjin!” You cover his mouth with your hand, cheeks flashing impossibly hot with the way Jimin watches with lidded eyes, rubbing the side of his nose with his knuckle. You can tell that he’s fighting his smile.

“What?” He pulls away, ears going red while he fights you off, “the other night you were talking about how your dreams are better than reality and you wish that someone as handsome as him would fu—”

“Stop! I saw him! Okay?!”

He grins, “and?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? I told you that I think he’s my guardian angel or some shit.”

You peer over Seokjin’s shoulder to see Jimin with his hands clasped behind his back, sauntering through the aisles.

“And your guardian angel is sexy? I wonder what my guardian angel looks like,” he mumbles, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I read that they vary, yours is probably some ancient who gave up on you,” you laugh, earning a glare from Seokjin who doesn’t see the donation box near the entrance and slams his foot into the wood.

He yelps, bending down to rub his foot through his sandals while you double over with laughter.

“See!”

“You’re so fucking—”

“Bye!”

He gives you the finger as he passes the display window, while you’re still recovering from your giggles.

“You know you’re cute when you laugh like that.”

You whip your head around, blushing when you notice Jimin’s amused smile.

“Thank you…”

He winks, “you’re welcome.”

He comes around the counter, sitting up on a shelf, “guess it’s just us again.”

“Yeah, but not for long, this place gets busy around 10-11ish.”

“Not that busy.”

“Busier than usual,” you counter.

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid of being all alone out here.”

You freeze, about to deny his statement then purse your lips because he’s right. You are deathly afraid of a gang walking in and destroying this place or kidnapping you, or worse.

He jumps off the shelf and leans in close, ring clad fingers skimming down the side of your face.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, voice tender, “I’m here to protect you, remember?”

You draw in a breath, gazing into his orbs that seem to keep you under a spell until he breaks it when you nod, moving away to sit on the stool beside the window.

“B-But what will you do? If anything does happen? Do you have powers?” You enquire offhandedly, curiosity spilling from your lips.

He plucks a caramel candy from the jar, and you surge forward to take it out of his hands.

“The camera will pick it up! I don’t want to be reprimanded for floating stock!”

In a second, he takes the caramel back from you and pops it into his mouth, pointing to the camera behind you.

“That camera doesn’t work,” he speaks around the sweet. You follow his finger, squinting at the device.

“So. When Seokjin said that I shouldn’t worry, he lied!”

Jimin snorts, “the other cameras work, this one doesn’t.”

“Mr. Kim said he monitors the store from his house. You mean to tell me that he can’t see anything that happens behind this counter?”

“No. He can’t.”

“Cool,” you reach forward and take a caramel sweet for yourself, pausing when you see Jimin raise an eyebrow, “these are supposed to be free anyway.”

The rest of the evening is filled with giggles, except for when someone walks in, and you’re forced to abandon your new friend who makes your evenings less tedious. Who knew having your guardian angel around would be this much fun? Constantly judging the customers’ choices of snacks and guessing what they would most likely do after they leave the store.

“I can tell you that he won’t even get through a single chip before he’s falling off to sleep and it’s spilling all over his rugs.”

You gasp, “Mr. Lee may be old, but he has more energy than me on some days.”

“Pair him up with a heater and his favorite armchair,” Jimin sniggers, standing behind you now, watching you wipe down the refrigerators.

The sound of the bell above the door notifies that someone has entered the store and when you return to the front, you see pink hair guy, he’s wearing a black cap and parka tonight.

You ring him up and hand him his change when Jimin speaks into your ear.

“Ask him for his name.”

You jump a bit, unintentionally catching pink hair guy’s attention.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, “uhm, what’s your name?”

He sets his beers down on the counter, “Min Yoongi.”

“Cool.”

Jimin groans, “cool? I can tell you like this guy and he’s into you too. You’re behaving like an imbecile. Ask him something.”

You want to ask him how he knows that he’s into you but Yoongi shoots you a perplexed look.

Ignoring the way Jimin’s lips graze your ear, you panic when Yoongi lifts the beers again, and you think great, you’ve weirded him out, before he’s facing you again.

“I’m having a small thing on Saturday night, you should come.”

“Oh. Where?”

He juts his head in the direction of the door and you only now notice the tattoo creeping up the side of his neck.

“Down by TM Lounge,” he replies, while your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, unable to stop your words.

“TM Lounge? Isn’t that place like, dangerous, it’s south of here,” you laugh, smile falling when he shakes his head and chuckles, the sound taunting you a bit.

“Okay,” he rasps, boots hitting the flooring with loud thumps as he makes his way back to you, mouth raised in a smirk, “if you’re so afraid, you shouldn’t be talking to me.”

You gulp, “why?”

He laughs, making his way back out the door, “I’ll pick you up from here. 1AM.”

Immediately after his van rolls away, you punch Jimin’s shoulder, “why did you make me do that?!”

“Hey! You’re not supposed to harm your guardian angel!”

You rub his shoulder, “sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he smiles, keeping his hand over yours, “I think that guy would be fun for you.”

“What? You’re my wingman now?”

“I’m your winglessman.”

“That was terrible.”

Proud of his own joke, Jimin slaps his thigh, earrings swishing around as he slips off the stool in cachinnation.

“I did nothing, you did it all by yourself.”

It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything, it’s a casual party at a bar. You don’t go all out with your outfit or makeup and aren’t annoyed that you would be tired after your shift at work and then would have to go to this random party with a complete stranger. It’s not like you at all, but Jimin is there to encourage you and maybe it’s due to the fact that he’s around which has helped your fear die down a bit.

After a week of avoiding Namjoon and stuffing your face with caramels, the time has arrived where Yoongi has you in his car while you’re driving off to a bar you’ve never been to before, and when you give him that piece of information, he says that it’ll be fun.

Jimin sits in the backseat, providing some relief to your tension when you’re parking off outside the obstreperous bar, neon lights blinking above the face brick building.

You told Seokjin that you’d be going to a party with Yoongi, but you left out the venue, mostly because he would advise against it. Maybe you should’ve told him, just in case.

The air is thick inside the dingy building, clouds of smoke swirling around men and women who empty their glasses, a few shattering to the floor with roaring laughter punctuating the ear piercing shrills. Yoongi greets a few people before ushering you to the bar with an arm slung over your shoulder.

“Want a drink?”

“Yeah.”

You’re constantly fisting your shirt, a nervous habit which is halted by Jimin’s gentle hand, “relax.”

“Hey,” Yoongi turns to you, “you okay? You seem a bit tense.”

You nod, “yeah, I just…never been here before,” you repeat, chuckling emptily.

Yoongi places a hand on your thigh, his piercing eyes seem to soften as he dips his head to connect your gazes.

“Relax, we’ll just order a couple of drinks and be out of here. Okay? Try to have some fun.”

Try to have some fun. Loosen up. Stop being uptight. What everyone has been saying to you since you were a kid.

You tilt your head back and down your drink, wincing at the burn before ordering another round, and another, until your heels are off and you’re staggering out of the bar and Yoongi’s pressing you into the hood of his car, hands wandering up your shirt just as yours tug on his cap, kissing up his neck.

Through your fogged mind, you don’t miss the way Jimin watches how you tear his clothes off just as he does with yours, how Yoongi throws your legs over his shoulders and carries you to pleasure with his lips and tongue, how you sink your teeth into his skin while you bounce on his lap, and you watch him too, you’re louder for him too.

The next morning, you rouse with a bitter taste in your mouth and a crick in your neck, head thrumming even more after the bright light hits your eyes.

“Morning sleepyhead.”

“Morning,” you groan.

“Morning,” another voice grumbles, much closer, into your hair.

You jolt upright, body covered by a khaki jacket and only then do bits and pieces from last night enter your mind. Jimin hands you your jeans from the front seat while you put on your shirt, squinting out the window at the bar that seems harmless in the sunlight.

Yoongi sits up, hair unkempt, silver chain resting between his pecs. You would’ve been salivating at the sight, but you don’t have time because you’re too embarrassed, frantically searching for your bra.

“Last night was nice,” he smiles, not even bothering to get dressed.

“Yeah,” you laugh half-heartedly, thanking Jimin silently when he points to your bra under the seat.

“But…you kept calling me someone else. Guess you were really drunk,” he chuckles while your eyes go as large as saucers.

“W-What? Who…What did I call you?”

You sure hope it wasn’t Namj—

“Jimin. Or something.”

If you weren’t embarrassed then, you are now. You want to disappear from the face of the Earth, but he would probably haunt you there too.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We all have that one ex.”

Except he isn’t your ex. He’s your fucking guardian angel.

You refuse to look up from your phone, busying yourself with replying to Seokjin’s texts.

“Anyway, uhm, I have to go to work so…”

“Oh, could you drop me off at my apartment?”

Yoongi nods, pulling on his jeans and white T-shirt before stepping out of the car, while you’re dealing with one of the worst situations that tops your list of embarrassing moments in your life.

“So…” Jimin bumps your shoulder while you’re forced to stare out the window.

“No.”

There is something utterly wrong with you, that’s the only plausible explanation to your growing feelings for your guardian angel, a harmless man who is sweet by nature, which your weak heart twists into something completely different.

As the weeks pass by, your dreams become more shameful, and you find it difficult to face him each morning. It’s confusing, you can’t tell if it’s him in your dreams or your mind winds the innocent moments into sinful positions.

He would ask for a bite of your sandwich, sleeves rolled up as he leans down to cover the corner with his mouth, eyes glued to yours when he licks his lips, and your panties would stick to your core, face going hot. Even as he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb, innocently.

You would be sitting at your desk, typing away and he’d be sprawled across your bed, innocuously, while salacious thoughts wheedle into your brain and obscure your concentration. You asked, nonchalantly, if he could read your mind. He said that he couldn’t, but he can detect the slightest changes in energy. After hearing that, you tried your best to tame any and all obscenities that would fill your mind.

