#renew dominion

[ninibeingdelulu]

How he kiss you ft. michael kaiser

A/N: had to do a longer version for my husband🙌🏽

Michael Kaiser's kisses start out slow and deliberate, projecting the same cold, calculated aura reflecting his narcissistic personality. There's no fumbling hesitation or warmth as those chiseled features remain stoically poised for the initial contact.

Instead when his lips finally meet yours the motions are precisely choreographed with dominating pressure laying an unmistakable possessive claim upon you. As if methodically mapping out every nuance of sensation and response elicited while subjugating you under his total control and singular focus without yielding an inch.

His hands remain strategically poised grasping your jaw to tilt viewing angles suiting his design rather than any reciprocation or mutual passion. Motives solely aligned towards extracting evidence affirming your complete desire and adoration of his perfected physique and techniques according to rigidly exacting standards allowing no deviations.

Because underneath that chiseled stoic exterior constantly striving to exemplify unattainable perfection - lurks the gnawing insecurities Michael projects through dehumanizing objectification of any partner into a disposable accessory validating his superiority complexes for temporary confidence boosts.

Only once systematically satiated that initial ego validation does any slight easing from the rigid disciplined technique allow more heated passion manifesting through rougher aggression. As if suddenly given permission to devolve from refined control into savagely claiming his entitlement with bruising intensity bordering violence.

Kisses rapidly shedding any semblance of artfulness degenerating into messy desperation propelled by raging inner daemons demanding continual affirmation that he remains the ultimate desired object of envy. Even if that means utterly dominating and devouring you into complete undoing while clinging onto falsehoods perpetuating those narcissistic fantasies of godhood.

Regardless of how many times repeated the ultimate conclusion remains confirming his dominion erasing any glimpses of underlying vulnerabilities Michael cannot allow unmasked no matter how transiently manifested. Until the next ego crash craving catalyzes reconstructing impenetrable facades renewed through these cold, calculated reclamations of grandiose validation once more.

[smileyoongle]

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

A/N- Hi guys, this chapter is not essentially a chapter in the series. It is more like an explanation of the current world order in the series' timeline. Please remember, there is going to be no taglist for this series, so keep your notifications on. Okay bye :-)

The Exodus: Unveiling the Origins and Consequences of the Night-Walker Dominion

By Elara Claxon

July 14th 1324

Three thousand years ago, the world witnessed a cataclysmic event known as The Exodus. It was a day when Hell, overwhelmed by an unprecedented number of sinners, could no longer contain them. In an act of desperation, the Devil unleashed these tormented souls upon the Earth, transforming them into vampires. They emerged from their graves, giving birth to an era of terror and bloodshed. These night-walkers, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood, wreaked havoc across the world, decimating entire populations and forcing humanity into hiding.

For years, humans struggled to survive, constantly on the run, seeking refuge from their relentless pursuers. In the midst of this chaos, they began to uncover the weaknesses of these creatures and devise means to counter their strength. It was during this dark period that two self-chosen leaders emerged—Theron for the humans and Aristarchus for the vampires. These leaders, whose names have since become legendary, met in secret to negotiate a fragile peace.

At the time, the world was divided into thirteen nations. Theron and Aristarchus brokered an agreement to partition these nations based on mutual understanding, creating a semblance of order amid the chaos. For a while, this uneasy truce held, allowing both humans and night-walkers to coexist in their respective territories.

However, not all vampires were content with the division. A faction of them, hungry for absolute power, revolted against the established order. They waged a brutal campaign, overthrowing the human-controlled kingdoms one by one until only a single human nation remained. Today, the world is divided into twelve vampire kingdoms and one human kingdom, a stark testament to the aftermath of the great night-walker revolt.

To govern their expanding dominion, the monsters established a ruling council known as the Domini, composed of the seven oldest and most powerful night-walkers. These ancient beings, with centuries of wisdom and strength, assumed control over the night-walker kingdoms. They decreed that one vampire would be chosen as Emperor, tasked with overseeing all thirteen kingdoms. Despite this, the human kingdom remained autonomous, refusing to acknowledge the night-walker emperor’s rule.

The Domini also codified a set of laws and principles in a tome called "The New Order." This book became the cornerstone of vampire governance, outlining the rights and responsibilities of both the Primas and the Foundlings. Primas, the pure-bred who were awakened from the grave by Hell or some miracle, held a revered status. Foundlings, created from turned humans, were often treated as outcasts within their own society.

In recent times, tensions have reached a boiling point. The humans, determined to reclaim their lost territories and sovereignty, have incited revolts across the vampiric kingdoms. These uprisings have led to widespread destruction and loss of life on both sides. Cities lie in ruins, and the streets run red with the blood of humans and night-walkers alike.

The world now stands on the brink of another great upheaval. The delicate balance maintained by The New Order is crumbling under the weight of renewed conflict. As humans fight to regain their power and night-walkers struggle to maintain their dominance, the future of this fractured world hangs in the balance. The Domini, once thought to be the unassailable rulers of the night-walker kingdoms, find their authority challenged at every turn. The ancient treaties and laws that once held the world together are now mere relics of a forgotten era.

In this tumultuous landscape, the fate of humanity and night-walker-kind alike is uncertain. The echoes of The Exodus still reverberate through the ages, a grim reminder of the chaos that can ensue when the balance of power is disrupted. As both sides prepare for the battles to come, one thing is clear: the world as it once was will never be the same again.

Stay vigilant, stay informed, and may we never lose hope.

For information, or to report news, please find us at:

23 Shadowed Alley, Raven's Cross, Valoria

The Eyewitness Post | Keeping the Light of Truth Alive in the Darkest Times

[astrogre]

The Planet that is Pluto

Words: power, control, obsession, the underworld, intensity, intense emotions, intense everything, domination, taboo, depth, sex, repressed emotions, shadow self, the survivor, detective, alchemy, dark arts, superiority, fear, bravery

Astrological placements associated with Pluto: Scorpio, 8th house, Aries

Character I associate with Pluto: Femto-Berserk

The way Griffith sacrifices the souls of his people to transform into Femto and have dominance over others. What he does to Casca as well. He is the epitome of an extreme Plutonic character.

Honourable mentions: Homelander- The Boys, Laurie- Euphoria, Makima- Chainsaw man, Erik- Phantom of the Opera, Gaara-Naruto

Places: hades underworld realm, chess tournament’s, hell, anywhere with hierarchy aka corporate workplace, government institutions (because of power play/dynamics), caves, underground tunnel, escape rooms, secret society hidden meetings, nightmares,

Random somewhat astrologically influenced things that personally remind me of Pluto: Rigger, black grapes, death by strangulation, wine, babushka dolls, long nails, snakes, a public executor in the medieval ages, chess, cults, BDSM, the colour black, power play

Song I associate with Pluto:

Listen to this while you read it to immerse yourself in Pluto energy and surroundings, also read the lyrics too it’s very much Pluto energy

For you Pluto dominants:

(Pluto 1st house, Pluto 8th house, Pluto conjunct asc, Pluto conjunct Sun, many strong aspects to Pluto & Honourable mentions: 8th house stellium, Scorpio Stellium.)

This is entire post is dedicated to you

Plutos Traits:

Regenerative and transformative

Think of a snake shedding skin to become anew or when you’ve overcome and left abusive relationships and you’re back in your self confidence. Pluto is a phoenix bird it has a DEEP urge for regeneration and can transform itself from its own ashes into a diamond, Pluto itself is the pressurising machine. Say ashes represent the shittiest moments of our life e.g abuse, relationships, trauma, Pluto has the ability as an alchemist to use this horrible event to make something of more value, it transmutes basic base metal to gold. Transmutes pain and death to renewal. Pluto sees trauma as fuel. Without ashes (intense emotions or experiences) Pluto cannot show up and do it’s thing. Check where you have Pluto in the houses, this may be where you can get hurt most but it’s purposefully for a reason you’re supposed to use those intense emotions and make something beautiful of them

Eg. Pluto in 11th houser may have intense traumatic social circles or communities that ostracise, diminish, use or control them. As a Pluto 11th houser YOU have dominion here, you guys are social climbers the real life underdogs to Royalty stories. Use their exploitation of you as fuel, motivation and a resources to your success.

(Kylie and Kris Jenner have this placement and we all know how they absorb the drama, publicity and negativity from others like a champ, embody it, all to gain constant relevancy, power, influence and fame in their careers. Scandals make their profits go up like the whole Jordan woods drama and using it as marketing to do a sale on Kylie Jenner lip kit, Kris having their children’s private lives scrutinised and publicly available all so her family can gain relevance and wider opportunities)

Dominance and control

The reason why Pluto is known for obsession is because it urges to have the upper hand, Pluto won’t argue when defied he simply acts unbothered but exacts revenge in a cold manner, it wants to dominate and will go to extreme lengths to do that, it will go at all costs, the obsession manifests in an illogical, ego based way think of Gabriel Agreste from miraculous ladybug- how he prioritises triumphing ladybug over saving his wife, that kind of obsession. In my personal opinion I see Pluto as the second ego after Sun. It’s better if I explain by comparison… Think of powerful and dominating planets like Saturn and Mars, imagine if you owed each of these planets money and were in deep debt with them this is how they would respond:

Saturn: would employ you to do gruelling long hard work for many years, no retirement so that you’d die working on their behalf. If you refuse or die before debts are paid they would simply pass your debt onto your children make them do it to repay the money you owe. (If you’ve seen Chainsaw man, Saturn would work/treat the debtors children kind of like the way Denji was treated he had to pay off his fathers debts; in burdensome conditions where his health was being compromised for repayment.)

Mars: if you owed money to mars and were not able to pay it back, mars would most probably threaten you, beat you up, do a drive by shooting, physically destroy your assets like keying cars, graffiti and bulldozing your house, may be very aggressive think of loan sharks and mafia

Pluto: Now if you owe Pluto money.. Pluto is the kind to go further than mars, he would make you pay for it personally, in a way that can be grotesque/dark think of maybe rue from euphoria. When she owed money she just randomly woke up in a strangers bed and the house being filled with men implying she had been sex trafficked. Pluto is very wicked, obsessive and can be unsympathetic. It would not care if you feel pain and regret for inconveniencing them, it does this to put you in your place and prefers you repay the money with your suffering. Pluto may not even want the money anymore but rather the control and prioritises the debtors torture or will get the losses at your expense. eg. Sex trafficking you, have you wake up on the road after being unconscious and notice your kidneys are missing, hold you hostage, torture you, sell your body parts at an elite auction house, make detestable arrangements behind your back like forced marriage etc. This is how Pluto exacts its power and control.

Power obsessed

Pluto gets what it wants and exerts control over others while it does. That’s why it’s described as “scary” and associated with fear, a combination of ego and revenge. This is why wherever Pluto is in your houses it can show where you are intimidating, relentless and powerful and what you have constantly been resiliently obsessing over for years.

