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greeniegaes · 11 months ago

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Back at it agains with another svsss au im pulling out of my (slightly) sleep deprived brain

Basically yada yada everything happens as normal UP UNTIL the immortal alliance arc. SQQ gets this searing headache and the system just keeps popping up with errors, so while they are all fighting the spider hoard the system just kinda snaps and breaks. SQQ suddenly feels like he’s hit by a truck, his body starting to act like his sickly Shen Yuan body and his cultivation is tying itself into dead knots and every bone in his body feels like it’s locking up. There’s no system to blame for things as he and LBH confront MBJ and he just has to do his hardest to survive with just his spiritual sword.

And then the worse thing happens, Xiu Ya shatters.

SQQ panics at this, continuing to try his best fighting people off and eventually MBJ leaves *hooray* except not really because all the system errors are getting louder and louder in his head, and everything is blue and blaring and he might be bleeding and he can’t understand what LBH is saying even though he is right there, shaking his body and crying.

And then the abyss opens. He suddenly has the choice. He can send LBH, his white little sheep, down there to continue on with the PIDW plot, or he can… not do that.

So he pushes LBH.

Away from him. Away from the abyssal rift, only for him to be the one that falls though. He had prepared various lesson plans, life advice, what skills people to work on and so much more once he got without-a-cure, just incase he slipped up one day and couldn’t protect himself. So SQQ was satisfied as he knew his peak would be taken care of if LBH opened a specific drawer, everyone could still be taught by the hall masters and also have some future help prepared for each of them.

So SQQ let’s himself fall into the abyss, watching his student’s horrified expression as he plummets. He hears the system disconnect from LBH as he falls, all of the glowing blue error messages and pop ups instantly go away and he’s left in the dark as he sinks further and further into the abyss.

Surprisingly, he wakes up. He landed in the same field of flowers that are the reason LBH didn’t die in the original, they are filled with celestial qi in a place meant to be horrible and deadly. The one good thing about this place. He lays there for awhile and lets the plants essence fix up his meridians.

Then he has to experience the same horrifying things the protagonist did in person, fighting off each beast and trying his damn hardest to survive. It takes him a while, fighting and walking his way through what’s practically hell on earth, slaying beasts ten times his size, making sure not to fall into the trappings of demonic plants. He cuts his long hair, he thinks he will never see his peak again, so what do filial ties matter when you’re barely surviving. Sometimes the worse thing is his own mind, he feels a heavy layer of guilt to himself for so willing going along with the system. He sometimes forgets it’s not his fault too, that he was threatened to return to a dead body if he didn’t do as he was supposed to. But he’s happy sometimes too, he goes back to that field of flowers, laying in them and basking in his memories of a happier LBH, a LQG that isn’t dead, a Qing Jing peak full of song and happy healthy students.

He ascends from the abyss that day. He doesn’t know how or why but he wakes up in the same field of flowers, the sky above him no longer a damning black with red cracks seeping light in. it’s blue, soft, it hurts his eyes almost to look at it. It hurts so much but he can’t look away. He picks himself up, looking at all the grime and blood on himself and weeps in relief that he can go home. He hides his face and asks people where he is, somewhere in HHP territories, and begins to make his way back to his sect. Once he gets to his peak he sits down softly at the gate, it’s night time and there haven’t been many people about. He basks in the feeling of being home, leaning his head against the tall bamboo pole as he falls asleep.

He’s glad tomorrow is a new day, when he can see his family and just go back to his life.

(in the years he’s been gone all of CQS has been in some kind of mourning. LBH found all the letters from his shizun and they made all the disciples of QJP weep. Some of them took the advice given and left, some of them stayed and took care of a lordless peak. None of the hall masters or disciples were qualified to step up, and when the issue was raised even the peak lords agreed he shouldn’t be replaced. It was LQG who found him at the gate, going to visit the sword shrine in the bamboo house after an expedition, going to leave another fan to rot at the shrine’s foot. instead he heaved up his shixiong, hair not even reaching his shoulders, hands callused and dirty, and brought him back to the bamboo house, waking LBH in the process. Once morning light came everyone would know that their lost peak lord came home, but first they had to get the doctor to make sure he actually got through the night)

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #svsss shen qingqiu #svsss au #greeniegaes #text post #alternative universe ideas #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #Yuan in Abyss AU

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Legacy (winds of winter)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: of the east and the west

- Next part: the long night

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxifics @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The waves crashed against the hull of the Lion’s Glory, a sleek and sturdy ship bearing the Lannister banners, as it cut through the choppy waters leaving Dragonstone behind. Tywin Lannister stood at the bow, his hands clasped behind his back, the wind tugging at his cloak. Beside him stood Jaime, clad in armor that was brilliant in the pale sunlight, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The cries of gulls mixed with the rhythmic creak of the ship’s timbers, but it was the distant roar that turned every head on the deck.

“She’s following us,” Jaime said, his tone amused as he tilted his head upward.

High above, Viserion soared, her great wings slicing through the sky with effortless grace. Her armor gleamed—a testament to Tywin’s command for her protection—the polished plates covering her underbelly and flanks glinting in the sunlight. Behind her, smaller but no less agile, darted the juvenile dragon from Dragonmont, its black scales shimmering with streaks of blood red.

“Younger one does not like being left behind,” Jaime remarked, shielding his eyes as he watched the dragons circle overhead.

Tywin’s expression was impassive, though his gaze remained fixed on the magnificent beasts. “They are loyal to her,” he said simply, referring to you, though his tone carried no softness. “As they should be.”

Behind them, Damon, now nearly four years old, toddled toward the railing, pointing upward with a gleeful laugh. “Mama! Mama’s flying!”

The servants, struggling to keep pace with the energetic child, reached him just as he grasped the edge of the ship, bouncing on his toes. “Young master, please be careful!” one of them urged.

Jaime chuckled softly, stepping back to ruffle Damon’s silver-gold curls. “Careful, little warrior. Your mother would roast me alive if anything happened to you.”

Damon ignored the caution, his wide eyes glued to the skies. “The little one’s coming too! Look, Jaime!”

Jaime squinted upward, watching as the juvenile dragon darted closer to Viserion, the smaller beast letting out an excited screech as it attempted to keep pace. “It seems even dragons can’t bear to part with her,” Jaime muttered.

Tywin’s lip curled faintly, though whether in irritation or amusement, it was difficult to tell. “The young dragon was never meant to remain on Dragonstone. It follows instinct, nothing more.”

Jaime smirked, glancing sideways at his father. “Instinct or not, it’s impressive. You’ve managed to keep not one but two dragons from turning this fleet into kindling.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering to the horizon where Dragonstone was becoming a distant silhouette. “Discipline keeps them in line,” he said finally, his tone as cold and sharp as ever. “Nothing more.”

Jaime let out a soft laugh, folding his arms across his chest. “Discipline, yes. But let’s not forget who truly holds their loyalty. It’s not the lion they follow, Father. It’s her.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not deign to reply. Instead, he turned his attention back to the sky, where Viserion let out a thunderous roar, her armored form glinting like a second sun. You, perched atop her saddle, cut a striking figure against the vast expanse of blue, your hair streaming behind you as the dragon turned in a wide arc.