Other then your putrid musings, it was pleasant to have him around, despite the fact that you needed to add more groceries to your cart when shopping. He would be there to comfort you when you’re oddly lachrymose after watching another romance movie, patting your head and cuddling you into his chest.

Even now, after he had offered to brush your hair, holding the comb daintily while the bristles sweep through the knots, eyes set on yours in the reflection.

No one, except yourself and your mother when you were unable to complete the task by yourself, had brushed your hair before, a sense of intimacy settling in your heart, comforted by his gentle gaze.

However, not even your guardian angel could shield you from the onslaught of humiliation, gifted by your parents.

“So, did you and that Namjoon boy make up?”

You sigh, thanking Jimin silently when he sets down your hairbrush, “no.”

Your mother yells your name into the speaker while you’re rushing out of your room, hoping Jimin wouldn’t hear the insults you’re about to receive.

“Typical, can’t even keep a man for herself,” she jibes, no doubt speaking to your father who spews his own remarks. “And your degree? Or certificate? I hope you aren’t wasting time there.”

“Yes,” you mumble, wanting the call to be over, “I hope to graduate by the end of this year.”

“We hope so. At least you’ll have something to your name. You know your sister, she already has a job and is getting married next March. So you don’t have to worry about giving us grandchildren for now,” she laughs, prickling at your heart.

You’re accustomed to their disparaging remarks, but why does it feel like your heart is weeping.

“We know you’re very fit to give us grandchildren, but focus on your studies for now,” your father advises, “but try to make things right with Namjoon, his family is rich.”

“I don’t need his family’s wealth,” you grit, patience wearing thin.

“You know your arrogance is why you’re living alone.”

Unwanted emotions brim your eyes, hand trembling as you hold the phone to your ear.

“No one would want to marry a selfish woman like you. Left her family because she was too proud.”

“I left because I was sick and tired of being compared to my successful cousins and sister! I couldn’t deal with the stress of having unsupportive parents and being constantly written off as a disappointment!” You sob, tears trailing down your cheeks freely.

You hear your father click his tongue, “this is why we don’t call you.”

“Then stop calling!”

You hang up, sinking to your knees, palms pressing into your eyes, “stop calling! Stop calling me!”

“Hey, hey,” Jimin grips your elbows, crouching down beside you, “what’s wrong?”

You wipe your nose with the sleeve of your hoodie, shaking your head, “I—I just…” More tears prevent you from finishing your sentence, hiccups bubbling from your lips until he gathers you in his arms, cheek pressing into yours.

“Shush, it’s okay,” he hums, palm smoothing down your head until your cries subside.

You grip the front of his shirt and pull away, head tilted back, “Jimin?”

His eyes scan every inch of your face, icy skin pressed to yours, “yes?”

Your gaze drops to his lips in answer, dizzy with emotions when you lean in and let your lips touch, eyes slipping shut until you’re enveloped by darkness.

Then.

Black.

If it wasn’t for the breeze hitting your back, you would’ve been deep in slumber, the muffled voices waking you fully.

Regaining consciousness, you find it hard to gauge your surroundings with the ruthless wind hitting your face, hair whipping back until you feel a hand around your waist, keeping you flush against a cold surface, a body.

Finally, the wind simmers down and you manage to open your eyes, heart leaping to your throat when you find that you’re floating off the ground, except the ground is nowhere in sight.

“You did a terrible job! You can’t put that on me.”

Jimin’s voice catches your attention, and only then do you realize that he’s carrying you with your face pressed into his neck.

“This is not our fault, things like this happen. Humans can be fallible.”

“Jimin?” You mumble, lifting your head and almost slipping into unconsciousness for the second time when you take in the sight before you.

“Hey, relax, we’re just have a talk,” he soothes which proves to be ineffective because you’re amazed by his dark, colossal wings, wisping through the night air.

“We’re not having a talk, we’re here to rescue you from this devil,” a deeper voice from behind you says.

You choke on your gasp when you see two men, with even larger, white wings hovering a few feet away.

“You— You’re—”

“Yes,” one of them say with a nod, round, doe eyes closing in affirmation, “we are your guardian angels.”

“What?” You whisper, head snapping from Jimin to the two men who seem to radiate too much light, doing nothing to untangle your thoughts. “But Jimin is my guardian angel.”

The one to your left, emitting a greater sense of power, laughs, “no, he isn’t. I am Taehyung and this is Jungkook. We are your guardian angels,” he repeats.

“Then,” you tighten your hold around Jimin’s neck, blinking at him, “who is he?”

He purses his lips, then smiles, “surprise!”

“Wha…”

You narrow your eyes at the two unfamiliar faces, “how can I have three guardian angels?”

Jungkook scoffs, smacking Taehyung with the back of his hand, “she’s doubting us and still thinks that he’s her guardian angel. Terrible.”

“Hey,” Taehyung scolds, “we aren’t supposed to pass any judgement, let’s leave that to someone else.”

“What are you saying?”

You’re thoroughly confused, mostly because a) you’re floating among the clouds, b) there are two very handsome beings claiming to be your guardian angels and c) Jimin has black wings compared to the white.

Taehyung sighs, cascading with Jungkook closer to you.

“We are your guardian angels and—”

“It’s incredibly silly to think that he was! His apocryphal presence should surely hint that whatever he had said to you was false!” Jungkook yells, irritation clear on his face.

Your mouth hangs open before your attention is drawn back to Taehyung who glares at his companion.

“Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he tugs on the lapels of his ivory suit jacket, “we are your true guardian angels, existing to protect you from evil and absorb your pain and sorrows.”

“Mhm,” Jungkook nods, pushing his hair away from his forehead, “that’s why you’ve become more sensitive these days.”

“So where were you?”

“What?” They say in unison, exchanging looks.

“If you’re my guardian angels, why weren’t you…doing what you’re supposed to do?”

Jimin sniggers.

“Things become complicated when there’s another being involved,” Taehyung informs, pointing to Jimin, “especially when it’s someone like him.”

“And we were waiting for the right moment to intervene,” Jungkook adds.

You tilt your head to look at Jimin, face a few inches away from his, “someone like him?”

“Yes. Incubi have their ways to slither right under out noses until it’s too late.”

“Incubi?”

“Wow,” Jungkook groans, “she really is clueless.”

Taehyung shoves Jungkook, “don’t mind him, he’s new to all this.”

Jimin is an incubus? You haven’t read much about them, except their definition. You feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.

“Is that why—”

“Yes, that is why you were experiencing those dreams which are out of our bounds.”

Jimin wraps his arm around your shoulders, still wearing his dazzling smile.

“But…he didn’t hurt me or anything.”

“I will never hurt you,” he coaxes, fingers brushing your chin.

Taehyung calls your name, hands held behind his back, wearing a blank expression.

“The effects of his Charm have already sunk, so we’re here to present you with two choices which will decide your fate.”

You gulp, gazing into the twinkling lights below you then nodding.

“The first: life goes back to the way it was, your dreams are wiped away along with the effects of Jimin and his Charm. The man who visits you at your workplace remains a stranger and your life is just as it was.”

Before you have time to consider the first choice, he continues.

“The consequences: you reunite with your past lover and live a successful life away from your family who still believe you to be worth nothing more than a shadow.”

He narrates the words with no feeling, eyes void of emotion. You look at Jimin who offers a weak smile, still holding you impossibly close.

“The second choice,” Jungkook begins, “you return to Earth with this demon and allow him to be present in your life, cherished and doted upon while you ignore every other being due to his Charm.”

“You want that? Do you want me?” Jimin whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

You suck in a deep breath before turning to Jungkook who goes on to say:

“The consequences: you lead a prosperous life yet filled with avarice, deteriorating health with the constant consumma—”

Jimin noses along your jaw with Jungkook’s voice fading into the dark, just as he bobs in the air, wings cutting through the clouds.

“I…”

Taehyung soars toward you, offering a hand, “your choice?”

You turn to Jimin who seems to already know your answer with the way he descends, Taehyung and Jungkook’s figures appearing smaller and smaller.

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Jungkook calls before they spin around and blip away with a spark mimicking two shooting stars.

In a blink, you’re in your lounge, still gripping onto Jimin’s shirt, lips caressing his moist mouth, fingers pressing into your elbows.

“You want me,” he breathes, voice lowering in pitch.

He cups your cheeks, thumbs rubbing into your skin, glowing eyes that should be frightening piercing into yours.

“Yes,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he pulls you down the hall and into your room.

All you’re focused on is him, the way he pulls off your hoodie and rolls your shorts down, lips skimming your thighs until you’re parting your legs for him while he pushes you onto the mattress that feels softer than usual.

He lifts your foot up to his mouth, pecking the delicate skin around your ankle.

By now you’re putty in his hands, panties growing damp and uncomfortable when he nips at the meat of your thighs, kneading the flesh until you’re squirming under him.

“Jimin…”

His tongue darts out to lick at the dip between your pussy and thigh, wetting the skin in languid circles. Your hips raise off the bed, heat building in your core, whines spilling into the chilly wind that billows out your diaphanous curtains. The moon is nowhere to be seen, just you and him amongst the inky skies, want coursing through your veins with each slide of his hands up your stomach to rest on your perked nipples.

He massages your mounds as he rids you off your underwear with his teeth, slipping down your legs. You keen when his cool breath hits your swollen folds, back arching from just the thought of having his mouth on your throbbing cunt.

Your legs are being locked around his neck, clit covered by his stare which is slick with your juices.

“Such a pretty cunt. Glad I get to taste you now,” that’s the only warning you get before his tongue rolls up your folds, fingers digging into your thighs as he lifts your hips off the bed, your shoulders and head pressing into the sheets as he devours your leaking hole.