E.g Pluto 1st housers feel the desperate need to be in control and that they are seen to be dominant. They’re kind to get insulted if you call them “cute” or make jokes about their authority. (Leonardo DiCaprio, Beyoncé, Britney Spears and Justin Beiber all have this placement and came out of being typecasted or known as the “sweet good girl/boy” stereotype to powerful and to be taken with caution.

Taboo

Pluto is labelled taboo because it inserts itself into light AND darkness. It doesn’t mind and in fact rather enjoys exploring sex, defiance, repressed emotions, any subject that the general public refuse to speak of, Pluto relishes in that. I remember as a child there was a myth that I was told. It was that if you say “Bloody Mary” three times in the mirror you’ll get haunted and a ghost will appear to attack you, while other children may scream and dread in fear to even think of doing such an act, Pluto ruled natives may be the kind when alone to quickly run into the bathroom turn off the lights and try it out alone. That’s why they’re known to participate in dark arts, have interest in disturbing topics, they are fearless, like the challenge and find the minuscule information available on it a challenge. It’s not that Pluto ONLY has interest in taboo topics it’s just that it doesn’t hold as much fear of it as everyone else, talking about sex or death to Pluto is like talking about the weather, it’s no different, after all it’s just another subject.

The reason why they’re so fascinated by such topics and affiliated with them is because they see wasted energy and potential in these dark topics, abandoned resources that nobody wants meaning there’s more for them, and that’s why Pluto wants to explore it. Pluto isn’t wasteful. If Pluto were to kill a cow it would use its meat for food, bones for medicine, skin for rugs and teeth for necklaces, not a part of it would go unused. It gets excited when someone hits them because it means they can hit back.

Hidden self

Pluto is the hidden shadow part of yourself self you may want to hide and refuse to acknowledge. This is because as mentioned before Pluto loves the darkness and inside the subconscious there’s the good stuff and the bad stuff, our subconscious holds our fears, our beliefs, our desires and Pluto brings out all that stuff as conversation starters and wants to explore it and use it as fuel. This is why Pluto is known to be triggering because to be honest who wants to remember the fact they are afraid of touch and their abuser that caused that? But Pluto does. Pluto wants to remember them, Pluto wants to bring it up, Pluto wants to know who they are, Pluto wants to get revenge on them and put them in their place. Wherever Pluto is in your houses can also show how you can exact revenge so that it hits hard on others.

E.g. Pluto 4th house can suggest native can use powerful resources in their family, or their family has status, control, authority over others and can utilise it against others to contribute to their downfall.

(Megan Markle has this placement and she certainly lives up to it. She’s able to use the traumatic experiences she endured as a royal as fuel against them and is slowly contributing to the downfall of the monarchy by using her name and her affiliation to the royal family).

How to activate Pluto

Pluto can only transform and use its powers of Alchemy, transformation, control and power if you tap into its energy otherwise Plutos potential will be ignored. The same with any placement really. If you have a Venus 1st house, you want to be a beauty influencer but don’t put yourself out there, it’s energy will never manifest and remain as wasted potential.

The way you’re supposed to use Pluto is by confronting your fears. When you are most afraid, do it anyway.

E.g. Pluto 7th housers when you’re laying in bed and you’re thinking of that traumatic experience in your relationships instead of suppressing it, allow Pluto to remember it and allow that level of disrespect you feel to take action in the way of your Pluto sign.

(Shakira, Cardi B and Megan Thee stallion all have this placement and exacted revenge on their partners in different ways, Shakira and Cardi did it by artistically exposing them in music and making money form it, Megan did it the same way and also by lawsuits, doing public interviews on torey Lanes and pressing charges)

Anything Pluto touches is where you hold the most power in your birth chart. Usually people say how come i’m not good in that area?? It’s because you’ve not utilised Pluto. It’s because you won’t let Pluto explore it and turn your tribulations into gold.

What can Pluto tell us:

The best way of how you can exact revenge for it to successfully hit hard on others.

Where your wasted potential is. Basically where you allow your fears, desires, trauma to lay dormant instead of using that intense energy for Pluto transformation

Where we get excited when someone hits us because it means we can hit back. (Applies only if native is used to Plutos energy, otherwise you won’t be able to hit back. You’ll know if it’s active if when you have challenges under the themes of the house Plutos in you trust you can fight back like you have in the past)

Where you hold the most power

What you obsess over

How you deal with fears, death, change and trauma

Which part of your life you experience extreme transformation and changes

What you like to fight for

I will most likely be making a series that incorporates all of this for each house. However due to the fact that I am unfortunately very detail oriented this may take a while for me to commit to.

Pluto Series:

Pluto in 1st House

[stirringwinds]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[desmonddemesne]

Gravity Falls Tarot - Part 3 of 3

Assignment of every Major Arcana to someone/something in the Gravity Falls Universe! Broken into parts for coherence.

In this section we cover the final seven cards from The Devil to The World.

Part 1 | Part 2

15.) The Devil - Bill Cipher

Keywords: Obsession, addiction, dependence, excess, and selfish

Through The Devil we find Baphomet ruling over his dominion, the greedy and unfulfilled. Bill Cipher is an ancient evil, a demon from another dimension who has long attempted to conscript humanity into fulfilling his ambitions. From a young age Bill had yearned for more, for the stars themselves. Eventually, he liberated himself at the cost of his world and his family.

Despite his immense power Bill was lonely and collected others willing to trade it all for a chance at the stars. In comes one Stanford Pines, the human who will, after eons of failures, succeed at constructing the device Bill has sought.

Even after Weirdmaggedon, after usurping control of time itself, Bill was stifled, and turned on by the humans he'd attempted to enslave. Bill sat atop a throne of lies, bringing chaos to the world, but even he could not control the fire he started.

16.) The Tower - The Portal

Keywords: Upheaval, destruction, trauma, chaos, and punishment

The Tower crumbles under the weight of natural forces...or is the lighting divine retribution? The Portal in Gravity Falls contributes to much of the mystery and misery of the narrative. In reverse we learn; Stan gathers the journals to start the portal, Ford constructs the portal alongside McGucket with the latter deeming it too dangerous, and Bill Cipher yearns for the portals completion.

For Stan the portal is atonement, amends made for pushing his brother into it thirty years ago. For Ford the portal is ascension, a manifestation of his genius and dedication towards discovering the truth. For Bill the portal is escape, release from his 2D confines and the power to exert his will across the cosmos.

Whether its through its construction, activation, or destruction the Portal embodies facing the truth that truth changes, and not all thats revealed is glamorous.

17.) The Star - Mabel Pines

Keywords: Hope, inspiration, rejuvanation, renewal, and blessing

The Star stands in the wake of The Towers collapse both fragile and faithful. Mabel, the shooting star herself, is the second half of our dynamic duo with Dipper - his equal and opposite. Mabel is a force of passion, comedy, and optimism embodying all the frivolities of childhood we grow to miss.

When Weirdmaggedon strikes Mabel is at her lowest, reckoning with the end of summer and the threat of abandonment by her other half. Consumed by these fears she falls to Bills temptations and withdraws into a world of bliss constructed to guard her heart. Only Dipper, earnest and resolute, could provide his sister the push needed to face reality head on.

Mabel is inspiring to many and the love she carries is integral to restoring Stan's memories after his great sacrifice. When her cup runs dry Dipper will be there to fill it for her, and that bond will carry both twins into the future.

18.) The Moon - Robbie Valentino

Keywords: Confusion, illusion, clarity, darkness, and phases

The Moon fortells a parting of the clouds, an opportunity to see through the shroud of night. Robbie is Gravity Falls' resident angsty teen, wrapped in black clothing and sour expressions. As a teenager he is naturally in transition with childhood behind him and adulthood on the horizon.

After breaking up with Wendy, brought about by his own insecurities leading him to rely on hypnotism, Robbie is seen listless and forlorn. It's not until Robbie himself is exposed to magical forces that he begins a relationship with Tambry. Through the Love God's potion his eyes are opened to a chance at happiness he'd otherwise overlooked.

"But you were right, just needed to move on. I'm...happy. Weird, huh?"

19.) The Sun - The Stan Twins

Keywords: Happiness, vitality, success, radiance, and energy

The Sun is the rediscovery of ones fervor, looking through the world with fresh eyes and zeal. The Stan twins did not have a perfect childhood, but in one another they found comradery able to weather the toughest storm.

As the boys grew their relationship strained, burdened by insecurities thrust upon them by their surroundings. At a critical moment everything collapsed and for decades the pieces lay untouched. By the end of Gravity Falls the brothers have taken the pieces of their relationship and reconstructed the boat from their childhood, the Stan O' War II.

Things won't be the same, but that doesn't mean they'll be worse - The Sun will rise again.

20.) Judgement - Time Baby

Keywords: Awakening, purpose, reckoning, finality, and responsibility

Judgement signals the curtain call. The last of his kind Time Baby rules over the dominion of time, leading officers who maintain the stability of our universe. When a criminal or rogue agent enters our world Time Baby provides them warning if possible and destruction if required.

At multiple points Time Baby confronts Bill Cipher, the most pressing threat to time and space. In their final encounter Time Baby is overpowered, granting Bill control over Time.

There is always a judge and we can only hope they are merciful.

21.) The World - The Axolotl

Keywords: Completion, achievement, belonging, unity, and closure

The World. To swim amongst the waters of creation and know that you are both byproduct and origin - that with every breath you take the world breathes with you. The Axolotl is a divine entity, benevolent and wise in its ministrations.

The World has come full circle, dancing with the same whimsy of The Fool. It carries the lessons of all Arcana before it, allowing it to impart those lessons on all who will encounter it going forward.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The internet didn’t enshittify because the honorable UUCP Monks who served as the internet’s patrician guardians were replaced by venal tech bros out to make a quick buck. The moneygrubbers were always there (as were those selfless guardians).

The internet enshittified because we dismantled the anti-enshittification systems that kept the internet good: the antitrust laws that ensured that big, ossified companies couldn’t maintain their dominance by spending their way to glory.

We ended the cycle of renewal. Once, when a company grew so big thatit became a threat to our future, it collapsed under its own weight. Once, honorable hackers wielded interoperability, that elegant weapon from a more civilized age, to fell the giants who claimed dominion over our digital lives — only to be felled themselves, when they forgot their humble origins and took up the wicked practices of the giants they had helped to slay.

The internet didn’t enshittify because we got the wrong people. The old, good internet had lots of companies founded by mediocre cowards who would have bought out their competitors or dirty-tricked them out of existence in a heartbeat.

The internet didn’t enshittify because we got the wrong technology. The old, good internet had plenty of sticky traps and walled gardens.

The internet enshittified because we got the wrong rules.