“She’s flying ahead,” Jaime observed as Viserion began to veer toward the west, the juvenile dragon flapping furiously to keep up. “Heading to Casterly Rock already, it seems.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly. “Good. Let her secure their loyalty there.”

Jaime’s brows lifted. “You speak as if it’s ever in question. Have you seen how your men look at her? How the lords whisper her name? They call her the Dragon Queen of Casterly Rock.”

Tywin’s stern gaze flickered to Jaime. “Enough.”

Jaime raised his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. But I’m just saying, she’s done what no one else could. Dragons flying under Lannister banners? That’s a tale even the poets couldn’t invent.”

Damon tugged at Tywin’s cloak, his small face alight with excitement. “Papa! Can we fly with Mama next time? I want to ride the little one!”

Tywin crouched slightly, placing a firm but gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “Not today, Damon. But one day, perhaps.”

Damon’s pout was short-lived as another roar echoed from the sky, drawing his attention back to the dragons. The juvenile let out a playful screech, twirling midair as if to show off its agility. Damon clapped his hands, giggling. “It’s so fast!”

Tywin straightened, his expression unreadable as he watched the dragons fade into the distance. Beside him, Jaime shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“You know,” Jaime said, his tone light, “you may not say it, but I think you’re proud of her.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver. “Pride is irrelevant. She fulfills her role.”

Jaime chuckled, tipping his head toward Damon, who was now chattering excitedly with the servants about dragons and castles. “And what about him? Does he fulfill his role?”

For the first time, Tywin’s expression softened, if only slightly. “He will. In time.”

Jaime nodded, watching his father closely. “And the little one?”

“Maelor will have his place,” Tywin said simply. “As will they all.”

The sound of the waves filled the silence that followed, the ship slicing through the sea as it carried them westward. Overhead, the cries of dragons faded, their shadowed forms disappearing beyond the horizon.

“You’re building quite the legacy, Father,” Jaime said quietly. “A lion with a dragon at its side.”

Tywin didn’t reply, but there was a glint in his eye, a flicker of something between satisfaction and determination. As the ship pressed on, carrying them closer to the shore, the weight of their ambitions hung heavy in the salt-laden air.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was filled with activity when the shadow swept over the towering walls. For a moment, the sun was blotted out, and the low rumble of beating wings sent a shiver through the gathered servants, guards, and residents. Heads snapped upward in unison, eyes widening as the enormous form of Viserion descended from the sky. Behind her, a smaller dragon darted through the air, its movements agile as it screeched a warning to the onlookers below.

A roar erupted from Viserion as she stretched her massive wings wide, the gust of her landing scattering hay, loose parchment, and the cloaks of those too close. The black dragon landed moments later, its claws scraping against the stone, leaving deep gouges in the ground.

The panic was instantaneous.

“Dragons!” a servant screamed, dropping a basket of apples as she fled toward the keep.

“Stay back!” barked a Lannister guard, drawing his sword even as his hands trembled. The clinking of armor was drowned out by the chorus of gasps, shouts, and hurried footsteps as the courtyard dissolved into chaos.

You dismounted gracefully from Viserion’s saddle. Despite the uproar, your expression was calm, your movements deliberate. With a firm pat on Viserion’s armored flank, you whispered something in High Valyrian, and the she-dragon rumbled in response, her eyes flickering toward the crowd as if daring anyone to come closer.

“Hold your ground!” you commanded sharply, your voice cutting through the cacophony. The guards hesitated but obeyed, though their swords remained drawn.

The juvenile dragon, however, was less composed. It hissed at the nearest guards, its tail lashing out to knock over a cart of barrels. The loud crack of splintering wood sent another wave of panic through the onlookers. You turned quickly, your voice firm yet soothing.

“Easy, little one,” you murmured, stepping toward the smaller dragon. It tilted its head toward you, its red eyes narrowing before it let out a low growl, reluctantly retreating a few paces.

A faint, almost amused smile tugged at your lips as you turned back to the crowd. “There is no danger. They are with me.”

Your words were met with uneasy silence, save for the soft creak of armor as the guards shifted uncomfortably.

A bold steward, his face pale but determined, stepped forward. “My lady,” he began cautiously, his voice trembling. “What are they doing here?”

“We are returning to our home,” you replied simply, glancing over your shoulder as both dragons began to retreat. Viserion turned first, her massive frame lumbering toward the entrance of an abandoned mine beneath the Rock, a place Tywin had ordered cleared years ago. The black dragon followed hesitantly, casting one last fiery glare at the onlookers before scuttling after her.

“Under the Rock again?” the steward stammered, watching as the dragons disappeared into the shadows. “That... that cannot be safe!”

You turned to face him fully, your expression unyielding. “Viserion has made her lair there before. She will ensure her youngling is safe. You have nothing to fear so long as they are not provoked.”

The steward looked as though he wanted to argue but thought better of it, stepping back with a bow. The other servants and guards began to settle, though the unease in the air was felt.

With the immediate panic subsiding, you turned and began walking toward the keep, your steps purposeful. The guards who had drawn their swords sheathed them reluctantly, exchanging nervous glances as they watched your retreating form. Behind you, the distant sound of dragons settling into their lair echoed faintly, a reminder of the power now residing beneath Casterly Rock once more.

The banners of House Lannister fluttered in the warm breeze as Tywin’s procession wound its way through the gates of Casterly Rock. The golden lion on crimson flapped proudly, a stark reminder of the power and legacy that had returned to the seat of their ancestral home. The courtyard was a flurry of activity, with servants rushing to arrange the arrival and guards standing at attention as the wagons, horses, and carriages rolled in.

You stood at the top of the stairs, your silver hair catching the sunlight, a calm yet warm expression on your face as you waited. Viserion’s occasional distant roars from her lair below the Rock echoed faintly in the background, but the arrival of Tywin’s retinue dominated the moment.

When the grandest of the carriages stopped, the door swung open, and Damon leaped out with boundless energy. “Mama!” he shouted gleefully, his curls bouncing as he darted across the courtyard.

“Lord Damon!” a frantic servant called, hurrying after him while trying not to trip over her skirts. Behind her, another servant carefully cradled Maelor, who squirmed in curiosity at the commotion.

You descended the stairs quickly, your arms open just in time to catch Damon as he flung himself at you. “My little warrior,” you said warmly, lifting him with ease. “You’ve grown restless on the road, haven’t you?”

Damon laughed, his small hands clutching at your shoulders as he grinned up at you. “I missed you, Mama!”

“And I missed you,” you replied, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. His laughter melted your heart, the sound a welcome reprieve from the heavy discussions and plans that had dominated the past weeks.

From the carriage, Tywin Lannister emerged, his presence as commanding as ever. Dressed in his travel armor, his sharp green eyes surveyed the courtyard, noting the orderly chaos of the welcoming party. His gaze softened just slightly as he watched you embrace Damon.

“Welcome home, my lord,” you called, still holding Damon as you turned to greet Tywin.

Tywin strode forward, the faintest curve of a smile gracing his lips. “It seems I’m not the one you’ve been waiting for,” he remarked, nodding toward Damon, who was nestled contentedly in your arms.

“I’ve waited for all of you,” you replied, your tone affectionate but composed.

The servant carrying Maelor approached cautiously, the little boy reaching toward you with grabby hands. “Mama,” he babbled, his chubby face breaking into a wide smile.