You reach for his hair as his nose presses against your clit. He mouths at your pulsating slit, holding you to his face, moaning into your cunt while you’re crying out his name. More and more of your slick drips into his mouth with each wiggle of his tongue against your clit until the knot builds and builds, shivering in pleasure, sweat beading on your forehead and neck.

He slurps and drinks up your juices, eyes flickering up to watch as you crumble beneath him, moaning when he sticks out his tongue and smooths along your folds at breakneck speed. The sight alone is enough to tip you over the edge, drenching his face as your cunt pulses against his tongue, heels pressing into his back.

He hums into your heat, and pulls away when you twitch, a string of his saliva and your cum snaps from his mouth and hits your thigh. You gasp at the sensation.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he growls, unmarred skin weighing on yours. You mewl with the pressure, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him fervently.

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, hands sliding across your forearms to press them into the bed, tongue swirling around yours, earning breathy moans into his mouth.

Enslaved by his tongue, you feel an essence fill your womb just as he taps your clit with the head of dusty pink cock, smoothing around a mix of precum and your juices.

“Gonna fill you up with my cock,” he husks, kneeling on the bed as he runs the shaft of his cock through your folds, “so fucking beautiful, all laid out for me like this.”

You want to tell him that he looks even more beautiful in the dull lighting filtering through the door, but he’s sinking into your cunt. When you try to grip his shoulders, you’re unable to move your hands from where they rest on either side of your head, but the pleasure overthrows your panic, gasping as he draws his hips back.

He presses his chest to yours, hands nudging up your arms until they’re straight above your head.

“Shush,” he rolls his hips, gripping your jaw and pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, eyes blazing with lust, “surrender yourself to me.”

Your eyes scrunch shut when he grazes your sweet spot, mouth hanging open when the tug in your womb seems to amplify with each drag of his cock against your ridged walls.

“Fuck,” you whisper, able to lift your hips, meeting his thrusts as he flexes his.

“That’s it, you take my cock so well,” he grunts, sharp nails tweaking your nipple while his mouth attacks the other, tongue flicking across the bud.

You’re breathless, walls fluttering around his cock when his thrusts quicken, snapping into your cunt, nipples burning with his assault.

“Cum for me,” he grits. His nails sink into your shoulders, a shriek being thrown out of your lungs when he drags them up your arms, pressing into your palms.

Tears dot your eyes, the pressure building in your abdomen, thighs shaking around his waist and when his fingers swipe against your clit, the heat builds and builds, walls closing around him when a sharp breath escapes your lips and into his mouth, whimpering as you cum around his cock.

A satisfied ‘ah’ leaves his slick lips as he throws his head back and shoots thick ropes of cum into you, hips stilling. You regain feeling in your arms when he flops down beside you, hands smoothing up and down your back.

It isn’t like you to feel this exhausted after sex, but you find your eyes growing heavy, even more after he lifts you onto his chest and covers you with the blanket.

“Have a good sleep,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head which has a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth, “it won’t be long.”

a/n — if you liked this, please leave a comment or an ask if you’re shy, it would mean a lot to me.

⤺Masterlist

taglist — @ggukkieland @moonchild1 @mwitsmejk @fancycollectormoon @nglmrk @bex-92br @taeslarityy @helenazbmrskai @deliciouslydisturbed365 @sweetonkookieandtae

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #ficscafe #btscreatorscorner #bangtansorciere #btsgoldnet #jimin fluff #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #park jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fanfic #jimin x y/n #jimin fic #park jimin fic #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagines

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the-iron-orchid · 2 years ago

Text

De Profundis

Characters: Jinana/Vissenta, ~2000 words

Synopsis: An innocent day-trip into the forest leads to an unexpected conflict, and profound revelations for Jinana and Vissenta.

Warnings: Violence, blood/injury, potential body horror, bug death spoiler: he gets better

-----

“Oh, look at you. You’re never going to find a girlfriend here.”

A large horned beetle clings to the stuccoed wall, its carapace gleaming with shifting shades of phantom green and blue. Jinana plucks it from its perch, admiring it in the late morning light.

“You’re a fine, big boy, aren’t you?” Indeed, the creature is easily the length of hir palm. Jinana shows the beetle to Vissenta before tucking it away in a pocket of hir skirt, along with a bit of dried apricot from hir bag. “You just stay there for a bit. We’ll take you back to the forest so you can show off your beetle-battling skills for the ladies.”

Vis gives hir a curious look, though it is far from the first time she has seen Jinana scoop up an errant insect. Still, she says nothing about it, and they continue their trek out of the city.

Jinana always relishes time spent wildcrafting and foraging. There is a freedom in the deep, dense shade of the trees, with only the beings of the forest for company… and, perhaps, a chosen companion.

The forest does have its hazards, but s/he’s certain that Vis can handle herself; there are always blades on her person. (Jinana does not question how, or where.) Anjali’s presence, too, makes them safer. In the worst case… there is always hir magic.

S/he hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Cutting through the northernmost part of Center City, they cross over one of the many arched bridges that span the waterway that surrounds Vesuvia proper. From there, it is a short walk to the city walls, and one of the gates to the outside world.

The autumn-golden grasses and cheerful wildflowers quickly give way to the sea of trees, the fall sunlight dappled on the leaf-littered ground. As always, the forest is alive with the sounds of its creatures, the hum of insects and the vocalizations of animals. One must walk with care, heedful of the many roots ready to catch a careless foot.

“You know,” Jinana says, “when Heron and I were young apprentices, we decided it would be a great idea to try and wildcraft some of the components for our lessons. Predictably, we ended up lost in here for almost two whole days. Imagine, a couple of hapless twelve-year-olds with hardly more than a cantrip to our names… and during the cold and rainy season at that.”

Vis raises her brows. “How did you get out?”

“Master Borgia found us, eventually.” This is entirely true. “Nearly gave the poor man a heart attack, I’m sure - we were forbidden from setting foot off his estate without supervision for an entire month afterward.” S/he laughs. “Fortunately, I’m much better at navigating the forest now.”

There is another part to this story, so strange that Jinana hirself is unsure if it is memory or dream, the product of a fearful child’s mind. But that is a story for another time, if at all.

It’s easy enough to gather plenty of greens and several culinary herbs that don’t grow in Heron’s greenhouse; there are even some grapes growing in a sunny patch. These are fragrant but mouth-puckeringly tart, causing them to laugh at the faces they make on sampling them.

Finally, in a small clearing surrounded by deep forest, they find what they truly came for - silverbloom valerian, a rare and magical variety that can only grow in such wild places. In the shade of the great trees, its tiny white blooms shed a soft effulgence and a faint, sweet scent. Anjali sniffs at them, and Jinana feels a mild, secondhand euphoria rise up in the back of hir brain.

“Anjali, no.” The sand lynx diverts her roll at the last moment, managing not to crush the plants. “You ridiculous creature.” Anjali wriggles on her back, showing her spotted belly.

“Forgot about its effect on felines, hm?” Vis grins and produces a small gathering knife, bending to start harvesting the plants.

“I do forget that this thing is just an overgrown housecat sometimes.” Jinana nudges Anjali with hir foot; the lynx swats lazily at hir sandal.

They collect flower stalks and roots, careful to leave enough that the patch can continue to propagate. Jinana wrinkles hir nose at the unlovely scent of the roots, very different from that of the flowers. “Ugh, smells like sweaty feet.”

“It’s not my favorite, no,” Vis answers. “And it’ll be attracting stray cats the whole time it dries, too.”

“Oh! I haven’t shown you the herb drying cabinet, have I? It really comes in -” Anjali leaps to her feet, growling as a sudden, terrible sound cuts through the forest. Two fighting blades have appeared in Vissenta’s hands before she even completes her turn to look for the source.

“What the fuck was that?” Vis hisses softly, serpentine-green eyes scanning the trees around them. Jinana shakes hir head.

“I don’t know,” s/he answers, just as quietly. The awful sound comes again, an unholy amalgamation of the warning bark of a deer and the shriek of a bird of prey, and the rest of the forest has gone silent in a way that makes ice seem to crystallize along hir spine.

There is a great crashing, tree limbs creaking and snapping, then heavy hoofbeats, rapidly closing in. Even as Vis and Jinana fall back, considering flight of their own, a massive shape bursts into the clearing, driving something before it, something almost glowing white that it shoves backward with slashing hooves.

Without conscious thought, Jinana interposes hirself between the oncoming white blur and Vissenta, conjuring hir shielding spell. S/he grunts as the heavy impact shoves hir backward, stumbling, falling -

S/he fetches up against another body, and a pair of arms that encircle hir waist, pulling hir back and away from the skirmish as the large, dark figure rears up again. It resembles a stag, but far larger - and as it rises, a pair of vast wings unfurl from its back.

A peryton. Jinana knows it at once.

Its opponent has the stature of a man - but the fur, head and hooves of a goat, its eyes burning red as coals in the murky half-light. It skips nimbly aside from the assault, and now Jinana can see that where its left arm should be, there is only a mass of writhing shadow. It raises this non-arm, dark tendrils lashing out and scoring the peryton along its greenish hide, adding to countless other lash-marks and a clawed gash. Scarlet drops patter to the ground as the peryton once again gives that unearthly cry, going to its knees as its forelegs buckle in agony.

Vissenta is desperately trying to drag Jinana to safety, but the wild magic is roiling inside of hir now, responding to the threat before them… and to a debt twenty years in the past.

“Step back,” s/he murmurs. “Please.”

S/he feels Vissenta hesitate, then the arms release hir. The goat-thing spares hir only a brief, malevolent glance as s/he steps forward. This is the thing that is unnatural, like a cancer in hir magical sight, wreathed in a miasmic aura of wrongness.

Once again, it raises the thing that has taken the place of its arm, the greedy black tendrils whipping forward -

And Jinana lets loose the leash on hir power, opening the floodgates of chaos.