-Enshitternet: The old, good internet deserves a new, good internet

[lustrous-dawn]

Caelus hunkered down to eye level with Zhen, head place on his claws. Zhen couldn't help but to shuffle on his talons, wary.

“Afraid?” rumbled Caelus.

“Who wouldn't be freaked out?” Zhen frowned. “You're as tall as the tower. One bite and I'm a goner.”

A smile from the dragon, more like a display, revealing rows of sharp teeth that could crunch his bones in a mere snap. “Do try to stay on my good side then.”

“Duly noted. Who would have thought the Great Rayquaza had a funny side,” Zhen said dryly.

A rumble from the serpent as he extended a claw. “To explain the likes of Reiko to you, I must start from the origin. As I said, you are her incarnation.” A small tap on the surface of the mirror before them.

One.

Two. 

Three.

“Incarnation?” A subtle glow from the mirror. 

“Must I explain the likes of reincarnation to you as well?” The dragon raised a brow. “She is you yet she is not.” A cursory glance over the Ho-oh. “You share some of her plumage but not much else. You are clearly more cheeky and Reiko had an elegance you cannot compare to. That tongue of yours will get you into trouble.” 

“Geez thanks. Not only do I suck at this, I'm ugly as well.” 

“I never said you were not attractive.”

Zhen blinked. He certainly did not need to hear that. 

Caelus continued as if nothing was wrong. “You lack the maturity and experience Reiko had garnered over the years. This is easily forgiven. You are still young, barely over four hundred but I expected you to retain some of her memories. This is what I have learnt from handling your elk.” 

“You dealt with others then?”

The dragon closed his eye, vividly recollecting the one filled with zeal. “You all fall underneath my dominion as entities of the Sky. But none was as broken as you are. They had freedom in their hearts, a wild flame I would often have to temper before they would do something foolish. Your kind reminds me much of humans. 

Your lot lives every second as if it is your last. Here and now. Your kind burns brightly, fire brimming with a renewing flame. But when your lives flicker out, you do so with a burst of fiery feathers and you become naught but ash.”

A swallow from the Ho-oh.

Caelus inhaled softly. “But from the ashes, a new life arises. Very few Ho-oh I have come across were small little things stumbling from the ash. I guide a nary few to a safe location. And I have met a few, older, whispering of a life before. This is what I expected from you but you tell me you have no memories to recall.” 

A wistful look from the Ho-oh. “Nothing.” Now he wasn't sure if it was true. Since the first sighting of Susano, something has been stirring, a sort of restlessness formed inside his chest. It filled him with unease, the sensation coming to fore as his eyes focused on the likes of the mirror, “What's so special about this Reiko anyway?” 

“She was the First.”

___________________________

The scene transformed within the mirror to reveal a younger, more slender Rayquaza gliding through the skies. In his prime, Caelus was largely unchallenged and reigned supreme of his dominion. Those who dared to cross paths with him lowered their heads in submission, hoping they would never attract Rayquaza’s attention. 

But partially why he was here. He had sensed a new presence had entered upon his dominion. Strong, powerful. The blood in him boiled at the mere thought of another rising to strength and hadn't the nerve to approach him. His talons hooked, tuck close to his body, he descended from the cloud layer. 

Lightning cracked through the sky, rain like sharp needles pelting against his scales only to helplessly sleek off his glistening scales. Caelus snarled, halting in his tracks as the wind picked to whip around him.

Manipulating his element?! The nerve! 

A wave of the claw and the gale died down to a spitter. Lightning flashed once more, alighting the sky in a glittering flame; illuminating the ominous shadow rapidly descending upon the Rayquaza hidden deep in the cloud layer. 

An eruption of roars as a Lugia collided with the Ray, fangs and claws tangled together as the dragons wrestled for dominance and position. Claws buffered against dense scales and feathers, neither drawing blood as they untangled to fly in skies.

Who is this?! What is this!?

He hadn't a moment to think, wheeling back as the Leviathan's maw snapped inches away from his neck. 

A bright glow to Caelus’ eyes before he banked wide, delivering a whip of the tail to the Lugia's frame to allot space. 

“That is enough!” roared Caelus, maw awide as yellow energy began to amass in his throat. 

The Lugia mimicked the same, their eyes burning with the same intensity-

“Enough!” 

A blur of golden and silver came from above. A heavy weight descended upon his form, clamping his maw shut. He came crashing into the earth, fractures splinting through for the force of their landing. 

Humiliated, Caelus glared at the radiant Phoenix who stood over him, flanked by the Leviathan who battled him in the sky.  

“Children! The both of you!” The Lugia hung his head at her high pitched shrill, recoiling from her shout. “I will not have you destroy the region because of your need for dominance!”

The Lugia muttered under his breath, avoiding the Phoenix’s gaze.

Baffled by the now cowardly nature of the Lugia, Caelus attempted to rise only to find himself thoroughly pinned by the Ho-oh as she sat on him. 

“I am not done talking with you.” Lethal words from the Ho-oh that sent shudders down his spine. 

[trustfallwithgod]

Via Steward & Son

Psalm 103 - David’s psalm of God’s Divine Goodness

1 Praise the Lord, my soul;

all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

2 Praise the Lord, my soul,

and forget not all his benefits—

3 who forgives all your sins

and heals all your diseases,

4 who redeems your life from the pit

and crowns you with love and compassion,

5 who satisfies your desires with good things

so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

6 The Lord works righteousness

and justice for all the oppressed.

7 He made known his ways to Moses,

his deeds to the people of Israel:

8 The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

slow to anger, abounding in love.

9 He will not always accuse,

nor will he harbor his anger forever;

10 he does not treat us as our sins deserve

or repay us according to our iniquities.

11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth,

so great is his love for those who fear him;

12 as far as the east is from the west,

so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

13 As a father has compassion on his children,

so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

14 for he knows how we are formed,

he remembers that we are dust.

15 The life of mortals is like grass,

they flourish like a flower of the field;

16 the wind blows over it and it is gone,

and its place remembers it no more.

17 But from everlasting to everlasting

the Lord’s love is with those who fear him,

and his righteousness with their children’s children—

18 with those who keep his covenant

and remember to obey his precepts.

19 The Lord has established his throne in heaven,

and his kingdom rules over all.

20 Praise the Lord, you his angels,

you mighty ones who do his bidding,

who obey his word.

21 Praise the Lord, all his heavenly hosts,

you his servants who do his will.

22 Praise the Lord, all his works

everywhere in his dominion.

Praise the Lord, my soul.

[talonabraxas]

The significance of this day

Day Cozcacuauhtli (Vulture, known as Cib in Maya) is governed by Itzpapalotl as its provider of tonalli (Shadow Soul) life energy. Cozcacuauhtli signifies long life, wisdom, good counsel and mental equilibrium. It is a good day to confront the discontinuities, disruptions, failures and deaths one suffers in life. Cozcacuauhtli is a day for tricking the Trickster.

Itzpapalotl Danielle Ramos Art

Itzpapalotl, the Butterfly Goddess, held sway over the serene realm of Tamoanchan, a paradise cherished by the Mexica, where stillborn infants and women who passed during childbirth found solace. This sacred land bore witness to the genesis of humanity, crafted from sacrificial offerings and the stolen bones of Mictlan, the Underworld. As a revered deity among the Mexica, Itzpapalotl epitomized the intricate tapestry of life, death, and nature.

In the delicate dance of symbolism, Itzpapalotl's name mirrored her complexity. As a butterfly, she embodied the ephemeral beauty and the transformative nature of existence. Yet, her association with obsidian mirrored her ferocity and resilience, standing as a testament to her dominion over realms both mortal and ethereal.

Within Mexica culture, butterflies symbolized the eternal cycle of renewal and transformation, guiding souls through the passages of life, death, and rebirth. Itzpapalotl, as the guardian of these transitions, stood as a beacon of guidance and protection during times of change.

Traversing between heavens and underworld, Itzpapalotl's presence bridged disparate realms, guiding souls through the labyrinth of transformation. In the flutter of butterflies, her essence resonated, reminding all of the perpetual journey of growth and evolution.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Fire and Blood- the ancient words of House Targaryen. An interesting choice, yet completely truthful in revealing what the Valyrian’s stood for. Both words were initially seen as destructive, threatening and cruel, but upon closer inspection, this was not always the case.

Fire embodied the wrathful force of dragon fire, a fearsome power wielded by Maera's ancestors. It symbolized the fiery conquest that shaped the Seven Kingdoms under Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. Their dragons, winged creatures of destruction, became instruments of subjugation, turning rebellious lords and resisting kingdoms into ashes. Fire echoed the unyielding strength of House Targaryen, rooted in the flames that forged their dominion over the Realm. It was a reminder of the price paid in burning ambition, of the searing path toward dominion that defined the Targaryen dynasty.

Yet, despite the initial chaos, fire could be healing and purifying. Maera had read that in the year following Aegon’s Conquest, the crops in Westeros had grown three times as big, and that less crops were becoming subject to disease and decay. In her interpretation, fire symbolized renewal and rejuvenation. The flames, once agents of conquest, became catalysts for new life. The purifying aspects of fire, as witnessed in the fertile lands that emerged from the ashes, spoke to Maera of a transformative force, capable of healing wounds and fostering growth. It was a perspective that transcended the destructive history, embracing the idea that from destruction, there could emerge a fertile ground for new beginnings.

The flames could also bring solace as Maera recalled how the hearth in her chambers seemed to always be alight. The fire would flicker with hues of orange, gold, and red, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the room. The crackling sounds formed a comforting symphony, echoing the rhythm of their shared moments.

Recalling times with Aemond, she enjoyed how they would sit for hours by the hearth, the warmth enveloping them in a serene cocoon. Silently reading, they found comfort in the companionable silence, interrupted only by the occasional soft rustling of turning pages. Aemond’s fingers traced delicate patterns on her hand, a simple yet reassuring gesture that spoke volumes in their shared sanctuary by the fire.

Helaena, who was known to always see the best in things, also saw fire as a marvellous creation that could be used in a way that would achieve greater outcomes. When they were younger, Maera recalled her friend educating her on how some species of butterfly benefited from forest fires. This was because the fires created open spaces and new growth, providing favorable conditions for certain plants that served as host plants for butterfly larvae. In fact, one year, when Helaena was pregnant with the twins, Maera somehow managed to procure some of the larvae for her dear friend as a nameday present.

Blood appeared to be a more complex element, yet Maera had come into contact with it more frequently than fire during her time in the world. The blood from the animals she had slain during a hunt held a primal significance. Once the meat was cooked, it became a source of sustenance for her family, ensuring their health and satiating their hunger. In this context, blood was a vital and nourishing force, connecting the family to the cycle of life.