You shifted Damon onto your hip and reached for Maelor, cradling him in your other arm. “And here’s my other little lion,” you said softly, kissing Maelor’s forehead. “Have you been a good boy for your father?”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on the scene for a moment, a rare flicker of warmth in his otherwise impassive demeanor. “He has,” Tywin said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Though Damon has certainly kept the servants on their toes.”

Damon beamed proudly. “I was brave, Papa!”

Tywin arched a brow, his expression almost amused. “Brave or mischievous?”

Damon giggled, burying his face against your shoulder. “Both,” he whispered conspiratorially, making you laugh.

Tywin stepped closer, placing a hand on Damon’s head briefly before turning his attention to you. “You’ve kept everything in order during my absence, I trust.”

“Of course,” you replied smoothly, shifting Maelor slightly as he reached for a strand of your hair. “Though it’s not the same without you here.”

Tywin nodded, his gaze steady but filled with a subtle pride. “Then let us not waste time. There is much to discuss.”

You inclined your head, your smile softening as you turned to lead the way back into the keep. Damon squirmed in your arms, eager to recount every detail of the journey, while Maelor babbled happily, seemingly just content to be close to you.

As you entered the cool halls of Casterly Rock, Tywin walked beside you, his imposing presence a constant but reassuring force. Behind you, the servants and guards followed, the air buzzing with the energy of a family reunited and a household settling back into its rhythm.

The council chamber of Casterly Rock was lit by the soft glow of lanterns, the stone walls adorned with tapestries bearing the lion of House Lannister. Tywin sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands steepled before him, his piercing green gaze sweeping over those gathered. Beside him, his brother Kevan, ever the loyal second, listened intently, while Jaime leaned back in his chair, his hand resting casually on the armrest. Around them, several bannermen and Maester Aldren awaited Tywin’s words.

The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the hearth, as Tywin began. “The realm requires stability, and stability begins with order. It is time for certain... lapses to be corrected.”

His eyes shifted to Jaime, who straightened slightly, sensing what was coming.

“Jaime,” Tywin continued, his tone calm but authoritative, “you will return to King’s Landing and resume your duties as a knight of the Kingsguard. Your place is at King Tommen’s side.”

Jaime frowned, leaning forward. “I’ve served the crown long enough, Father. Let someone else babysit the boy.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, his tone cutting. “You swore an oath, Jaime. One you have neglected for too long. The Kingsguard is not a convenience you abandon when it no longer suits you. I've offered you a choice to leave once, and you refused it. Tommen is your king, and your duty is to protect him.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest further, but Tywin raised a hand, silencing him. “This is not a matter for debate. You will return to the capital.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “And leave you here? With everything happening? Daenerys breathing down our necks, dragons circling the skies, with winter—”

“Do not presume to question me,” Tywin interrupted suddenly, his voice like steel. “I have managed the affairs of this realm long before you were born, and I will continue to do so. Your place is in King’s Landing, where you will ensure the boy remains safe and the crown secure.”

Kevan nodded slightly, offering quiet support. “The capital needs a strong hand, Jaime. You are the best man for the task.”

Jaime scoffed, glancing at his uncle. “And what about Cersei? She’s been quiet for too long. That usually means she’s scheming.”

Tywin’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Precisely why you must keep an eye on her. She is not to overstep her bounds again. The last thing we need is another of her... miscalculations.”

The mention of Cersei hung heavily in the air, and Jaime shifted uncomfortably. “She’s my sister, Father.”

“She is a Lannister,” Tywin said coldly, his gaze unwavering. “And she will act in the interests of this family, whether by her own will or by force. You will ensure her compliance.”

Jaime’s golden hand clenched slightly on the armrest. “And if she doesn’t comply?”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, his tone as unyielding as ever. “Then remind her of the consequences of failure. Quietly, if possible. Firmly, if necessary.”

The other bannermen exchanging uneasy glances. Maester Aldren coughed lightly, breaking the silence. “If I may, my lord, the Queen Mother has been... difficult to predict of late. It would be wise to ensure her movements are monitored.”

Tywin nodded curtly. “See that it’s done.”

Jaime exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression. “So that’s it, then? I’m being sent back to play nursemaid and spy?”

“You are being sent to do your duty,” Tywin corrected. “As you should have been doing all along.”

Jaime shook his head but said nothing further, knowing there was no point in arguing. Tywin’s word was final.

Satisfied, Tywin turned his attention to the rest of the council. “See to it that preparations for the Rock’s defenses are completed. Daenerys Targaryen’s forces are to be watched, and we cannot afford to be caught unprepared. Kevan, oversee the supply lines.”

Kevan inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”

Tywin’s gaze swept over the room one last time, ensuring his orders were understood. “This council is dismissed.”

The bannermen rose, murmuring their acknowledgments as they filed out, leaving Tywin, Jaime, and Kevan alone. Jaime lingered for a moment, watching his father with a mix of frustration and resignation.

“You never change, do you?” Jaime said quietly, almost to himself.

Tywin looked at him, his expression unreadable. “And that is why this family endures.”

With that, Tywin rose, signaling the end of the conversation. Jaime remained seated for a moment longer before standing and following Kevan out, the weight of his father’s expectations pressing heavily on his shoulders.

The chamber was bathed in the soft glow of the hearth, the crackling flames the only source of warmth against the bitter chill that seeped into every corner of Casterly Rock. The heavy fur blankets barely warded off the creeping cold of winter's breath, which had now reached even the great western fortress. Tywin Lannister lay beside you, his stern features softened in the flickering light. The room was quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind outside, its mournful song carrying through the stone walls.

You lay with your head resting on his chest, his arm loosely draped around you. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a grounding presence in the eerie stillness of the night. Winter had come, and its grip was tightening with every passing day.

“It feels as if the sun is afraid to rise,” you murmured, your voice low but carrying the weight of your thoughts. “The day barely exists now. Soon, it will vanish altogether.”

Tywin’s hand trailed idly along your back, his touch as firm and deliberate as always. “The sun will return, as it always does,” he replied, his voice calm but resolute. “Winter is a season, nothing more. It is the weak who fall victim to its cold.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your silver hair spilling across his chest like moonlight. “And yet, even here, winter reaches us. This cold... it’s unlike any I’ve felt before.”

Tywin’s gaze met yours, his green eyes unwavering. “The cold is a reminder of what’s to come. We must remain strong, vigilant. Weakness is not an option.”

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You speak as though the cold can be fought with swords and strategies. But what if it’s more than that? What if it’s the beginning of something we cannot control?”

He studied you for a long moment, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “If it is, then we adapt. We do what is necessary to survive. That is what we have always done.”

A silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. You closed your eyes briefly, letting yourself savor the rare intimacy of the moment. Tywin was not a man prone to displays of affection, but here, in the privacy of your shared chamber, he allowed himself these moments with you.

“Daenerys has halted all negotiations,” you said after a time, your voice quieter now. “The seas around Dragonstone are freezing. She knows her armies cannot march in this weather.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though his fingers tightened slightly against your skin. “She hesitates because she knows the odds are against her. The Targaryen name alone won’t save her from the realities of war.”

You hesitated before speaking again, your tone careful. “And yet, the winds of winter favor no one. Even her dragons are at a disadvantage in this cold.”