It is more than a rush, very nearly an ecstasy as searing light pours forth from the chakras of hir body in a flood of raw magic. The goat creature doesn’t even have time to scream as the mass of energy engulfs it, unmaking it, destroying it.

As the afterimage begins to clear from hir eyes, something insubstantial seems to flit away through the trees with a thin enraged shrieking, as if heard from a great distance.

And then it is gone, leaving only the heaving, bleeding peryton and a drift of fine grey dust in the clearing.

“Jinana - “ Vissenta is interrupted by the arrival of another figure, that of a hulking man, his scarred chest and arms striped with fresh wounds similar to what the peryton has suffered.

“Where is Lucio?” he demands, his voice gruff and deep.

“Lucio?”

“The goat.”

Jinana points mutely to the pile of dust. The man scowls at it, then immediately turns to the wounded peryton.

“You should go,” he says.

“But your wounds -” s/he begins.

“Go.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Vissenta mutters, and takes Jinana’s elbow, steering hir back the way they came. Anjali herds hir along from the other side. With the aftereffects of channeling such a large amount of magical energy still buzzing in hir blood, Jinana cannot find it in hirself to argue.

When the clearing is well out of sight, the two of them sit down heavily upon a fallen log. For a moment, neither says anything. Anjali slinks up alongside, resting her chin on Jinana’s knee.

“Well, that’s the first time I’ve seen a peryton in the flesh, so chalk that one up as a new experience,” Vis says wryly, and Jinana gives a short chuckle. “But what the hell was that goat-thing?”

“Who knows?” Jinana frowns. A name wants to associate itself with the goat creature, but where s/he might have heard such a thing, s/he cannot recall; the same mild confusion is reflected on Vis’s face. How strange.

There is something else in Vissenta’s expression, the many questions she no doubt has about what they just witnessed… and what Jinana just did.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“I… yes. It takes a bit out of me, but I’ll recover.”

“A bit.” There is a dry humor to this, a mildly sardonic arch to her brows… but only these things.

No fear, and no censure.

Recollection comes to hir, and Jinana digs hurriedly in hir skirt pocket. S/he withdraws the horned beetle - only to find it unmoving, its tough carapace partially crushed. It must have come to harm when s/he crashed into Vis, or when the goat creature slammed into hir shielding spell, slamming the magical barrier against hir own body in turn.

“Oh, no.” S/he summons a healing energy, to no avail - the carapace reforms itself, but the creature otherwise remains as it is, articulated legs curled to its abdomen in death. “No, no, no.” Hir eyes sting with sudden, ridiculous tears. It is only a beetle, destined to live but briefly - cut short, because of hir.

Vis stares at hir for a moment, then seems to come to some kind of inner decision. “Let me see?”

Jinana holds the beetle out to her, outwardly perfect but no longer with the spark of life in it. Vissenta cups her own hands around Jinana’s, concentrating, and something seems to condense, to pass between.

S/he feels the faintest twitch against hir palm, then another… then a light scrabbling, as the insect slowly rights itself, turning around in hir hand. Jinana stares at it, wide-eyed, unheeding of the lone tear that slips down hir cheek as the beetle’s antennae fan out, alive.

Alive.

Vissenta is watching hir face carefully, even guardedly, and no wonder. Just as Jinana’s recent actions have revealed a capability that few can understand, a connection to ancient and ineffable forces… so have hers.

Several things fall into place, pieces of a larger puzzle, hints of a greater secret. Even as Jinana hirself is inextricably linked to the primal chaos of creation, Vissenta must be linked to something just as profound, the forces that govern life and death.

No wonder she is not afraid.

The beetle lifts its elytra and takes noisy flight, only to alight upon Jinana’s shoulder, and s/he smiles. Vis’ tense expression begins to relax.

“Let’s go back,” Jinana says, wiping at hir face. “I’ll show you the drying cabinet - no more stray cats after your valerian.”

Vissenta lifts her brows, then gives a small smile in turn. “I think I’d like that very much.”

#Jenjamin's writing tag #The Wheel of Life and Death #Jinana Aditya #Vissenta Senadz #Jissana #implied Muriel #sorry Lucio lmao #it's fine he just a goat-ghost again

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3linaturabi · 2 years ago

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THE HOLY HEAD OF IMAM HUSSAIN {AS} IN KHULI'S {LA} OVEN.

It is mentioned in traditional reports that; when the severed Head of the oppressed Imam Hussain (as) reached Ibne Ziyad (la), he entrusted the same to the accursed Khuli bin Yazid Asbahi and told him: Take it home and when I need, I would ask you to bring it back.

The accursed Khuli lifted the severed head and went home.

He had two wives: one was Thalbiya from Bani Thalib.

According to some traditional reports she was from Bani Taghlib.

His second wife was Mafriya.

The accursed Khuli brought the severed head to Mafriya.

She asked: “Whose head is this?”

He replied: It is the Head of Husain bin Ali (as) and I would receive a great reward for this.

She said: Ill tidings to you. Tomorrow, on Judgment Day, His Eminence, Prophet Muhammad Mustafa (saww) would be infuriated at

you and from today neither you are my husband nor I am your wife.

Then she lifted an iron rod and hit him on his head.

After that the accursed took the head to Thalaba. When she inquired about it and he told her: “It is the head of a Khariji, who

rebelled against Ibne Ziyad.”

She asked about the name of that person, but he didn’t mention it; he placed that head in the oven.

Thalaba says: At night rays of effulgence emanated from that head and reached upto the sky and it was reciting the Holy Qur'an, till it concluded the recitation with the verse: “…and they who act unjustly shall know to what final

place of turning they shall turn back.”(sa sayalamullazi zalamu... )

She says: On one hand that head was reciting the Qur'an and at the same time I could hear the sound of Tasbih from it; so I surmised that they were angels.

On witnessing that spectacle I came to my husband and told him that I saw rays of effulgence emerging from the head and

that it was also reciting the Qur'an. Why don’t you tell me whose head it is?

Again Khuli gave the same reply that it was (Allah forbid!) a Khariji, who staged an uprising against Ibne Ziyad. I would take this head to Yazid bin Muawiyah and earn a great reward.

Thalaba insisted that he tell her the name of that person.

When he was compelled, he said:

“If you insist, it is the head of Hussain Ibn Ali (as).”

As soon as she heard the name of Imam Hussain (as), Thalaba screamed and became unconscious. When she regained consciousness, she said:

You are worse than Majus people.

You martyred the progeny of Prophet Muhammad Mustafa (saww) and caused distress to the

Prophet. Have you no fear of the Creator of the earth and the heavens?

And the limit of your shamelessness is such that you want to present the Head of the Son of Sayyidah Fatima Zahra (sa) to Yazid (la) and accept reward for it.

Then Thalaba came out from there crying and lifting the Holy Head placed it in her lap, and kissing it, said:

“Oh Imam Hussain (as), may Allah curse your killers and Prophet Muhammad (saww) becomes the claimant against them.”

She continued to sit with the Head in her lap till she fell asleep. She dreamt that the roof of her house was rent asunder and rays of effulgence were seeping inside it. Then a white cloud entered and two respectable Ladies emerged from it. They lifted the Head of the oppressed Imam Hussain (as) from the lap of Thalaba and after kissing it, began to cry.

Thalaba said: “I adjure you by Allah, who are you?”

The elder One said: I am Khadija bint Khuwailad (sa) and this is My Daughter, Fatima Zahra (sa). We have come to your house

to visit our oppressed Son and We thank you for according so much honor to it.

Allah has accepted your deed and you would be in Paradise in our neighborhood.

After that dream, Thalaba woke up and at that time Imam Hussain's (as) Head was in her lap. Khuli demanded the Head from her.

Thalaba refused to surrender it and said: May Allah destroy you; give me divorce. I cannot live in this house with you.

The accursed Khuli said: Give me that Head and after that do what you like.

Thalaba refused to give the Head.

The accursed Khuli murdered the believer Lady (his wife) and took away the Holy Head.

Thus that believer Lady reached Paradise, in the neighborhood of Sayyida Khadija (sa) soon.

Reference: Madinatul Majiz v2 p222.

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zmeydeva-arch · 2 years ago

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⊹ @parabathai sent 💬 for a line from a sentence meme

THESE GARDENS ARE AN OASIS THOUGH NOT OF HER OWN MAKE. the dragon provides a supplemental touch of charm to the crawling ivy vine walls. quicksilver eyes cast over the blush expanse, bobbing lily flowers in shallow pools around them swaying with their fountain current. the sun is a sliver of citrus souring and spilling over the horizon line. the resulting luster is a muted effulgence catching the two demigoddesses in relief awashed in the dawn; the gilt and lavender a pallid reenactment of jupiter's colors. it is a rare sight, not the birth of a new day but the sky daughter at the helm of it. seizing the morning hours by the very arteries by cutting into her own though not in such a severe fashion. when the pin pricks the pad of her finger it is with a practiced passivity that she endures the momentary pain. the indifference is accompanied by passing fatigue as she faces the praetor. ❛ it costs us blood and tears, but it’s worth the price. ❜ the spellwork is nestled in each drop of vermillion that falls upon the earth and the sibilant chant which empowers it; the snake's song

❛ this looks impressive but it is just a fancy way of keeping the deer and rabbits from getting into the vegetable patches. ❜ MAGIC IN PLACE OF MUNDANE FEATS, THIS IS HOW I WAS RAISED. a hedge sorceress in many ways, someone constantly relegated to the fringes but the need to hide no longer persisted. ❛ did our lady ever teach you the craft? i think you might have the hands for it. ❜ she is not as tactful with her speech as she sound be, the mistress of beasts had a notably tenuous relationship with many of her past handmaidens ( though she means no malice with the recollection of memory as she is held hostage by her own waking malaise )

#the girls are BACK #𝖝. *ੈ ˖ ° ⥽ beast is a title earned in blood / beware for a beast may yet be beautiful ⥼ ⅋. v — pjo #𝖛. *ੈ ˖ ° ⥽ witches like saints are solitary stars that shine with a light of their own ⥼ ⅋. ic #⥽ reyna de arellano ⥼ ⅋. parabathai #parabathai

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angrylittletrashpanda · 3 years ago

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What if Locke snuck into Madoc’s bedroom instead of Taryn’s

Locke felt a chill running down his spine. After all sneaking into Grand General’s stronghold without getting caught is no mean feat! Stars flickered, the sweet scent of roses was floating in the air. The breeze was as warm and moist as sin. That night the boy turn into a brave knight from a ballad, a fearless knight going to save a fair maiden from the clutches of a genuine monster. Locke was definitely no fighter, so instead of sword he wielded just a beautiful lyre. Wasn’t it a weapon enough to conquer the girl’s heart and pluck the red flower of her virginity?