The blood she witnessed on her new siblings, born fresh from her stepmother’s womb, held a profound significance. It symbolized the continuity of life, the bond within her family, and the promise of a future generation. The arrival of new blood into the world brought a sense of renewal, growth, and the perpetuation of House Wylde’s legacy.

Maera's experience with her first Moon's Blood, at the age of sixteen marked a significant transition into womanhood. Despite the pain and mess, it symbolized her ability to bring forth life into the world, connecting her to the timeless cycle of creation. This natural and biological occurrence connected her to the generations of women who had come before her, creating a shared experience that transcended time and bound them together.

On her wedding night, the blood on the sheets following the consummation of her marriage with Aemond was a societal marker of purity and untouched innocence in the eyes of the Gods, a notion that Maera found to be somewhat absurd. Despite her reservations about these traditional expectations, she acknowledged the weight that such rituals carried in the eyes of those around her, and how the blood mixed with her husband’s seed on the sheets marked the formal beginning of her marital journey and the merging of her life with Aemond’s.

Her encounter with blood changed in the two moons following her marriage to the One-Eyed Prince. Maera had experienced her womb bleeding since the wedding, about a fortnight after the consummation. However, instead of her usual five to seven days of using rags to collect and dispose her Moons Blood, the bleeding only lasted for a day, with the occasional cramping in the weeks that followed.

Maera’s reluctance to consult the Maester stemmed from a blend of stubbornness and a desire not to appear foolish or uninformed about the changes her body underwent after marriage. Assuming these alterations were a normal part of a woman’s experience, possibly linked to regular intimacy with her husband, Maera chose to keep her observations to herself.

Yet, the presence of blood was not always seen as a positive. In her training sessions with the sword, the cuts on her flesh symbolized mistakes and were accompanied by the sharp sting of acknowledgment. Each drop of blood mirrored a momentary lapse in her skill, urging her to better herself. Blood also brought forth scars – reminders etched into her skin. Not all scars were viewed fondly; some carried the weight of missteps and lessons learned.

A few months previously, when Maera had forced herself into Helaena’s room after Aegon had barricaded her in there, the blood on the sheets indicated that the Queen had been raped by the King; her own husband, her brother, simply because he could. From that blood came trauma, pain and confusion for Helaena, as well as a new life beginning to grow within the Queen. And all Maera could do was comfort her friend , and help her pick up the pieces afterwards to ensure Helaena could continue on.

However there were times that Maera could not always do that. Sometimes the pain was just too much to bear, and a friend’s embrace or comforting words would not erase the horror that had been inflicted. Such a night was when the word ‘blood’ came to have another meaning; the name of a man who would take something precious from the Greens, alongside his accomplice, Cheese.

The evening had began much like any other. As twilight draped its gentle hues over the Red Keep, a serene ambience enveloped the ancient fortress. The towering spires and stone walls, adorned with the remnants of the day's sunlight, cast long shadows across the courtyards. The air whispered with the subtle transition from the vibrant hues of the day to the muted tones of night.

Within Maera and Aemond's chambers, the soft glow of candles and the flickering light of a hearth created a warm and intimate atmosphere. The furnishings, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to absorb the twilight's colors, casting a cozy and inviting spell upon the chamber. Past the grand windows, the sky painted a canvas of purples and golds, mirroring the quiet transition within the walls of the castle.

Prince Aemond, the Master of Coin, sat at his imposing writing desk, a commanding figure engrossed in the meticulous task of crafting reports and ledgers. His long silver-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face marked by sharp contours, his eye patch concealing his sapphire, and a firm jaw set in concentration. His long, slender fingers, deftly holding a quill, danced across the parchment, weaving lines of ink into intricate financial reports. The ledgers sprawled open beside him, bearing the weight of the realm's economic intricacies.

Aemond’s violet eye occasionally shifted from his work to glance at his wife, who stood gracefully by the window in a simple black cotton dress adorned with golden threading. Her long, dark, curly hair cascaded freely down her back, with a distinctive silver streak woven into the locks.

As the ambient light highlighted the rich hues of the room, Maera stood before her easel, engrossed in putting the finishing touches on her dragon egg painting. Her green eyes, filled with artistic determination, were fixed intently on the canvas, capturing the essence of the dragon egg with each precise stroke, adding the extra details of depth and dimension to the portrait before she gifted it to Helaena and the children.

The sudden commotion in the corridors sent a ripple of tension through the air, causing both Aemond and Maera to instinctively shift their focus towards the door. The distant echoes of men yelling created an eerie symphony, interwoven with the hurried footsteps that echoed in the passageways. The unmistakable sound of clattering armor intensified the atmosphere within their chamber, casting a shadow of uncertainty.As the noise grew closer, the room seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation palpable. Aemond, with his sharp violet eye, glanced at Maera, while her green eyes reflected a mix of concern and caution.

The Prince rose from his writing desk with a cautious demeanor, his posture reflecting a subtle tension as a look of concern etched across his features.

“Stay here,” he ordered Maera, along with a measured gesture of his hand. Silently, he walked to the wall, fingers deftly securing his sword and sheathing it into his belt. His purposeful strides carried him out of the room, leaving Maera with a sense of suspense and a room filled with unanswered questions.

Maera carefully placed her paintbrushes and sponges into a silver bowl filled with water, the shades of purple and grey swirling together in the liquid. As anxiety crept into her stomach, she wiped her hands on a damp cloth, her senses heightened by the unsettling atmosphere.

The cacophony outside intensified, and above the tumult, a heavy wooden door creaked open along the corridor. Queen Alicent’s voice, tinged with urgency, sliced through the air, and the frantic quality heightened the tension in the room. Just as the uneasiness settled in, a heart-wrenching scream, unmistakably Helaena’s, shattered the air—a mournful, piercing cry that left Maera with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

Maera's instincts kicked in before her mind could fully process the unfolding situation. In a swift motion, her hand snatched her dagger from the wall, and her body propelled her forward with urgency. The corridor blurred as she ran, the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps echoing the anxiety that churned within her.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of concern for Helaena, coupled with worry for Aemond, who had ventured toward the disturbance ahead of her. Every step she took heightened her own unease, her breath quickening and heart pounding in sync with her hastening pace. The unknown lay ahead, and Maera, driven by a mixture of fear and determination, pressed on toward the source of the commotion.

As Maera pressed forward, the torchlight flickered ominously against the cold stone walls, casting an eerie shadow against a lifeless pile near the stone wall. Her green eyes wandered to the mass, focusing on it until the chilling sight became clear- two guardsmen, their lifeless bodies sprawled on the stone floor, throats brutally slit. A gasp escaped her lips, but her determination propelled her forward, guided by the anguished cries of Helaena echoing through the corridors.

Finally reaching the entrance to Alicent’s chambers, Maera’s path was blocked by a tumultuous sea of armored guards, their expressions grave and their weapons drawn. Undeterred, Maera wove through the throng, demanding passage with a command that bespoke her status as a Targaryen princess. Yet, before she could breach the doorway, a force halted her, a firm grip seizing her arm.

Ser Arryk's presence materialized, his bloodshot hazel eyes revealing the distress that gripped him. Disheveled, his typically neat hair hinted at the turmoil of the situation. His grip was a plea, and his words were both desperate and earnest as they tumbled from his mouth. “Please, Princess, do not go in there.”

In her protector’s eyes, Maera found a reflection of her own rising fear, a disconcerting deviation from his usual resolute demeanor. The desperation for answers fueled her determination to press forward. Despite Ser Arryk's plea, Maera, driven by an unyielding force to be with her sister-in-law and husband, wrenched her arm free. As she crossed the threshold into the chamber, her senses were assaulted by a scene that would haunt her. Time seemed to pause, and the world crumbled around her as the harsh reality of the situation unfolded before her eyes.

The air hung heavy with the scent of tragedy, a stifling reminder that the familiar tranquility of the Keep had been brutally shattered. Blood adorned the stone walls and floor like a gruesome tapestry, stark against the pale background. The chamber's furniture lay in disarray, a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded.

Queen Alicent, once regal and composed, now sat at a table, trembling and disheveled. Her auburn hair cascaded wildly around her, framing eyes filled with tears. Lord Commander Criston Cole, the embodiment of concern, hovered beside her, providing a semblance of comfort in the midst of the chaos.

A toppled wardrobe revealed an entrance to hidden tunnels, guarded by vigilant men with swords drawn. Maera's emerald eyes swept the room, capturing the tumultuous scene. Aemond, a force of fury, stood a few feet away from his mother. His violet eye ablaze with a righteous anger as silver strands of hair fell rebelliously around his face, matching the tumultuous storm within. The one-eyed Prince was unleashing a verbal torrent upon one of the Kingsguard, the deep bellow of his voice demanding answers, his words akin to a dragon's roar.

Amidst the chaos, the sound of a cry reached Maera's ears, drawing her attention to little Maelor. The two-year-old, innocent and frightened, was being cradled by a nursemaid. The woman's tear-streaked face reflected the horror that had unfolded. She tried to soothe Maelor, wiping away the blood stains on his face while her own hands trembled with fear. Maera's heart clenched at the sight, relieved that there seemed to be no visible injury on the child.

Little Jaehaera, her silver curls matted with crimson stains, stood eerily silent, her gaze fixed on a point unknown. The four-year-old's vacant stare stood in stark contrast to her brother's cries. Physically unharmed, yet emotionally distant, Jaehaera seemed lost in the commotion. Maera heard in the conversations going on around her that the King had been found unharmed in his own chambers, and was to remain heavily under guard. The chatter also revealed that Lord Otto, Lord Larys, Ser Tyland, Maester Orwyle and Maera’s own father, Lord Jasper were discovered alive and well. But there was a name missing from that list. A small presence with a a gleeful voice, full of energy and enthusiasm. Jaehaerys. Where was Jaehaerys?

Following Jaehaera's gaze, Maera's eyes landed on Helaena. Kneeling on the floor in front of the hearth, Helaena's screams and sobs echoed through the room, a tormenting lament that cut through all other voices in the chambers. Cradling something in her arms, the source of her devastation, remained obscured by her figure and shadows of the fire, leaving a haunting mystery in the air.

As Maera approached her best friend, the hushed gravity of the room intensified, an unspoken understanding that this moment held a profound weight. Maera furrowed her brows in concern as she cautiously reached out, placing a hand on Helaena's shoulder. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Helaena, gripped by an unfathomable distress, tensed at the touch. Her neck whipped around to face Maera, revealing an olive green dress now stained with an overwhelming amount of blood and remnants of flesh.

The room seemed to darken around Maera as she cast her eyes downward and fixated on the grotesque and unholy abomination before her, wanting to look away, but finding it impossible to. Blood-soaked and lifeless, the small body of Jaehaerys lay cradled in Helaena's trembling arms, mutilated and broken, missing his head.