Tywin let out a low, contemplative hum. “The dragons will adapt, as they always have. The question is whether their riders will. Daenerys was a fool to bring her foreign armies here, thinking the realm would bow to her name. She underestimated the North and overestimated her position.”

You traced a finger along the scar on his chest, your touch absent as your mind turned over his words. “She is my sister,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “And yet, she feels like a stranger.”

“She is a threat,” Tywin countered, his voice firm. “Do not let sentiment cloud your judgment. Her arrival disrupted everything we’ve worked to secure.”

You met his gaze again, your eyes searching his. “And if she were to turn her dragons against us?”

Tywin’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Then she will learn the hard way that dragons alone do not win wars.”

You sighed, resting your head back against his chest. The fire crackled, and the wind howled louder outside, as if in agreement with his words. The weight of the world pressed heavily on your shoulders, but here, in this moment, you allowed yourself to rest.

“We should sleep,” you murmured, though sleep felt distant, like the sun.

Tywin’s hand moved to your waist, his touch grounding and deliberate. “Rest if you can. Tomorrow will demand much of us.”

You nodded faintly, closing your eyes as the firelight danced across the room. The cold was relentless, but for now, in the warmth of his arms, you felt shielded—if only for a fleeting moment.

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finisnihil · 15 days ago

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i dont engage with the hsr fandom much outside of fanart/fanfic, so its always fascinating to see you respond to bad takes. i always feel like im in a little boat, seeing the shadow of some terrible beast pass under me. youre fighting battles i never couldve imagined

(this is re: your ruan mei tags in that post about "bad mother" being a female characters defining trait. it literally hadnt occured to me that you could possibly read ruan mei as a bad mother specifically. wild)

You have no idea lmao. My favorite character in Genshin is Il Dottore and my HSR favorite is Luocha. I'm in the trenches over here!

Anyways on a serious note, yeah Ruan Mei has gotten a lot of shit from the fandom for her relationship with motherhood, especially Jade fans*.

I love Jade as a character but a lot of the fans of her i've seen HATE Ruan Mei and love to drag her for being a deadbeat or a bad mother when the whole point of her arc in the 1.6 quest/event is that she doesn't want to be a mother and she's unwilling to sacrifice her career to care for her "children". She isnt heartless; she takes great pains to ensure they are cared for in her absence. Unfortunately, rejecting motherhood allows people to reduce her to just a "bad mother" and it really sucks when her character is diluted for the sake of defining her as that.

Jade is a character who is very maternal, she leans heavily into that role specifically to manipulate those under her, like Topaz. I feel like when people try to prop up Jade against Ruan Mei, they fully miss that neither women actually desire the role of mother. Jade sees people as investments and she uses maternal roles to cultivate the seeds she plants as to reap the rewards later. She's not genuine; it's all a mask. Trying to compare Ruan Mei and Jade is like comparing two oranges and saying one's an apple.

A character who is genuinely a mother and chose motherhood is Yukong. Her quest circulates around her relationship with her daughter and the circumstances that led to her chosing motherhood and her navigation of it. Even her splash art reflects this, being a depiction of a memory from when Tingyun/Fugue was a child and looked to Yukong as a mother figure, which is obviously a reciprocated sentiment since Yukong is the one who soothes Tingyun's soul and flies again to bring Fugue home.

Another female character that can be discussed in regards to motherhood is Jingliu. Jing Yuan claims they weren't close but you can tell Jingliu genuinely does care about him and even if Jing Yuan doesn't feel like they were close, she looked out for him and believed in him. Even when Jing Yuan wasn't naturally gifted with a sword she was willing to teach him and basically called those who looked down on him weak and lazy, saying they just wanted somebody naturally skilled so they could take credit for their student's success. Part of why she takes Jing Yuan on is because he reminded her of her younger self. Just looking at the age he started training under her, she did have a hand in raising him. Does this all make Jingliu a mother? Maybe. If she is a mother, though, she's a wire one.

The idea of the "wire mother" comes from a study and it basically is a mother who can provide for her children but can't offer them comfort or care beyond that. In the study, the cloth mother (can offer comfort but can't provide) was chosen over the wire mother more because the wire mother was cold and unfulfilling of emotional needs. I think that may play into why Jing Yuan felt they weren't close, that Jingliu's way of showing that care was teaching him how to survive and protect himself when people usually see care being the comfort of the cloth mother.

This is all just my thoughts though.

Sorry for the random analysis dump lmao motherhood is a big theme in the game (Mydei and his mother, Ruan Mei and her mother/her rejection of motherhood, Yukong and her daughter, Jade's use of motherhood, etc) and I got on a bit of a tangent. I'm glad you enjoy my responses to bad takes! I really am fighting for my life out here.

*Mandatory disclaimer that I dont look down on Jade fans i'm just noting what i've observed in regards to Ruan Mei discourse. If you're a Jade fan and you dont hate Ruan Mei, this isn't about you.

#honkai star rail #finis analyzes #finis credits #ruan mei #jingliu #Yukong #jade hsr #So true anon #I am fighting so many battles all the time #sob sob sob

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earthlybeam · 2 months ago

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Hi there! :) I was so absorbed in your most recent work about the magical healing powers, it was so soothing to the soul! Is there any way you can create one with Legolas?

How would Legolas react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The battle had raged for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the iron tang of blood. Legolas, a figure of grace and deadly precision, had fought with unmatched skill, each arrow loosed finding its mark with a quiet, deadly whisper. His movements were fluid, a blur of elven finesse as he wove through the chaos, his bow singing with the rhythm of the battlefield. But even the most seasoned warrior could be caught off guard. Amidst the frenzy of clashing steel and snarling beasts, Legolas’s sharp senses betrayed him for a brief moment. A massive orc, its eyes filled with primal fury, surged toward him from the smoke. With a brutal growl, it swung a jagged blade in a wide arc, aiming for Legolas’s side. The strike was swift, too fast for him to fully evade. The blade tore through his leather armor, biting deep into his flesh. The pain was immediate and excruciating, the sharpness of the wound sinking through him like a searing hot brand.

Legolas gasped, his breath hitching as the blood surged from the deep gash in his side. His legs, once sure and strong beneath him, buckled under the weight of the pain. His vision blurred in a haze of red, the edges of his world fading with the pounding of his heart. His knees gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to stay upright any longer. His hand clutched at the wound, but the blood continued to flow, staining his tunic and soaking the earth beneath him. He could still hear the battle raging around him, the clash of swords and the cries of warriors, but it all seemed so distant now, as if the world had grown quieter, more distant. He tried to summon the strength to rise, to fight on, but the weight of the injury was too great, and his vision dimmed as he slumped against the cold earth.

You had seen him fall—his form a flash of silver and gold amidst the chaos and rubble of the battlefield. For a brief, frozen moment, time seemed to stretch, and your heart lurched painfully in your chest. Every instinct screamed in panic, and before you could process what had happened, your legs were already carrying you toward him, driven by a singular, unyielding purpose: Legolas. The destruction around you seemed to blur, the cries of war fading into the background as you sprinted through the smoke and carnage, your only thought on the fallen elf. As you reached him, the sight of him nearly shattered you. There, in the bloodied soil, he lay crumpled and broken, the once graceful and proud warrior now a shadow of himself. His skin was pale, and the usual radiance of his features was clouded with the deep lines of agony. His golden hair, usually so immaculate, was matted with sweat and dirt, and his armor was streaked with blood—his blood. His side was stained with crimson, the wound a cruel gash that had robbed him of his strength. His breathing came in ragged gasps, each one shaking him with tremors of pain. His eyes, once sharp and full of life, were dull now, glazed with exhaustion, the fierce spark of his spirit dimming.