The lad looked up and grinned, noticing the balcony door was open. Locke climbed a blooming apple tree, hopped on the balcony and snuck into the spacious bedroom. Liriope’s son raised his brows, pretty surprised with severity of the chamber he found himself in. How could ladylike, gentle Taryn live in this cell, lacking in any decorations, except from banners and two sabers on the wall? There were a very few pieces furniture in the chamber – only a carved wooden closet, a bedside table, a massive mahogany desk and a chair that looked pretty uncomfortable. In the middle of the room there was, four-poster canopy bed. Locke looked again at the crossed sabers. It isn’t Taryn’s room! – He realized. It’s Jude’s! He couldn’t have committed a luckiest mistake! The boy smiled to himself, took the lyre off his back and sat on a wooden chair. Yes, it actually was extremely uncomfortable. That was Jude all over! Beautiful, full-figured Jude, anxious to become a knight and willing to get used to harsh conditions. Locke looked at the bed with amused indulgence. He wouldn’t have guessed dainty Jude snores so loudly. Liriope’s son uttered a mirthful laughter then hit the strings with his fingertips and began to sing.

Oh lady fair, daughter of clay

I came to wash your tears away

A slave enthralled with your bright eyes

Effulgent lips and well – shaped thighs.

I came to sweeten this lonely night

Aching to hear your lovesome sighs

Leaving behind all of my shame

I came to taste you, oh my flame.

The canopy billowed, Locke shivered with excitement. Just a little while and he’ll have one of Grand General’s precious daughters in his arms. The boy was glad that instead adorable mellow Taryn he would taste fierce, hard-hitting Jude, as tart as sour cherries. What a lucky mistake – Locke thought once again. He couldn’t have been more wrong!

From behind the curtains emerged a tall man of sturdy arms and tousled fair hair. His gaping nightshirt revealed countless scars on his broad chest, his golden, split-pupiled eyes were glinting like the sharpest of blades.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy?” – Madoc yelled, getting right up to Locke in a single bond. The boy tried to draw back, making the Grand General even more furious. At the drop of a hat Madoc whipped Locke’s beautiful lyre off the boy’s hands. “How dare you break into my house in the middle of the night willing to solicit me, you pervy little shit!” – The redcap growled, taking a swipe. Locke sprang back, spun around and make a step towards the window. The Grand General followed him. “Have you no shame? I am married!” – Madoc exclaimed, “Married! Married!” – He gnarred, swinging the lyre as hard as he could. Locke, startled and panicked, apparently had stumbled the way to get out of Grand General’s bedroom. “Married!” – the redcap cried out, “And the fact that my lawful wedded wife went to see her mother does not entitle you to seducing, I mean harassing me!” This time Locke failed to avoid Madoc’s strike, the lyre hit his head with a thud.

“I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, you no good layabout!”- He exclaimed, hitting Locke again and again. “I swear, you’d never feel like breaking into decent people’s abodes and molesting the master of a house again!”

“Have mercy, Lord Grand General, Have mercy!” – the boy squeaked. “Trust me, forcing myself on you was the last thing I wanted! I came to visit your daughter Taryn!” Madoc froze, as though he was stricken lifeless with a thunderbolt. Taking this opportunity, Locke dived through the window and scampered off into the night. The Grand General sighed and picked up a sheet of paper that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket. To his displeasure, Madoc recognized his seal and Taryn’s handwriting.

“You have a son, you watch the son. You have a daughter, you watch the entire neighborhood”, - the redcap sighted and headed forward Taryn’s bedroom. It was with a heavy heart that the Grand General knocked at the door.

“Give me a second, I’m coming,” – the redcap heard his girl’s sweet voice. Thank gods you’re not, -Madoc thought, not without malice. After a while Taryn, flushed and wrapped in her far-too-fancy dressing-gown, showed up at the door. She looked every inch a demure young lady, yet the Grand General was not that easy to deceive, at least not after he had heard Locke’s stupid, dirty song.

“What’s the matter, Dad?” – Taryn asked, innocently fluttering her eyelashes. The Grand General said nothing, just showed his daughter the letter.

“You have understand, Dad, that I am not a little girl anymore. And I can’t help I’m pretty popular with boys,” – She chirped.

“Yes, I agree, you aren’t a baby girl anymore, so you must be aware you put your good reputation at risk. You can also guess your mother and I don’t want our daughters to become an object of either derisions or malicious gossip. You ought to leave the Isles of Elysium for some time, I mean until the rumors die down,” – Madoc said matter-of-factly. To his delight the mortal humbly hung her head in shame. Corners of his mouth curled in a smile – it seemed like Taryn, essentially a good girl, realized her mistake, but the truth was the young woman lowered her gaze so that her father wouldn’t see immense relief written across her face. A trip to a foreign court? Is it actually a punishment? - She though, surprised. He’ll probably send me to the Court of Termites, where I will be dancing at revels, dally with fairy knights, and most of all, Jude is not going to spoil my fun.

“Where am I supposed to go, Father,” – She asked with anticipation, hoping Madoc won’t hear happiness in her voice.

“Can't believe you’ve actually asked me this question, Taryn,” – the Grand General raised his eyebrows, “Of course you will head over to the Court of Teeth where your aunt will start teaching you the military arts and battle strategies. Admittedly Grima Mog doesn’t agree with many of my views, but she’ll certainly help you get this Locke boy out of your head and in your spare time, she’ll teach you how to cook.”

“Say what?” – Taryn exclaimed. “Anything, please, anything but that!”- She cried out.

“It’s already settled, my girl. Tomorrow you’ll pack up and go to the north. Off to bed, you need to get some sleep now,” – He said crisply and departed with the feeling of a well-completed duty.

#fota #tfota fanfic #holly black #crack fic #madoc #madoc x locke #locke #taryn duarte x locke #taryn duarte #the lost sisters #tcp #jurdannet #i am childish #jurdannetrevels #in love with a monster

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pearlofthewoods · 2 days ago

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Buffy Summers, Our Lady of Effulgence.

#After my post on how Buffy glows #I was imagining that - to Spike- looking at her would be like a religious experience #How for an immortal who forsook religion long ago she’d seem so angelic.#Heavenly. A light in in the perpetual darkness.#150 years of of nighttime #and buffy was his glimpse of the sun #‘I know I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man.’#spuffy #btvs #effulgent #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #spike btvs #buffy

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thronesfms · 2 years ago

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𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 , and may the gods have mercy on you as you play the game , elna , arice , inan , saera , myrcella , eren , and zahur ! the faceclaims of nadia parkes , aslihan malbora , mark rowley , bruna marquezine , elle fanning , emre bey , and danyal zafar are now taken . please make sure to follow each step on our checklist and submit your account within 24 hours .

* please note , none of the accepted characters will have attended the masquerade .

╰ ┈ [ nadia parkes , 24 , cis woman , she/her ] in the time of dragons , elna tyrell is entering the game of thrones. said to be cogent + meticulous , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be duplicitous + turgid. when asked about them , people are always reminded of baleful intentions concealed behind the alluring complexions referred to in troubadour trills, the deceit of a rose plucked from it’s thorn — it’s beautiful to see and as ichor stains the fingertips of the absentminded, understanding the significance and timing of being noticed and remaining out of sight. though they are the lady of highgarden , their true loyalties lie with house tyrell and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── em , 25 , est , she/her.

╰ ┈ [ aslihan malbora , 22 , cis woman , she/her ] in the time of dragons , arice stark is entering the game of thrones. said to be ardent + effulgent , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be heedless + impetuous. when asked about them , people are always reminded of tiptoeing around the boundaries of the familiar and secure more and more in order to catch a thrill, a constant hunger for something more — not influence — not force — just something that ignites a fire bright enough to defrost old habits and the protection of a coat of thick furs in the gale, the last set of footsteps left behind in the snowfields — never far behind but, each time, the last to arrive. though they are the lady of winterfell , their true loyalties lie with house stark and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── em , 25 , est , she/her.

╰ ┈ [ mark rowley , 32 , cis man , he/him ] in the time of dragons , inan umber is entering the game of thrones. said to be steadfast + intrepid , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be stoic + obstinate. when asked about them , people are always reminded of pride overrides discomfort as a man unsheathes his sword for the hundredth time — scars fade overtime but muscles hold memories of battles lost, unassuming in silence but lethal at heart — anger guides actions before the actions can even catch up to the mind, smile lines from adolescence long faded into a tight grimace. though they are the lord of the last hearth , their true loyalties lie with house umber and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── em , 25 , est , she/her.