The ghastly reality of what had occurred that night came crashing down on Maera, her breathing catching in her throat before letting out a horrified sob. The sight etched itself into her memory, a haunting image that would forever change the course of their lives. In that harrowing moment, a suffocating wave of shock overcame Maera. Her body, once a vessel of warmth and life, was now gripped by a rapid heartbeat, cold beads of dread forming a chilling sweat on her skin. The horror before her drained the color from her face, leaving it pallid, a canvas of disbelief painted in shades of despair.

The weight of the scene, the gruesome reality of a headless child cradled in Helaena's arms, pressed upon her like a leaden shroud. As she stared at the unthinkable, the physical sensations of grief and trauma manifested within her, a whirlwind of emotions too overwhelming to articulate. Helaena's purple eyes pleaded with Maera, a silent desperation that resonated through the anguished wails.

In that instant, it became clear that the pain was not confined to a single soul; it reverberated through the room, through the very core of the Red Keep. The world blurred before Maera's eyes, and, unable to bear the weight of the tragedy, she succumbed to the darkness, the overwhelming despair pulling her into unconsciousness.

In the disorienting haze of awakening, Maera jolted upright in her bed. The inky blackness outside the window hinted at the passage of many hours, shrouding the chambers in a cloak of night. As her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight flickering in the room, Maera surveyed her surroundings. The darkness seemed to cling to the air, and a wet rag on her forehead slipped off as she moved.

Aemond, silent and watchful, sat at the foot of the bed. His one eye, a lone sentinel in the shadows, was fixed on her. In that fragile moment, with reality settling upon her like a heavy cloak, Maera dared to hope that the horrifying scene she had witnessed was nothing more than a cruel dream. But the air, heavy with unspoken sorrow, seemed to whisper a truth that shattered that fragile hope.

Her husband’s violet eye bore the weight of a myriad of emotions – grief, anger, and an underlying vulnerability. His usually stoic demeanor cracked, revealing the profound impact of the tragedy. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his sharp features, emphasizing the lines etched by the night's events.

“Jaehaerys…” Maera uttered, as if it were a prayer. Perhaps it was. A plea to the Gods that they would take all of this horror away.

At the sound of his nephew’s name, Aemond furrowed his brow and tensing his jaw, inhaling deeply before rising from the bed, fists clenched at his side. “Two men got in through the tunnels.” He paused, as if trying to process the next words himself. “They made Helaena choose which one of her sons should die.”

A disorienting mix of emotions overwhelmed Maera—fear, sorrow, and an indignant rage that simmered beneath the surface. At the thought of her friend suffering so, panic gripped Maera, and she attempted to rise from the bed, her heart pounding. The room spun, and a dizzy spell overcame her. Aemond swiftly moved to her side, his strong presence steadying her.

“You need to rest,” Aemond urged gently, his gaze filled with concern as he guided her back into the bed. Tears welled in Maera’s eyes as she lay back, the weight of grief and disbelief settling upon her.

The Prince remained at Maera’s side, sitting next to her on the bed and silently offering his support in the face of a tragedy that had shattered the contentment they had found with one another in the short time of marriage they shared.

Aemond's silence finally broke, his voice edged with restrained anger, "This is my whore half-sister’s doing."

Without looking at him, Maera questioned, "How can you be sure?"

Aemond, through gritted teeth, explained, "The Maester was called to give milk of the poppy to soothe Helaena's hysteria. I have never seen anybody scream so much. Before she fell asleep, she managed to tell us the words the men spoke to her."

Pausing for a moment, Aemond's intense gaze prompted Maera to look up at him. He stated solemnly, "A son for a son."

Maera, with a sniff, tried to steady her breath as she attempted to process the information. They had never spoken about it properly, but she knew that Rhaenyra would exact revenge for her beloved son, Lucerys. Aemond had drew first blood by killing the boy who took his eye, thus formally beginning the war between the Blacks and the Greens. What Maera did not expect was that Rhaenyra, a fellow mother, would do something so cruel to Helaena, her own sister, who was innocent in all of this.

In a gesture that spoke volumes, Aemond reached out, his fingers intertwining tightly with hers. It was a silent pact, an unspoken agreement to weather the storm together. The strength in the clasp belied the fragility beneath, as if any other form of affection might unravel his tightly held composure, exposing the raw grief at the loss of his nephew. Determination flared in his eyes as he declared, "They will not get away with this. Before the Gods, I swear, we will get our revenge,” he promised firmly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

Maera furrowed her brows, nodding with a clenched jaw. "With Fire and Blood," she affirmed, their shared resolve cutting through the sorrow that hung in the air, a pledge to avenge the loss of their nephew and confront the shadows of House Targaryen’s tangled and complicated history.

Notes: I’m back! Sorry I had a really difficult week in the real world but the writing bug struck and here we are. This is the start of some major events in the story, and there will be more jumps forward in time. My heart breaks for Helaena 💔 and unfortunately it’s going to get worse. I just want to wrap her up in a blanket and put her in my pocket.

Tags: @blue-serendipity @manipulatixe @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[mask131]

The fantasy in modern Arthuriana (3)

A follow-up of the previous post.

If the medieval Arthurian literature accumulates the tales of the feats of the heroes, the detail of their thoughts is mostly left in the shadows. Like the prose of Malory says for a good number of knights, “He said but little”, “He seyde but lytyll”. In other words, the Arthurian romance of the Middle-Ages is concerned with actions, not words. It is even truer when it comes to the female characters, a minority among the Arthurian adventures, and who are limited to a specific set of roles: queen and giver of goods (Guinevere), virgin and emissary of adventure (Linette), sad and dying lover (the lady of Escalot)… Such a restriction of functions invited in itself a fleshing out of the characters, not to say a remake. It is even stronger when we come to the sorceresses, another type of women largely used by modern rewrites, probably because they are precisely among the female characters the only one who, in the Middle-Ages, can freely participate to the action. [It is true that the maidens who guide the knights throughout their quests seem to also have an important area of action, but very often it is suggested that they belong to the supernatural world. In the Morte Darthur, the three ladies met by Gawain, Yvain and Marhalt embody the three ages of woman; Linette, who guides Gareth and helps him in his love, is able to “piece back together” and resurrect a dead knight].

If the revisited Arthurian literature likes to give a voice to women, these characters so often overshadowed by their male counterparts who are always in a war or on a quest, it is probably because at first it was an innovation. Since everything was already said in the past, one of the simplest ways to renew the tale is to give a voice to the mutes, here women. This innovation was very quickly assimilated to a feminist, though not always feminine, current, under the major influence of Marion Zimmer Bradley and her “Mists of Avalon”. In it the focus is placed on the enchantresses, Viviane and Morgan mainly. Given the huge success of these novels, the characters within it had a tendency to influence, consciously or not, ulterior treatments of the Arthurian fiction and its female characters. As such, when Cindy Mediavilla wrote about “The Mists of Avalon”, she said “[it] sets the standard for Arthurian fiction told from the female perspective. Heavy with images of the Goddess versus the male dominance of Christianity, this story (…) is highly recommended for all fans of the genre, especially young feminists seeking alternate renderings of the legend.” (Arthurian Fiction – An Annotated Bibliography). Outside of this “feminist” dimension, there is still a great number of recurring trends discernable within contemporary novels that have a direct influence over the idea of magic, and by extension, the genre or sub-genre to which the Arthurian novel belongs. [Maureen Fries heavily nuanced the feminism at work here: Viviane is killed by Balin, Nimue killed herself after betraying Kevin, Niniane is used then killed by Mordred, Morgan ens up admitting the universality of religious symbols even assimilated the Great Goddess to the Virgin Mary… “Indeed, real empowerment escape all of the women in the book except perhaps (and indirectly) Gwenhwyfar, whose narrow Christianity Arthur embraces.” – “Trends in the Modern Arthurian Novel”, in “King Arthur Through the Ages”]

The duo Viviane/Morgan is most often treated as an antagonism. In line with the sources, Viviane appears as a kind fairy who raises Lancelot and acts to help Arthur dispel the schemes of his malevolent half-sister. [With a rare set of exceptions, including Fred T. Saberhagen’s Dominion which subverts many preconceptions by making Viviane a bloodthirsty high-priestess and Merlin a drunkard with a failing magic, closer to the buffoon that appears in the BD “Le chant d’Excalibur” by Arleston and Hübsch than to the medieval prophet] But the shadows among the medieval characters are enough to allow anyone to interpret them in various ways. Indeed, this sweet Lady of the Lake is also the woman that used Merlin to augment her own power before imprisoning him for all of eternity. And Morgan is at the same time the enemy of the Round Table and the crying sister which takes a dying Arthur in her arms to carry him away to Avalon. This ambiguity is complexified by numerous possible divisions or assimilations: Viviane is also Niniane or Nimue, except when they are all different characters. Mordred is either the son of Morgan, or of her sister Morgause. The sources vary a lot about these facts, and so do the modern authors – and the same thing applies to the love-romances that are woven between the enchantresses and their victims, between Merlin and his students. [Within the “Lancelot-Graal”, Morgan is said to have been the student of Merlin, but she is different from Viviane, another of his student who ended up imprisoning the wizard. Yet, there is a temptation to synthetize in one character the student, the mistress and the enemy. On another subject, the hatred of Morgan for the Round Table could be explained by her love for the cousin of the queen, a love that said queen managed to destroy. As early as the Middle-Ages we see the beginning of, not a rehabilitation, but at least excusing circumstances for Morgan’s criminal behavior towards her brother and his kingdom.]

The opposition of benevolent sorceresses and malevolent wizardesses is inscribed in a broader way within a specific conception of magic. If we can easily admit that there are things such as “white” or “black” magic, if we admit that there are wizards opposing witches (or necromancers), than this duality invokes the symbolism of good versus evil. In the context of the Arthurian legend, the magic that serves Arthur and his chivalrous ideal is supposed to be white, while the one of those that stand against him is black. It is the case with Stephen Lawhead or Gillian Bradshaw, where the future of the world depends on a battle between Light and Darkness. [Gillian Bradshaw created “Hawk of May” and “Kingdom of Summer”. The expression “Kingdom of Summer” is also very present within Lawhead’s work, reinforcing the link between those two authors. Lawhead prefers to name two of his characters Gwalcmai and Gwalchavad, “hawk of May” and “hawk of Summer”, rather than Gawain and Galahad. As for the opposition of the Light and the Darkness, we can be reminded of the two sides of the Force within “Star Wars”, which is filled with Arthurian references.]

But this symbolism also evokes several moral values that already prepare the question of how magic and religion coexist. Already in the Middle-Ages the limits are blurry when it comes to separating magic, religion, and science – especially medical science. (See Richard Kieckheffer’s Magic in the Middle-Ages) The knowledge of plants can be seen with suspicions, and the various invocations look very similar to each other, no matter if they are for a saint or a demon. All those contradictions coexist within the modern Arthurian literature as a whole, even though if most authors take care to establish a cohesive magic system within the setting of their tale.