“Legolas,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you knelt beside him. Trembling, you reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands, the coldness of his skin seeping into your fingertips, sending a chill through your very soul. His pale lips parted, and his breath came in a shuddering sigh, barely more than a whisper. “You should not have come,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak, like a dying wind. The words were full of pain, but there was a faint undertone of resignation, a weariness that reached deep into your heart. “It is too late for me.”

“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion, trembling as you fought to hold back the torrent of fear and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm you. Your eyes, already glistening with unshed tears, locked with his—desperate, pleading. “You are not beyond saving.” Your hands shook as you moved them to his wound, desperate to do something, anything, to staunch the flow of blood that stained the earth beneath him. With trembling fingers, you gathered a lock of your own hair, long and (your hair colour), and carefully wrapped it around the gaping wound on his side, trying to bind it with all the gentleness you could muster, despite the urgency gnawing at your every movement. The sight of him—so frail, so vulnerable—stirred a protective fire deep within you, a fierce resolve that you would not lose him, not like this. Not without a fight.

Once you had carefully wrapped your hair— (your hair colour), like the night sky—around his wound, you felt a surge of determination rise within you. With trembling hands, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon you, but as always, you found solace in the one thing you knew could help. Your eyes fluttered closed, and with a steadying exhale, you began to sing. The melody flowed from your lips as naturally as breathing, soft and haunting, carrying with it an ancient power—an echo of long-forgotten magic. The words rose gently, like a prayer whispered into the wind, filling the air with their quiet strength. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine,” your voice was a delicate thread of sound, weaving through the tumultuous silence around you, rising like a beacon of hope.

As you sang, the very fabric of reality seemed to shift. A golden warmth began to stir, a light that flickered softly at first, then grew, washing over you both in a radiant glow. Your dark hair, once so deep and shadowed, shimmered and turned, strand by strand, into a golden hue. It was as though the sun itself had chosen to bless you, each lock now glowing like threads of light, as if the very magic of your song had imbued your hair with its ancient power. “Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine,” you sang, your voice rising, carrying the weight of your desire for his healing. The words seemed to vibrate through the very air around you, reaching deep into the earth, into the bones of the world itself, calling forth the strength of the past to repair the present.

As you sang the familiar refrain, “Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine,” a warmth spread from your hands, wrapping around Legolas’s wounded side. The golden glow of your hair bathed him in light, casting long shadows in the smoke-filled night, yet it was as if all the darkness around you couldn’t touch the warmth of that glow. For a moment, everything seemed to still. Legolas’s eyes, which had been clouded with pain, fluttered open. The dazed, pained expression on his face softened as he gazed at you, wide with awe and wonder. His breath caught, steadying as he took in the sight of you, bathed in light, singing with such grace and power. There was a quiet reverence in his gaze, as if he, too, could feel the ancient magic swirling around you both.

As the last notes of your song faded into the air, you could feel the change. The pain that had clenched Legolas’s body, the cruel wound that had threatened to claim him, began to ebb. The glow of your hair intensified, weaving into his wound, healing it. The flesh began to mend, slowly at first, and then more rapidly, knitting together as though the wound had never existed. The jagged edges smoothed, the bleeding stopped, and the gash was sealed, leaving nothing but faint, healed skin behind. The golden light around you both softened, leaving only the gentle warmth of your presence. His breathing steadied, and you felt his body relax beneath your touch. It was a moment of quiet relief, the ancient magic doing its work, and in the stillness, you knew that, for now, he was safe.

“By the stars…” Legolas murmured, his voice trembling, hoarse with awe. His hand, though weak from the toll of battle, reached up toward you, his fingers trembling as they hovered near the glowing strands of your hair. It was as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing, as though the very sight of you—glowing with a power so pure and radiant—was beyond comprehension. “Your power… it is… unlike anything I have ever seen.” His voice, filled with awe and reverence, sent a ripple through you, a shiver of warmth and comfort. The magic you had woven continued to grow, pulsing in rhythm with the deep resonance of the song you sang. Each note seemed to deepen the connection between you, the golden light radiating more intensely, not just healing his body, but seeming to bind itself to his very essence. It wrapped around him like a cocoon, gentle but strong, a delicate shield of light.

The light around you both was warm and soft, enveloping you in a protective embrace, soothing the ragged breath he had taken in moments ago. As you continued to sing, your voice now carrying the weight of both healing and love, Legolas’s body relaxed completely. His tense muscles softened under the magic’s touch, and the bleeding wound that had once poured freely, now slowed, then stopped entirely, as if the magic had mended time itself. The gash—once a deep, threatening tear in his flesh—faded before your eyes, closing seamlessly, leaving behind only the faintest memory of what had once been. The skin, once torn and broken, now appeared smooth, whole, as if untouched by any weapon.

When the last note left your lips, you fell into a profound silence. The battle raged on around you, but in this moment, there was nothing but stillness between you and Legolas. Your body, drained from the exertion, trembled with the weight of the magic’s toll, but the exhaustion was tempered by a deep sense of relief and peace. The light around you flickered softly before fading, leaving only a soft glow, like the dying embers of a fire.

Legolas’s chest rose and fell steadily now, his breath no longer shallow or ragged with pain. His eyes opened slowly, his gaze finding yours, locking with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in the midst of the destruction around you. There was no longer fear in his eyes—only gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken, yet clear. His gaze lingered on you, as though seeing you for the first time, truly seeing the depth of your power and the strength of your heart. “You saved me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, as though the weight of his words alone could not carry the depth of his gratitude. His hand, still resting gently on the strands of your glowing hair, traced them with the reverence of someone who had seen the divine. His fingers brushed softly against your skin, as though afraid to touch you too roughly, yet unable to resist. “I… I do not know how to thank you.”

The warmth in his touch, the sincerity in his voice, stirred something deep within you. You smiled softly, your lips trembling with the aftermath of emotion, and shook your head gently. “You do not need to,” you whispered, your hand moving to cover his, grounding him in the moment. “You need only stay with me.” His gaze softened at your words, and in that instant, the weight of the battle seemed to lift from him. The tension in his shoulders, the burden of war that had weighed him down for so long, seemed to melt away. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently against yours. The warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breath, grounded you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. In the midst of the chaos, it was just the two of you—two souls, bound not by the forces of war, but by the strength of a connection that had been forged in light.

“You have my heart, my life,” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with emotion, his breath warm against your skin. “You are my light in the darkness.” The words, spoken with such raw sincerity, brought tears to your eyes. It was as if, in this moment, everything had led to this—this bond between you, stronger than any wound, any battle, any enemy. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the war faded away, leaving only the two of you standing amidst the ruins of a battlefield, your hearts intertwined, your spirits unbroken. In that silence, you both knew that, no matter what happened next, you had already found something far more powerful than victory.