╰ ┈ [ bruna marquezine , 26 , cis woman , she + her ] in the time of dragons , saera dagareon is entering the game of thrones. said to be insightful + protective , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be temperamental + vengeful. when asked about them , people are always reminded of a necklace from your mother that never leaves your neck , the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla , cracking your knuckles when your nervous as a means of distraction. though they are the lady of house dagareon , their true loyalties lie with house dagareon and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the prince of summer hall above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── symphony. * pen pal and ( new ) lady in waiting to daella targaryen

╰ ┈ [ elle fanning , twenty four , cis female , she + her ] in the time of dragons , myrcella lannister is entering the game of thrones. said to be alluring + polished , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be calculated + vain. when asked about them , people are always reminded of the golden light of the rising sun over the western sea, expensive silks trimmed with myrish lace, an emerald glare that could put medusa's to shame. though they are the lady of casterly rock , their true loyalties lie with house lannister and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── ari , twenty six , mst , he & they.

╰ ┈ [ emre bey , twenty three , cis male , he + him ] in the time of dragons , eren stark is entering the game of thrones. said to be affable + proficient , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be impulsive + naive. when asked about them , people are always reminded of untempered wolf's blood rushing through ice blue veins, eyes as grey as the clouds of a winter sky, the ringing of metal in the practice yard, and a summer snow that is over as soon as it begun. though they are the lord of winterfell , their true loyalties lie with house stark and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come. ── ari , twenty six , mst , he & they.

╰ ┈ [ danyal zafar, twenty-five, trans man, he/him ] in the time of dragons, zahur tarly is entering the game of thrones. said to be imaginative + observant, we can only hope that is the case as regrettably he is also well known to be forceful + reckless. when asked about him, people are always reminded of feeling ashamed for every mistake despite no one nitpicking besides yourself, ink blots on the side of your hands that won’t wash off, and the caws of ravens signaling their return. though he is an acolyte of the maesters, his true loyalties lie with his attending family and rumour has it that if given the choice he would support his blood family above all else. those of us in the shadows wish him luck and can only hope he will survive what is to come. ── eli, twenty-one, mst, he/him.

#thrones.accepted #sorry for the delay friends !!

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mythriteshah · 4 years ago

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The Sultan’s Dream

“Nyra… Glacius… It has been a journey of ten-thousand malms since we stepped foot upon Eorzea. I was but a simple lordling that wanted to make a name for himself, with nothing but my two greatest companions – my best friends – by my side. You two were always there. Through my triumphs and my failures, you were all I had to depend on.

Yes, I have my Angels to watch over and safeguard myself and the Regalia, but even they are not always around – unlike you two. ‘Tis not often I am given an opportunity to simply enjoy the scenery and share my thoughts; there are few whom I trust enough to divulge my deepest secrets. And to tell you the greatest truth of all, Nyra & Glacius… I’m tired. My time spent in Eorzea was one filled with so much turmoil that I would not even wish such a life on my worst enemies. And although I’ve brought the Regalia to a shining age of prosperity, I had still suffered a great deal since I first became an adventurer.

All this conflict is for the cloudkin. I’ve already cavorted with enough primals to live three full lives. And the repeated incursions of the Garlean Empire are evolving into quite the proverbial broken record. There are numerous other adventurers and ‘heroes’ strewn about the realm to make an army; what’s one merchant-lord in the grand scheme of things?

We’ve played our part on this grand stage of imbeciles, Glacius. Nyra. But now it is time for the curtains to descend. I am done fighting and tempting fate – I’ll grow old doing this for so long. ‘Tis time we returned back home to where we belong.”

Thiji reflected back on his speech he gave to his two most trusted companions some summers ago. While he has gained and lost much throughout his time as an adventurer, he was tolerant of the outcomes and made peace with them. Of course, there are certain moments in time he wish would have changed for the better.

His confrontation with the Harriers and their leader in the heart of Snowcloak, though successful in its objective, costed Thiji the life of the only Angel who ever loved him – Mamai Mai, who was given the title of “Lady” posthumously. She insisted on accompanying the then Mythrite Prince and his comrades-in-arms in his assault, offering her pugilistic skills to the table. Unfortunately, she was waylaid unexpectantly by what may as well have been a sub-zero blast of cold by the Lady of Frost. Thiji may have withstood the brunt of it, but Mamai was not so prepared, and she fell as a result. This was the beginning of a martial awakening within Thiji, for this event catalyzed his ascent – or descent, to some – into the path of the Dark Knight. This would later be realized in its fullest when he battled against the fourfold master of the blade in His home turf: Ravana, Lord of the Hive.

“Martial perfection”, the Amalj’aa called it. The apex of one’s skill for which all Amalj’aa seek to strive. This concept stuck close to Thiji as he eventually took up the sword and shield, continuing his adventures as a Paladin during the campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo. When he had faced off against the Lady of Bliss, whose Qalyana dreamers were coaxed into summoning their false deity due to threats from the Garlean Empire, he had received word from Nyra, who bore a message from one of his Angels informing him that his then-Sultana, Nanago Nago - whom was with child and under the care of Sarielle - had succumbed to her own avarice, consuming gratuitous amounts of aether from his weapons collected throughout his journeys during the Dragonsong War. The resulting effulgence – combined with her own innate powers as an Astrologian – caused her and their unborn child to perish in a stellar explosion, effectively removing them from existence. Another crushing loss – greater, even, than the one incurred from losing Mamai. Thanks to the laws of time and space, no one but he and his Angels know of this event. Once more unhinged, Thiji found new strength in not only his martial, but his magical prowess, effectively dispatching of the Lady of Bliss, though at the cost of his own blade and board… and his soul crystal, which he casted away with his armor following the battle.

It always seemed passing strange that the Dunesfolk nobleman from the Near East would gain new strength and prowess by leaps and bounds at the expense of some tragedy – this only further added to his eccentricity. He was a calm individual, but was incredibly vindictive – especially if one ever crossed his Angels, whom he cared for so dearly. Others may not have picked up on the cause of these… awakenings, but Thiji was more than aware of it. Some days following the Largesse, when he was alone in his Aldenard Branch office, he gazed upon a glistening blue greatsword of exquisite make. It was made by a Dragoon friend of his who had a fascination for all things Allagan, and upon the length of the blade was an engraved sentence:

“As long as you make it out of a battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream.”

More than just pretty words to the Mythrite Sultan. He had experienced many battles and came out of each intact. Even now, as the kingpin of the Higuri Regalia, Thiji had even conquered a battlefield which extended beyond the physical: the realm of high fashion. He toiled for many winters to get to where he is now; to be the titan of aesthetic and philanthropy which has earned the respect of many (and, for some reason, the ire of some). Yet therein lies the problem:

What dream remained?

Sure, Thiji Higuri was a man of ambition and intellect. But he had not enjoyed the pursuit of a dream since the assault on Djanan Qhat. Ever since he was a child, he was spellbound by a particular play, and never missed a single showing. Thiji had experienced it so many times that he could (and probably still) recite the entire script verbatim. It was a tale of romance and tragedy; of a powerful sorceress with a good heart who stood up for a broken country’s people, and the solitary man who rose up to defend her: the Sorceress’s Knight.

A dream he may have fulfilled after the Dragonsong War, but was snatched away prior to Ala Mhigo’s freedom. It was a sensitive topic, and seldom brought up in the Mythrite Sultan’s presence, lest an Angel earns his anger. Why keep the claymore, then, if he had no dream to pursue? What other meaning could the decorative sword have to Thiji if he is a man bereft of that driving force?

The evening following the Largesse, the Mythrite Sultan was no longer present at the Aldenard Branch. He had begun making for the Main Branch for reasons as of yet unknown – probably to oversee the release of the Blessed Wardrobe’s second clothing line. As usual, his Advisor, Veeveena Veena, was present in his chambers, enjoying some Winter Lassi as she gazed upon the moon with that lovely smile on her face. It was yet another peaceful night in Radz-at-Han, and though she has seen the view many times, it was no less breathtaking to behold for the Near Eastern flower.

Veeveena took a few sips of her drink as the winds suddenly began to rise. The trees amidst the emergent layer of the jungle which could be seen from the city began to sway and billow, and would eventually cause a whisper or three to blow through the balcony. The sudden shift in temperature caught her off guard as the Dunesfolk woman let out a soft gasp, stumbling somewhat, but maintained her posture as the numerous jewels and decorations on her sampot clinked like wind chimes against her body.

“This breeze…” she whispered to herself. “Could it be the North Wind? Has he arrived in Radz-at-Han?” The sheer thought of meeting the elusive debonair was too enticing to resist, and Veeveena would quickly down the last of the lassi, enduring the brain freeze that would follow. As swiftly as she could, she doffed her garb to put on some evening attire before making her flight from the Main Branch Headquarters. Forgoing the usual method of taking the bridge out from the city, she utilized her fans to conjure wind-aspected aether to propel herself upward, gliding down gracefully toward the canopy.

Meanwhile, as Veeveena made her way to the rivulet, a lone figure was seen dancing about. It was shrouded entirely thanks to the shadows cast by the dense canopy beneath Menphina’s light. The figure’s movements were seamless, effortlessly transitioning into fouettes, sliding along the waters from one side to the other as they froze over, striping the rivulet with bands of ice. All throughout was the sound of steel ringing through the night air, and that same icy wind began picking up once more as the figure gathered aetherial energy for a brief moment before soaring from one end of the river to the other in a twirling flourish. Upon reaching the apex of the jump, it performed a flawless jete, the silvery moon cloaking the figure all the while as if the spectacle was taken straight out from a painting. The concealed terpsichorean was releasing the stored energy as it did its finish, resulting in an arch of slick ice to form over the rivulet. Sticking the landing with one final twirl into a plie, it detected movement within the trees. It did not bother to take the time to discern the incoming presence, and instead fled the scene with a blinding dash into the forest floor.