As such we frequently have an opposition between magic and religion, where magic relies on nature and traditional beliefs of which women are the bearers, while religion relies on a recent importation of Christianism and is presented as repressive and misogynistic. It is the case in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s work, where the magic is natural, “sympathetic”, against fanatical Christians who only dream of absolute power. Bernard Cornwell depicts a desacralized Christianity in an even darker light, as a religion only concerned with accumulating wealth by exploiting naïve pilgrims. The prayers are emphatic but useless, and the priest Samson, a future saint, has a rat-like face, a strong dislike of Guinevere and Nimue, as well as a heavily hinted preference for very young monks. The only Christian that is acceptable to the eyes of the narrator is the bishop Bedwin, who turns out to not be a quite faithful Christian, and an emblematic example of the improbable reconciliation of the extremes within modern Arthurians – a treatment of magic an religion that prefers the opposition of forces rather than their complementary. It forms indeed an explosive situation that is able to captivate more the attention of a reader rather than an idyllic statu quo. As such, what imposed itself as an Arthurian topos is the idea of a mostly pagan Britain attacked by the hegemonic projects of Christianism – despite the historical and archeological informations contraicting this view. The historicizing of the Arthurian setting is thus sometimes independent from the story, while not negating its realism or “vraisemblance”. [Adam Roberts, in “Silk and Potatoes” pointed out that in Lawhead’s work the Briton peasants are wearing silk, which is highly improbable, and that they cook with potatoes, an obvious anachronism.]

Stephen Lawhead tries to have a pacific shift from the old religion and its beliefs (assimilated to magic) to the Christian religion of the God of love. Taliesin, then Merlin, both have a revelation of the unicity of the divine, and as such their bardic invocations are now addressed to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, but they stay unchanged in language or effect. What was once a spell or a trick becomes a miracle. Lawhead’s tale however is flawed by an oversimplification. If all this “magic” comes from God, then where do Morgian’s wicked powers come from? The unbreakable faith of Merlin within the superiority of God over Satan is admirable in a catechism context, but it removes an essential tool of the tale: its suspense.  A duel between Morgian and Merlin during which the latter won’t suffer any blow, protected as he is by the armor of his faith, is quite disappointing, not to say boring. And what about the magic of the Small Folks, which seems to need a technical learning? The tale cannot fully escape a certain number of expectations, such as the oppositions between white and black magic, or between paganism and Christianity, or the presence of another “fairy”-like people cohabiting discreetly with the Britons. As such, while the attempt at Christianizing the supernatural is interesting because quite rare today (though it was very common in the Middle-Ages), is works badly.

It is a testimony of the weight of obligatory elements within the modern Arthurian fiction, a fiction that was shaped as much by contemporary successes as by, if not more than, its relationship to the medieval sources. If the articulation between magic and religion can be done in various ways, it stays in many cases a strong opposition between white magic/women/tradition, and religion/men/change. And since, outside of Merlin, most of the wizards of the medieval romances are women, magic is thus colored by femaleness, not to say feminism. In a world where male characters kill each other with weapons, women heal wounds with herbs and words. The image of the healer-Viviane, sweet and motherly, is opposed to the brutality of a world of warriors. At another level, it seems that the sorceresses embody the “fantasy temptation” while the warriors embody the “historical temptation”. [Raymond H. Thompson notes the gendered polarity within Arthurian rewrites since WWII, between a feminine movement closer to heroic fantasy, and a male movement, bloodier and closer to sword and sorcery (“Arthurian Legend in Science-Fiction and Fantasy”, in “King Arthur Through the Ages”)] As such, the novels that focus on the female characters also focus on magic, while those concerned with men and their wars are historicizing the Arthurian era. As Thomson said: “The focus thus shifts from warfare to the political and domestic conflicts that raise Arthur to power, and then destroy him.”

But if this is the case, where do we place evil wizardesses such as Morgan? They find their place within the rewrites that use abundantly of the supernatural, which is then vast enough to include both good and evil. Moreso, if the Middle-Ages offered a complex depiction of the enchantresses, the dark side of Morgane/Morgause stays dominant. Modern rewrites thus very easily use this malevolent aspect. It is the case of T.H. White whose second book, “The Witch in the Wood” was later renamed “The Queen of Air and Darkness” to designate Morgause. Gillian Bradshaw also depicts a fully evil Morgause who tries to teach her son Gwalchmai the occult arts. But he prefers the side of Light, and he joins Arthur and his knights. We find these two influences within Lawhead’s Morgian, also qualified of “Queen of Air and Darkness”, and who serves the Devil while Merlin fights by the sides of Arthur, the champion of Light. This distribution of the magical forces intensifies the motif of the conflict on several levels. The Darkness can be historical: the one of the “Dark Ages” at the beginning of the Middle-Ages, the one of the various disasters (war, plague, famine, insecurity) brought by the Saxon invader. But in a cyclical point of view, which extends the mythical side of the Arthurian theme even in rewrites that try to be historical, the fight between Good and Evil becomes recurrent. Arthur and Morgan (or her avatars) are easily identifiable archetypes. This repetition ability highlights the non-temporality of the myth and justifies the growing number of Arthurian rewrites: the myth is eternal, and thus must be eternally retold.

But these retellings do not simply replay the classical gigantic fight between the servants of the Light and those of the Darkness. A quite important number of modern authors chose to rehabilitate the unloved characters, mostly by giving them a voice. As such, the grudge-bearing, jealous witch of the medieval romances disappears, replaced by a loving and healing sister. Phyllis Ann Karr, within “The Idylls of the Queen”, offers a clever treatment of the character of Morgan, rehabilitated by a systematical refutation of the rumors, those that will become the “official” version of the legend later on. Morgan recognizes the facts, but offers other explanations for them, motivations misunderstood by her contemporaries and thus doomed to stay unknown (until the modern author reveals them, of course). This modern process of subverting the medieval stereotype (here the wicked witch that becomes the most faithful and loving servant of the Arthurian grandeur, pushing the devotion to a refusal to be offended by her bad reputation) can be declined in an infinite way, even on a parodic tone. Thomas Berger offers an anemic Galahad barely able to ride a horse, instead of the invulnerable knight supposed to be an “improved” version of his father Lancelot. John Gloag paints a Merlin prone to mistakes within his prophecies, and makes the entire announced and expected Arthurian glory a huge prank. T.H. White made his Lancelot ugly, where the Middle-Ages encouraged to see him as beautiful since he was “the perfect lover”.

However, as with all process, this technique has its limits. By constantly subverting the reader’s expectations, we create new demands. Morgan is constantly rehabilitated, Lancelot is constantly made darker or disgraced by modern authors, who are numerous (maybe too numerous?) in trying to set themselves apart from their predecessors. Cornwell’s Lancelot is an arrogant coward, while in other novels he simply disappears as the lover of the queen and/or the right arm of Arthur. He is replaced by characters deemed more historical (Bedwyr for Rosemary Sutcliff or Joan Wolff), or by characters invented for the plot (John Gloag’s Wencla, Victor Canning’s Borio). As if suppressing the greatest Arthurian knight was needed to surprise the modern reader. Under such a light, the rehabilitation of witches as misunderstood sorceresses is almost becoming more stereotypical than the original model of the “truly wicked”.

It seems that, for now, the only true novelty that modern authors have not dared is an Arthurian novel without Arthur. But this path seems to be under exploration: Arto, Artos, Artorius, all spellings that can establish a difference with the original character is welcome, especially if it establishes a gap between the foggy and uncertain time when the legend was born and the era of the modern rewrite. The exploitation of the Arthurian prehistory is another sign of it. The Arthurian novel without supernatural is also another facet of this quest for a renewal. But since the “pure” historical novel has already been done in the past, the “new novelty” is the reintroduction of the marvelous – not in its original form, but in a subtler one influenced by the past historicizing. We entered an era of “rationalizing” and “walling” of the “merveilleux”. Rationalizing the wonderful means exploiting events and actions that can be given the appearance of magic ; “walling” the marvelous means limiting magical abilities to a specific group of characters, usually non-humans and thus marginalized.

[the-odd-laundromat]

On Miquella, St. Trina, and Spirits

Warning, this is a fairly long post. Best buckle up.

I've started to let my imagination wander of late about Miquella, St. Trina, and spirit ashes within the lore of Elden Ring and its DLC. I made this for fun and I don't intend it in serious spirit. If this doesn't line up with your own theories or headcanons, that's cool. There are billions of people on the planet, and some of us are bound to disagree. Let's all be civil about it, please. (Do note this is just my personal blog, not dedicated exclusively to ER).

My theory is this: Apart from sleep (through St. Trina), Unalloyed Gold and the Haligtree, Miquella holds dominion over spirits; specifically Torrent, Spirit Ashes and spirit bosses you fight.

Miquella fits, if abstractly, into Elden Ring's mythological basis. He parallels the god Baldr from Norse myth, already an influence on Elden Ring (e.g., The Erdtree = Yggdrasil) in some ways: Baldr was associated with light and all good things, and was specifically noted to be beloved by all. Baldr's death (though that's Godwyn in ER) triggers Ragnarok. Baldr is among the gods who survive and return to a renewed, clean-slate world (Miquella wants to create a new world order with the Haligtree).

Now, I'll go out on a limb and propose that he also parallels Apollo of Greek myth. Apollo wasn't specifically beloved by all (I don't think), but he was significantly venerated, comparably to big-shots like Zeus, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hermes. He's also associated with light (one of his most common epithets is Phoebus Apollo, meaning Shining or Radiant Apollo), and is a twin (granted, Apollo and Artemis are rather different to Miq and Malenia). In the DLC trailer, Miquella glows, and the camera cuts immediately to a bright light bathing the strangler-fig tree (nature unknown) from behind.

Now comes the fun part: The connection between music, death, and sleep. Apollo is also famously a god of music, and in Elden Ring, spirits are also associated with it. You summon spirits in combat with the Spirit-Calling Bell, and Melina gives you the Spectral Steed Whistle to summon Torrent (who some speculate Miquella is the "original master" of, as supported by promotional art for the DLC). Curiously, Miquella's alter ego St. Trina is also associated with music: One of their titles is Saint Trina of the Cradlesong, and as mentioned in a cut quest, Miquella, as St. Trina, supposedly sang a lullaby to the Frenzied Flame Merchants to ease their suffering. To my knowledge, no other figure has such an association to music.