#Legolas #Legolas x you #Legolas x reader #legolas supremacy #Legolas simps #prince legolas x reader #prince legolas #legolas greenleaf #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr elves

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mothymoon · 10 months ago

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I think it's kinda interesting how, while the Beasts are opposites of the Ancients, some feel like reflections to Ancients they're not directly related to.

Starting with the pair that feels most obvious, Silent Salt and Dark Cacao. Their designs especially seem similar with the armor, sword, and color palette. Silence also feels like it can be related to Dark Cacao's isolation during his previous arc.

This feels the same as with Pure Vanilla and Mystic Flour. Again with their color palettes, but also with their religious theming, both being obligated to help all those that seek their guidance.

Again, mostly similar vibe with these two. You could even argue that Destruction can be considered an extention of Passion in a way. These next pairs get a bit weaker with their comparisons, which is why I started with the strongest ones first.

My comparisons for Golden Cheese and Eternal Sugar come down to both of them having wings and some speculation I have. "Eternal" I feel could imply abundance, which may be a motivation for Eternal Sugar's slothfulness. It's possible they simply have all they desire, thus no longer having the will to do anything.

Lastly, for White Lily Cookie and Shadow Milk, the biggest point of comparison I have is that Shadow Milk Cookie's theatrical presentation could also be considered an extention of freedom (especially since it's implied that he used to be an academic). This is the one I really stretch the most with, I'd say.

Why do I bring any of this up? What I think about these possible links is that the Beasts reflect what each of the Ancients could become, if taken to their logical extreme. Also, with those that share their Soul Jams being their opposites (Pure Vanilla being truth and Shadow Milk being deceit, etc.), it can imply that each of the Ancients are each other's opposites as well. Opposites that mesh well enough despite it, anyway.

I'm bad at analysis, so do what you will with this. I don't know if this is anything. Implications and whatnot.

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comikbook · 3 months ago

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Hi! I absolutely LOVE the most recent painting you're working on! The composition is incredible and the colors are everything to me 🫶🫶 I absolutely love the way you draw faces like the piercings help map it out without showing too much and just !!! It's so good 🔥🔥🔥🔥 I was wondering if you would be willing to explain some of the symbolism behind it? Like the bleeding mouth, the house, or the dog? If it's a personal thing and you don't want to share, no worries!!

absolutely !!! this one is a little bit different story wise than some of my others but ill do my best to explain

this is the piece for those who dont know !

so lets start, why the armor and the sword ? well !

i wanted to do a piece referencing joan of arc. as someone who also has had the experience of hearing god talk to them/feeling like a messenger of god due to schizophrenia i have always felt a kinship with her. so i wanted to do a piece inspired by this iconic painting. that also goes into the composition.

however, that nod is the extent of that reference.

what about the house ? well, that is my childhood home.

here it is :,) the one with the bird over the door is the house i consider my childhood home. i no longer live here of course, the neighborhood got a lot more dangerous, abandoned, and not taken care of, i live in a city with a lot of violence, particularly gun violence and gang activity as well as heroin and fent being popular on the streets. there are houses in this neughborhood that have been destroyed by fire and were never fixed, most houses had infestation of roaches rats or mice, occassionally bedbugs. it wasnt a great neighborhood before, but its gotten worse over the years. despite that i hold some of my fondest memories here. i think its beautiful in a way, and i felt safer there than anywhere else.

the house represents my past, the blood trail leading from the door to the figure, who is me, after having slain some beast inside. this is representative of moving on, of leaving your childhood behind. It also represents the violence of where i live, and the horrid memories experienced by my father who lived there growing up as well. it was his home, but he inherited it from his mother. while that house was a safe haven for me, it was a bitter memory of horrific events for him. it was bittersweet to leave. for him, he was moving past that, for me, i was desperately trying to hold on. it was a needed sacrifice, which goes back to the blood.

the dog is a character in my work that represents god. he is omnipresent, always observing. he watched me kill a part of myself, that held on to memories i loved, and forced to move on. he watched this attack, and did not intervene. Perhaps I blame him for this, my relationship with god is not a good one, but that is the symbolism nonetheless.

lastly, there is the blood around the mouth, insinuating the beast inside had been consumed. I have killed it yes, but it stays with me. I consumed its flesh and it is now with me forever, even if it is gone. We are still one, me and the memories i shared there, even if separated by life and death.

this was a really long post, but i hope you find this explination interesting :,) !

#ask #my art #in gods hands

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jboy44 · 4 months ago

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The Rusted king and the mobile city.

In the market as jabber walkers came a did other humans clearly the people who fell. The humans in armor quickly knock away the walkers.

Some of the armored soldiers fire nets at team Rwby ," you were with the cat the body jacking parasite that eat Alyx you will stand before the moving cities rusted king."

The sky turns dark as a massive steam punk city in treads rolls up.

Weiss ," ......a lot to take in there,"

Ruby is shaking holding yang " they cat wanted to steal my booty"

Yang cant think as thanks to not her head is in Bella booty.

Blake "...... Oh its like a fanfiction

A ramp opens up and team ruby are loaded into a cart that runs on tracks which takes them to a throne room.

Weiss uses glyphs to free them and she stares.

Upon the throne made of metal bones and rust. Sits the knight now a king. The king has a repaired sword has helmet has wielded on horns and gems as a crown. He has a fur coat made from jabberwalker skin complete with the beast's skull in this right shoulder.

The king stands " team rwby at long last I have been waiting

Blake bowing ".... You know us .... Your rusted majesty?"

The king removes his helmet revealing Jaune his chair now grey as this beard they seemed confused. " of course I know you guys." He drew a familiar blade with logo in sword sword mode. " time travels is confusion but I have go be by many names. Mr. Knight, rusted knight, the ruated king but my original name is Jaune Arc."

Blake jaw dropped

Ruby's eyes bug "......Jaune "

Yang tilts head "..... Didn't see that coming

Weiss ,"..... I am an idiot"

( add more of your share)

#jaune arc #rwby #yang xiao long #ruby rose #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #rusted jaune #rusted knight #the rusted knight #Rusted King

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craziechwiv · 9 months ago

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RWBY Monster girls Vs ...Jaune.

Jaune Arc.

The next heir to a blood line full of successful monster hunters. He has heard tales of how his grandparents went toe to toe with rabid beast of all sorts, cryptids sought out to be just mere legends, and what terrors truly go bump in the night.

Whenever he heard one of these stories, he'd always play it as if he himself was hunting down the ferocious monster he'd wish he could vanquish. But he wasn't a kid anymore, but now a (semi) trained hunter. He left his home, leaving only a mere note behind for his family on his track to lead on their legacy.

A sword and shield on his person, and a bunny sweater from his grandma underneath his armor, he was ready to become the next legendary Arc in history! And nothing, and he means NOTHING, will stop him from doing so!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaune: ...what?

Wraith!Ruby: *somehow got captured by Jaune's most basic pit trap* ...

Jaune: Wow...uhm.

Wraith!Ruby: What?! Didn't think I'd go down just like that?! Cuz this is all part of my plan to end you, just you wait till I-

Jaune: N-No. Not that. Just didn't think I would be face to face with such a...beautiful sight? M-My name's Jaune by the way...

What is even going on...

Wraith!Ruby: Uh, Ruby? Wait...You think I'm beautiful?

~ Wraith was added to the hunting party! ~

Okay so maybe this was a blunder, but at least he's the first of his lineage to actual befriend a monster! That's something, right? Totally not making him a disgrace to his family.