When Veeveena had finally emerged, the figure she believed to be the North Wind was nowhere to be found. All that she beheld was the stark scenery of a partly-frozen rivulet, the banks dotted with shards of frost, and an arch spanning its breadth. “This is beautiful… but the North Wind could not do this,” she thought, as she felt the scintillant snow particles kissing her face. While she was awestruck at the sight, Veeveena had to report this occurrence to her peers. Without wasting another moment, she contacted the Angels at the Main Branch, who would then arrive within the bell.

The “S” Trio (Sena, Sona, Suna) and the “L” Trio (Lena, Luma, Lina) were investigating the area as Veeveena brought them up to speed on what happened to the best of her ability. Sosona was easily able to deduce that the lingering aether was not the result of a primal’s thanks to her aetherometer obtained by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (who, when asked about how she acquired them, stated that they didn’t seem to be using them anymore anyway); Lelena and Lilina, with their own unique abilities, further deduced that the culprit was not using the ambient aether or the influence of a construct; Luluma and Susuna had also come to the conclusion that the focus area was away from any wildlife or beastmen, so none were harmed from the result of this… phenomenon.

What really stood out, however, was Sesena’s observation after gazing upon the frozen arch for several minutes:

“Hey, Angels… do any of you feel… different?” she asked them. “Miss Veeveena?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I thought I was the only one who felt such… emotion from this scene, so I did not address it.”

“Miss Veeveena’s right… I don’t feel all that chipper,” Lilina commented, holding a hand to her heart. “It’s not… aether sickness, but when I gaze upon this scene, I’m seemingly overcome with… sorrow. But it’s a sort of… beautiful sorrow – like a dying maiden being held in her lover’s arms before the last flames of life fade from her eyes…”

The other Angels absorbed Lilina’s words, taking in the scenery, watching the snow particles dance in the air. The longer they remained, the more these senses seemed more profound. They may have been involved in many conflicts both small and large, but the Angels were no strangers to emotion – especially ones as palpable as what they were experiencing. They felt tranquility… yet sadness; bliss… yet loss. It was as if they were traversing a thin line between positive and negative emotion.

“I’ve heard tales of his prowess, Angels, but I don’t think even the North Wind is capable of something like this,” Sesena commented.

“Whomever it is,” Sosona began, “they’re damn good at expressing themselves.” The Angels remained for a while longer, until the icy spectacle would be whisked away by an errant gust of wind, freeing the rivulet from its frozen state in a cloud of diamond dust.

From atop the city in the Main Branch Headquarters, a Lalafell woman veiled in mythril blue and silver watched silently from her vantage point. Lady Mimizo, the Valide Sultan, was surprisingly awake during this bell, her face obscured by one of her fans. But for what reason was she spying on the Angels?

As Nyra flew to her side, Mimizo looked over her shoulder to find a slumbering Thiji, who seemed to be well into his sleep, a rare smile of content made visible on his face. His mother would grin in kind as she gave a kiss to the owl’s cheek.

“[I am indebted to you, Nyra. Thank you for keeping this secret for so long. But soon, the Angels will have to know. Until then, pray hold your tongue a while longer],” Mimizo whispered to Nyra in their native tongue. She would bow her head before taking wing, flying off into the night sky. Mimizo gazed upon the vestiges of the ice particles swirling into the heavens, enjoying the sight for a moment before quietly leaving her son’s bed chambers. She would return to accompany her husband before the Angels would make their way back to report this event to the other branches.

“May your dreams bring you the bliss you so rightfully deserve, my beloved son…”

#thiji higuri #ffxiv #higuri regalia #ffxiv a realm reborn #balmung #lalafell #endwalker #thavnair #hannish #radz at han #thavnairian #short story #dancer

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sunnydaleherald · 4 years ago

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter - Monday, April 5th

Tara's dorm room. Willow is sitting on the bed playing with a small black and white kitten in her lap. Tara is sitting on the large chest at the foot of the bed. Willow: Oh. I keep thinking "Okay, that's the cutest thing ever," and then she does something cuter and completely resets the whole scale. Tara: Did you see her yawn earlier? Willow: Yes! I thought I was going to die. She picks up the kitten to look into its eyes. Willow: (babying voice) Oh, I love you, Miss Kitty Fantastico!

~~The Yoko Factor~~

The Sunnydale Herald is currently looking for a few new editors. For more information, send us an ask (on Tumblr) or post a reply to this post (on Livejournal or Dreamwidth)!

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Silly Ogres, Eggs Are Not For You (Buffy, Willow, Devil May Cry crossover, T) by madimpossibledreamer

Behind the veil and back (Willow/Tara, T) by Bl4ckHunter

Christmas (Willow/Tara, G) by theacedennis

Five times she calls him William, and one time he asks her to stop (Buffy/Spike, not rated) by VampireValentine

Legends Comparing Life Stories (Buffy, Dawn, Supernatural crossover, T) by TH (TornThorn)

Chats with the non-alive S7E7 - a WWS story (Xander/Anya, T) by absolutefem

Behind the veil and back (Willow/Tara, T) by Bl4ckHunter

Advice from a friend (Riley & Forrest, K+) by jediknigh5

[Chaptered Fiction]

Have a little Faith..., Chapter 1 (Faith & Tara, T) by BuffyBot3000

Foxy Lady, Chapter 13 (Ensemble, Pokémon crossover, T) by dogbertcarroll

The Sun, Chapter 6 (Willow/Tara, T) by heckate

Two Spikes, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, T) by mimeTEC

The lost episode S7E23, Chapter 8 (Willow/Tara, T) by absolutefem

In Another Life, Chapter 9 (Willow/Tara, T) by riah alice drake

Suddenly You're Mine, Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Dorians Kitten

Walking in the Sand, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Axell

Child of Shadow, Chapter 14 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Sigyn

Out of Our Minds, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by AlloSpoike

Daylight Burning, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by MissLuci

The Naked City, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by bewildered

Rewind Love, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Blade Redwind

Marked, Chapter 12 (Faith/Dean Winchester, Supernatural crossover, FR21) by Holly

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Some of my favorite Drusilla outfits (Drusilla, worksafe) by crabuncle

Video: spike x Buffy (btvs) - trouble by effulgent edits

Video: Buffy & Spike | From Hate to Love by GossipVal1

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8 by äzỏŹ дĹShbΉ

[Reviews & Recaps]

Buffy rewatch: S02E06 by three-blogs-in-a-trenchcoat

I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m not jiving with Buffy Season 7 by rainandscarves

Reacting to Reactions! AtS Season 1 continued by Stoney

Reacting to Reactions! - BtVS Season 4 continued by Stoney

Dead Man's Party Makes me Rage (spoilers inside) by iamjustjenna

Video: MVM-How Buffy broke the vampire genre by Jane Talks Reel

Video: Buffy, Ethics, & Seeing Red: Spike versus the Whedon Writers in Season Six by Partially Examined Kubrick

Podcast: The Initiative S4 E7 by Buffy and the Art of Story

[Recs]

I want to read fanfictions by toomuchaffectionlove

Video: Buffy & Angel | Can You Love Me Most by nexusBOS recced by Ann

[Community Announcements]

I started a Buffyverse Fic author’s support and advice group by killian-spey

[Fandom Discussions]

If they wanted a pet, what would they get? answered by council-of-readers

I’ve been rewatching Buffy and dang did I forget how dirty they did some of the characters writing wise by ghastlygalestorm

I think they really should have included Willow’s thoughts about keeping Tara close to Buffy and therefore danger in the show by lqvewillow

Does Spike wear that same red shirt almost everyday? answered by prose-for-hire

If Faith just got the love and affection by faithlehaneapologist

Did Spike really care for Dawn? by darkspook

AtS S1 - A Strong or Stuttering Start continued by BtVS fan and others

Angel investigations vs horror monsters by xisnext

After finishing a rewatch of both Buffy and Angel I genuinely think Angel is the vastly superior show by nixon469

Buffy's resurrection was masterfully done by precita

Can Angel lose his soul if he finds Happines in a different way other than sex? by KirinoNakano

Why do you like Spuffy? by Eggo999

Favorite relationship Buffy had? by Eggo999

What's your favorite episode of every season? by Eggo999

Unnamed uncredited extra in most of seasons 2 and 3, anyone know who she is? by mvandemar

Could Tara have also been autistic/asperger or on the spectrum in some level? by precita

I know how charming Spike can be by AlmostAPrayer

Anyone notice how the same street set with the coffee shop and Magic box is used in Seasons 4-6? by precita

I find it so fun reading the relationship wiki for each character by LightBlueSky55

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #angel the series #ats

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ambidextrousarcher · 5 years ago

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Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews: Episode 8- The wedding proposal disguised as war (faux-war)

Tagging @chaanv, @shaonharryandpannisim, @medhasree, @avani008, @butchcaroldanvers, @mayavanavihariniharini, @iamnotthat, @enigma-the-mysterious