Fittingly for a game constantly trying to kill you, Elden Ring is in no shortage of death gods and suchlike figures. Maliketh and Godwyn may be considered death gods through their relation to Deathroot/the Rune of Death, you have the Deathbirds/Twinbird and the Gloam-Eyed Queen and the Ancestor Spirit, Ghostflame and Blackflame and the Frenzied Flame - heck, Malenia/the Scarlet Rot God could even qualify, as a harbinger of decay and apocalypse. My proposition is that Miquella is or will become another death god, but of merciful death, of deathlike sleep and the peaceful dream of oblivion - hence his connection to the Shadow Realm. And potentially the first spirit tuner - Hewg tutors Roderika because he's "indebted to a spirit tuner [he] met long ago". After all, in Greek mythology, Sleep (Hypnos) is brother to Death (Thanatos).

Are there holes in this? Yeah, probably. Will the DLC canon crush this theory under Messmer's open-toed cowboy boots? Most definitely. That's okay. Part of the fun of speculation is seeing just how crazy you can get with it. Sorry this is so long-winded. I hope you enjoyed this deranged romp through the mythology of this super cool video game.

[ausp-ice]

A comic for Iso's Origin Prompt 6: Their Purpose. They seek to guide and protect nature, having relearned the value of it to them after their transformation.

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— Comic Transcript —

I once poisoned the earth. I was blind to the life of the world in my pursuit of progress. Now, returned to it as a spirit... I watch over the lands of my dominion. My boundary. The plants... the animals.

But, truly... what power do I have?

There was a fire one day. I guided those I could to safety... but there was only so much I could do.

Still. I have to try.

It hurts.

It burns.

But I... will not stand by again.

The earth is our cradle, our home, and our grave. At least, I will do what I can.

— Story Synopsis —

It was not long—in the grand scheme of immortality—after Iso's transformation when a fire scorched the forest they called home. It caught them unawares; it was nighttime and they were idle, letting time pass by absentmindedly. They first saw a glow in the distance, fragmented by the lines of trees between them. They quickly approached to investigate, but by the time they reached the source, the wildfire had already spread so as to become something beyond their ability to help.

At first, a jolt of panic went through them—with his power bound to this place, what would happen to him? But more than that, he feared for all the lives here, the plants and animals that he had grown familiar with and fond of. His feelings quickly shifted to resolve, and he rushed towards the flames to guide what animals he could to safety. His power was limited, but he pushed rocks and boulders to clear paths in the flames. Again and again, he entered the zone of the fire, guided any stranded denizens out, and returned. The flames licked at him, searing and painful, but it did not seem to truly harm him, so he pressed onward.

Before she knew it, the day had broken. The sky was gray with smoke; the trees were blackened, charred by merciless flames; ash drifted in the air and settled on the ground in a carpet of desolate snow. Iso stood in a clearing, exhausted and, she realized, changed—her form was blackened and marked with charred branches, just like her home.

They reached for a pile of stones, turning one over. There, underneath, remained a spot of green—a cluster of grass and flowers spared from the flames. They know, of course… the forest will grow back again.

They took time to process their experience. It was a harrowing thing, enough to change her spirit, but in time, as the forest experienced a renewal of life as vibrant or even more than before, she found a peace in herself with a philosophy of transience. All things shall come and go. There shall be destruction, and there shall be regrowth, and they shall be here to witness and guide that process.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Three. Shadow)

Summary: Eros and Psyche retelling with soulmate!AU elements. Morpheus x oc/female reader

Master List

Chapter Track: "Dream State (Dark Day)" by Son Lux

18+ (violence, swearing throughout, referenced child murder)

TAGGING: Tag lists break my posts, BUT I reply to comments the day of new chapters, so you'll get a personal update every time you stop to chat. ;)

A/N: Very short chapter this time. Mental health is quietly shitting itself and making writing difficult. Thank you all for your patience.

3: Shadow

The Not Deer smelled blood.

It smelled her blood, sweet with sand, ripe with magic. And this time, unlike all the others before, she had not escaped – and she was alone.

Teeth aching to close on her living flesh, thirsty for the hot blood flecked with its master’s power, it screamed.

She’d fallen too far inside her little moving fortress, and it couldn’t reach her. It could see, though. It could smell. And wasn’t it wonderful? Fresh red bloomed on her face, filling the night with the scent of the hunt.

If it could get through the window or beat down the door, it could have her. Finally. Eat her all up and lick the fluids off the carpet, crunch her bones and chew the soft fat of her pretty brain. Then sleep off a full belly under a pile of last year’s lacy, skeleton leaves, as it did after every good feeding. It caught children who left the path and slipped just beyond their parents’ sight, drunk men daring the dark on a summer’s night, anyone foolish enough to put too much faith in their own skills under the trees when the sun went down. In a hundred years, there had been many.

But she would be the best meal, and the last, because word already spread that the lord was returned, and soon the Not Deer would be missed. Urgency fueled its attack, but its antlers caught on the window frame, and though its legs stretched too long for a deer, its hooves couldn’t strike the valley between the seats.

It rammed the van, furious. Grey foam frothed from its lips, turning the forest floor black with rot where it dripped.

“What are you doing?”

A century was not long enough to forget its master’s voice, and as it heard the whisper of eons at its back, shock froze over delight.

It stalked the dark long enough to recognize prey. It was not a deer, but it froze like one now with fate ringing in its ears. The hunter waited as the Not Deer came to rapid terms with its renewed vulnerability, and the nightmare turned, clicking, to face the Nightmare King.

The Not Deer did not have words. That was not how it had been made. But the king didn’t ask his question in search of an answer.

The Not Deer was meant to hunt in dreams, to threaten and rip at hunters who killed too many, to remind those without caution what they had to fear. But it feasted on living mortals instead. The Corinthian introduced him to the fantasy, made the cut in the nightmare’s mind that festered into fantasy, and when it had the chance, it left the Dreaming to hunt.

It consumed a young dreamer who’d left his bed to catch frogs under the full moon, and the boy had tasted well. So, the Not Deer found new dreamers to eat, glutting itself on muscle and marrow. Until it smelled her. Then it ate others in frustration, because nothing smelled as good as the one with his maker’s name scratched in her heart, glowing gold, drawing him like a new lamb’s bleats or a dying rabbit’s shriek.

The King of Nightmares simply looked at it and understood. He’d already known. He must have. It was in his nature as it was in the Not Deer’s to admire screams.

“You have betrayed your purpose.” The king spoke softly, and the Not Deer bowed, the tattered flesh on its antlers dragging along the dirt. “And you have chosen most dangerous prey.”

Dangerous not because of herself, for all her tricks. Dangerous as the mate of a greater monster, a jealous king with dominion over every night terror and the things night terrors feared.

Eyes darker than any shadow, hard and unforgiving as obsidian, the king stalked nearer. The Not Deer didn’t move. It had witnessed the Endless’s wrath, had seen others of its kind unmade, and knew it was too late to flee.

A low grown and the chime of shifting glass disturbed the dead quiet of the forest, and the Not Deer wondered if the king’s mate would wake. It hoped. She cared for the weaker ones, the creatures of the Dreaming that did not bite into the waking world as the Not Deer had. Even though it hunted her, hurt her, she may show mercy, may ask for it.

But she slept on, disturbed by other nightmares in the Dreaming, and the king’s frown grew deeper. His attention splintered between worlds, and just as her dreaming had led him to the threat in one world, her distress in the other called him home.

Perhaps he would forget. Perhaps the Not Deer may escape to find more dreamers and keep itself as itself.

Even as it began to imagine what it could chase, kill, taste with more days of freedom, the Nightmare King’s eye turned back to it, and he lifted one long arm to spin the Not Deer back to sand.

“I am needed elsewhere. I have not the time to return the tortures you are owed.”

It bucked while it still had legs, roaring and clicking as body, senses, and mind fell grain by grain. If it thought its master would return, it would never have dared. It did not want to disappear. It wanted, it wanted…

“And yet.” The king stooped to take a handful of the witch’s salt from the circle she’d made around her vehicle, and he sifted it between his fingers, thoughtful as the ash stained his fingertips. “Since it was her pain and fear you stole –” he lifted his hand above the half-formed Not Deer and let it rain down “– let her repay it.”

The black salt caught inside the nightmare and burned like it never had before. It wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t an unpleasant, stinging shock. It was agony without end, and the Not Deer abandoned any idea of survival or escape in an instant.

It needed to be unmade. To stop. To forget.

Its lord did not lift his hand, and the legless, heaving beast of horror whined in desperation.

“Perhaps this taste of her power will satisfy you.”

If it had words, it would beg.

The Nightmare King’s attention had already shifted back to the Dreaming, however, and he paused only long enough for his shadow to swallow the wailing thing before moving on to where his mate’s dreaming mind called for help.

Then all the Not Deer knew was the darkness and its pain within it. Her scent twisted through the sand, and soon it summoned no hunger, no greed, only unbridled terror it could not escape. Not even when it tore itself apart.

----------------------------------------------

In the Dreaming, the Nightmare King pulled her from the nightmares and held her in his hands for the first time, negotiating an opportunity to soothe her, to feel the places in their souls where they met, so she might understand…

----------------------------------------------

She woke with something damp between her legs and glass studding her palm.

Spears of light poked through the forest canopy, glinting sharp through her eyes, into the sensitive spaces behind them, burning her retinas from the inside out. Rainbows danced in the broken window, reflecting in the shattered diamonds over the floor. The driver’s seat. Her clothes. She decided to wait before trying to move, get her senses together, give her head time to steady before she did anything stupid. Like grating herself like Parmesan cheese on the remains of her window.

She closed her eyes for a minute. Breathed.

Something was off.

Her mouth was dry as cotton, and her tongue did nothing to help her equally dry lips as she pulled it over the broken, peeling skin.

Damn.

She felt…

Confused.

Hurt from her encounter with the Not Deer, but also well rested. Lighter almost. Like she suddenly had more attention, more energy, even though she had glass in her hair and a situation she strongly suspected may lead to a UTI if not immediately addressed. Which of course led to the question of what the hell she and the monster had really done in her sleep, if it was just the wettest dream of her life or if she ought to be running for Plan B. She didn’t think he’d go that far without asking, not after he so carefully sought permission. And wasn’t that a hell of a thing?

Sought permission. Honored it. Soothed her and held in a way her waking mind struggled to grasp. The concepts melted in her thoughts like ice as she woke, dripping away in cool streams of sensation and memory.

He’d been grand, and big, and frightening, but he didn’t use his power to crush her, as she’d expected.

After so many years anticipating the worst, she wasn’t sure what to do with this reality. Where things hadn’t gone tits up. With a creature beyond a god who assumed he had boundaries before she even drew them. Where the worst hadn’t happened.

Her monster had made a riddle of himself for her to solve. She’d need time to come to terms with that. With him. After a lifetime of the darkest expectations… well.

Getting up, though. That came first.

She shifted, wary of the bad, bad glitter threatening an unplanned trip to an urgent care as she picked the best spots to plant her elbows.