Hopefully this is the only time though! As he must vanquish a monster far more dangerous now that he has the help of a supernatural being such as Ruby!

???: HOOOWL~!

Jaune: Oh, I guess we're tracking down a were wolf now.

Wraith!Ruby: Oh! Maybe we're gonna meet my sister too!

Jaune: I'm sorry, you're who?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaune:

Wraith!Ruby:

Werewolf!Yang: *snuggling up to Jaune's arm while her tail wags*

Wraith!Ruby: How-

Jaune: In my defense! She had me pinned down!

Wraith!Ruby: That still doesn't explain what happened between that altercation when I was trying to find you!

Jaune: I may have...made a slight joke on seeing two full moons...

Wraith!Ruby: Oh...oh god no.

Jaune: How was I suppose to know that was all it took for her to fall for me?!

Wraith!Ruby: FALL FOR YOU?!

Werewolf!Yang: Soo, wanna share him Rubes?

Wraith!Ruby: >:O *How holding onto Jaune's other arm* LIKE HELL I WILL!

Jaune: I think I'm already in hell...

~To be continued...possibly later today lol~

#rwby #rwby au #ruby rose #yang xiao long #jaune arc #wraith!ruby #werewolf!yang

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bonkled · 5 months ago

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There had been such beauty in Pohatu's athletic ability. His feats of speed and strength had won the day for the Toa many times. This flash of memory sent a pang of regret and nostalgia through an iced over corner inside Wairuha. There was no such beauty in Akamai's assault. He threw himself into battle with suicidal abandon uttering a roar that shook the earth. His speed was nauseating, his power, blinding; each attack was released with the rage of a volcanic eruption, focused to a point and aimed at Wairuha. In the face of this monster, there was no room for heroism—only the relentless precision of a hunter. Wairuha met his attack with matching speed and ferocity, descending like a thunderbolt. Akamai was forced to alter the arc of his sword mid-swing into an awkward block, bracing with his off hand, putting him off balance. "Against monsters, the best defense is a good offense." Wairuha thought. "Put the beast on its back foot. Drive it back before it finds its strength."

#bionicle #bionicle art #bionicle fanart #bionicle au

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novankenn · 2 months ago

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A Different Kind of Bunny-Suit

(Credit to @mechanicx for being the original poster of this image. No rights claimed - will be removed if requested. This is the inspiration for this short, probable one-shot)

Ozpin was a little apprehensive. Initiation was in full swing and the applicant from Orleans had yet to arrive. Which wasn't a real issue. There was still plenty of time for them to take part and earn a spot. What was troubling to Ozpin was the nature of the applicant. He didn't have a name only a designation.

"If they wait much longer there will be no one to partner up with." Glynda Goodwitch commented.

"They should be arriving shortly." Ozpin responded.

"Do we know anything about them? A name? Gender? Training?"

"We have a last name. Arc, and that is only because Jasmine herself informed me one of her children would be attending." Ozpin took a sip from his mug. "Aside from that all I know is their designation."

"Designation?"

"Yes, as per Jasmine Arc's correspondence the Orleans candidate is a what she calls a Bunny."

"A Bunny? What in the blazes does that mean?"

"I haven't the foggiest of clues."

An alert chimed from Glynda's tablet, drawing their attention from the conversation about the Orleans' applicant to the events currently transpiring with in the forest... in particular the area designated for the initiation process. Ozpin's eyebrows furrowed as he watched his deputy's eyes widen.

"Glynda?"

"Ms Rose and Ms Nikos have disturbed the deathstalker!"

""How long would it take Bart to intercept?"

"Too long... it's almost on top of... what the fuck???"

"Glynda?"

Glynda turned her tablet so Ozpin could watch the video feed. Ozpin's eye widened as he watched a anthropomorphic rabbit battle-suit slam shield first into the side of the massive deathstalker. The grimm's large spindly legs carved grooves through the dirt and underbrush as the mechanized suit of armor moved into an intercept position. Glynda and Ozpin could hear the screech of the ancient great grimm arachnid from their observation place.

The Bunny-suit moved with incredible speed, bringing it's shield into play to block and deflect the deathstalker's attacks. On one such exchange the Bunny thrust in a forward and upward motion, using it's massive round shield to throw one of the deathstalker's pincers wide. The cleaving motion of the suit's triangular-sword severed the limb effortlessly.

But whomever was inside was slow to recover. The opening was exploited by the deathstalker. It's venomous stinger slamming into the unprotected chest, shattering the overlay of the armor, and denting the internal plating. While the strike was far from a lethal one, Ozpin knew whomever was inside was feeling that hit.

Ms Rose and Ms Nikos both moved, using their ranged options to attempt to offer whatever support they could. It was a vain attempt to draw the grimm's attention away from the mechanized battle-suit standing before it. Once again the foul beast screeched. The Bunny staggered back a couple of steps, bringing it's shield up and chambering it's weapon.

The deathstalker reared back, screeching again before rushing forward. It's remaining pincer and barbed tail poised to strike. The Bunny also moved. Charging forward tucked behind it's shield. Just as their collision was imminent the Bunny flung it's shield arm wide and thrust forward with it's sword.

Glynda, Ozpin, and in fact anyone with in earshot grimaced and flinched as the once static blade was twisting at an insane rate. With the considerable weight of the suit, and the grimm added to the equation... the encounter was over. The rapid revolutions of the blade burrowed through the deathstalker's heavy plating, tearing and chewing through the softer insides, and slaying the fell beast.

Draw it's no stilled blade the Bunny flicked it to the side scattering the smoking remains of grimm goo from the white surface.

"I'm guessing that's the Orleans applicant." Glynda commented in a hushed and stunned voice.

"I believe you are correct." Ozpin commented.

On the screen the video feed continued to play. The back of the Bunny-suit peeled open, and a young blond man pulled himself free, before falling to the battle torn ground grasping at his chest.

[ NEXT ]

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #ruby rose #mecha bunny #bunny battlesuit #@arc-misadventures #how'd I do?

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serenaoffaerun · 28 days ago

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Declaration

So one author says to another author, "Please can I have a public love confession from Gale? 🥰" Then this THIRD author says, "Ooh, I have an idea, I want to get in on that." The FIRST two authors say, "BET. DO IT." (or something to that effect).

I'm the third author, it me. 😆 Big thanks to @astarioffsimpmain for letting me also yoink the prompt they got from @senualothbrok! You can read the original response by clicking here!

So. My version: Tags/CWs (CONTAINS SPOILERS): Canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, temporary OC death, Mystra mentioned, Gale needs a hug, Gale self-esteem issues, mentions of pining, kissing

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1,669 (nice)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63491047

Screenshot is from my gameplay. Please do not use without permission.

Declaration

Time slowed to a crawl. The only sound in the air was the snap of her neck as Gale’s whole world shattered. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own screams as he saw the light leave her eyes.

Her beautiful eyes. Bluer than the clearest tides of Waterdeep. The eyes that he’d sworn he could see his future in. A future that, before this series of unfortunate events, didn’t even exist, as far as he was concerned.

And now the spark in those eyes was gone. A bright light, extinguished. A light that had shone out of the darkness of his own making and revealed new possibilities for him.