This episode begins on a dramatic war footing. Since I saw the precap attached with the last episode, I know that a war is not happening, because everyone’s scared shitless of Bhishm, the paragon of perfection. The army of Gandhar rolls out in good order, accompanied by the shouting of orders from the senapati. For some reason, the Rajguru is also walking with the King and the senapati. Aren’t Brahmanas supposed to stay away from war? Except Dron, but he’s a special case. In the background, some dudes are doing push-ups. What for? Idk. “Close the doors! What is the news?” “It’s a huge army, flowing like the Indus. They have food too, they’re prepared for attack.” In what world is an opposing army described like this, really? “Whose army is it?” “I could not see the chariot of a King, Maharaj, but I could see the chariot on the lead.” Okay, obviously, it’s Bhishm. Let’s see how he’s flattered here. “White horsed-chariot, like it’s the chariot of Surya Narayan himself…” Does the Sun God have white horses on his chariot? I’ve never heard of that. Arjun does, though, that I do recall. The camera focuses on white galloping horses. “The chariot has a white flag, too, Maharaj.” The camera focuses on the aforementioned flag. It looks suspiciously like what will be the flag of Indraprastha in the future, I need to check that out again. The man riding on the chariot is as effulgent as the Sun. He’s wearing decorated armor, his arm muscles like trees, his eyes are like twin fireballs, he also has the symbol of the Moon God on his forehead.” While this description is going on, the camera focuses on each mentioned part of Bhishm. You know, I’m not sure if the man describing Bhishm is actually from Gandhar. How can I know he isn’t a spy? I mean, no one describes enemies like this. Seriously, the man sounds like he’s drooling over Bhishm. “This warrior is none but the best of the Kauravas, the son of Maharaj Shantanu and Mahamata Ganga” this from the Rajguru. “Bhishm.” The King. Bhishm theme plays, camera focusing on him and his army. Almost three minutes of the entire episode, more than 10% of it, has been spent on his entry alone. Camera focuses on Gandhari striding through a hall. “Mata, what is happening?” “Have you not heard? Hastinapur has attacked Gandhar.” “What will happen now?” Another lady says “Gandhar’s army can’t stand against Hastinapur. Gandhar’s forts will be breached in days. Rivers of blood will flow. We will be ash.” (Side note: Rivers of blood will flow/Rakht ki daarayen bahengi seems to be a favorite line. Arjun says it too, after Cheerharan, when he does a title drop.) “Admitting defeat before actual defeat is not worthy.” The Queen says. “Forgive me, Rajmata. However, Gandhar has not seen a war in many years…” She goes off on a tirade about what happens to defeated cities in war. It’s too much, as there isn’t gonna be a war anyway, so I’m desisting from writing the whole thing. Oh, that lady is Arshi, Shakuni’s wife in this show, as Gandhari calls her Bhabhishree. “What do we do now?” Gandhari asks. “What women do in war. Wait for darkness, and then…” Gandhari strides to the front and takes a sword from its sheath. “Bhabhi, lift a weapon. I am joining the war. It terrifies me as much as darkness, I was told by Gurudev that to get rid of fears, we must face them.” Why do you sleep in a room full of lights then, lady? “When death is certain, I shall die in the battle field.” Shit. Krishna Gyaan. This is about fear of loss. Skip, skip, skip. “The time to fly a flag is here, Maharaj. Which should it be? Red for war or white for surrender?” “Dishonor or death. Both of them seem blacker than ever to me.” “We have to furl one, Maharaj.” “The army has stopped, Maharaj!” “Amazing. They have furled the yellow flag of friendship.” It is rather amazing that Bhishm came with an army instead of a deputation, the minister is absolutely right. “Open the gates!” The King and his entourage go down to meet Bhishm. “If he wanted to talk, why the army?” Good question, senapati ji. “He must have come to exhibit his talent to us,” But, mantri ji, isn’t that done alone? What does he need an army for? “But why?” asks the King. Good question, again. “We have not offended Hastinapur. After drunk kid’s death (he doesn’t call him drunk kid, obviously), for 25 years, the throne has been empty. Yet, we have not attacked them or made treaties with their enemies. Why the need for this in front of friends?” “The show of strength is done in front of friends only when you need something from them.” This episode is dragging so much. ALL Of IT TILL NOW IS NON-CANON. And there are still 13 freaking minutes left! Aaargh! “What does a warrior like Bhishm need from us?” What else, Mr. Doofus King? Your daughter who has the boon of 100 children. Bhishm theme plays as he dismounts. Saubala joins his hands, his soldiers kneel. Mr. Paragon of Perfection lays a hand on Saubala’s shoulder. “A King should join his hands only to God. He should greet a friend and punish a foe, only in that is his pride,” he says gently. “Your radiance is not less than any God’s, son of Ganga.” NO! Someone please rescue me from this whitewashing, should I call it glitterwashing? Of course, he’s modest as ever. “I am no King, merely the servant of Hastinapur. My place is not above you.” “Your talents are more than any King’s, son of Ganga.” “The question of talent comes when there is war. I am here to meet my friend, for deepening our friendship” What the hell did you bring your army for then? Happy music plays. “To welcome a friend like you is Gandhar’s good luck.” Saubala and Bhishm hug, as the soldiers cheer him. Gandhari runs into a chamber. “Bhabhi, Bhishm is here for the hand of friendship.” “I heard.” “What do you think? Is he pretending friendship and planning war?” “I’ve heard that Bhishm never lies.” “I’ve heard that there is none stronger than him in the entire of Aryavrat.” Aaah! If I hear more, my ears will bleed. “Yes, Sukhda. Even Parashuram couldn’t defeat him.” “A strong man always seems calm, Bhabhi. Let’s see if he’s actually strong or we have heard tall stories.” “I want to ask what he needs from Gandhar,” says Arshi. Scene changes. The men are reclining in thrones, along with the Queen. “Disperse.” The Queen commands her servants. “Such a beautiful welcome and love fills my heart.” Gandhari is at the entry of the room, peeking in. “I am sure you have educated your daughter and daughter in law with such courtesy also.” Bhishm, finally getting to the point, right? Phew. “What can a little country like Gandhar give to a nation as large and powerful as Kururashtra?” “A future. And happiness in the future. You might know that no King has ever attacked you because you have the protection of Kururashtra. If Kururashtra and Gandhar become one, it will be good for both of us.” “Such a thing occurs between two equal Kingdoms. Gandhar serves Hastinapur, son of Ganga.” What kind of a king are you, Saubala? I’m sure canon Saubala is not this much of a doormat. CANON FAIL. “That is why I asked for a relationship, not friendship,” says Bhishm. “A marriage proposal.” FINALLY, after 14 minutes of posturing, we get to the DAMN POINT! Gandhari, still standing at the entry, looks at Sukhdha. The other adults also look at each other. “Your daughter Gandhari is famous for her beauty and virtues in the entire of Aryavrat. We have a marriage proposal for her. Please do not deny us.” “But you have taken an oath of celibacy, have you not, son of Ganga?” asks the Queen. Thankfully, he has. Bhishm looks down, then starts to laugh. “The princess will wed a Prince of Kururashtra, not me.” Happiness blooms everywhere. “Gandhari is like a daughter to me.” “I think this is a right thing to do.” Says the Queen. “Where can we find a better husband than Prince Pandu?” “Dhritrashtra.” Everyone except Bhishm looks stricken. I can kinda understand them. “Where did Pandu get into this? He’s the younger son. Dhritrashtra is the elder. Maharaj, I am thinking of Dhritrashtra. Think about it. Even a sculptor’s wife can have 100 children (wait, how? People don’t live for a 100 years, how the hell can anyone have 100 children right off the bat?) but they will be building sculptures, not a Kingdom. It is not the number of children that matters, what matters is their virtue. Not everyone has the luck of giving birth to 100 sons of Kuruvansh.” Ugh. Even typing out this sentence is making me feel dirty. “But Mahamahim, my daughter is beautiful, knowledgeable and a warrior. Dhritrashtra, you know what he is.” Ah, ableism is the issue. I don’t blame her, tho. It’s kinda a human flaw. Bhishm stands. “Dhritrashtra is also skilled in all things. You do not know his abilities, Maharani Sudharma.” He goes on to give an excessive intro of Dhritrashtra, adding that Gandhari will be very lucky to have him. The scene changes. Gandhari and her maid are laughing together. “Where are you going? It is not time yet to go far away.” “Let her go. My sister-in-law is entitled to her pride. There’s a proposal for her from such a kingdom, after all.” “There’s nothing like that, Bhabhi!” “It’s alright even if it is like that, Gandhari. No Kingdom is as rich as Hastina in the world!” “I have heard the same, Princess. I keep trying to imagine, how Hastinapur shall be…” “Hastinapur…” trails Gandhari. “If you form ties with us, you shall be Emperor Suabala instead of a King.” “You mean, you are here to take advantage of us by showing your strength.” “I am here to make the royal family of Gandhar as my family. There is no question of taking advantage in a family.” Ah, veiled threats. Scene changes. “So what if it’s a big Kingdom?” asks Gandhari. “Our Gandhar is not weak. Regardless, a marriage is not with a Kingdom, it’s with a Prince.” Gandhari bites her finger. She’s clearly said too much. “Already fantasizing about hubby dear?” Ugh. Too sweet for me. “Bhabhi!” Gandhari blushes. Scene changes again. “As I see it, their match is made in heaven,” says Bhishm. “We do not wish to force you.” Ah, hypocrisy too. “Clear your doubts before you make a decision.” Saubala walks to his throne. “So, what do you decide?” Scene changes to Gandhari once more. “The Prince of Hastinapur is like Indra among men.” Indra again. “Kururashtra’s men and women worship their Princes like Gods.” That they do in canon too. Scene changes again, camera focusing on the back of a man. “Bhabi, what’s his name?” asks Gandhari. “What are you going to do knowing his name? Women don’t call their husbands by their name.” “Tell me his name, Bhabhi.” “Dhritrashtra.” “Prince Dhritrashtra”. The camera focuses on Dhritrashtra flexing his muscles. Precap: Dhritrashtra faces an elephant. “How will I tell my daughter that I traded her happiness for the people? When Shakuni comes to know, what will he do?” I am confused. Gandhari seemed happy enough. ANYWAY. THIS ENTIRE EPISODE IS NON-CANON. The only thing mentioned in canon is that Bhishm approached Gandhar for Gandhari’s hand with a deputation (not an army), he got the same. Shakuni was actually happy about it.

I’ve already reached 10k words of roasting StarBharat. Seems this is a longer exercise than Antraatman, which is a literal novel. Imagine the sheer number of canon fails in this thing.

#bhishm #mr paragon of perfection #saubala #sudharma #arshi #reminds me of ipkknd #gandhari #sukhdha #the first episode that's completely non-canon #don't worry there are many more to come #sarcastic starbharat reviews #scribbler gets salty

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