Rolling onto her knees, she tried to crawl forward, but something snagged her foot, and she finally noticed the pull of a grip around her ankle. Her heart didn’t skip a beat. Her breathing didn’t stutter. None of the normal, horrified reactions burst from trembling lips and teary eyes.

She knew that hand.

Looking towards the passenger seat, she saw the desiccated arm vanishing into the shadows under the pilot chair. Dead skin flaked away from crusty patches of old blood, and misty black shadows curled within, ready to turn into nightmare claws to terrorize small children.

The fingers squeezed, questioning.

“I’m alright, Jeff.” She reached down to pat him, glad to find something as expected and faithful as the needy nightmare worrying after her wellbeing. “It’s okay. Not Deer still lurking outside?”

Two quick squeezes – No.

“Good.”

The bastard must’ve given up when Jeff arrived. Never did like an audience, and Jeff could be a real pain in the ass if he wanted to be. Pretty literally.

As far as she knew, Jeff was only the arm. Maybe he had a few more inky swaths of darkness he kept tucked under low furniture, but he never manifested anything past a bicep. He didn’t speak with words, only by touch, and they’d learned to communicate by squeeze ages ago.

Once upon a time, he’d been the first nightmare to find her, and on the last night she had a family, he’d clung to her leg like a shackle – warning her, begging her not to follow her curious ears to the raised voices outside her door. Ever since, even though he had terrible timing, she never doubted his intentions.

The touches in her dream with Morpheus told her a lot of other things she wasn’t fully prepared to analyze.

She hadn’t had a fucking cup of coffee yet. She couldn’t be expected to contemplate the single greatest threat to her continued freedom before caffeination. Simply unreasonable. Inhumane.

So, she shoved it out of her mind – again – and climbed out of the mess. Her first aid kit was in the back, under the narrow bunk where she usually slept. She popped the plastic case open with her back to the sliding door, the Not Deer’s dent poking into her peripheral vision as a grim reminder of the previous night.

Another nearly.

She had a strange relationship with death. Dozens of near misses over the years made the sickening adrenaline rush and following crash routine. Some people could schedule their periods in their planners. Some days it felt like mortal peril penciled itself into hers. She was afraid, but too often, and she’d lost the technique of it.

As she plucked a few stubborn bits of glass from her hands, cleaned the tiny holes they left behind, and bandaged everything up, Jeff made himself useful. He swept up the fragments he could reach in long sweeps, pulling it all into the fathomless darkness of his home under the pilot seat. When he’d cleared that side of the van, he withdrew and manifested on the driver’s side. He reached up to pluck shards from the cushions, and his fingers spidered along the carpet, seeking little dangers he could remove from her world. In the time she took cleaning herself up and shaking the glass out of her hair outside, the nightmare cleared the interior of debris.

“Thank you, Jeff,” she said as she hauled herself into the driver’s seat.

She caught her own eye in the rearview mirror. She caught her first look at the bloody goose egg over her left brow, too. Could be worse, though the swelling might get some attention she didn’t want. Rusty red flakes peeled away from the trails leading into her hair, and she tentatively poked the edge of the swelling. Like running her tongue over a canker sore – she just couldn’t help herself, even though she knew how it would end.

Yup.

It hurt.

She groaned, dropping back against the headrest. Fan-fucking-tastic. The scratch needed cleaning and antiseptic, which meant a stop at the nearest convenience store with a bathroom. Nothing like scaring some gas station clerks first thing in the morning.

At least gas stations had coffee.

Fresh air breathed through the broken window, washing the smell of fear and blood out of the van. She took in as much as she could.

She needed to go, but she wasn’t sure where, and going never got her very far without a destination. Her pockets had bottoms, and she’d hit the seams fast if she didn’t budget gas money.

Where should she head? What did she need?

Out of sight, Jeff softly grasped her left ankle. He hadn’t been so clingy in ages, and she wondered what the little nightmare knew that she didn’t. It wasn’t like he was a great conversationalist. Their talks took creative shortcuts – yes/no taps, Morse code, even a Ouija board once or twice – but they still chewed up time she wasn’t sure she had, and even when well-equipped, Jeff wasn’t chatty. He couldn’t help her work through this chaos.

Oh.

And there was her answer.

Help.

People.

She needed people. Folks to talk with, to lend her an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to distract her, friends who knew her and would keep her safe from rogue nightmares like the Not Deer – maybe even help her pick apart her feelings over the star-eyed Endless and his… attention.

People. Friends. Plural.

Checking the date on her phone, she did some quick math and determined where her favorite group of miscreants might be found. Hadn’t they sent her a text? A few weeks ago? She’d been so consumed with the pull across the ocean to the Burgess estate she barely read it. No time or attraction. Now, though – different story.

Destination in mind, she put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the inevitable wind through the open window and turned the key. The van grumbled to life. Bouncing over the rough little road she’d called home for a few nights, she smiled to herself. Happy in the moment, alive with a little purpose and a goal to chase, on her way to friendly faces.

Only after speeding an hour down the highway did she realize what felt so off – the pain in her chest had eased.

Next chapter: Link

[soul-controller]

Owen’s Solo Mission (Teaser)

Set in between the events of Fallen Kingdom and Dominion, Owen Grady is trying to find a way to keep himself and his new family of Claire and Maisie safe. When a mysterious note appears on his doorstep offering assistance in helping protect them, Owen secretly heads out to meet with the sender.

When Owen Grady first took up the position as a Velociraptor trainer at Jurassic World, the former Navy man didn’t have a shred of admiration towards the formerly-extinct dinosaurs. Although he vehemently turned down the prospect of militarizing the dinosaurs to use in the field, Owen still found himself not really embracing the concept of becoming the alpha of the four raptors that he trained. This however changed though after the events of Isla Nublar, when only one of Owen’s raptors (a female named Blue) survived and stayed on the island after all of the humans were evacuated. 

Upon returning back to the island at a later date to find and rescue Blue and several other dinosaurs from the now-active volcano that would completely decimate the island, Owen found himself slowly growing more protective of his favorite raptor and dinosaurs in general. This was most certainly assisted by his renewed relationship with Claire Dearing, who turned her life around after the events that occurred on Isla Nublar. Once a ruthless businesswoman who ran the park with an iron fist, Claire now found herself becoming a self-less activist trying to save all of the remaining dinosaurs from the volcano. 

After defeating not only the Indominous Rex but also the Indoraptor, Owen and Claire’s pseudo-family with Blue further expanded upon “adopting” Maisie, who was orphaned upon the death of her guardian during the events of the Indoraptor’s rampage. While the Indoraptor was going on its aforementioned rampage, several of the saved Isla Nublar dinosaurs were quickly sold off to countries and militias all across the globe to further line the pockets of greedy businessmen. However, many dinosaurs still faced extinction due to a gas leak in the basement of the dinosaur sanctuary where the sale was taking place. This quickly changed due to Maisie’s actions. Having recently discovered that she herself was a clone of her guardian Benjamin Lockwood’s deceased daughter, the girl began to empathize with the dinosaurs. With this in mind, the genetically engineered girl opted to free the remaining dinosaurs into the California wilderness to have a fighting chance at survival. 

In the time since the dinosaurs spread across the continental United States or arrived at their new locations across the globe, Owen and Claire had found themselves trying their best to care for the still-grieving Maisie after the death of her grandfather Benjamin. While Claire continued her activism by working at the Dinosaur Protection Group, Owen relocated Maisie to a cabin in the woods of California to prevent anyone from finding the cloned girl and using her for genetic experiments to find out how to continue cloning more humans. 

Due to his constant efforts of trying to prevent anyone from taking advantage of Maisie, Owen had quickly found himself growing incredibly protective to the point where he truly cared for the young girl. As such, when a note mysteriously showed up on the cabin’s doorstep one morning with the promise of helping provide “reinforcements” to protect Maisie, Owen was quick to accept the invitation. After convincing Claire to come to the cabin for a few days to stay with Maisie while he “went to meet up with some old Navy friends”, the hunky man quickly headed out to go meet the mysterious individual. 

Upon arriving that next night at the location listed on the note (a dilapidated house near the California-Mexico border), Owen tapped into the skills he’d gathered during his time in the military and cautiously approached the house before making a slow entry. As he slowly walked around the creaky old house with his gun drawn, Owen was quick to call out for anyone there to slowly make their way into the large foyer so he could see who sent the note. As he suddenly began to hear the sound of squeaky wheels grow louder, Owen quickly directed his flashlight in the direction of the noise. Upon seeing who the individual was, Owen was unable to prevent his jaw from dropping...

To read more about who Owen meets and what happens afterwards, click here to sign up for my Patreon!  

[sentenceme-leni]

Friday. Minimum 5 sentences.

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Belle bit her lower lip as she glanced over the ruined grand hall.

"I told you it wasn't a pretty sight," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, tightening the arm around her in an attempt to comfort her.

Belle nodded.

Intellectually, she had known that the Dark Castle would be as ruined as the other great constructions of the Enchanted Forest. Snow White's castle, once the home of a dynasty, was nothing but rubble. Regina's palace should have stood, but more mundane means had laid wroth on it. Kings across the land had sent word to contact them at more humble accomodations than they were used to.

Maleficent's fortress had been immediately livable only by dint of the band of invaders who had already done the hard work of rehabilitating the main rooms.

Belle had thought it a miracle that the Dark Castle still stood amidst the tall walls that surrounded Rumpelstiltskin's dominion.

The inside, however, spoke of the three decades it had been unattended.

"The wards will have to be renewed," she said, thankful for their work against the curse's wave of destruction. They had burned themselves out on that feat, though.

If it weren't for their people hiding the road up the mountain, they surely would have found uninvited guests under their roof.

"I'll have to start from scratch," Rumpelstiltskin sighed. "It will take years to grow them to their previous strength."

Belle squeezed his hand. "We have the time now."

He nodded. "At least the rest is an easy fix."

Rumpelstiltskin had already declared the structure safe, and Belle knew of his hopes that at some point Baelfire would come for a visit.

After Henry had almost been squashed by a crumbling wall, there was no way Bae would go anywhere with the slightest risk.

As it stood, Rumpelstiltskin's grandchild wasn't living in a hut only because Regina had whisked the boy off to the Forbidden Mountain instead.

Even Emma had to concede that a band of former thieves was safer than a castle under construction.

"We will open a couple more rooms in the family wing," she told him. Regina and Emma would inevitably clash and go their separate ways. Bae would follow Emma, and Belle would make sure the Dark Castle was the more enticing option.

"Of course," Rumpelstiltskin agreed with ease. Then he smirked. "At a distance from our quarters, though."

Belle rolled her eyes, but inwardly she saw his point. Previous - and mortifying - experience did say that their privacy was a concern.

"Perhaps we can open a whole other wing for Bae and Henry?"

Rumpelstiltskin must be remembering the same thing, because he nodded with vigor. "That would be best."

The End

17/05/24