He could almost feel her lungs empty for the last time as the hulking Orthon tossed her body over the cliff. The lungs that, with her very words, had breathed life into his dying body and given him hope. Hope that made him realize his pitiful obsession for Mystra wasn’t love. It didn’t come anywhere close to love.

Love was the sound of her laughter around the campfire at night. Love was the warmth of her smile when their eyes found each other after battle. The ache in his heart as he went to bed alone, night after night, with only his thoughts of her to give him comfort. The anticipation of seeing her recovering after a fight, sweaty and tired, yet victorious and radiant.

And now the embodiment of that love was slipping away into the abyss before he'd even had a chance to declare it to her.

His feet had been rooted to the floor out of sheer panic. Yurgir was looking straight at him, huffing a smug laugh. But out of the corner of his eye, Gale saw a flash of metal and knew Astarion was sprinting up to the Orthon while he was distracted, a sword in each hand. As they pierced the Fiend’s ribs, Karlach entered Gale’s field of view, launching through the air, roaring like an enraged beast, greataxe arcing above her head. Gale took off without another thought, diving off the cliff after Serena’s lifeless body.

He would not give up so easily.

It was a long, long way to the bottom, but he knew he had to hurry. Streamlining his body, he fired off Misty Step after Misty Step and caught up to her. Reaching against the wind and pulling her body in close, he quickly cast Fly and reversed their direction.

While they were ascending, his eyes frantically scanned her body for signs of life. A twitch, a breath, a blink, anything. But there was nothing. Even as he laid her broken body on the floor below the platform of the Orthon, who was now gasping his own gurgling, bloody, final breaths, he leaned his head to her mouth to try to catch even the slightest movement of air. Still, nothing.

“No, no, nonononono, NO!!!” he wailed. His breathing became ragged and his voice strained. “I CANNOT, I WILL NOT lose you, especially before I even,... Before I…” Sobs started to wrack his body as his voice gave out. Kneeling beside her, he pulled her up to his chest, holding her waist with one hand and bunching his fist into her hair with the other. The warmth was already draining from her body. Her skin was pale; there was no sign of the beautifully flushed, rosy color in her cheeks.

Gale’s head was buried in her hair, and his voice seemed so small when he cried out, “Somebody, please, anybody…” He picked up his head, looked around, took a big breath, and screamed, “A RESURRECTION SCROLL, SOMEBODY!!” In an instant, Astarion and Karlach came sliding down a giant boulder from the level above. The rogue was fumbling in his cloak pocket when he breathlessly said, “I’ve got one right here. Step back.”

Karlach dropped her axe and sank to her knees across Serena’s body from Gale. “Oh, soldier…” she sighed. Her heart broke for Gale. She’d been his confidant in the evenings when he didn’t know what to do about his growing affections for Serena. The nights he’d spent pining and worrying over her had become consistent in the last couple of tendays. Karlach knew he’d been planning to talk to her soon, but had kept putting it off out of anxiety for fear of rejection. Gale’s excuse had been that he was unworthy of her affections, and would rather have her in his life as a friend over nothing at all. But the fiery barbarian knew the unquenchable flames of love when she saw it, and told him to just buck up and do something about it. Ideally before he lost his chance, which might now be the case.

Seeing the desperation on his face and hearing the heartbreak in his voice was tearing her apart. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she gently said, “She’s going to be alright, Gale. Let’s get up and let Astarion work, yeah?”

Gale hiccuped and shook his head, clutching Serena closer to his own body. “No… Don’t you see?” He looked up at his two companions with puffy, bloodshot eyes, practically screaming, “This is my punishment. This is my punishment for defying Mystra and not blowing up the Elder Brain when I had the chance. This is all my fault.” He dropped his head and sobbed another couple of times before continuing, “I never even told her, I’m such a godsdamned fool… I finally found the love of my life, a reason for fighting, a reason for living, the only spark of joy I’ve found in the last miserable year. And I never had the courage to tell her. Of course Mystra would take her from me. I don’t deserve her.”

“GALE,” Astarion snapped. “By the Nine Hells, stop your wallowing and put. her. down. I can’t bring her back unless you give me some room!” Karlach stood up and gently pried the broken wizard from Serena’s lifeless body, getting him to his feet and holding him up as he tried to stay standing.

“Vis medicatrix,” the elf proclaimed, scroll in hand. A wave of blue magic circled Serena’s body and lifted her in the air. Nobody dared breathe while the spell took effect. The very air around them felt charged, and Gale’s eyes widened with hope. The sound of broken bones cracking back into place almost made him sick, but he couldn’t look away. Color returned to her face, and her body was gently lowered back down by the healing strands of magic. Gale pulled out of Karlach’s arms and fell back on his knees by Serena's side.

Taking one of her hands in his while cradling the back of her head with another, he begged for all to hear, “Serena, please… Please, My Love, open your eyes. Come back to me, sweetheart, I can’t do this without you.” Bringing the hand that was holding hers up to her cheek and brushing the hair out of her eyes, he pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Love… So sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was so afraid to lose you. I can’t be without you…”

Serena’s eyelashes fluttered and she gasped in the first of her new breaths. She was still trying to open her eyes, but Gale could make out a very weak attempt to say her name. “Ga…Gale?” she whispered.

“I’m right here, dearest,” he said soothingly, still caressing her hair and holding her head up off the ground. “I’m here, and I love you. I LOVE you, Serena, and I’ll tell you a thousand, million times more.”

Her eyes were very open now. It didn’t take her long to piece together what he was saying, as if she’d been waiting to hear it all of her life. He’d taken a deep breath, then went on, “I’m so sorry I was too scared before, but I don’t want to be in a world where you’re not by my side.” Tears slid down his cheeks as he kept going, “You brought me back from the edge in my darkest moments, and here I couldn’t save you from being thrown off of one.” Gale shook his head but continued, “I will spend the rest of my life keeping you in safety and showing you all the love and care you deserve, and more. Just please, please don’t leave me again, I can’t handle it…” His face crumpled as he bowed his head to his chest. Even though he tried to pull himself together, his shoulders shook as the weight of their close call clawed its way deeper into his chest, even deeper than the orb itself.

The next thing he knew, her delicate fingers were brushing the hair away from his face while she whispered, “My sweet, Gale…” Gale sniffled and nuzzled his head into her hand.

“Serena…” he breathed in awe.

“Gale, look at me.” Lip trembling, he opened his eyes and looked at her longingly. “You did save me. In so many ways,” she said, her voice gaining strength.

She coughed, still trying to stabilize her breathing after her brush with death. Serena pulled his face down to hers, just inches away. “You’ve saved me in ways you don’t even know. I love you, too, and I want to be with you, always.” Tears were filling her eyes now, but both of them were grinning with so much brightness, they could rival the sun.

Gale let out a small laugh of relief as he leaned in and kissed her so, so tenderly. They both felt like they were coming back to life even stronger than they were before the day started. That's when they heard two contented sighs above them.

Halting their first kiss much too soon, they both slowly looked up and saw Karlach and Astarion standing above them, holding both of each others’ hands, their heads leaning in together, grinning like they’ve just witnessed the most beautiful love story ever told.

Perhaps they had done just that!

#gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #galemance #gale x tav #writers on tumblr #fanfic #he's just a silly guy #i love him your honor #karlach protecc #astarion is so over it

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